#a two day long migraine has finally lifted

[daezedglownut]

Dad’s in hospital. Again. 8C

#I really hope this is the reality check he needs to start eating better tbh #he exercises a LOT but still eats like crap #I can’t throw stones bc I’m shit at saying no to garbage #that said I *am* on day 3 of cutting my sugar intake down #a two day long migraine has finally lifted #trying to cut down all refined carbs too #years ago I was high protein and high healthy fats and high fibre and jfc I felt AMAZING #I’d kill to feel that way again #at least I’ve gotten over the hardest part by actually keeping on track for the first few days #they really are the worst 8C #feel free to ignore this #I don’t share a lot of irl stuff here since I’m *old* and oversharing online just doesn’t hold any appeal anymore lol #but still #kind of had to get it all out #my head’s all over the place 8C

[widowbitessting]

Baby It's Hot Outside - A Sugar Mommies Drabble

Word Count: 1729

Rating: General with fluffy scenes. SFW!

Summary: The One Where MJ cares for you.

Dom!Natasha Romanoff, Dom!Wanda Maximoff, Dom!Carol Danvers x Sub!Reader

You can’t open the door to your own apartment. It’s your first sign that the headache you’ve had for the past hour might be transforming into a migraine. And it sucks. Pain resonates behind your eyeballs and you have to squint to see where the stupid moving lock is so you can get inside. 

Has it always been so low down? Surely not.

The key finally does its job and you’re allowed inside your own apartment, near collapsing on the floor as you go. 

Definitely too hot today. Seriously too hot. 

It’s your own fault really; your classmate in all her wisdom kept offering you caffeine and you, in all of your wisdom, kept accepting. 

So now you're coming down from the copious amount of caffeine, mix that with the grand total of 0 litres of water you’ve had as well as the sheer heat of the day, and it’s no wonder you feel like your head is going to explode. 

Mistakes have definitely been made. 

You somehow manage to get to your sofa, falling onto the not so soft cushions face first. The sudden dark does a lot to sooth your eyes and you don’t know how long you stay like that, only shifting slightly to breathe, until MJ nb udges your leg with her foot.

“Two people live here, y’know. Move over.”

You don’t even try to form a coherent reply, moving your heavy body like she asks, wrapping yourself up into a ball. The shiver that wrecks through your body trembles the entire sofa and MJ doesn’t seem to notice. She clicks on Netflix and settles with her hot chocolate, completely unaware of your dying state beside her. 

She glances your way when your phone rings, looking at the picture of Wanda as it flashes up on your cell. You don’t even move, eyes squinting shut against the dim light of the living room. For you, they feel like spotlights. 

You shift uncomfortably on the sofa. 

Your phone pings a minute later; a text from Wanda, asking you to call her ASAP, she’s having an icecream emergency - aka: she wants ice cream but Natasha and Carol won’t allow her. 

You know she’s messaged in your group chat because your phone begins to after every few seconds.

Why didn’t you mute your phone? Why?

It doesn’t take long for MJ to let out a frustrated sigh and kick her feet so they’re under her. Her toes tickle your right foot, making you jerk and when you still don’t make a move to check your phone, MJ does it again.

“Dude, answer them or I’m throwing your cell out of the window.”

It takes all of your energy to move, and even then, you misjudge the end of the sofa and almost faceplant the floor. 

With trembling arms, you struggle to hold your upper body weight and here is where MJ finally takes pity on you.

“This is painful, move.”

She snatches your phone for you and goes to pass it when she finally registers your appearance. 

“Woah…you’re not about to die on me are you? I’d have three pissed off women on my case if you do.” 

You shudder. MJ throws your phone aside and lifts you up by your armpits, settling you back on your original position on the sofa. 

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You can only shake your head. 

“I know this isn’t the time to notice this but that medicated deodorant you’re using really works, you’re bone dry!” MJ lets out a nervous chuckle. “Laugh, Y/N/N. You always laugh at my crappy jokes…even if they are pitiful…get it?” 

You don’t even smile as a response and MJ jumps to her feet.

“Oh my god, you are dying!” 

“...not…dying…sick…”

“You are sick, you feel sick or you’re going to be sick?” 

“...all of the above.” 

MJ falls over herself as she sprints into the kitchen. She returns with the anointed “puke bucket” which is a mixing bowl you had ended up using one time after too many shots. No sooner does she place it near your face, do you start to heave, body jerking gags where you think your stomach is going to come up out of your throat. 

She touches your forehead. 

“You’re burning up. Have you eaten something bad? Drank too much?” 

“...not…” You spit out a wad of saliva. “...enough.”

“You haven’t eaten enough?” Something in MJ’s brain clicks. “Please tell me you’ve been drinking water today, Y/N. Please.” 

You shake your head.

“I’d hit you if you weren’t so fragile. You’ve not drunk anything? Dude! It’s one of the hottest days of the year!” 

“I had…coffee and stuff…” 

You grimace and turn away from the bowl.

“You are actually going to die. They’re going to murder you, you know that? And then turn on me because I’m an unknowing accomplice. You’ve only had coffee all day? Y/N!” 

“Don’t tell them.”

“How can I not? They’re bound to ask where you are! And what if they make a surprise trip to see you? You’re not exactly in a fit shape to fuck right now, are you, Y/N/.”

“MJ -” 

“Fine. If they don’t ask I won’t tell them. Deal?” 

“Okay, deal.”

“Right, you - don’t move. Don’t die. I’ll get you some water and a fan. Or something.”

MJ gets your water first, filling it with ice before rethinking and dumping it down the sink; before stopping again and getting slightly less ice for your glass. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Now with a full drink, and a straw because why not, MJ places it in front of you with the strict instruction to “Sip it, don’t inhale it.” 

She takes your phone when your head is in the sick bowl and vanishes into her bedroom; unlocking it with your passcode and finding the group chat with your girlfriends. 

“Who’s the least terrifying? Natasha, no chance. Carol, maybe…Wanda…you’ll have to do.”

She picks up on the third ring. 

“Hi baby!”

“Hey to you too.” 

“…MJ?”

“Hi, the one and only.”

“Where’s Y/N? Not that I don’t appreciate talking to you but I’d much prefer to talk to my girlfriend.”

“She’s not…well. I told her I wouldn’t tell you but I’m genuinely worried about her.”

“What’s going on?” Natasha’s voice cuts through your phone speaker and MJ wants nothing more than to throw your phone away and hide under the nearest bed. 

“Michelle Jones, talk.” 

“I hate it when you do that.” MJ grumbles. “Y/N’s sick.”

“Sick, how?”

“God, she’s gonna kill me…erm,” MJ pinches the bridge of her nose. “She didn’t drink any water and I’m 90% sure she spent most of her day outside and it’s been super hot and she’s not well and I’m worried about her…I don’t know what to do.” 

Natasha is silent for a moment. 

“Stay with her. We’ll be there as soon as possible, understood? Let her sip, not inhale, at cool water. Not ice cold, it'll shock her system. Is she hot to the touch?” 

“She’s hot, yeah. And not in her usual way either.” 

“Get a damp cloth, that’ll help cool her off.” Natasha orders. “And MJ? Thank you for telling us.”

“Any…anytime I guess. Not that I want Y/N to get heat stroke or whatever it is again, ‘cos it’s scary and stuff but if she ever misbehaves again, you bet your ass I’ll be right on this phone to rat her out. I’ll even spank her for you if you can't get her fast enough.”

“MJ, breathe girl. Get some oxygen into those lungs. We’ll discuss this at a later date when you aren’t so frazzled. We’ll be there soon, okay? 30 minutes, max.” 

“Okay, yeah, okay. Bye.”

“Damp cloth and cool water, MJ.”

“On it.”

MJ’s hands tremble when she returns to you with the items; a regular glass of water in one hand and a semi filled bowl with a wet cloth in the other. She takes the iced water from you and replaces it; ordering you to sip it slowly while she pats your head with the washcloth. 

You do little to fight her.

“I’m not well, MJ.” 

“I know, Y/N/N, I know. But you’re gonna get better soon, yeah? Just try to relax as much as you can. Google says you should start to feel better in 30 minutes or so.”

She places the washcloth on the back of your neck.

It takes you 23 minutes to feel slightly more human.

It takes 24 minutes for the Trio! to get to your apartment. 

You can only stare as they walk inside, eyes locking onto your slouched form on the sofa with a straw between your lips.

You know you’re in for it when you’re better and you nervously swallow, offering them a sheepish smile.

“...hi…”

Wanda stares at your fragile state, a mixture of emotions clouding her eyes, from guilt to a slight twinge of insecurity. She wants to wrap you up and promise to be a better dom; for herself but most importantly for you.

Carol makes a beeline straight for you and starts fussing over you. She caresses your cheek and feels your forehead, frowning slightly, before reaching over for the washcloth. As she dabs at your face, wiping away the tears that tumble from your eyes, Natasha, with Wanda beside her, moves closer and places a gentle kiss on your damp temple. 

“Hey there, little kotenok, how are we feeling, hmm?” 

They’re there. Your trio. There to finally care for you and you instantly feel safe. Comforted by their presence and you reach out, grabbing the nearest body to drag them down on top of you. Wanda’s scent fills your nose and you nestle into her neck. 

“Am I in trouble?” you whisper and you can feel her grinning. 

“Oh yes,” she replies, “but not right now. Tomorrow maybe. But for now, rest sweet girl. We’re here.” 

You can only nod as Carol gently moves Wanda so she can scoop you up into her arms. 

As you’re carried away to your bedroom, you can see Natasha speaking quietly to MJ; and make the mental note to ask her what was said. But for now, you allow yourself to be carried away. Not even five minutes later, nestled against Wanda, you doze off with a smile.  

#natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #carol danvers #reader insert #sugar mommies #spiderbites #sugar mommies!asks #natasha x wanda x carol x reader #smu #sugar mommies drabbles #sugar mommies drabble

[themultifandomgal]

Jay Halstead- All My Fault

Trigger warnings- hospital, passing out, blood clot on the brain, near death

4 hours, just 4 hours left of my 12 hour shift left. I can do this.

For the last few days I’ve felt like I’m catching the flu but when I woke up this morning I felt so much worse and it’s only getting worse as the day goes by. If this was the start of my shift I would have gone home, but I’m so close to being done and then I have 4 days off to recover. So I’m going to power through the last hours.

“Feeling any better?” I hear my husbands voice. I look up at squint at the brightness off the lights, but I notice Jay looking down at me

“No”

“Why don’t you head home? We’re just doing paperwork” I glare at my partner, Adam

“Don’t jinx it” I groan making Jay chuckle

“In all serious babe I’ll take you home”

“No I’ll be fine” I give Jay a weak smile then return back to my paper work

“At least take some painkillers”

“Fine” I slowly stand up, but Jay places his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down in my seat

“I’ll get them. You stay put” I give Jay a thankful smile. I look at my computer, but have to blink a few times as my vision blurs, probably due to this migraine that I’m having.

“How long has this migraine been bothering you?” Erin asks concerned

“Have had it a couple days now, just today it seems to be worse”

“Here” Jay comes back with some painkillers, a water bottle and a cereal bar “try and drink all of that and eat this. Might help. If your still not well tomorrow I’ll call Will to come over” I roll my eyes at Jay, but instantly regret it as the pain behind my eyes feels like I’m being stabbed. I take the pills and drink half the bottle then open up the cereal bar.

Finally my shift ends, Jay has another couple of hours, so Adam drops me off home

“You sure your going to be alright?”

“Yeah. I’m just going to have a bath try and eat some toast then head off to bed”

“Ok, but if you get worse please ring me and I’ll come over until Jay gets home”

“Thanks. See you” I wave goodbye and close the passenger side door, get my keys out of my bag and unlock my door. I give Adam one last wave and close the door behind me. Sighing I drop my bag on the floor, take my shoes off and head upstairs into the bathroom. Turning the tap on the blurry vision returns and I stumble backwards feeling dizzy. The last thing I remember is the way my head feels like it’s going to explode.

Jays POV

I return home expecting to see YN in bed asleep, or at least trying to. Heading upstairs I notice the bathroom light on and can hear the water running in the bathroom

“I’m home” I call out but don’t get a response. That’s when I notice the floor is wet. Panicking I open up the door and see my wife on the floor unconscious “YN? YN baby can you hear me?” Not getting a response I immediately take my phone out of my pocket and dial 911

“911 what’s your emergency”

“I need an ambulance at ‘address’ my wife is unconscious”

“How long has she been unconscious for sir?”

“I- I don’t know. I just got home. She’s been home for 3 hours on her own”

“Ok can you check her breathing for me?” I lean down and see if she’s breathing, thankfully yes

“Yes” I breath out

“Ok I have sent an ambulance to you, they should be with you in 5 minutes, keep checking her pulse and breathing until paramedics arrive”

5 minutes go by and they feel like the longest 5 minutes ever. Brett and Dawson arrive, I feel slightly relieved that the paramedics on shift right now are these two as I trust them the most with my wife

“Jay we’ve got her” Gabby says after I lift her onto the stretcher

“Can I ride with you?”

“Sure”

“What the hell happened?” Boden, YNs dad shouts walking over to me sat in the waiting room

“I don’t know. I just came home and.. fuck she looked…” I rub my hand over my tear stained face

“Does will know?”

“Yeah. He’s gone to see if he can find out what’s going on. Fuck I should have brought her here earlier, she wasn’t feeling good when she was at work”

“Jay, Wallace” I look up and see Will walking over to us nervously “I’ve spoken Abrams, she’s in surgery right now”

“What? Why? What’s wrong with my daughter?”

“YN had a blood clot on the brain. Has she hit her head recently?” both will and Wallace look at me. I think back to the other day, before her headache started

“Fuck this is all my fault. She hit her head on a job, she told me she was fine and I looked at her head, there was no bump so I didn’t….. fuck I should have forced her to….” I choke on my own words. This is all my fault.

#jay halstead x y/n #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x oc #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead #jay halstead x yn #one chicago #one chicago imagine #chicago med imagine #chicago pd imagine #chicago med #chicago pd

[caeunot]

johnnie x reader

new years angst (18+)

PSA: the johnnie i'm going to write about is the fictional version we all have in our minds, we truly don't know how he actually is and it's good to make a balance to avoid any uneasy or parasocial feelings when writing about a real person.

it had been a very long night for everyone, new years party's obviously only actually get started at 12 so the night only truly ends early hours of the morning. johnnie was fast asleep on his bed, the sheets unmade as he lay on top in the full clothes from night before. as he lifted his head he felt all the drinking all the smoking all the talking from the night before rush straight to his head, like a heavy boulder he has to now carry for the next 12 hours. this isn't anything new to him but that doesn't make it any more fun to deal with.

he gets up and looks at himself in his mirror, scrunching his face as he notices how he still had his makeup on, though completely different from the way it had spread all across his face messily from lying on it. he turns on the tap and splashes himself with the cold water, waking him up but also somehow making his migraine worse.

as he starts getting changed into something comfortable he starts remembering the events from the night before, as if in pieces he has to puzzle together.

one thing that remains the most prominent in his memory is the countdown for midnight, he was excited. he had a plan. he wore his best outfit and put contour and primer on his face to make that days makeup extra fancy(he never really does that). he had been anticipating this moment the whole night, his eyes darted around looking for something specific. he squeezed past a few people pushing one slightly too hard making him have to awkwardly apologize which he hated doing. but at that moment it didn't phase him and neither did the flashing lights and the aggressive music playing a bit too loudly in the background. his mind was focused on one thing only. you

his plan was that at the moment it hit 12 he would kiss you, in his mind he decided this would be the best option since if you weren't into it he could pull it off saying it was a friend thing. he was absolutely too nervous to actually just ask you out since he personally feels you are quite out of his league. he hoped this would spark something between the two of you. so that he no longer has to look away when you laugh at his jokes because of the prominent blush that would always come up on his pale skin, or the way he had to hide his enthusiasm when you were around. he was absolutely infatuated with you.

who did you think zombie was about?

but as he finally caught his eye on you with seconds to spare he started jogging towards you but as he was about to approach you, you turn to jake cupping his face and leaning in for a deep kiss. he saw the way you smiled as jake held onto your waist. the way your kiss lasted longer than the others around the room. suddenly he jolted out of his mind as he hears a knock on his bathroom door.

fuck. he thinks to himself as he puts his hand sloppily through his hair in attempt to neaten it. "yes?" he says, still sounding half asleep.

"can I talk to you" you say, wait. you say? johnnie is confused. you don't live here, he just shares this place with jake..

fuck

he bites his lip before answering, "yeah uh just- just gimmie a min I just got up". " oh ok no problem! I'll be in the living room, take your time alright?" you say, he waits for your foot steps to sound lighter before he leans against the door and slides down to the floor, hands in his hair he curses. curses how he could so easily give someone his heart and so easily let them tear it apart, even without them knowing they did. love was fucked and he was tired and his migraine was getting worse and he just wanted everything to disappear, but as much as he would love to lock himself in the bathroom forever he was also curious what you had to say to him.

around 10 minutes later he emerges from the bathroom still rubbing his towel around his wet hair from his shower, he walks into the living room to see you scrolling on your phone and his heart immediately starts aching. before you noticed he was there he took full advantage of being able to admire you, you had no makeup on which johnnie had never seen before, but god you might look even better without it.

he admired the way your hair was slightly messed up and the way you were still in the clothes from the night before, that tight black dress that has a low v neck showing off your breasts which he realized he was obsessed with, even in a normal setting you made it work.

"so what's up?" he asks sitting down next to you on the couch. "wait first before anything can i ask you a massive favour..", "hit me" he says with a half smile, "well as u can see im still sorta in my dress from last night uh.. i maybe slept over here last night and my place is pretty far and i have a splitting headache, would it be cool if i stay at your guys place tonight too?"

"oh sure no problem we don't mind! but what about your clothes? im guessing u didn't pack any extra in that handbag of yours." you shuffle in your seat feeling a lil embarrassed, "that's my second favour.. could i borrow some of yours? well uhm not yours specifically but your the only one awake at the moment and i dont wana wake poor jake"

johnnie got a bit red imagining you in his clothes, but nonetheless lent you one of his hoodies and sweats which fit you perfectly. as you were getting changed he couldn't help when his mind slipped to the fact you never wore a bra with that dress, meaning you would be wearing one of his hoodies completely bra-less which turned him on much more than he would have hoped for, especially since the two of you agreed to go get something to eat after you get changed.

the car ride was very silent and it was freaking johnnie out a little, once you two have ordered your food and are started waiting you decide to break the silence, "if im being real, i got wayy too blasted last night like i honestly don't even remember talking to you.. at one point i wasn't even sure if you were there, but saying that i barely remember anyone i spoke to haha". johnnie lets out a small laugh, "dont worry abt not seeing me, im not a party guy i always end up lurking in the shadows like a vampire instead of making conversation." you turn your head to the window looking out at the sun as it melts like honey into the blue sky as it sets.

the two of you ended up eating in the car because you guys were so hungry. as you guys made it back inside the house you see jake facetiming someone on his phone, you sneak up behind him and shove him a little while going "BAH", which made him jump like a cartoon character. "fuck you y/n im on a call" "not my fault your a scaredy cat", "dude that's just wrong im braver than u and johnnie combined okay" you guys laugh and jake takes his call to his room, leaving you and johnnie alone again.

"i like how he didn't ask why im still here" you ask slumping onto the nearest couch. "i think you scared him too much that he stopped thinking for a sec" he said plonking himself next to you.

"you down to watch a movie?" you ask, "sure sounds good! i mean what else is there to do anyways". "perfect ill choose kay!! since im the guest i get privileges heh", "whatever makes u happy miss y/n" he says giving a genuine smile which made your heart race slightly.

the movie dragged on for johnnie, not that it was a bad movie but for the fact that he couldn't stop thinking about how close you guys sat next to each other, plus the way you were still wearing his clothes and how absolutely gorgeous you looked in them. all of a sudden you turned towards johnnie as he was staring at you by accident, the two of you sat there in silence for a little before you broke it

"uh johnnie can i be honest with you", "sure y/n, what's up". "well let me get straight to the point, by the time it hit new years.. did you see who i kissed?" johnnie tilted his head in confusion, "you kissed jake.. don't you remember?". "honestly i don't remember anything past 11pm.. when i said i was blasted i really meant blasted. well the reason im asking is because there was someone specific i wanted to kiss"

"oh really? and who was that". "it uhm was you"

johnnie felt his face start heating up and without thinking he immediately pulled your face in for a deep kiss, "johnnie.." you whisper as the kiss ended, his hands still on your face and the two of you close enough to where you could see all the pores on face and feel his cool breath against your lips.

he doesn't respond, even the kiss took him off guard and he initiated it! he realized that you reciprocated his kiss and that gave him enough motivation to lean in for another, this one was more sloppy and more intense. you two wanted each other badly and it was visible, as some tongue was slipped you climbed on top of johnnie and felt his bulge already from his thin pants. that turned you on even more and you accidentally let out a small moan.

you started to feel johnnies hands gently hold your waist from under the hoodie, you started to get a tingly feeling as he gently graced his hands higher and higher till he reached your boobs, he let out a small whimper as he gripped and played your breasts. you take your hands from his neck and instead use them to take off the hoodie itself giving him a full view of your boobs now making him gasp mid kiss.

you start grinding on him gently while taking his shirt off, once its off you slowly get off of him and pull down his pants, "are you sure?" he said shakily as he sat more forward on the couch preparing for what's coming, "you don't know how long I've wanted to do this, yes baby i'm sure" you say which made him go even redder and before you get on your knees you see him biting down an excited smile.

as you pull his boxers down you take your hand and gently rub it back and forth before taking your tongue and starting right at the base, giving a mix of wet kisses and licks as you slowly go higher and higher. when you finally get to the tip you hear a small whimper and you feel the top of your hair being grabbed desperately, you slowly put the tip fully inside your mouth moving it gently back and forth and going faster and faster deeper and deeper making his member twitch inside of his mouth and as you start hearing him moan deeply you realize he has already hit his climax and ends up finishing inside your mouth. when he was done you take your mouth off with a plop and immediately go back up to johnnies absolutely flustered face, you have never seen him look so submissive.

without hesitation you kiss him with his cum still inside your mouth, making a mess as it spills onto both of your chests.

johnnie sighs in delight "fuck y/n how did you do that" -when he knew exactly how :)

❣

#johnnie guilbert #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert x reader #fanfic #x reader #jake webber #johnnie guilbert smut #smut

[theold-ultraviolence]

When Aemond has bad pain from his nerve damage and needs to just rest Patch lies on him and looks up at him with a sad eye wanting so bad for him to feel alright and he won’t leave his side until he does

Say no more friend...sorry for the delay in response, but when I read this ask, I went, this deserves a short little blurb and only now I'm finding the time to sit down and write it! Also any new besties around here wondering, Patch comes from this fic.

Aemond grumbles as soon as he feels that first jab against his skull. He rubs the scarred side of his face, willing the pain away because this is such a perfect day and he doesn’t want to ruin it. 

The sun is shining, and you’ve got nowhere to be today. He’s got his little family around him – you and your two dogs, Vaghar and Patch, cuddled up on the couch watching a movie. 

But the jabbing feeling persists, quickly expanding across the left side of his face into a full on migraine. Hissing, he closes his eyes and rubs at his temples, clinging to hope that the headache will go away. 

“You okay, Aemond?” you murmur, gently touching his arm before wrapping your own around his shoulders. Finally he gives up, shaking his head and getting up from the couch.

By now you know every beat of how this goes, know that at this point his vision is turning blurry and the pain makes it hard for him to stand. 

You help get him to bed, where he quickly curls under the blankets, with pillows all bunched up so that they’ll cushion the side of his face that’s throbbing acutely. You close the blinds and rush to fetch him a glass of water and pain meds, but you nearly trip on your way back to the bedroom. 

Patch, your one-eyed puppy is scrambling between your legs in alert to what’s just happened. It occurs to you that this is the first time since you adopted him that he’s witnessed one of Aemond’s nerve pain episodes. Vaghar has been with Aemond since his accident, so she’s already attuned to the circumstance, and knows that she must remain calm and not make any noise.

But poor little Patch looks so worried – such an expressive puppy even when he, like Aemond, lacks one of his eyes. 

“Not now, baby” you coo at Patch. “Your dad needs to rest.” 

Patch makes little whining noises, following you to the bedroom. When you ignore him he starts barking, which makes Aemond groan and curl in on himself even more. 

“Shhh! Patch! Not now!” 

You hiss as you place the glass of water and pills by Aemond’s bedside, which is when Aemond carefully turns and croaks out, “What is it?” 

“He’s worried about you.”  

Aemond is quiet for a moment before whispering, “Bring him over, it’s alright.” 

“Aemond, are you sure?” 

“Sure. He won’t bother me.”  

You eye Aemond worriedly, but fulfill his wishes. Tenderly, you lift Patch in your arms and let him crawl over to Aemond on the bed. 

“You gotta behave, baby. Your dad is not feeling well.” You pet Patch’s little head as he settles underneath Aemond’s arm, gazing at him so sadly.

Wide puppy eye is fixed on Aemond, and he’s never ever been this still. Out of your two dogs, Patch is definitely an energy ball whereas Vaghar is an old lady that enjoys her quiet leisure. 

“I’m gonna leave you to rest. Call me if you need anything,” ever so carefully, you plant a kiss on Aemond’s head and give Patch a loving scratch on his head. 

When you’re gone, Aemond turns on his back, bringing Patch to rest atop his chest so he can caress his soft fur. The puppy can only stare longingly at Aemond, as if he was feeling every bit of pain as his own. Patch begins to weep and it wrecks Aemond’s heart, prompting him to bring him even closer to him so that he can be all nuzzled against his neck, hugging him tightly. 

After a long while, being so soothed in Aemond’s arms, Patch stills, and Aemond can finally fall asleep. 

When you come back in to check on them your heart melts at the sight of the two all cuddled up and nuzzling one another. You leave them be, and go back to keep Vaghar company, happy to know that there’s a new addition to your little family that helps to make Aemond feel cared for and loved.

#aemond targaryen #modern!aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen blurb #aemond targaryen drabble #aemond and patch #my writing #hotd #house of the dragon #fanfiction #ewan mitchell

[ashdreams2023]

Hiya would you be able to write a one shot Loki x reader with chronic pain (POTS and EDS specifically) for me I struggle with knee pain, cramping, and my hands have become very weak over the years xx and I struggle with fainting, dizziness and migraines (I know this is a lot) ….and if it could be fluffy and spicy that’d be amazing xx

Of course sweetheart!

Summary: loki takes care of you on a rough day (slightly heated at the end)

Silly questions

You sighed in relief, finally being able to sit after that conference, plus it was cold as hell, your joints are killing you.

Everyone had left after the conference to finish personal errands before night time, leaving you alone in the compound.

"How are you feeling?"

Oh and Loki of course.

"I’m alright" you smiled "cuddle with me?"

"Food first, you haven’t eaten yet"

You pouted but got up and followed him to the kitchen, there was already some leftovers from breakfast and you didn’t feel picky that day so you just hoped the pancakes were not soggy yet.

The two of you sat down on opposite sides of the dining table and helped yourself "I need Bruce type of patience to survive these conferences" you mumble.

"Believe me even banner can’t stand them….can do that yourself?" He gestured to your hands, they were shaking slightly while holding your knife and fork.

"Oh yes, it’s nothing major, I can manage" And as on cue your winced in pain when you lifted your hand, this wasn’t the worst you’ve experienced but that didn’t make any less painful.

"Ok that’s it, drop the utensils" he stop up and walked across the table and sat beside you.

You tried to protest but ended up hurting yourself more by the sudden movements….maybe he was right. Your arms warped around your middle as you tried to catch your breath and not pass out.

Loki put his hand on your back, he muttered a few words you couldn’t understand, it was probably yet another dead language.

But to your surprise the more his hand stayed there, warmth spread through your body, it defeated the cold you had been feeling all morning.

"Here let me" He picked up your spoon and held it to you mouth "Now eat or do I have to do it baby bird style?" You rolled your eyes through the pain but accepted his help.

Most days than not you’ll feel embarrassed if this had happened in front of people, you didn’t like people to treat you like you’re made of glass, even if it was in a way partly true.

"I’m putting heating charm on your bed and you will take the medicine the doctor has prescribed for you"

"….but I hate taking it, it’s-"

"It’s either you take them willingly or I will magic them up in your stomach, your choice" Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, you hated take medicine but you hated the after feeling of that specific spell.

"Fine…." He fed you until you couldn’t eat anymore then took the plates.

You pushed yourself up and got off the chair but unfortunately a case of dizziness attacked you immediately and before you knew there was only the sound of your body hitting the ground and Loki’s quick feet running towards you.

It was a bit blurry but you could make out Loki splashing water at your face and carrying you to the bedroom where he eventually laid you on your bed and as promised he puts a charm on your bed "will you stay with me?" You asked.

He puts his hand on your head and plants a kiss on each of your cheeks "Don’t ask silly questions" his tone sounded concerned.

Your heart fluttered and the pain was not there for a minute, he laid with you in bed, his body felt unusually warm, he always did this, made himself uncomfortable for your sake, went up and beyond his nature for you to feel alright.

"Are you ok? This isn’t hurting you?" You asked.

He sighed and warped his arms tighter around you "I told you to stop asking silly questions, I’m fine as long as you are"

You wanted to cry, you knew he was also hurting by making his body this warm but Loki was stubborn and no matter how much you begged him to stop he wouldn’t budge.

"Loki" you whined gripping onto his top.

He chuckles lightly and starts kissing your face all over, his hand rubs your sighs, tugging teasingly on the hem of your sweatpants then sliding his hand underneath and grabbing your bottom.

You can feel him hard against your body, it made your face burn.

"Look at you all warmed up, so beautifully desperate"

"Shut up" you hid your face away.

He covered your head with his arm and brought it to his chest, you could his heart, it was racing, the heat wasn’t good for his heart.

"But seeing you hurting is worse so stop thinking out loud and let me heal you"

You bit down on your lip and held onto him, there was yet a silly question in your mind but you had to remember that Loki didn’t like silly questions for the answer is always right there.

#imagine #mcu #loki laufeyson #loki #loki x reader #loki imagine #fanfic #mcu loki #loki/y/n #headcanon #loki layfeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x female reader #loki laufeyson x male reader #loki layfeyson x you #loki friggason

[hardly-an-escape]

Headache (ch. 2)

Square: C1 - Djinn Rating: T Word Count: 2229 Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling Warnings: No archive warnings apply Additional Tags: Dreamling Bingo fill, fragile, domaystic2023, bath, sick fic, migraines, unfortunately I must inflict my own suffering on fictional characters, Dream of the Endless is a good friend, it’s totally normal to draw a bath for your friend and ogle him a little while he strips in front of you, and sit chatting while he’s fully naked in the bath, right? right??, pre-slash Additional additional tags: djinn, crisis, first kiss, getting together, the pining is mutual they’re just idiots Summary: Hob has a migraine. Dream has a revelation. Read on AO3 | fill for @dreamlingbingo | fill for @domaystic day 12: crisis

“Mate, I spent the first thirty years of my life either living in a one room hut or on the road with a band of soldiers. There’s a very short list of things I haven’t done in front of someone else, and bathing isn’t on it.”

now featuring chapter two!

Dream tells a story. Hob tells the truth.

Hob is having a crisis.

Just a little one. Just a small, inconsequential crisis.

Just a niggling, little, unimportant, earth-shattering crisis. Because he’s naked. In the bathtub. In a bath Dream had prepared for him.

In a bath Dream, with whom he’s been quietly and desperately in love with for centuries, had drawn and scented and tested the temperature of with his long, elegant fingers. For Hob.

And his head hurts so badly he wants to take a melon baller to his own brain. Christ, he’s going to die. This is going to be the thing that finally does him in: an invisible jackhammer going to town behind his left eyesocket so powerfully that he can’t even properly enjoy the fact that he’s lying naked an arm’s length from Dream of the Endless.

He swallows.

“Would you mind?” he asks, and his voice sounds horribly rough and pathetic to his own ears. “Just staying and… talking? Just for a little while. I wasn’t kidding when I said your voice was helping.”

That much, at least, is true. He’s noticed it before, when they’ve met on evenings when he had occasion to be particularly tired, or tense, or stressed.

“Of course,” says Dream. “Of course I will.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

“Of what shall I speak?”

“Dealer’s choice. Tell me a story. Something I haven’t heard before.”

“The breadth of your experience is so wide as to make that a true challenge,” says Dream softly. “But I will do my best.”

Hob doesn’t know why – whether it’s some side effect of Dream’s function, or simply the timbre of a deep and gentle voice hitting some perfect frequency – but it does help. He can feel the sharpest throbbing start to subside and the muscles in his jaw and temples loosen as Dream’s voice fills the small room, never loud but always commanding, vibrations bouncing from tile to water to rug.

(Under the circumstances, Dream’s voice also has the side effect of raising Hob’s heart rate somewhat, which he supposes might cancel out some of the calming benefits. But it’s worth it.)

Dream tells the story of Fiddler’s Green, the afterlife of perpetual mirth, music, and dancing; of the sailers who’d dreamt him into being and how he’d found a place both in the Dreaming and in the Waking World. He describes the peace of a weary traveler’s rest. The homecoming to a meadow of surpassing beauty, the perfect breeze, the mix of sun and shade playing across the grass. The scent of flowers: of sweetgrass and honeysuckle – and lavender.

His tale trails to an end and Hob cracks one eye, risks a glance at Dream. The low light and the moisture in the air give the impression that they are wreathed in steam. His straight back and hooded gaze put Hob in mind of some fey creature, a changeling or a djinn.

It’s an idle thought, and he doesn’t realize he’s spoken it aloud until one side of Dream’s mouth lifts in a little smirk.

“Even knowing me as you do now, you try to fit me into your human pantheon of the supernatural?”

Hob snorts gently.

“You have to admit, the similarities are there. They say the djinn could do everything a human can. Eat, drink, sleep –” love, he does not say “– but also change their shape and turn invisible. If the shoe fits…” he shrugs.

“It is possible that my function has inspired certain human myths over the centuries,” Dream allows. “How is your headache?”

Hob pushes his hair back from his forehead, sending scented water rippling across the surface of the tub, and rubs at his temples.

“Still pretty bad. But the pills are starting to kick in.”

“Would another tale be helpful?”

“If you’re offering.”

“I am.”

“In that case, tell on, Scheherezade.”

Dream smirks again.

“I will refrain from commenting on the fact that you have cast me in the role of your concubine,” he says.

Hob immediately feels his face heat.

“I didn’t – I just meant in the sense that you’re the storyteller. Fuck. Told you my brain isn’t working,” he mumbles.

“Peace, my friend,” says Dream, still smiling slightly. “I am not offended.”

He launches into another story, something about faeries and Queen Titania. Hob sinks lower into the bath, cheeks still warm with embarrassment. He is only half-listening to Dream’s story as his mind swirls around the room like the oil in his bath, chasing unformed thoughts and images on the tails of Dream’s voice.

Part of him is back in the Victorian Turkish baths of the 1800s, swathed in snow-white towels, reclining next to Dream and chatting idly in the cooling-room. Part of him is in the gallery of an Elizabethan theatre, watching A Midsummer Night’s Dream for the first time, throat tight despite the laughter of the crowd around him. And part of him again is lying back on thick Persian carpets in the hushed interior of a desert tent, while a bejeweled princeling Dream weaves tales out of sand and smoke, illustrating them in the air with an elegant twist of a slender arm…

It is a good thing, he slowly realizes, that the water is cool and that most of his blood is currently engaged in coloring his face and neck. It is even a good thing, he thinks, that his head, although improving, is still pounding relentlessly against the inside of his skull. He is, suddenly, almost grateful for the pain and the embarrassment, for the simple reason that he’s already about a quarter of the way toward getting one of the more humiliating erections of his life, and he suspects the headache and the shame are the only things standing in the way of his prick becoming far too involved in what’s currently happening in his bathroom.

Hob clenches his fists under the water and wrenches his mind back to Dream’s narration. He won’t get a hard-on because his best and oldest friend has drawn him a bath and is telling him a tale. He won’t. He simply will not.

He does, of course.

Dream’s second story winds to a conclusion and they sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Well, Dream seems comfortable, at least; Hob’s stomach has tied itself into knots and his prick simply refuses to calm down and he’s pretty sure he’s started sweating despite the cool water.

“Well, mate,” he says, trying for a casual tone that actually comes out sounding a little strangled. “Thanks again for the bath. And the stories. I, uh. I’m going to get out now. I guess. If you wouldn’t mind…?”

“You wish for privacy now?” Dream asks.

“Well. I need to…” he gestures inelegantly at the toilet where Dream is still perched. “So. Yeah.”

“Ah. I understand.” He rises smoothly. Every movement he makes is smooth, thinks Hob, watching and wanting helplessly as Dream brushes his hands perfunctorily down his long legs and turns toward the door. “Shall I make a cup of tea?”

“That would be marvelous, thank you,” Hob croaks.

Dream leaves the bathroom. The door shuts behind him.

Hob sighs gustily and buries his face in his hands. He can’t have a wank. He cannot. There simply isn’t enough time, while Dream is making a cup of tea, standing in the kitchen down the hall as if he belongs there; and besides, Hob isn’t quite that kind of asshole, not yet, not even after 600-odd years.

He sighs again. Pulls the plug, stands up in the bathtub and wastes a good minute watching the water swirl down the drain. He turns on the shower, shoves the faucet over to cold, full blast, and tells himself he’s rinsing the lavender oil off his skin as he stands in the spray for another minute or so. His head pounds and he screams internally and wills his erection down.

It works, more or less, between the frigid water and the fact that Dream is now out of his immediate line of sight. He dries himself, pulls his underwear and jeans back on, clinging to still-damp skin; belatedly remembers to flush the toilet in order to maintain the veneer of the necessity of privacy.

He washes his hands and stares himself down in the mirror.

“You’re going back out there,” he murmurs, “and you’re going to be totally normal. Completely, utterly, totally normal. Got that?”

His reflection, unfortunately, does not respond. It does manage to look far less normal than Hob might have hoped. It’ll have to do.

He puts on his shirt and buttons it as he pads down the hallway to the kitchen, where the water is just starting to boil. Dream is standing at the counter, watching the electric kettle closely as it starts to puff and steam, and Hob has to lay a hand on his shoulder in order to reach around him and fetch two mugs off the cup hooks. Dream is cool to the touch, even through his shirt, and Hob makes a concerted effort not to think about the surprisingly solid muscle under that brief contact.

Hob’s kitchen table is small, and tucked into a corner, so they sit at right angles with each other, close enough that their knees could knock together under the table if Hob were only brave enough to do so. Instead he crosses his legs, hunching in on himself, wrapping his hands around his mug. It’s just slightly too hot, but welcome after the cool bath and the cooler shower.

“Hob, I must.” Dream – clears his throat? For a moment, Hob thinks he’s hearing things; Dream sounds almost uncertain. Like he’s groping for the lightswitch in a dark room. “I must tell you the truth. My presence here today. My… care for you. Was not entirely altruistic.”

Hob, for lack of anything better to do, blows across the surface of his tea. Takes a careful sip.

“Okay?” he says.

He straightens up and hopes very much that his voice is kind, and gentle, and inviting, and that none of the adrenalin suddenly flooding his veins is leaking into his vocal cords.

“Of late I have found myself… drawn to you. To your company, to your voice, to your –” he swears he can hear Dream swallow “– your body. In a manner that is, shall I say… not. Quite. Platonic.”

Dream is staring into his mug of tea. He has barely ever spoken a word that didn’t sound like it was carved from stone, but this – this sounds like it’s being dragged out of the deepest part of his throat, thrown into the light like deep sea creatures caught in a trawler’s net. Unused to the surface and slightly shocking in their presence.

Hob’s brain throbs again behind his left eyesocket, reminding him forcibly of its existence. Several seconds go by before he trusts himself enough to speak.

“So… you’re saying… what? You’re attracted to me? You want to be… more than just friends?”

“I value your friendship more than anyone I have ever known. I would not lose it again for the world,” Dream says into his mug, and Hob thinks he detects the tiniest hint of panic in his voice. “But… yes. I would. Change it. Add to it. If such a change would be acceptable to you.”

He looks up, finally; casts those unfairly blue eyes at Hob through the dark curtain of his lashes, and any uncertainty Hob might have felt dissolves, gone, as simply and easily as his heart had gone, centuries ago.

“Acceptable.” He snorts gently. Sets his mug carefully down. “Acceptable?” Hauls his chair around the corner of the table and Dream makes a surprised noise and his hands fly to Hob’s shoulders as their knees tangle together and the table digs into Hob’s side as he pulls Dream into his arms and his head hurts and it’s – perfect. It’s perfect.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers into Dream’s neck. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Acceptable. I haven’t felt platonic about you since the Norman Conquest, you numpty, you think I’m going to –”

He is interrupted by Dream’s fingers winding themselves gently into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, still damp from the bath.

“You were not yet born when William the Conqueror set foot on English soil.”

“Fuck off, you know what I mean.”

He kisses his way up Dream’s neck, from the join of his shoulder to the corner of his jaw, and then along that stiff, proud jawbone to claim his plush and pliant mouth, finally, a private conquest centuries in the making.

“I have been in love with you for literal, actual, centuries,” he says in between kisses. “And as soon as my fucking head stops hurting I’m going to prove it to you. In every way I possibly can.”

Dream rears back, face stricken.

“Your headache. Hob, I apologize. I –”

“Shut up,” he says into the heated space between them. “I’m taking another paracetamol, and then I’m going to bed, and you’re coming with me. And I’m going to cuddle the fuck out of you. And we’re going to talk. Whether you like it or not.”

“I would like it,” Dream says, and he sounds as dazed as Hob feels.

“Good.”

Another kiss.

A thousand daydreams collapse into dust when paired against the reality of Dream in his arms and against his lips.

“Good.”

[Read on AO3]

green = complete, orange = WIP

#dreamling #dreamling bingo #dreamlingweek2023 #domaystic2023 #my writing #it's too fucking late at night and this is unedited but it's DONE and I'm going to BED

[colesabi]

Luck Will Only Get You So Far

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Summary: When things seem good to be true, they usually are.

Warnings: Angst, Whump, Blood and Violence, Alcoholism, PTSD, First Kiss

Word Count: 3.1k

Leon spends an inordinate amount of time staring at the knife. 

Was this a test? Did they want him to kill himself? What was the goal here?

He flexes his wrists, the grip of the metal restraints grating against his skin and the sear of pain that shoots down his arm from the wound that continues to shed blood makes his teeth grit. He counts backwards from ten until the pain subsides and numbness is all that’s left. 

It’s then that Leon decides to get up and pace, as a means to pass the time, and maybe, avoid thinking about the very bad idea that was forming in his brain. With each lap he takes around the small room, his eyes lock on the blade on the table. 

By the time the guards return to escort him back to his cell hours later, the knife is gone. 

The walk back is short and Leon has started to realize that this complex is not entirely expansive. There’s a high likelihood he’s the only prisoner here. 

He looks at the backs of the two guards in front of him, then a quick glance behind, three guards keeping pace at the rear.  

A lot of guards for one person, he thinks. 

Leon can’t exactly blame them though. They knew what he was capable of. He had survived far worse odds and the chill of cold metal against his hip has him hoping his luck hasn’t run out yet. 

When they reach his cell, Leon steps in, absently greeting the sterile environment before turning around and lifting his wrists in offering.

A guard steps forward, roughly grabbing at his arm as he pulls a key from his pocket. It jangles in the lock of the restraints and Leon braces.

The moment the metal leaves his skin, he moves quick, grabbing the man by the shoulder. A well placed kick to his knee causes him to crumple forward and Leon swiftly maneuvers his body to twist the guard around. In a matter of seconds, Leon has an arm gripped around his sternum, the pocket knife now pressed threateningly to his jugular. 

A commotion erupts in the hallway as additional guards flood the area. He can see they’re yelling but it doesn’t register with the pumping of adrenaline in his ears. Three of them raise their guns and Leon grips the human shield tighter as he takes a step back. 

He probably should have planned this better as he’s now cornered in the cell but he drags the guard back, keeping any clear head shot blocked behind the mass of the man’s body. 

There’s a moment where the other guards seem distracted, when they drop their attention and Leon realizes they’re in communication with someone. When they start to lower their weapons, he tenses, digging the blade into flesh. 

His gaze drifts to the guard on the right, the one with the broken nose he so graciously gifted on his first day and the smile that greets him is haunting.

Something is wrong. 

It doesn’t take long before he realizes why when a splitting pain claws at the back of his eyes and causes white spots to burst in his vision. It burns down his spinal column and he drops, the blade ricocheting off the floor. 

Leon hits the concrete hard and he screams out. His hands grip at his skull, ears ringing as the sensations become overwhelming. 

When it finally stops, it’s because a kick is made to his head and he collapses like lead against the ground. 

—-

He doesn’t know how he got here. 

It’s dark and the air is musty, filled with the smell of stale cigarette smoke and cloying booze. His head pounds. His vision is even worse, bleary and blood-shot, clinging to a tiredness that will never let him rest. 

“Leon?” a voice calls out, low and gruff. 

He lifts his head, immediately regretting it when the whiplash of a migraine hits and nausea overtakes him. Leon doubles over to the side and empties the contents of his stomach on the floor, dry heaving as he watches a boot shake off the new addition. 

A strained noise comes out of him and he tries to straighten, hazy vision catching the displeased stare of the bartender dragging a damp rag over the bar top a few feet away. 

“I think you’ve had enough,” the voice echoes again and he sees a large, rough hand move toward him. Leon bats it away, gaining a renewed energy now that his stomach was no longer sloshing and he straightens fully, albeit a bit sluggishly. 

He grabs the neck of the whiskey bottle and brings it to his lips but it’s intercepted, the same hand now placed over his wrist to keep him from imbibing. 

Like a petulant child, he yanks away from the touch and downs a gulp of the amber liquid. It burns as it travels down his thrashed esophagus. 

“I think you need to leave.” The bartender scolds as she walks over and Leon can’t help but make a face. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” comes the other man’s reply before he fishes out his wallet and hands over a few bills to the woman, “we’ll be out of your hair soon.” 

Leon takes another swig of whiskey before the bottle is pulled from his grasp, a whine soon following. “H-hey, I paid for that.”

“Too bad.” 

Leon watches as the bottle is promptly dropped in a nearby trash can and the towering presence of the man returns. He’s pulled off of the barstool, his right arm draped over a muscular shoulder as he leans his weight onto his side. 

It’s only then that he actually looks at the mystery man’s face. 

“Redfield?” He slurs, his dead weight staggering against the larger body. “What are you doing here?”

Chris tenses his arm around Leon, keeping him upright but his body language indicated that he was clearly annoyed. “You asked to meet, didn’t think you’d be drunk when I found you.”

Leon lolls his head to the side, trying desperately to at least remember the past 5 minutes but the pounding at his temples stops him short. 

“You still live up the block?” Chris asks as he maneuvers him through the doorway. 

Leon only nods but he’s so out of it, he’s not even sure it even registered physically so he tries to respond verbally but the only thing that comes out is a stilted sound. 

Chris sighs heavily and adjusts Leon’s weight again, rounding the corner and guiding them both down the row of brownstones that leads to Leon’s apartment. 

The air is cold outside but Leon barely notices due to the effects of the whiskey’s warm influence but he feels Chris shiver beneath his arm and then clocks that he’s not wearing a jacket. 

Leon thinks that’s odd but the haze starts to dampen his senses and he slumps his weight more onto Chris, who responds with a grunt in protest. 

He makes it to the elevator of his building before he starts to drift and the ensuing trip to his front door barely registers. Leon only comes to when he’s startled by Chris loudly yelling in his face. 

“Jesus, Redfield, what?” he grimaces. 

Chris withdraws the palm he had at the ready to slap him awake when he responds, straightening back and sighing. Leon blearily looks around him and sees he’s in his living room and, thank god the lights are off because he couldn’t imagine his headache could get any worse. 

“I have half a mind to leave you on the couch so you can suffer but I think you’d prefer to sleep in your bed,” he says, irritation clear in his tone. “I’m not going to carry you so, get up.”

Leon grumbles something under his breath, struggling as he shifts to stand up. Chris shoots a hand out when he nearly trips over the couch but he pushes it away, stumbling down the hallway and into the bedroom. 

He can hear Chris’ footsteps shuffling behind him but he tries to ignore it, collapsing onto the mess of unmade sheets. 

When he feels himself losing consciousness, he really hopes Chris has left. He doesn’t want to see him in the morning. 

—-

When the sun rises on the next day, his head is pounding so hard, it might as well explode. Leon thinks it should, just so he can get it over with. 

Light streams through the window, casting a  singular beam across the sheets and into the corner of the room where a figure sits in the shadows. Leon immediately regrets how fast he moves for the gun hidden in his bedside table. 

“Leon, wait-,” comes the desperate plea and he knows that voice, eventually lowering his weapon when the shadowed presence steps into the light. Chris comes out all fuzzy in Leon’s vision. The act alone of trying to squint his eyes to see his face clearly throws his body into disarray and he’s running for the bathroom. 

He barely makes it, collapsing against the cool porcelain of the toilet as he heaves bitter liquid into the bowl. The muscles in his abdomen tense against the strain and he’s left retching after 30 minutes, nothing but bile and phlegm escaping. 

When he lifts his head, Chris is leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed and a concerned expression on his face. 

“Don’t start,” he warns, standing shakily as he wipes the back of his hand across his drooling mouth. Chris doesn’t protest. 

Leon stumbles to the sink to run cold water over his hands, cupping the clear liquid to splash across his face. He reaches for the bottle of mouthwash and downs a swig, letting the harsh mint assault his tastebuds and burn the vile tang of acid from his mouth. 

When he leaves the bathroom, he shoulder checks Chris on the way out. He gets about 3 feet down the hallway when a hand clasps  around his arm and holds him still. Leon jerks to break the connection. 

“Why are you still here?” Leon spits out. 

“You were drunk out of your mind, didn’t want you to aspirate in your sleep or something.”

Leon is too hungover to appreciate the gesture, giving Chris a look of disgust before staggering towards the kitchen. He pulls open the top cabinet a little too aggressively, in search for his preferred type of liquid, and the sound that rips from the hinges is unpleasant.

When he gets over the momentary assault to his senses, he opens his eyes and lifts them to find the cabinet empty. It doesn’t take long before he’s whirling around to confront the one who he damn near suspects is the culprit. 

“What the hell Redfield?!”

“It’s for your own good, Leon.” He snaps back, “and you can forget about looking for all your other hiding places, I got rid of them too.”

Leon glares daggers, then turns abruptly to head for the front door, opening it about 2 inches before it’s slammed shut by an arm that extends from behind him. He wishes he never left the gun in his bedroom. 

There’s a moment where he feels the heat of Chris’ body behind him and it lulls him into a false sense of security before a whisper, deep with despair brushes against the nape of his neck and causes him to still. “What the hell happened to you?”

Leon doesn’t answer him, just exhales a heavy breath and heads back to his room, closing the door behind him. 

—-

The detox process is ugly. 

Leon thinks it couldn’t possibly get any worse but it could because Chris refuses to leave his side, keeping watch over him like a hawk. At first, he tells him it’s out of concern but Leon knows better. 

He knows pity when he sees it. 

Leon hates it. He hates being babysat. He hates how Chris sits next to him while he dry heaves into the toilet, hates how he presses a cool, damp washcloth against his sweating skin as if he was the thinnest of porcelain, ready to shatter at just the barest hint of pressure. 

He hates how he cares.

Because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

He shouldn’t deserve any kindness after all he’s done so he lashes out at Chris, hurling cruel words and heated vitriol until his mind runs blank. 

He’s left shaking after one particularly nasty argument, the unsteadiness in his limbs overtaken in heavy vibration as the venom seeps from his tongue. He looks at Chris only when the last lashing is uttered and he hopes it’s enough to make him leave but the look on his face stops him short. 

It’s not one of pity or even veiled sympathy. The deep furrow of his brow and contortion of facial muscles was that of clear anguish. It catches Leon off guard and his reaction is entirely involuntary. 

He breaks down. 

All the emotions hit him at once and he collapses on the floor. Chris is there in an instant, cradling his body as he continues through his distress, a hand woven gently in his blonde strands. 

“I’m sorry…” Leon sobs and the shushing he gets doesn’t feel malicious, just a means to soothe him. 

“I know, it’s okay,” Chris repeats as he rocks him back and forth, his touch impossibly gentle, “but you’ve got to stop fighting me, we’re not going to get anywhere when you do.”

Leon chokes back a sob, tugging back from Chris’ hold, his voice coming out all messy from the strain, “you just want me to talk to you.” 

“Well, yeah.” Chris replies matter-of-factly and Leon huffs out a stilted laugh at the pure honesty of it all. 

His reaction makes Chris smile. A genuine one that’s all kind and selfless, and it makes Leon feel guilty so he relents and tells him everything. 

In his vulnerable state, it doesn’t register that he’s perhaps doomed them both. 

—-

On the third night, Leon manages to convince Chris to share the bed because he’s quite positive, the man hasn’t slept the past 48 hours and he refused to leave his side so the couch was out of the question. 

At first, it’s awkward. Leon lays on his back, body stiff and hands clasped over his torso as he stares up at the ceiling. The mattress dips slightly with Chris’ weight beside him as he rolls over to his side, turning his back to him. 

He’s not sure when he falls asleep but it’s still dark when he stirs, restless and on edge. When Leon turns over, he realizes that Chris is still awake, still watchful, his brown eyes a deep shade of umber in the dim light. 

“Hey,” he whispers, “are you okay?”

Leon nods but it’s not convincing, more of a means to placate him but it doesn’t seem to be working as Chris places a gentle hand on his bicep and speaks softly, “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this.”

For some strange reason, the touch isn’t unwelcome and Leon finds himself leaning a bit forward. At some point during the night, he must have moved closer to Chris because his forehead rests against his chest with the motion. 

Chris doesn’t reject it and slides his hand around his shoulder to rest against his back, effectively holding Leon in an embrace. 

“I’m sorry.” Leon mumbles into his shirt and the light huff of a laugh jostles his head. The hand at his back starts a soothing pattern against his shoulder blade and Leon sighs contently before lifting his cheek from Chris’ chest. 

Is this what it’s like to have someone in your life who cares? he thinks. 

Chris shifts beside him, removing his hand from Leon’s shoulder and he doesn’t want to lose the touch so he snatches his wrist before it’s fully withdrawn. It catches Chris off guard but he doesn’t recoil and Leon shifts slightly, his voice rough with sleepiness, “Don’t…”

“What do you want Leon.” he asks but the words aren’t harsh, merely a whisper and Leon doesn’t think, just reacts. 

He pushes forward suddenly, pressing his lips against Chris’. It’s chaste at first and a little shy but when Chris doesn’t pull away or reject him, Leon takes the nonverbal cue to lean in. 

The warmth of Chris’ hand returns but this time it’s flush against Leon’s cheek, cupping at his jaw. Leon melts into it as he deepens the kiss, his lips parting slightly when Chris nips at his bottom lip. 

When Chris finally pulls away, Leon whines and a laugh, heady and low, echoes in the room. “Hey, they’ll be plenty of time to continue what we started but you’re still vulnerable right now. Best to not push it.”

Leon makes a strangled noise and burrows his face in the crook where Chris’ neck and shoulder meet, needy for the comfort of warmth against his shivering form. 

Chris curves his arms around him protectively, the vibration of his voice jostling against his cheek where Leon’s head had slipped down to rest on his chest. “It’s still late, you should get more rest.”

Leon burrows again, mumbling into the cotton of Chris’ shirt and inhaling the faint scent of tobacco that lingers in the weave. He never cared for Chris’ smoking habits but in the present moment, it’s not entirely off putting. 

It gives him something to focus on instead of the urge to self medicate and when he finally drifts, he thinks it’s the happiest he’s been in a long while. 

—-

Leon can see his face, but the details are all wrong. He feels like he should know him though so he focuses, desperate to cling onto the familiar as his surroundings begin to slip into inky darkness. 

The warm hand against his cheek loses heat, fingertips light but cool to the touch before running frigid against his nerves. 

When the man smiles, Leon doesn’t recognize him at all; a complete stranger. He closes his eyes when the screaming starts. 

#resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #chris redfield #leon x chris #chris x leon #chreon #fanfic

[panie-wanie-dean-bean]

HmM!! 😤 These Dom Nick hcs are lighting a fire under me!!! (ง'̀u'́)ง i wanna pamper him SO badly in whatever AU! Im not sure whose the weakest, maybe hybrid nick bc he's lonely or soft but my MCs gonna take the whole day to spoil him rotten, if he so much as tries to lift a finger she's kissing him and lowering it back down. Itll be a random day of the week, no birthday no holiday, just a full breakfast spread, then the most expensive home spa day evah! (While ignoring his questions of 'why?' Why not huh??)

The best bath bombs and scrubs, face masks, shampooing his hair gently, mani and pedi, some cold champagne and some ice to cool him down, since he'll be in the bath so long, but then definitely a deep tissue full body massage (and/or preening if he's hybrid nick) with his favorite show playing a marathon, with more snacks, before his favorite dinner of course.

lots of kisses and the tenderest 'I love you's' but he absolutely cannot do anything in return, i might even spoonfeed him everything from breakfast to dessert,

After the massage and the preening, its time to make him messy again 😔 gotta eat him out, suck him, and ride him gently til he cums idc how many times, before cleaning him up all over again

I want him to turn to jelly, I'll check off every self-care/sub bucketlist item he has, he's my MCs perfect little doll for the day. Will he squirm? beg? Melt into a puddle? My MC doesnt know but her goal is to turn a professional dom into a spoiled pillow princess like Jean who doesn't know wat 'unloved' even is (<- mc nor OP knows wat bdsm or professional sex work entails really, but got a spa day as a birthday gift once and couldve sworn they were princess diana)

(And pls know between the two of u who know bdsm im taking notes with focuS so thank u)

And there will be smugness once he finally falls asleep, my mc is the evillest and most domness boss! this is probably wat it means to be King of the doms maybe! Take that mr "professional!" Hope ur skin is smooth and ur hair/feathers are shinier than its ever been, i hope the dreams r pleasant with Imported Lavender infused pillows! Thats right, its expenSive! For NO reason. There are No take backs or exchanges either, only store credit buddy

>:3c Consider that a warning for the both of yous for givin my brain these zoomies!

🖤 nonny

We are shaking hands and making out sloppy style over pampering Nick right now, oh my god dude

Especially if it's hybrid Nick, like, he's so used to having to be strong and independent and being thrown out when he wasn't being dommy enough that this shit might just kill him. He's such an eepy boy too. My guy gets migraines whenever the weather changes so he's just used to pushing through that pain and tiredness you get after it leaves

But you? Pampering him? Not allowing him to move and making him take the rest he deserves? It's his dream come true, there's nothing fucking better than this for him. Now, he will try to fight you on it at first, but just cup his head in your hands and tell him how much you love him and want to take care of him and he'll slip right into his sub space

He doesn't like surprises, at all, even the good ones, so please tell him about all of this in advance. He plans out his weeks and if he finds out about a change in his schedule less than 48 hours in advance he's going to have a shutdown

God this whole thing is so good, I love pampering pieces like this. Your mind dude, I am kissing it directly on it's cute little wrinkles

#🖤 anon #whispers of an angry god #sdj Nick #hybrid au

[min-yunki-agustd]

Sope tries to go out on a date after work doesn't end soo well with namjoon being the driver. yoonngi pov

sickies: (main sickie)yoongi, hobi

caretaker: namjoon and hobi

TW: platonic, gay relationship, emeto, mentions of v****, nausea

migraines sympathy sickness. etc

Word Count:

___________________________________________________________

It started with namjoon offering hoseok and yoongi a ride home. Namjoon had just gotten his license and car a few days ago and wanted to show off his skills to the members each taking them few by few on a ride. It worked out pretty well so far. Jungkook got his ride, He drove him first since he'd be the least likely to be afraid to ride. Once Jungkook survived a ride namjoon convinced taehyung and Jimin to ride. There weren't any problems, motion sickness, accidents, or anything of the sort, which made it easy for sope to hope in since he'd already driven with others before. The If the member with the worse motion sickness rode and was fine why shouldn't he and hoseok be? Yoongi and hoseok stood side by side waiting for the ride from the hybe building. They both worked long hours and plan to have a date tonight. It was yoongi's plan. It had been a while since they were out and he wanted to do something special with hosoek. They've both been too busy working on separate things. They stood outside in the rain waiting for their ride home so they could change and prepare for the date they planned. For some reason, hybe has been having a problem with their driving staff lately. This is the third time the two had called ahead for a ride and the showfer be late. As yoongi began to feel the water soak threw his clothes he began to wish that he had just driven today but neither himself nor hobi likes to deal with the traffic in the morning. Yoongi was starting to feel hoseok's previously warm hand grow cold and wet as they stood outside.

They didn't think the driver wouldn't take this long otherwise they wouldn't have decided to just wait in the rain. Now, it's too late to go back inside. The janitor has already arrived and begun vacuuming the floor. Hoseok rests his head on yoongi's shoulder. He's probably tired yoongi thought to himself. Aside from working on his songs yoongi knows hobi likes to dance until his legs give out. Standing must be torcher right now. yoongi feels terrible at the thought. He takes his free hand out of his pocket and holds his temple, trying to quiet the irritation in his cranium. He's had a migraine coming on all day but it's starting to get more challenging and hard to ignore. Yoongi was lost in thought again and hadn't noticed footsteps slap against the pavement. Coming from behind the two. He really hopes it's not staff. Even though All the staff had to sign a privacy agreement and he's worked with half the staff for years, you just never know who could be out to get you. Plus, He'd rather not have to explain hoseok and his relationship especially since most staff are quite older and might not approve of it. Yoongi's back began to get tense listening patiently and the footsteps get closer to his side. hobi must not hear them over the rain because he has yet to have moved his hand from yoongi's. The footsteps had finally arrived at his side. He felt a hand touch his shoulder. he looked up, it was namjoon. He signed in relief.

"Did you two have a showfer bring you hear this morning?" namjoon asked. his voice catches hoseok's attention. Hosoeko lifted his head and looked at him. "Yeah, but they're taking a long time.." yoongi says looking at his watch. "I can give you guys a ride home if you want?" "thanks, but we planned to go home drop off our stuff and go out tonight. yoongi says. " ohhhh, you guys are going on a date tonight, I can do that for you hyung, I got nothing better to do tonight "namjoon laughs a little. Yoongi looks back to hoseok half for approval, half just for any comment at all. hoesok was quiet but gave an approving look. Now yoongi knows for sure his hobi is tired, hobi is never quiet, he's usually loud and excited. Yoongi's sure he's still excited about the date but also just tired. yoons looks back to Namjoon. " ok joon, sure. " the three-headed to joons car. Yoongi called to cancel the showfer on the way to the parking lot. The ride shouldn't be bad yoongi thought as he and hoseok sat in the back of the vehicle not wanting to be apart. The other members rode. They lived. Yoongi trying hard to have a positive mindset but the truth is he's nervous to be riding while namjoon is driving. He hopes it doesn't make hobi feel sick or anything. After checking surely that their seatbelts were locked in place yoongi snuck a look at hobi. He seemed to be a bit nervous too. Yoongi took his hand and snaked it over to hoseoks thigh. giving it a squeeze for comfort and then connecting hands and then fingers. Yoongi caught hobi taking in a deep shaky breath. He really really hope hoseok wasn't working himself up already.

" everyone got their seat belts on? " namjoons says looking at the couple in his back seat. The two shook their heads. " all right then let me know if you need some more heating it's kinda cold out today. Nammjoon says as he begins to pull off. It was late in the afternoon so traffic was terrible. hopefully, namjoon could manage yoongi thoughts. The start of the ride wasn't bad at all, namjoon pulled out of the parking space smoothly and he got out of the lot smoothly as well. He even managed to find a good quick opening into the street. good so far. The first time wasn't a big deal at least not to yoongi. He thought joon is still learning and being a good driver takes time. Namjoon slammed on the brakes hard though he was nowhere near hitting another car. Yoongi's stomach and his head didn't really like that but he knew it was probably an accident and that namjooon was just trying to be safe. Giving a dizzying glance at hobi he wasn't looking too good after it either. The second time it happened yoongi had kinda expected him to slam on breaks because of someone pulling out in front of them. a good move for safety but less comfortable for the couple who are feeling sick in the back. " sorry bout that!" namjooon yells out to the two. despite looking a little ill hobi yelled back "it's ok joon your doing great." yoongi however this time had one comment his head was now in a full-blown migraine and he was trying to not let it show. The third time namjoon slammed on the brakes was a lot like the first kinda point less to stop so hard. only this time he stopped cause he almost missed the turn.

At this point, yoongi had to let go of hoseoks hand. He needed to settle his stomach a bit. His was kinda going haywire along with his head. Hoseok noticed his hyungs discomfort and began using the hand yoons let go of to rub the older back. Yoongi seemed to be having trouble keeping it together. He hadn't even noticed that the car was now at the apartment complex and parked. they sat there kinda still. Namjooon looked back at the two wondering why they hadn't gotten up yet. He saw yoongi's head was In his hands, then he looked at hoseok who seemed to be trying to soothe his boyfriend but also dealing with what seems to be carsick himself. hobi has the back of his hand to his mouth, a worried expression on his face looking at yoongi hyung and his other hand rubbing yoongi's back. Namjoon wondered why yoongi had gotten so quiet. When yoongi wasn't spinning at 100mph he sat up from his curled head in his hand's position. He put a hand to his stomach. he realized he need a bathroom pronto. he hopes out of the car and slammed the door shut. He put a hand to his mouth and practically ran to the fancy apartment complex. Hobi was right behind him. Before namjoon can even say a word. The two run inside. Yoongi was hoping he could make it to the bathroom in his room upstairs but seeing as his mouth begins to overflow with what tasted like his third cup of decayed coffee he also mapped out the closes public bathroom on the bottom floor. Yoongi's stomach is kinda weak but he's always been the one to have control over it. He choked out a few gags but managed to keep going. all the way to his room. waiting in the elevator had to have been the hardest. just standing there holding back everything was hard. Hoseook was by his side comforting him.

hoseok wasn't feeling great at all but he wasn't seconds from up-chucking like his hyung. A wave of dizziness caught him just as hoseok used his key to open the door. yoons felt like he was gonna lose his balance and fall to the floor. His eyes began to blur as the automatic lights flicked on killing his migraine. He almost lost it then and there, in fact, a sick dripped down his hand onto his shirt. hosoek helped steady him and got him to the guest bathroom, yoonngi really wanted to go up to his personal one but beggars can't be choosers. His wet hand latched onto the porcelain and he heaved loudly. He gagged and lurched his head into the toilet again, vomit splattered everywhere hitting his own face, the seat, and his tightly gripped hands. Hoseok had been patting his back and trying to comfort him, but after hearing so many deep retches and watching as the vomit splashed back, watching that reactivated his own nausea and he had to grab the little trash can under the sink and join him in his hyung vomiting session. Yoongi could hear his love losing his lunch behind him. They were setting each other off Round after round. When he finally got a chance to breathe a surge of negative thoughts plagued his mind. There they were, they could have been doing literally anything but this yoongi nose deep into the toilet, shivering from the extremely cold bathroom, cold white tiles touching his skin. Waiting patiently for the next round. They could have been relaxing together, or catching up with Namjoon or I don't know they could have been on the date yoongi planned for them?!! but instead, they sit in this putrid bathroom where yoongi can't hold his lunch and hoseok gets close to losing his. He knew he had to make the night better than this he had to turn it around somehow. Maybe if his stomach is calm enough he can clean off his face and hands and comfort his hobi.

Yoongi decided he was done no matter how much his stomach argued with that fact. Once he felt steady enough he rose from the ground and flushed the toilet. He limps over to the sink, his legs were half asleep from sitting on the floor for so long. He washed his hands of the putrid sick and his face. Feeling better already simply due to the fact that he was cleaner. Then he limped over to his boyfriend his legs beginning to wake up on the way. He squatted down and gave a comforting hug to hobi. Hobi felt yoongi's warmth cover his entire back like a warm loving blanket. Hoseok began to forget about his panicking stomach. Dissolving into yoongi's warmth. They stayed like that until hoseoks stomach completely calmed down. As soon as it did hoseok turned around and held the other. They sat on the floor in silence holding each other. The silence was eventually broken by a banging on the door. Ignoring it for a moment knowing it was probably namjoon He asked his hobi. "how is your stomach feeling?" yoongi says looking into the other's sleepy eyes. *hears banging again* " Much better" hoseok answers Sweetly smiling. " do you feel well enough to go on our date?" yoongi asked. " do you?" hobi replied back. " yes, yes I do" yoongi lied straight through his teeth but he refused to let this night end without the date. * banging and distant hyungs yelled out by joon could be heard in the background* " great, I do too" hobi answers with a smile. "Then it's settled," yoongi says getting up off the floor and heading to the door While hobi heads for the room upstairs to take a quick shower and grab something nicer to wear. Yoongi opened the door mid-knock. Namjoon still stood there with his arm up in a knocking position.

" hyung" namjoon says. "you guys ok? you two have taken a while." namjoon says concerned. " we were a little sick but we're ok now. Hoseok is getting ready for the date and I'm about to do the same." yoongi says calmly. yoongi moves to the side of the door frame to allow namjoon to enter the room. He sat and waited don't the couch. Yoongi was excited again the date was back on and his hobi was ok. he ran upstairs to go get ready. slowing down just at the top when his stomach felt a little angry from the movement. He entered the bathroom. hoseok was in the other part of the room taking a shower he turned off the lights and began brushing his teeth in the dark. He had to keep his migraine in place. if he could keep it in place then he could do the same for his stomach. After all, his migraine was what was making the ride much worse than it was anyways. He still felt a little dizzy from it even now. He was brushing his tongue when he accidentally made himself gag. Pulling his toothbrush out of his mouth he gagged wetly over the sink. A bit sick hitting the sink bottom. Hobi must have heard the gag because he yelled back from the shower. " are you, ok love?" " I'm fine just brushing my teeth. yoongi answers. hoping to not make hobi worry. His stomach was angrier but completely empty now. He cleaned the sick and rinsed his mouth.

---Timeskip ---

hobi and yoongi had finished geting ready for the date. Hobi was feeling good and from the way, yoongi was staring at him he must have been looking good too. namjoon gave the two a compliment on the way to the car. Happy to see that his members found love in each other. All the other members suspected they'd end up in a relationship. Joon even joked about it with Jungkook once. It was nice to see the two happy and in love. yoongi wishes he could feel the love that obviously infects this car but the most he feels is his stomach turning and shifting nervously about riding with namjoon again. this time though his migraine had only worsened he managed to survive the ride. it helped greatly that namjoon drove much smoother as well. He just had been nervous when he first drove them. They'd arrived at the restaurant. My stomachs are still intact. yoongi's head was pounding but absolutely nothing was going to stop him tonight. They were seated in a secluded area. The waiter brought over forks and knives and asked for a drink selection. If yoongi's head wasn't a mess he'd ask for a sojo but he was he no state for a buzz. The only buzz he was having tonight was the buzzing pain in his head. The two talked about their day over light candles. Hoseok takes about the new dance moves he's been learning and teaching. He discusses how the album is coming along explaining that it'll be out pretty soon.

The have a good time

yoongi gets worse

hobi takes care of him

hobi struggles again too help and namjoon steps in the hlp the two

[reitziluz]

ah shit, might as well make it official

in short, as some may have noticed, there was no chapter posted on march 31st

the next chapter of days spent dreaming shit-all, chapter 4, "dating and such", has been rescheduled for april 30th

the posting schedule will continue as usual after that, with a new chapter coming out once a month, on the last day of the month. as a rule, if the chapter isn't out by the 4th of the following month, it will be rescheduled for the end of that month

in long...

first things first: nobody needs to justify their posting schedule and adherence or lack of adherence to it to anyone. writing happens at the pace it happens, or it doesn't happen at all. so i'm not sharing any of this as an apology or to seek reassurances from others.

i am sharing some of the circumstances because

i like bookkeeping like this

it helps me to keep things in perspective

i'm posting a note about the rescheduling anyway

as a reader, it's nice to know schedule breaks are like, controlled

as a reader, i'd be curious to hear about what's up

so yeah

i just got hit with a lot of shit all at once. or to be more accurate, i've been striving to do more things lately, which includes starting a new, more intense therapy thingie, so i was spread a lil thin. had been since february, actually - ch3 was a bit of a close call.

but while the new things on my plate are a bit straining, they're a net positive. a part and a sign of healing. yay!

unfortunately, while i was doing p well, a lot of people around me weren't. you can't write about a cute date while being there for a friend who's having a breakdown over a possibly relationship-ending Incident between them and their partner. another friend had a death in the family. and these are just two easily summarized ones.

but the point of sharing that is — hey, you know the quote of like, "if you don't take a break, your body will"? yeah. it's been quite bad with the migraines for me, and i ended up getting a random high fever too. i posted about it, and for a hot minute it looked like i might be able to hyperfocus my way into staying on schedule, but then i was threatened with another round of back to back migraines. it certainly didn't help that we got a bit of a snowstorm followed by super sunny weather, which means absolutely blindling light shining directly into your eyes from the low sun and reflection from the snow both, but mostly it was just the stress. which in turn wasn't helped that, once again, there were people coming into my flat to do shit related to the renovations going on in the building.

my migraines aren't that painful. i am on preventative medication (one intentional, one incidental), and while it can't prevent attacks when i pile up all the triggers for getting one like a fool for days on end, it keeps the pain levels so low i don't even need pain relief most of the time. the problem is, as a rule, my migraines involve some level of transient aphasia. can't write shit if i don't know what the fuck words are, right?

so, i did the only sensible thing and went to a party at a dungeon and made good food and rewatched monster factory and finally got my discount gym card renewed and actually lifted weights first time in forever. and now it's past the date when my rent is due and the new month Officially starts in my head, so i'm not going to hold onto the thought of "well, i might get the chapter out a couple days late, still?" especially not as i'm leaving for a trip at the end of this week, and chapter 5 needs time and care.

but hey, ch4 is well underway! like literally, if i hadn't had the one week-long migraine + fever combo, i would have been able to get it out on time :D

thank you for reading, as a lil treat here's a wip of the illustration for ch 3 - it's been a slow going too, because i'm struggling with the poses, so i've been working on everything other than the actual subject of the piece, haha!

#yea fic talk #days spent dreaming shit-all #mp100 fanfic #serirei #hanahaki #the stuff under readmore is mostly me complaining about the Ailments #long post #threw in some Proper Tags like why not #maybe this post will reach someone who'd like to see it that way

[elmachetecriollo]

Medical update (long post, don’t read if you’re not interested)

A lot of my followers probably know that I’ve had neck issues for the past couple of years and migraine problems for a long time before that.

Within the past 3-4 months I’ve made significant progress with this issue because I finally got a diagnosis for what was happening from a reputable orthopedic doctor in my area. I have severe neurogenic thoracic outlet syndrome, which essentially amounts to an orthopedic issue where a biological irregularity in my first rib traps the nerves in my thoracic outlet behind my clavicle. This happens mostly when my shoulder muscles become too relaxed--For example, it happens when I’m sleeping and I roll over into the wrong position, or when I get extremely drunk or high (which I used to do very often). It is mostly in my left shoulder, but I also have an irregularity in my right shoulder. In addition to this being a biological issue, it was probably exaggerated by my years of violin playing.

The pain from this condition is chronic and excruciating. It causes me to have severe migraines where it feels like there’s an extreme amount of pressure behind my eyes. These migraines also cause me to get vertigo and nausea when they’re bad enough.

I’ve been getting migraines and vertigo since college, but college is also when I started weightlifting, and strengthening the muscles in my shoulders helped to lessen the severity of some of the symptoms--So much so that I thought the problem had gone away even though I didn’t know the cause of the problem.

This turned out not to be true; a whiplash injury (long story) made the pain flare up again, this time to the point where I thought I was having a stroke. This injury happened during the pandemic in 2020, but the pain from the TOS lasted far longer than any of the pain from the whiplash--It was so severe because the injury caused the nerves in my shoulder to move from close to my spine over to almost the edge of my clavicle.

Of course, I had no idea what was happening at first, so it was extremely concerning and it gave me numerous anxiety attacks (literally, my nerves were in very bad shape). I dealt with this pain for almost exactly 760 days, mainly because every single doctor I saw couldn’t figure out what was wrong. But after a lot of physical therapy and the right anti-inflammatories, I finally seem to be making progress with the pain. To give you an idea of what it took, I had to first strengthen the muscles in my shoulder, and then I literally had to dig my thumb into the side of my neck in order to move the bundle of nerves back into the right place. (This hurt a lot, but the migraines hurt worse.) After two years and two months, I’m feeling somewhat normal again, although it’s definitely still a work in progress.

I’m already starting to lift weights again and I’m hoping to be able to start running this spring. Throughout all of this, only meditation (specifically meditation in the Vajrayana Buddhist tradition) has provided me with the mental fortitude to deal with the pain. The anti-inflammatories helped too, but those are only a temporary fix. I’ve learned that when it comes to chronic pain of the genetic variety, no supernatural power is going to help you--The only thing that will help you is your own mind, because ultimately you are the only one that has to deal with the pain. I’m also extremely thankful for my parents, because both of them were restless in helping me get the medical care that I needed. Specifically, my mom is the one who found the orthopedic doctor that was able to diagnose the problem. 

At the end of the day, I hope this experience burned some of my negative karma, which is also just the negative karma of sentient beings in general. If you’ve supported me throughout the past couple years, thank you as well, because I quite literally could not have done it without you. My support network has been really essentially through all of this, and I’m so blessed to have some incredible people in my life.

#chronic pain #medical update #thoracic outlet syndrome #migraines #physical therapy

[phantasticworks]

Shiny Things/Paper Rings (iydlmp bonus fic)

Hello all!! back again with some more iydlmp bonus content! if you haven't read the original fic this one will probably make absolutely zero sense, so i recommend reading iydlmp first! also this turned out a lot shorter than i thought but I just thought you guys would like some phil pov and what better place for it than the part where dan was mad at him :')

read on ao3

Summary: Phil and Martyn have a day out...

This Phil POV bonus fic occurs during Chapter 22 of the main fic, If You Don't Love Me, Pretend. This fic picks up after Phil leaves the apartment the morning after Jaiden's trip to A&E and gives some insight into what Phil was thinking during this chapter.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: none

He’s not sure how it happened, but this whole morning has definitely gone horribly wrong.

Phil sighs, shaking his head as he makes his way downstairs to where the Uber is waiting. He’s trying not to think about the way Dan had turned away from his touch just a moment ago, his stomach churning with the thought that he might’ve made Dan uncomfortable somehow. Despite Phil’s best efforts to push it away, his head is spinning, trying to come up with some explanation for Dan’s behavior, some mistake he’d unknowingly made that set him off. But it doesn’t do more than give him a low-grade migraine and he eventually decides that it’s not worth making himself sick over. He can still fix this.

The look on Dan’s face when Phil had tried to kiss him earlier floats back into his mind, and he swallows hard, his stomach sinking.

He can still fix it. Right?

~~~

“Took you long enough,” is the first thing out of his brother’s mouth when he meets him at the shops.

“Yeah, well,” Phil says, shrugging. He doesn’t meet Martyn’s eyes, instead just scuffs his shoe against the uneven bricks beneath their feet.

Martyn seems to hesitate, like he’s reassessing the situation, and Phil briefly hates him and how perceptive he is. “Are you alright, buddy?” he asks gently.

Phil nods, then shrugs. He finally forces himself to make eye contact, giving Martyn what is likely an unconvincing smile. “I’m fine. Are we gonna go eat? Shop? What are we doing?”

“I’m… I’m not sure. Are you sure you’re okay?” Martyn asks.

“Yep. Just tired,” Phil lies through his teeth.

There’s a beat of silence in which Martyn seems to be studying him closely, narrowed eyes and all. He must be disappointed at what he finds, because his shoulders drop and he sighs. “Alright,” he says, sounding resigned. “You don’t have to tell me, but… I’m here if you need to talk, okay?”

Damn him for being such a good brother.

Phil rolls his eyes despite himself. “I know that. C’mon. Let’s get inside somewhere, it’s bloody freezing.”

Martyn’s spirits seem lifted enough now that Phil’s speaking in full sentences, so he turns to lead them off down the street. “Do you have anyplace specific you’re wanting to go?” Martyn asks. “Because I’ll be honest, mate, I haven’t a fuckin’ clue where I’m headed.”

Phil almost chastises him for the swear, just like he’d do to Dan at home, but with a start he realizes his kids aren’t with him. That’s so unusual these days, unless he’s at work, that it takes him a second to process it. “Er…” he stalls, trying to come up with a response to whatever the hell his brother just said, even though he wasn’t really listening.

Just then, they pass by a familiar sign posted above a shop. Something nudges Phil’s memory and he absently reaches to check that his wallet is in his pocket. It is, of course, and his feet slow in front of the shop.

“Actually…” he says slowly.

Martyn stops, a little belatedly, and he has to backtrack a few steps to remain in front of Phil. “What?” Martyn says, looking around. He spots the sign of the shop they’ve stopped in front of and his eyes go comically wide. “Uh… didn’t you two already get the prop rings, or whatever?” He asks, glaring at the jeweler sign like it’s personally offended him.

Phil twists the silver band on his ring finger of his left hand. “Yes,” he replies simply, eyeing the ring display at the front window.

“Then…” Martyn says slowly.

And honestly, Phil knows he’s already connected the dots, he truly isn’t that daft. But he sees no reason to deprive him of the answer he’s fishing for.

“This isn’t going to be a prop ring.”

There’s a beat of silence, and before Martyn can protest or anything, Phil marches towards the store, a decisive pep in his step.

“Welcome to Goldsmith’s, how may I assist you?” the cheerful sales associate asks as soon as Phil steps inside.

“Phil,” Martyn hisses from behind him.

Phil ignores him. “Hello,” he greets the associate. “I’m looking for an engagement ring.”

The girl smiles brightly. “Well, congratulations, sir! This is a very exciting chapter of your life, so I’d be happy to help you find what you’re looking for.”

“Great,” Phil says with a smile. He ignores the pointed stare Martyn is sending his way.

“We have a wide selection of engagement rings and bands to choose from, but let me show you to some of our more popular sellers,” the sales associate is saying as she leads them to a case towards the front.

Phil stops her with a short laugh. “Actually, I was hoping I could see your more unique styles. My fian- partner-“ he clears his throat. “My partner is very particular, and I know he’ll want something different, something unique.”

The attendant smiles. “It’s great that you know that! Makes my job a lot easier,” she laughs.

Phil smiles, shaking off his brother’s hand when he tries to grab Phil’s arm. The sales associate is showing them to another case when Martyn starts to whisper.

“Are you sure about this? Like, absolutely positive?” He sounds paranoid, and Phil can’t believe someone else is more nervous about this than he is. “This is a huge decision, Phil, and the two of you aren’t even really-“

“Don’t,” Phil says, sharper than intended.

Martyn snaps his mouth shut, but looks at Phil with a guilty frown.

“These are some styles that either aren’t “in-style” right now, or just aren’t very popular,” the sales associate explains, pulling out a jewelry tray for Phil to examine.

“This one is nice,” Phil says absently, tapping on a rather simple one that has three stones embedded in the simple white gold band. He glances at Martyn, who’s studying the rings with something like confused curiosity. Phil nudges him. “What do you think?”

Martyn glances between him and the ring a couple times, then shrugs. “I don’t know… I reckon Dan would like something a bit flashier, actually.”

Phil smiles, relieved that Martyn’s actually helping now and not questioning his decisions. “Yeah, true.” He looks at the others, letting his gaze linger on the more ornate ones a little longer, waiting for some sort of sign to hit him, but it doesn’t happen.

A moment or two passes where none of them speak, giving Phil the quiet time to study the rings carefully. And study is all he can really do, since none of them really stand out to him. “Is there…”

The sales associate must be all too familiar with this, because she’s quick to pick up on his train of thought. “You know, I think I have another drawer in the back, give me just a moment.”

Phil nods, smiling in relief now that he doesn’t have to actually voice his opinion on the rings he’d been shown so far.

She’s barely been gone a minute when Phil feels Martyn’s hand on his arm. He sighs. “Martyn,” he starts, turning to tell him, kindly, to bugger off.

“Hey,” Martyn interrupts him. He’s smiling a little, which wasn’t the expression Phil was expecting to see. “You really love him, huh?”

Phil drops his gaze to the ring he’s already wearing, the one he’s so emotionally attached to now that he can’t bear to imagine ever taking it off. “I… yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

Martyn is quiet for a moment. “Have you always? Or is this like… a new thing?”

Phil levels him with a look, one brow quirked in disbelief. “You’re really going to ask me that?”

“Well…” Martyn shrugs, then laughs when he sees the dumbfounded look Phil is giving him. “Okay, yeah, yeah. I mean… you have been rather obvious from the start.”

Phil has to laugh at that. “God, I know. No idea how Dan didn’t realize it sooner. I guess we were both just so deep in denial that we didn’t know how to deal with ourselves.”

“Does he? Realize it now, I mean?” Martyn asks softly.

Just then, before Phil gets the chance to reply, the sales lady returns with another drawer of rings.

“These are some of our more unique choices, mixed in with some newer pieces that haven’t done as well as we thought they would,” she says, setting the tray down and stepping back to give him the space to survey them.

“Dan would love that,” Phil remarks, mostly to himself.

“Which one?” Martyn asks.

Phil shakes his head, still studying them closely. “No, I just meant like, getting a ring that no one else wants. Adopting it, saving it from the depths of jewelry hell and all that.”

Martyn laughs, and Phil smiles. “Fair enough.”

The sales associate begins explaining some other options she can present if he doesn’t like these, but it’s while she’s talking that he sees it. It’s flashier than he’d prefer for himself, with a somewhat feminine style. It’s white gold, Dan’s favorite, with simple diamonds twisted on the band leading up to the center, where the main diamond sits.

It’s perfect.

“Can I see that one?” Phil asks, pointing to the ring that is absolutely, perfectly Dan.

The sales associate smiles and nods. “This one has been here for a month or so. It’s the only one we’ve got, but we can get it resized if you decide you like it.” She hands the ring to him carefully, then steps back to give him a chance to look it over and consider it.

Phil clutches the ring gently, holding it up close to his face to inspect it. It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. He can already imagine slipping it on Dan’s lovely digit, the face he’d make when Phil really, properly proposes.

He’s so deep in the fantasy that he doesn’t even realize the sales associate is speaking to him until his brother pinches his arm.

“Ow!” Phil yelps, turning to glare at Martyn with little thought to the other person standing there.

“I’m sorry, but she’s trying to ask you a question, mate. At least pretend to pay attention,” Martyn says with a roll of his eyes, smiling apologetically at the sales lady when he’s done being dramatic.

“I’m so sorry,” Phil says to her immediately. “I was… sorry, what were you saying?”

The girl smiles kindly at him. “I take it this is the one?“ she says, nodding to the ring.

Phil takes one last look at it, then nods. “Yeah, this is definitely the one. He’ll love it.”

She smiles. “Lovely. I was just asking, do you happen to know what his ring size is?”

“Well, actually- oh, here, I guess I shouldn’t be the one holding onto this,” he says, handing the ring back as he starts digging in his pocket. He pulls out his wallet and takes a second to rummage around, finding what he’s looking for in record time. “Oh, here it is. We actually bought some jewelry here not too long ago and we both got a copy of the receipt,” Phil explains, sliding it over to her.

The sales associate picks it up, scanning the information quickly. “Oh, this is perfect. Since you’re already in our system I can look up the purchase and we can figure out his size. I’m assuming we’ll definitely need to resize this, correct?”

Phil glances at the ring again, and nods with a laugh. “Oh, definitely. That wouldn’t even fit on his pinky.”

She laughs along with him, then closes the case, the ring still clutched safely in her hand. “Alright. If you’ll just follow me, I’ll pull your account up on the computer and we’ll get the rest squared away!”

~~~

Less than half an hour later, Phil and Martyn step back out on the streets, a new receipt in Phil’s pocket, the estimated pick-up date circled on it in red ink.

“Is this what you had planned for today?” Martyn asks as they begin strolling off towards some other shops.

Phil laughs at that. “No. What I had planned for today was snuggling my boyfriend and my kids.”

Martyn gives him a look. “Boyfriend, eh? So it’s official, then?” he asks, a mischievous smirk on his face.

Phil can feel his face flush when he realizes what he’s just said. “Well… I call him that sometimes. In my head.”

Martyn isn’t polite enough not to laugh at him. “Oh, so Dan isn’t aware of this new development?”

There’s an awkward pause as Phil tries to think of a realistic lie, but it’s filled with Martyn cackling, then pretending to cover it up with a cough. “He knows that there are… feelings happening. I think.”

“You think?” Martyn basically squawks. “Jesus, man. Why don’t you just tell him you fancy him? You know he feels the same.”

He gestures them towards a candy shop then, and Phil is helpless to refuse. He follows behind Martyn slowly, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Well… I mean, I guess I think I know how he feels, but I… I’m not sure.”

Martyn had stopped to hold the door open for him, but at that he pauses, turning to give Phil a blank stare. “Mate,” he deadpans.

“What?” Phil says defensively. “Open the door, it’s freezing out here.”

Martyn rolls his eyes, but waves Phil through, following behind him closely to continue the conversation. “Don’t be daft. Or, at least be less daft, if you can manage that.”

“Thanks, Mar, you’re such a beaming ray of kindness today. I’ve missed our bonding times,” Phil says, and he hopes his voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“You know you did,” Martyn teases. Phil can’t even deny that. He did.

“Whatever,” he says, mindlessly strolling the store, his hands tucked firmly in his pockets to keep him from buying anything.

“I’m serious, though,” Martyn says after a minute, tucking a box of licorice under his arm, likely for their father. “I think you both would feel better if you just had a conversation about it, yeah?”

Phil’s quiet, thinking about it. Of course, Martyn is right. “I know,” he says, rather than admitting it in so many words. “And, God, I’ve already bought a real ring, haven’t I? I’ve got to say something. Surely he’ll say no if I just propose out of nowhere. And-”

“I doubt it,” Martyn interrupts his rambling, examining some chocolate oranges.

Phil blinks. “Doubt what?” He says, suspicious.

Martyn shrugs. “I doubt he’d say no. Knowing the two of you, he might actually prefer it if you just propose, so neither of you have to actually talk like functioning human beings.”

And this, Phil thinks, is where Martyn clearly doesn’t know Dan very well. “Oh, no. Dan loves to talk. He loves a good serious chat. We have them with the kids all the time.”

Martyn glances at him then, smiling a little. “He’s a good dad?” he asks.

Phil sighs wistfully, wishing again that he’d said no to his brother and just stayed home to snuggle with his grumpy-Dan and their kids. “The best,” he says truthfully. He hesitates then, debating on whether or not he should share this next part with his brother.

“What is it?” Martyn asks, Phil’s anxiety and hesitation far too easy to read for someone who has known him his whole life.

Phil chews his lip in contemplation, but sighs. It would be good to get a second opinion on this, he figures.

“Dan asked me to adopt the kids with him.”

Martyn drops the box of licorice.

Phil winces at the noise, and they both glance at the shopkeep, who gives them a tired once-over before going back to his coffee and tablet.

“He what?” Martyn whisper-shouts, leaning back down to retrieve the box.

“He asked me to adopt-”

Martyn flaps his hand. “Shut up, I heard you. I just…” He stares at Phil, his eyes wide. “That’s a lot, man. That’s a big responsibility.”

Phil knows he doesn’t really mean it like that, but he bristles anyway at the insinuation that he maybe can’t handle that responsibility. He feels like he’s been doing just fine so far, though.

“I know that,” he says, a little defensive. “We know that. I just…” he trails off then. This may not even be something Martyn understands. He and Cornelia have Evan, but… still. This is a little different.

“Just what?” Martyn says, his voice soft.

Phil sighs. “They’re my kids, Martyn. And as odd as it sounds, Dan is my family. With or without them, he’s… He’s my person. And he’s the only person I’d want to have a family with.”

Martyn is silent, glancing at Phil for only a minute before going over to the counter to pay for the candy. Phil trails after him, feeling a little like he’s in trouble, even though he hasn’t even done anything. Martyn can’t crucify him for a crime he didn’t even commit, he thinks bitterly.

They head out of the shop, and Martyn pulls out his phone and glances at the time. “You feel like doing a little bit of Christmas shopping?”

~~~

Later that evening, when Phil is eating dinner at the table by himself, a message pops up from his brother. They’d abandoned the conversation about Dan and the kids at the candy shop, and Phil had honestly thought Martyn was angry with him. The message clears his conscience of that, at least.

Martyn: Talk to Dan. If you guys can ever get your shit sorted out, I think those kids would be thrilled to have you guys as forever parents.

Martyn: Also, you owe me for lunch

~~~

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #iydlmp #if you don't love me pretend #iydlmp bonus fics #bonus content #foster phanfic #foster parent au #parent!phan #bbc producer!phil #school counselor!dan #chapter 22 bonus #phil pov

[nycorix]

Consequences [8/11]

[fic post]

|part 1| |part 2| |part 3| |part 4| |part 5| |part 6| |part 7|

At long last I’m back with part 8!! Feat. the Director feeling proud of herself for #winning with him until she realizes, entirely too late, that she super lost

TW: emotional manipulation/abuse, medical stuff (see part 7 tw)

___________

8. 

When the Director enters Medical Bay One, 22 is sitting upright in the bed, posture ridiculously flawless, expression a perfect blank.

This does not surprise her.

She stands aside to let the medbot pass, looks on as it runs through diagnosis protocol, administers the first round of bespoke antivirals, disconnects his IV and pronounces him fit for release and monitoring. 

There was a time when she would have had to bring in a team of six. One for the treatment, the other five requisitioned for restraint purposes. Medbots only, of course—broken medbots quantifiably less expensive to repair or replace than broken employees.

Now, in year twelve of the program, 22 does not so much as twitch at any point of the procedure, his stone-faced stillness perfectly evocative of the bioengineered lab-grown AI superweapon all of New Liberty City believes him to be. If he is relieved when it is done, or apprehensive at her presence, it does not show on his face.

This does not surprise her either.

Indeed, the only thing about the operative in front of her that gives her pause is the fact that he, despite a fever of nearly 102 and a vitals display feed that is threatening to give her a migraine, does not look ill in the slightest. 

Then again, she amends, he doesn’t exactly look well either. The longer she studies him, the better she can see it: something about him is distinctly and unmistakably off, like if you took everything in a room and shifted it over two inches to the left.

The medbot leaves, but it might as well be invisible for all the attention 22 has paid it. His eyes have been on her from the moment she set foot through the door, and as she comes nearer that gaze sharpens—into the trademark unblinking uncanny fixed stare that all of the operatives have, the one that is just shy of predatory and that to this day still sets all her hair on end.

She bypasses this inconvenient primal reflex with practiced ease, fixing him with a measured stare of her own.

“When I received the operative health crisis notification,” she says mildly, in lieu of a greeting, “you were the last one I expected it to be.”

Predictably, this garners no discernible reaction. He sits there, watching, looking for all the world like a bot awaiting a directive.

“Nor, I must confess, was said health crisis anywhere within the ballpark of my expectations,” she continues, seeding the words with just the slightest measure of reproach. “Sudden-onset acute upper respiratory infection?” Reproach up a fifth of a degree. “A broken nose?”

This last finally seems to get through, if infinitesimally. A sea change stirs in his unnaturally pale eyes—the barest glimmer of…something. Not shame, not embarrassment or alarm or unease. Annoyance.

“A miscalculation,” he says, and the ever-present behavioral-scientist-backbrain part of her points out that he does not specify to which affliction he is referring. “It will not happen again.”

The lethal certainty baked into this statement sends a chill through the whole of her, scalp to soles. She muscles the fight-or-flight response down and smothers it. Lifts a brow, lips pressed in a thin smile of quiet regard, and inclines her head. 

“Walk with me.”

She leaves the room without a backward glance, his presence behind her like a weight at the top of her spine. The staccato click of her heels drowns out the faint swish of his socks on the tile of the hall, and when she clears the personnel from the nearest diagnostics room he’s there beside her, silent as death.

“Have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the row of recently-vacated chairs facing the bank of assorted lab equipment.

He does not. He stays put by the smartwall just inside the door, standing: spine perfectly straight, shoulders square. If he’s tired or symptomatic it isn’t presenting in either facial expression or body language.

A lab tech pushes a bundle of clothing into her arms with a jumbled apology as they scurry out the door. The Director takes a look at it, huffs a laugh through her nose, and sets it on a table.

“I see they’ve managed to get the blood out of your jacket,” she says, taking it from the pile and handing it over to him.

He doesn’t even glance at it. Just accepts it wordlessly and slides it on over the thin black smart fabric undershirt he’s still wearing, his stay in Medical too brief to warrant an in-patient tunic. She frowns, just slightly, and hands him his boots and utility belt, which are received in identical fashion.

He reaches out for the gloves as she holds them out next, the extensive knotted trails of scar tissue beneath his skin visible under the harsh fluorescents. She pulls her gaze away, up to his face.

“It’s unlike you.” She speaks softly, almost gently. She wants to say she can see him brace for whatever is coming, but if she’s honest with herself any read she has on his expressions is guesswork at best, twelve years and multiple facial analysis lens apps be damned. “To lose to Nicholas, of all people.” 

To this, though, he again telegraphs annoyance to a degree she can pick up with reasonable confidence.

“I was still assessing his condition.” His voice, quietly brittle, is even harder to pick up than usual. “It was a mis…” He pauses, swallows. Immediately her interest is piqued—22 is not given to speaking without premeditation.

“Miscalculation,” she supplies.

The briefest of hesitations, then a nod. 

“Yes, so you said.” She narrows her eyes. There is significant overlap between his current expression and the one he makes when he violates censorship parameters—only, this can’t possibly be that. Even if he is thinking about the undoubtedly forbidden behaviors that landed him in this situation, the array filter does not censor thoughts. Not that any of the operatives were explicitly told this, of course.

In any case, hesitation in 22 historically amounts to weak spot in defenses, and the Director is by no means above using this to her advantage.

“Speaking of miscalculations.” She casts his vitals monitor up on the smartwall behind him, alongside data from the medbot’s report. “Can you tell me what this is?” She gestures to the image on the right, a cluster of vaguely hexagonal blobs stained bluish against a pale backdrop.

He looks at it a moment, then shakes his head, watching her sidelong. He’s starting to look just the slightest bit bleary—which, given his readings, would hardly be surprising if not for what and, more importantly, who he is.

“Human adenovirus,” she interjects into his telling silence. “HAdV-B14, to be exact. Known to cause acute upper respiratory infections ranging from mild to severe, occasionally fatal, especially in the young, elderly, or immunocompromised. Present specimen imaged twenty minutes ago from a throat swab of yours.” She folds her hands, watching his face.

“I’m not critical.” This is not a question; and the way he holds her gaze as he speaks is more than a little unsettling, as is the subtle note of satisfaction in the husk of his tone.

“....No.” She regrets the admission immediately and hastens to regain her ground. “However, there is still plenty of time and opportunity for you to become so, given the tenuous state of your health, as you are well aware.” She pauses, meeting his blank gaze unflinchingly. Recalibrates, casting new data to the smartwall with a flick of her wrist. This time it’s a building schematic, overlaid with a scrolling list of names. 

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you,” she continues, selecting an entry on the list, “of the extensive measures we have to take to ensure your safety and wellbeing.” The name she selects is random, one she only vaguely recognizes as one of the researchers: a time punch with a small box beside it that reads health check complete. “We screen everyone who enters the building,” she adds, when he doesn’t respond. “The air filtration system is top of the line, especially—” she sidesteps the words down here, carefully—“for sublevels A through D.”

If any of this means anything to him, he gives no indication. He simply watches her, and the screen, and waits.

She pulls up a portion of his file to overlay the schematic. Name, number, age, birthday. Date of initial autoimmune disorder incidence. Dates of subsequential flare-ups. Number, type, and dates of corrective therapies and procedures. List of current medications. He barely glances at it. 

“You’re more than old enough to understand the delicate balance your immune system is suspended in. The immunosuppressants you’re on alone would make you more susceptible to infection, never mind your lack of acquired natural immunities—and I’m sure you’re well aware of the fact that the former cannot be discontinued under any circumstances. Unless, of course, you would like another liver transplant.” She waits for him to flinch. He doesn’t.

Her jaw tightens. Waving away the display, she closes the distance between them, picking up a package of antibacterial wipes along her way.

“Given everything I have just shown you,” she says, tipping his chin down, bracing a hand—a gentling hand, a warning hand—against his jawbone as she begins wiping away dried blood leftover on his upper lip, “the only logical conclusion is that at some point in the last seventy-two hours, you or one of your fellow operatives spent a significant period of time outside of this building.” 

He stays still—stiller than should be possible—as she works at the staining on his skin. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. She’s not sure he’s even breathing, come to think of it. If it wasn’t for the warmth radiating off him, for the pulse in his neck, even she might be inclined to think him more machine than human.

“Of course,” she continues, “none of you were under directive to do so, meaning this excursion was unauthorized.” She gives him a meaningful look. A don’t worry, you aren’t in trouble as long as you confide in me look. “I already have the security feeds to confirm this, by the way,” she concludes, conversationally, pulling back to admire her handiwork. “I’m simply giving you the opportunity to tell me the truth before any more…” she pauses, delicately— “...final decisions are made.”

He says nothing. 

She presses her lips into a flat line, patience beginning to wear thin. “I don’t think you understand,” she begins, waving a grainy blow-up of a lens-captured photo from some customer-citizen’s social that depicts 06 and 22 huddled together in the middle of Greenleaf Square over to the blank smartwall, “how much is at stake here. Not just for you, but for her, and for Nicholas as well. So if you have any information for me, it is in your best interest and theirs to share it now.”

Minutes pass, silence and eye contact unbroken.

Irrational anger seizes her, product of the history between them—of the incomprehensible long game she suspects he’s playing but can’t even approximate the shape of; of the way he’s the perfectly obedient foil to 06’s rebellious streak, yet something in his eyes is anything but; of too many unfruitful conversations just like this one. 

“I didn’t want to do this, but—” she stops short, distracted by a sharp movement from 22. More of a twitch than anything else, but the sheer uncharacteristicness of it puts her immediately on high alert. His pulse simultaneously spikes, incongruous with the absence of any detectable motion from him.

She glances sharply at him when he does it again, some kind of spasm that has his vitals feed going momentarily haywire with each one. 

“Something the matter?” she says, eyes narrowing—and when it happens a third time, his expression contorting in an obvious flinch before he forcibly schools it back, it suddenly makes sense. 

“Gesundheit,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “I’d advise you not to keep trying to stop them like that, by the way. If you give yourself an aneurysm, I can’t help you.”

The contempt in the look he brings to bear on her then is enough to curdle her blood, though in a moment it, too, is wiped from his face with a hard blink and the faintest hint of a sniff.

She feels a headache coming on.

“Or Kit, for that matter,” she adds, in a sudden fit of inspiration, probing for sore spots that exist if one knows where to look. “Is she faring similarly after your little excursion, I wonder?”

“I don’t know.” His response is as instant as it is flat. 

“I believe you,” she concedes finally, after another long moment of not quailing beneath his stare, “but only because if she were severely ill you would have brought her to me.” She pauses. He doesn’t quite blink under her sudden scrutiny, but he doesn’t quite not, either. “Unless, perhaps, you’ve got her sequestered away somewhere on sublevel D.”

This, finally, visibly strikes a nerve. As well it should—he came out of the incident she’s referencing with a double concussion, a punctured lung, fourteen broken bones, twenty-eight mishealed ones and a stress-triggered flare up. He was in the ICU for almost a month.

…But then, of course, she doubts that’s the nerve that was struck. She remembers all too well how Kit flatlined no less than eight times during her liver transplant, and she’s certain he remembers it too. The only times he had surfaced from delirium during his own harrowing recovery were to ask if she was alive—and with such uncharacteristic distress that multiple personnel broke protocol to answer him truthfully, in case it would improve his chances of pulling through.

She had, regrettably, been one of said personnel. 

In the end, obviously, both operatives had survived, and if it was by virtue of the tenacity of their fucking bonds she did not care to know it.

When she glances at him again, his face is blank, any trace of a reaction wiped clean from it.

A spike of frustration nearly claims her before she tamps it down. 

“If neither of you are in critical condition,” she says evenly, “and if Catherine does not choose to join you in the next, let’s say, five minutes—” she makes a show of checking the time on her lenses— “then I’m afraid you’re going to have to take full responsibility for the consequences of your actions, with or without her participation.”

He remains silent. If she didn’t know him better, she’d almost think he was exhibiting the faintest air of impatience.

She sighs. “We both know whose idea it was to leave the grounds,” she says, softening a degree or two. An olive branch. A final offering before she drops the other shoe. “Why didn’t you stop her?”

“Risk assessment,” he says crisply—and oh, there’s the infection. Raised just a little louder now, she notes that his voice is nothing like itself, thick and raw like he’s been gargling knife blades. Interesting. “She would have left regardless. I followed her according to the buddy system protocol.” 

Listening to him makes her want to clear her own throat. She fights the instinct, instead pressing her lips together in the approximation of maternal concern she’s honed to perfection.

“If you tell me where she is now,” she says carefully, eyes fixed to his, “I will leave you both in the green. Just this once.”

It’s a bluff, all of it. Whether he knows this or not, whether his obstinate lack of cooperation is inspired by this, or his loyalty to Kit, or his compromised state, she couldn’t be fucked to guess; but whatever the case, he does not budge an inch. They stay locked in this stalemate of a stare before finally, hating herself, she blinks first.

“Time’s up,” she says calmly, though her mind is anything but. “Unless you can somehow summon her in the next ten seconds, I’ll be sending you out to do street cleanup.” She pulls up the appropriate communication channels and information packets on her lenses. “When Catherine is found, she will be assigned to SCQ for the remainder of the month.”

SCQ—what the operatives dubbed “the box” when they were children, despite all her efforts to shut the pejorative down—is Catherine’s least favorite punishment, and she knows as well as 22 does that expecting her to spend a full thirty days in it is absurd, even dangerous. 

“I’ll go,” he says without batting an eye, in what appears to be utter disregard of both his own failing health and the guaranteed wrath of his partner. As if in some involuntary acknowledgement of the first, however, he sneezes again, stifled to silence against the flat of his fist.

“Be careful.” Her tone is part admonishment, part threat, his name threaded onto the end of the phrase to seal the warning. As it leaves her lips his eyes snap to hers again, unnaturally quick, and something that looks disturbingly close to dangerous flashes in the depths of them, there and gone. 

She musters every ounce of her will not to flinch or look away and the moment passes almost before she can register it, leaving him looking distinctly more tired than before.

“Let me be clear: I’m assigning you to clear 13th through 17th Street, alone, before curfew,” she says tightly, unsettled in a way she can’t quite parse. “No assistance, no excuses. If you fail to comply, I’m sending you to the community services department in the morning. Do you understand the directive?”

“I understand.” His tone, beneath the layers of fatigue and congestion, is ice and steel. Worse, though his expression does not change, somehow she gets the distinctly uncomfortable impression that he is, against all sensible logic, pleased. “Will that be all?”

It feels entirely too much like letting him have the last word. She grasps at the straws of the resolve she’d thought was airtight, coming up with little more than a ghost of a threat, the last cast of a baitless hook. “Not quite.” She folds her arms. Realizes the defensive nature of the posture and almost unfolds them, forces herself to remain in the position for consistency, taps her fingers against her arm. “I’m sure you’re as concerned about Catherine as I am. Would you like me to notify you when she is found?”

His eyes when they lock on hers are baleful, a coldly burning gray that pins her like a butterfly to velvet. “That,” he says quietly, “will not be necessary.”

She takes a breath, but by the time the words come he is gone.

|part 9|

#firebreak book #06/22 #fanfiction #kasey writes #consequences fic #boxcar thing #diana reyes says no to the power of friendship send tweet #hoo boy this one was A Challenge lmao #it took so long bc i ended up rewriting it #it's been a while since i wrote the first version and i understand their weirdo nuanced dynamic a lot better now so here we are rip #the director has almost no idea what's going on in his head lmaooo but she thinks she super does. #meanwhile he's using every scrap of his willpower to refrain from murdering her #especially whenever she touches him. or uses his name. sorry 22 #lmao he got exactly what he wanted in this scene but. I wouldn't call it winning lolll he's gonna regret it next scene

[aminiatureworld]

Small Bits of Memory

Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,531

Warnings: None

Premise: Little moments between Scaramouche and the reader.

Author’s Note: Warning, I’m not caught up on the archon quest. I did skim the wiki (which made me kinda sad ngl), but if there are inaccuracies, that’s why. I also may have made Scaramouche a bit sappy because of this.  

I took “comfort” to mean “hurt/comfort” so if some of these are a bit melancholic it’s because angst brain does not turn off.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche is well familiar with nightmares. He knows the feeling of opening yours eyes in the dark, not moving, not crying out or sitting up; simply opening your eyes as the latent fear of your dreams finally catch up with you and finally your breathing starts to speed in your chest, as your finally realize how afraid you were. Thus on the first night he wakes to you staring intently at the darkness around you, still to the point of stiffness, he automatically understands what’s going on.

At first he’s too scared to wrap his arms around you, afraid that you’ll find the action frightening, or that you’ll instinctively reject him. He only reaches out his hand, secretly relieved when you entwined your fingers within his. Feeling vaguely sentimental in his tired state he whispers: “I’ll protect you from the dark, so stop staring and go back to sleep.” He hopes that you won’t tease him about it tomorrow, as some small part of him knows that it was a very silly thing to say.

Afterwards he grows a little bolder, inching closer to you, then letting one arm rest on your shoulder, fingers featherlight on your skin. Thankfully your penchant for nightmares isn’t too great, so it’s about two months before he wakes up the next day to his arms wrapped around you, you nestled within his sleepy embrace. Seeing you sleeping peacefully after the look of uncomprehending panic plastered across your features the night before calms him like few other things, and he sighs peacefully, letting his eyes flit closed once more. The two of you sleep in that day.

Scaramouche always panics slightly whenever you get hurt. It could be a paper cut, it could be a bruise, it could be a battle injury, his response is relatively similar each time. You might squirm as he cleans your cut off for the third time in ten minutes, assuring him that you aren’t going to die, but he isn’t truly listening to you. There’s a glazed look in his eyes, and it takes him a few moments to register that you’re calling his name. You worry about it sometimes, you wonder what might happen if you were to truly injure yourself. You hope he wouldn’t blame himself too much. Scaramouche has a surprising penchant towards self-flagellation, when he’s not telling himself that he’s superior to everyone around him.

Scaramouche has never horsed around in a river, never experienced a snowball fight, never watched a sunrise for the sake of it. He was not created for such things after all. It’s hard for him to imagine enjoyment in the little pieces of universal humanity, perhaps because he feels somehow separated from such a privilege. You start keeping a list of these sorts of things, small moments to enjoy. He finds the idea silly at first, but gradually grows to like the experience. Perhaps not the individual activities, but the experience as a whole. He might not understand the “universal human experience” as you call it, but the snow against his skin is cold and clear, and the sun looks like fire in the sky, and you’re smiling next to him, and all is well in the world.

Scaramouche doesn’t have much attachment to Inazuma, considering it a desolate land where the people survive despite, not because of, the land. He has no love for the plains, or the skinny forests, or the craggy rocks and hills. The flowers glow preternaturally, and the electricity that fills the air makes unpleasant crackling noises. Nevertheless he has to admit a fondness for the cherry blossoms that bloom on Narukami Islands. It’s as if a small sliver of beauty managed to scrape its way into the world. He’ll take you to see them sometimes, regardless of his status as a Harbinger and a general menace. Perched amidst the falling petals you remind him of some sort of spirit from folklore. If he could draw well at all he thinks he would make a portrait of you surrounded by those blossoms. Certainly there’d be nothing else worth painting.

The two of you like to read together, Scaramouche going over whatever plans he’s currently focusing on, you curled up with a book. If you find a passage or a quote you particularly like you’ll tap him on the shoulder, and Scaramouche will duly listen to you read it aloud. He likes the sound of your reading voice, the way it varies slightly from when you talk. Unfortunately he made the mistake of telling you that once, and you began to insist that he read for you. Though he secretly enjoys doing so, he still grumbles about it out of habit. The both of you know he’s only doing it for show.

Scaramouche once caught you using a broom like a sword. Though you looked very drunk he secretly found it endlessly endearing. He offered to teach you some basic sword forms (despite his weapon knowing swordplay is a basic requirement for all Fatui soldiers). You accepted eagerly at the time, unaware of how much you’d underestimated Scarmouche’s fervor when it came to training. It took a wooden sword snapped in half for him to lay off a little bit, but at least his troops started dropping hints at you that they no longer feared for their lives. Though you think they were joking, you were still glad for the learning experience. You two still spar every once in a while though.

Living up to his title of “Balladeer” Scaramouche has quite the haunting voice. Not particularly high, his range still has a natural warmth to it that belies his cold exterior. You almost never catch him actually singing. The first time it happened was when you had a migraine. Refusing to leave your tent – you hadn’t actually convinced him you weren’t dying – he seemed torn between boredom and worry. At first it was a mere hum, but soon enough it morphed into a captivating song. He refused to tell you the name of it, claiming he’d forgotten, and refused to bring it up the next morning. Still sometimes you’ll catch him now and then humming out a tune, usually when he’s reading or if you’re sick or upset. His singing is something you associate with comfort.

Scaramouche is a terrible letter writer. If you send him ten letters while he’s away he’ll send you three. Still what he lacks in quantity he makes up for in word count. Curt in his official reports, his letters to you are pure stream-of-consciousness, captivating whatever he’s thinking about at the time. Usually the letters are somewhat sappy (or surprisingly bold) missives on how much he loves you and misses you, somehow more honest than when he speaks to you face-to-face. Still you’ve also gotten quite used to a thousand words on how much he hates his fellow Harbingers. You don’t mind, keeping all his letters to you in a box. Though he claims to burn yours, he does the same.

Scaramouche always tell you the days he’s leaving and the days he’s returning. Sometimes he’ll have it down to an estimated hour. Though he appreciates the pomp and spectacle of appearing around others unannounced – something he does quite a bit when working – he refuses to keep you in a limbo of waiting. Secretly he’s also always afraid you might not show up on the docks one day, and every time he sees your face after a long time away a weight lifts in his chest, the pressure on his soul just a little easier to bear every time.

Scaramouche has always felt most comfortable at night. When the world sleeps, when he has the advantage of being awake, being alert, being more powerful. When there are fewer eyes on him, and he can even tell himself that he is the only one awake in the world, can indulge in those moments of wondering, wondering whether he has ever felt something, whether he is missing a crucial piece. Whether he has ever been happy, whether he wants to be so. He can be vulnerable at night, and thus is the reason it appealed to him so much.

Now the night is his favorite time of day because he can always be near you at that time. If you two are in the same land, then you will spend the night in the same room, the same tent, the same bed. Listening to the sound of your breathing, letting himself revel in your closeness, your arms wrapped around his waist, or his wrapped around you, Scaramouche feels truly content. Perhaps he is even happy, perhaps this is what happiness is, what love is. Perhaps it is something more than that, something undefinable, something too abstract to put into words. He loves you, he realizes to himself, he loves you so much. It is overwhelming, like a tidal wave, yet it does not frighten him. He could be struck by lightning and it would not frighten him. It will in the daytime, but now is the night, and now he can marvel peacefully at the fact that he truly loves you.

#made myself emotional with this #genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #genshin impact fanfiction #headcanons #requested #my writing

[tobesobri]

Traditions | 17.3k

a/n: it's been a while since I uploaded writing and for some reason I decided to sign up for this challenge and by some miracle actually managed to write something for it 🤯anyways, this is for the Valentine's Day Challenge by @1dffchallenges and it's honestly just a bit of fun, enemies to lovers little bit of angst and some smut! so i hope you enjoy! I'd always love to know your thoughts!! (also pls excuse any errors, I wrote this in a week with little editing lol)

prompt: doube date

dialogue: “So let me get this right. You want to hire me as your date for a Valentine’s Day Party?”

Pink and red were speckled throughout the entire office, whether it was a bouquet of chocolate roses, a banner of hearts, or stuffed bears residing next to bowls full of heart-shaped candies. Every employee’s section of the office had been filled to the brim with decorations as well. Pink and red ribbon taped carefully around the edges of their desktop computer, little store-bought balloons, also heart-shaped, grouped together and tied to desk chairs. 

And Y/N, dressed in her typical all black outfit, rolled her eyes as she paced through the office toward the one section in the back that was immune to all things heart-shaped, pink, or stuffed. 

She sat down at her desk with a loud sigh, her purse hitting the floor in its usual spot just before she slipped out of her jacket and draped it haphazardly between her back and the chair. It’d be wrinkled by the end of the day, but she didn’t care all that much, nor did she put much thought into the stains on her purse from leaving it on the floor. All she concerned herself with, after settling in, was getting straight to work… which was put on hiatus when she came face-to-face with both a pink and heart-shaped sticky note plastered onto the center of her computer screen. 

Groaning, she ripped it off and moved to turn her computer on before she bothered to read whatever was written on the note. She considered three potential suspects while she pulled her keyboard down onto her desk and logged in. There was Kayla, who worked front reception and was one of the main culprits of all the Valentine’s decorations. A strong contender. It could’ve also been Ines or Carmen, her closest work friends whom Y/N knew both owned a pad of pink, heart-shaped sticky notes. 

However, when she finally let her eyes fall to the note as her computer loaded up, the handwriting didn’t match any of the women she knew, and she was quite positive that none of them would have written was was sprawled out in black ink either.

Roses are red, violets are blue. I will fill your office with teddy bears and balloons, if you don’t send me your half of the proposal by two.

Harry.

She crumpled the note and tossed it into the bin under her desk. He could go fuck himself for all she cared. Sure, she was nearly done with her portion of the work and would be able to send it to him before then, but now that he’d pestered her about it, he’d be lucky if she even bothered to send it to him at all. 

She didn’t doubt the promise, i.e. threat, he made on the note, but being surrounded by teddy bears and balloons would be worth making Harry’s life just a tad miserable.

After opening all the apps she’d need to get her work done, namely Photoshop and Illustrator, she connected her drawing tablet and set up the rest of her work station for the day, both on screen and off.

Harry had worked at the company for about two years longer than her and she’d started off as an intern while she was still in college and, after graduating, was hired as a permanent graphic designer. They had never really gotten along ever since Harry—jokingly—asked her to get him a coffee once… or twice. Unfortunately for her, though, they ended up working well together and their boss had stuck them both on the same projects ever since. Especially after the month-long project last spring that had been their most successful one to date. 

While she came up with the design parts of client projects, Harry handled the more technical side of things and they’d never really argued much over each other’s work even though they clashed constantly at a more personal level. 

“I see your feeling festive.” Just as she’d gotten into the groove of her typical morning and had forgotten all about Harry’s stupid note, his voice interrupted her entire thought process. So when she swiveled around to find him leaning into her little office space, it was hardly a surprise when she glared at him, even though he feigned offense at her bitterness.

“You got my note, I presume.” He let himself into her space anyway, holding a mug of steaming coffee she was sure he’d just made in the workroom, and leaned up against the opposite side of her desk that housed a much larger, digital drawing tablet for when she needed to do more intricate design pieces. 

She just swiveled back around to face her computer again and went back to work as if he was no longer there. Pretending to ignore his existence proved to be quite difficult when the very particular woodsy, vanilla scents of his cologne met her nostrils and filled her entire office. Not to mention, the sight of what he’d been wearing singed the backs of her eyelids so that she still saw him every time she blinked. It was as if her brain refused to let her forget what he looked like in his white button-up, sleeves rolled to the crooks of his elbows, all tucked into his fitted black trousers that tended to get the imaginations going of all the women in the building. 

Not her though, of course. She was better than that. Obviously.

He cleared his throat, still very much present in her space and still very much giving her a migraine. “So will it be ready by two?”

“Well, I planned to send it to you before lunch.” She tweaked the spacing between letters of a potential logo for the millionth time. “But now… I think I might need the rest of the day.”

She heard rustling behind her and knew he was shifting his weight impatiently and running a hand through his hair as he often did when he was… displeased. “I told you I’m leaving early tomorrow and I need it no later than two.”

She cocked her head to the side, still staring at her computer screen and not giving him an ounce of satisfaction. “Did you tell me that?” She teased, an amused smirk lifting the corners of her mouth when she heard him groan behind her. “I must’ve forgotten.” Shrugging, she went back to her work.

“Unlike you,” he snapped, “some of us actually have a love life and I’d appreciate you not fucking up mine.”

She froze then, only for a split second, when his words sank in. Two thoughts raced through her head. The first a string of curse words because of his assumption that she didn’t have a love life. But the more prominent and worrisome part of his statement was that he did have one. And that he was leaving early tomorrow—Valentine’s Day—so he could get ready for a date.

Throwing both her prickly exterior and heartbreaking smirk up again, she turned to face him. “I’ve known you for three years now and if anyone has the potential to fuck up your love life, it’s you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and her gaze fell to the hand that seemed to wrap a bit tighter around his Bugs Bunny mug. His knuckles whitened and she met his heated stare again, pleased with herself for getting him riled up before he’d even finished his morning coffee.

“So,” she continued before he get get a word of retaliation out, and sat back against her chair, crossing her legs confidently as she folded her hands in her lap. “Who’s the poor girl you’ve tricked into going on a date with you this time?”

Harry had a terrible track record. The longest relationship he’d been in lasted for two months, and that was well before she’d known him. Everything else he had was just a one or two night thing and nothing more. Sure, it was all more than she had, but she preferred it that way. Harry seemed to resent the fact that he couldn’t keep a girlfriend to save his life.

“You don’t know her.”

Her smile widened. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“Couple weeks.”

“Ooh, that just might be your second longest relationship, Styles.” 

“Well at least I’ve had one.”

His jab didn’t have an affect on her however, and he knew it wouldn’t because it never did. He knew she didn’t give a damn about relationships, or at least that’s what she claimed anyway. He couldn’t think of many twenty-four year old women who actually wanted to be alone. He actually couldn’t think of a mid-twenties anyone who wanted that.

“You’ll have to try harder than that.” She said nonchalantly, which irked him even more than he already was, and then swiveled away from him one last time, picking up her drawing pen and getting back to work.

“What’s your issue with relationships?” He went on and she knew he was headed right down a path intended to hurt her feelings just as much as she had his. So, she tensed slightly and braced for impact. “Is it a commitment thing? Or can you just not find anyone to put up with you for longer than five minutes?” 

She let his words sink their teeth in and then smiled to herself. “Hm. Seeing as you’ve been in my office now for,” she checked the time at the top right-hand corner of her screen, “eight minutes, maybe we should date.” She lifted a brow, awaiting his next response. 

It felt a bit like a cat-and-mouse chase bickering with Harry and since she was usually the cat, it brought her way too much pleasure fighting with him.

He scoffed. “Like I’d lower my standards for you.”

That one hurt, she had to admit. Not out loud or to Harry, but it still stung because it was true. He’d have to drop his standards to the floor to even consider dating her and she knew it. 

“Maybe,” she began, still half focused on her work, and ignored his comment all together, “some of us like being alone.”

“Nobody likes that.” He responded quickly and she heard a shift of his weight again and then his voice once more a few moments later. “It’s nice to be by yourself sometimes, yeah, but you can’t tell me you don’t want someone to come home to at the end of the day.” He crossed one leg over the other as he gripped the edge of her desk for support and just when she thought he was done, he kept going, “Someone you can vent to about your annoying co-worker.”

She glanced at him through the little portable mirror hanging above her desk—mostly used to make sure she looked decent before meeting with clients or, sometimes, Harry—and saw the tight smile on his lips. Almost as if that’s what he wanted, like he was talking about himself and not her. 

She’d slowed her progress down while he’d talked until she was no longer working at all. She no longer swiped her pen across the pad or had any idea what she was even doing when she focused solely on his words. Because, once again, whether he was talking about himself or about her, he was right.

“Yeah well,” she quickly hid herself back behind her wall and made her hands function properly again. “Some of us also don’t have the luxury of choosing whomever we want.”

She imagined him smirking at that one because, buried deep within her words was a compliment. That he was handsome enough to actually have anyone he wanted.

Instead, when she glanced at the mirror again and found him, there was the complete opposite of a smirk on his face, and as he stared down into his mug, clearly lost in thought, she wondered what the tightness in his jaw and the frown pulling on his lips meant.

She sighed and stole his attention away from his coffee. “I’ll have it to you before lunch. You can go now, unless you’d like to argue some more and slow me down by another…” she glanced at her clock again, adding up all the time he’d been standing in her office, “fifteen minutes.”

Without another word, she listened to the drag of his footsteps as he finally left her office space. And although she was glad to be rid of his distraction, the room felt so much bigger and so much colder and emptier without him in it. Shivering, she slipped back into her jacket and spent the next few hours doing nothing but staring straight ahead at her screen as she made final adjustments to her designs. 

Any other conversations with Harry were had over email as he worked in his own respective office, messaging her with every little concern he had in order to get his work done efficiently so that he wasn’t stressing to finish it tomorrow before he had to leave. Even though Y/N considered not responding to him a few times, just to spite him and slow him down for her own amusement, she found herself feeling guilty after leaving him hanging a couple times. Sure, she hated Valentine’s Day and everything surrounding it, but she’d almost hate even more the idea of both her and Harry being miserable tomorrow, so she inevitably gave in and cooperated with him. She’d probably regret it when he came back on Thursday spreading around the office all the gory details of his date, but at least he wouldn’t also be in a shitty mood. Her days were both boring and slow whenever Harry wasn’t having a good day. And although she’d blame it all on selfish reasons, it did also make her sad to see him frowning around the office and sulking when all she wanted to do was bicker with him and make him smile again, even just a little bit. But it was easier leaving him to his own devices than risk him finding out she cared about him enough to not wish sadness upon him.  

She couldn’t say the same for him. Harry probably relished in the days she came into the office in a sour mood. He probably celebrated and threw a party whenever she was upset, and, even so, it didn’t change how she felt about him.

The sun had long set and most of the office was gone by the time she finally called it quits and began packing up her things and giving her computer a rest for the night. There were still quiet murmurs from other workaholic employees, which comforting her knowing she wasn’t completely alone in the building, since the last time she’d done that, it took everything in her not to have a panic attack all the way to her car. 

Even though her boss told her countless times not to stay past five o’clock, as he told every other female employee that worked for him that he didn’t wish to see attacked after sunset in the city. Of course, when she was the only one who didn’t listen to him, he hired more guards and one of them rounded the corner into her office space, ready to escort her all the way down to her car.

“Figured you were still here.” He leaned against the walls of her cubicle and watched as she startled, twisting to meet his eyes for a moment before she settled and returned to slipping her belongings into her purse. 

“I don’t need you to escort me.” Zipping her purse, she rose from her chair, checking one last time across her desk to make sure she’d grabbed everything she needed to take home with her before turning to him as he still lingered in the opening of her little office. 

William had been hired a couple months ago, and was only a year older than her, but even so he was more than a foot taller than her and his biceps were about as big as her head. While the entire office drooled over him, she tended to keep her eyes and her thoughts to herself. 

“You say that every night you stay late. Just let me do my job and shut up about it.” He smirked at her and when her eyes met his again, sharply, glaring at him, she groaned and whirled past him toward the elevators. He followed swiftly behind, knowing she’d close the doors on him if he didn’t keep close enough pace with her, mostly because she’d done it before.

As he took his spot beside her and she pressed the button for the parking garage at the basement of the building, a familiar voice rang out through the office.

“Wait!” As if she wasn’t already annoyed enough with William’s presence, his stupidly large arm held the elevator doors open as Harry slipped inside a moment later.

“Thanks, mate.” Harry said exclusively to William as he caught his breath and stood wedged in the middle between the guard and Y/N, who was inching closer and closer into her corner to get away from Harry.

“You have any plans tomorrow?” Harry asked, his attention solely on William again while the elevator took off down through the levels of their building. Not fast enough for Y/N, of course.

William sighed, crossing his arms and trying to resist smiling. “Me and my girlfriend take turns surprising each other every year. And it’s her turn this year… so I guess I have plans, but I don’t know what they are.”

“Damn, way to make us feel incompetent.”

Y/N whirled her head to glare up at the side of Harry’s face. “Speak for yourself.” She warned.

Harry just ignored her though. “What did you guys do last year?”

Again, William stifled a grin. “I had been saving up for a while and took us both to Paris.”

“Shit.” Harry’s eyebrows rose and Y/N rolled her eyes away from him, watching the LED screen above the elevator doors as they neared the bottom levels of the building. She knew Harry and William had become friends, mostly because Harry was annoying and befriended everyone. Except her, of course. She heard his stupid voice again and wished she could just transport herself directly into the front seat of her car and be done with the both of them. “And now she has to do better than Paris.”

Y/N glanced around Harry just in time to see William smirk and she should have known what was about to come out of his mouth before it did. “Well, I don’t consider much better than her mouth ar—“

Y/N cut him off. “Ew! Are you serious?”

Both men eyed her curiously just as the elevator came to a stop and, with a ding, the doors opened. She flew toward them quickly.

“Y/N wait, I have to—“

Again, she cut him off, turning once she was out on solid ground. “I’ll be fine, besides trying to rid my mind of that image you just burned into it.” She turned on her heel and headed off toward her car.

William made a move toward her and Harry grabbed his arm, “I’ll walk her. Forgot she’s a bit of a prude.” They shared an amused look and Harry jogged out onto the concrete and asphalt until he reached her side.

“I heard that, you know… and I know for a fact your car is not parked in this direction.” She seethed and he just smiled to himself, happier than ever that she was in the mood to bicker with him, because he wasn’t quite in the mood to leave yet, where he’d have to wait till tomorrow morning at nine-thirty to see her again. And she wasn’t always the most talkative person on Valentine’s Day, either.

“Why are you the only female in our building not foaming at the mouth over him?” He asked instead, referring to William.

He heard her scoff. “Just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean I have to be interested… or want to hear about his girlfriend sucking his—“

“Cock?” Harry finished for her and within a second she spun around to face him, forcing him to stop in his tracks just inches from her now. His smirk only grew when he saw just how quickly he’d gotten her all flustered. 

And then, as they started each other down, the hardness in her face softened and she drew out a breath, forcing his eyes to fall to her lips and his smirk to fall from his mouth. He thought back to last spring, when there were numerous late nights with her just like this one. When he went home and couldn’t stop thinking about…

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked and he blinked a couple times before he lifted his eyes.

“Like what?” He furrowed his brows, trying to track down all the resentment he had for her but he couldn’t find it anywhere anymore. He couldn’t summon it and say something that would save his ass from being caught looking at her like he wanted to kiss her.

Like he wanted to taste her and feel her against him, and hear what she sounded like when he tugged at her hair for more.

“Nevermind.” She shook her head, silencing the chaos going on in his brain. And then she turned, continuing the walk to her car with or without him, but, when she heard the echoing click of his shoes against the asphalt once more, she knew she wasn’t rid of him yet.

“I don’t suppose you’ll give me a ride back to my car, will you?” He easily stepped back into place beside her like nothing had happened.

She didn’t say anything for much longer than he was comfortable with. And then, finally, they reached her car and she sighed. “Get in before I change my mind.”

As she went for the driver’s side, he took quick steps to the opposite side, watching her over the top of her little Honda as she unlocked her door, and then, after clicking the button, his door as well. They both slipped in at the same time and while she fastened her seatbelt and settled in for her drive home, he sat perched with his backpack in his lap, knowing he’d be out of her car within only a couple minutes.

He still glanced around at his surroundings as she backed out of her parking space. “Should’ve guessed your car would be as neat as your desk.”

She didn’t say anything as she drove in the opposite direction of the exit toward the section of the garage Harry always parked in. It was closer to the elevators because he always came in before her and snagged a prime spot. She preferred an extra few minutes of sleep over walking an extra fifty steps.

And he started up again when she continued to not talk to him. “Most artists I know of are super messy.”

“I’m not an artist.” She gritted out through her teeth as she came to a stop once she spotted the rear-end of Harry’s BMW. Although she knew it well enough to distinguish it from the other black BMWs in the garage, it also helped that Harry had an old, faded license plate cover filled with a collage of cute pictures of puppies. He’d said it won him bonus points with women, but she also knew his screensaver at work was a picture of puppies as well, and no women he was interested in ever saw that.

He peeled his eyes off his car and looked over at her. “I know you can draw, too.”

She paused, gripping her steering wheel. She did enjoy both art and design and she knew Harry knew the difference between the two. She just didn’t know why he always insisted on bugging her about it. 

“Yeah, well that doesn’t make me an artist.”

When he didn’t say anything, she glanced at him just in time to find him shrugging a shoulder like he was agreeing to disagree. Even if she couldn’t draw, he’d still consider her an artist because the things she managed to design always blew his mind and if that wasn’t art… 

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to get out, or do I have to drag you?”

He grinned, and it was almost as if her eyes refused to see anything else but his dimples and the bright whites of his teeth, and the birthmark to the side of his mouth… 

“I’m going.” He assured, and yet he still hadn’t moved an inch. “Even though I’d love to see you try to drag me.” With her knuckles whitening on the steering wheel, he chuckled and unzipped the small pocket on the front of his backpack, withdrawing his keys as he finally swung her door open.

Once he was out, he gripped the top of the door and leaned back in to find her staring straight ahead. “Drive carefully, yeah? Would be quite tragic for your bitter ass to die on Valentine’s Day.”

She reached over and, despite having to brush her knuckles along the side of his thigh, grabbed the handle of the passenger door and yanked. His body remained in her way, however, and he was unfortunately a lot stronger than her.

Then she finally looked up at him, and those thoughts he had earlier surfaced again as much as he’d tried to bury them. This time though, he didn’t fight it as he glanced at her lips once more, then back at her eyes, which had widened slightly just before the dimples reappeared in his cheeks. “And I guess I would miss bickering with you every day.”

With that, he was gone and she retreated back to her seat as he shut the door for her. She had no idea what to think about what had just happened. Why he’d looked at her like that again. What that look even meant. 

By the time she reached the freeway, she’d convinced herself she was just seeing things. Harry wasn’t looking at her in any other way he had before when he was intent on pestering her. But, as she took in the scent of him still lingering in the cabin, she allowed a small part of her to hope she was wrong.

Her eyes fell on the man down the hall from her door as she slipped her key into the lock, her brows furrowing as she watched him. It wasn’t unusual for their paths to cross, as they tended to get home around the same time, but it was quite odd to see him sitting on the floor outside his apartment, his head in his hands. 

They’d said hi to each other a couple times in the mailroom, but she definitely didn’t know him well enough to go up and ask what his issue was or try to fix it for him. And after it was confirmed that he hadn’t, in fact, lost his keys, as they sat beside him on the floor along with his phone, she figured it best to leave him be. 

Turning her key, she pulled her gaze from him and disappeared from the hallway.

The second she was inside her apartment, she felt all the weight lift right off her shoulders, especially when her cat came racing up, screaming at her from the floor while also coaxing her toward the kitchen to fill the food bowl. Whatever was going on with her neighbor still very much on her mind, she tried to focus instead on relaxing and getting both her and the screaming Pretzel some dinner. 

She tried to remember his name as she heated up leftover pasta. She knew it started with an A, but her brain was coming up short. So, while Pretzel crunched on his food in his corner of the kitchen, she tried her hardest to remember. 

And it was no question why she cared so much. Her neighbor was someone she was actually interested in, and she had been since she first saw him. Of course, she was never foolish enough to think he was into her, but she still let herself fantasize. He was tall, nearly black curly hair atop his head always in a state of disarray, and he had the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen hidden behind his glasses. And, if she was being honest with herself, he was just a darker-haired version of Harry. Maybe that’s why she liked him.

The beeping of her microwave tore her thoughts from the dangerous path they’d been headed down. Harry’s voice rang in her head a moment later.

Like I’d lower my standards for you.

She’d needed to hear him say that, because sometimes her thoughts got carried away when it came to Harry and sometimes she did let herself be a fool who hoped. But after he’d said that one damning phrase, it was enough for her to stop. She didn’t meet a single one of his standards, inside or out. 

Still, she tried her hardest not to go back out into the hall and make sure her neighbor was alright. Maybe he just needed someone to talk to and it wasn’t like she was doing anything important. Even if she didn’t have a dumb crush on him, as she did Harry, she still didn’t enjoy seeing him in the state he’d been in.

Before she could work up the nerve, however, a knock sounded through her quiet apartment.

She held her breath as she opened her door, really hoping it wasn’t the boy from across the hall, since she was still blanking on his name, but she couldn’t imagine anyone else knocking on her door this late into the evening. 

So when she inevitably found him there, looking down at her through his annoyingly long lashes as she took in the horrible state he was in—red, inflamed eyes and hair that needed to see a brush rather than his hand—she completely lost her breath instead.

“Uh, sorry, I… saw you come in and I know we don’t talk and this is a weird thing for me to ask but…” He ran said hand through said messy hair and she found her breath again while looking up at him like she’d do whatever he’d asked just so he’d stop frowning.

He sighed, glancing down the hall toward his apartment and then met her curious and somewhat concerned gaze. “Can I come in?”

She recoiled. “Um… why?”

“Well, um, I was hoping you could help me with something and I’d rather not have the entire floor know about it.”

She was beyond confused now, but still, she stepped aside and let him pass, assuming that if he was actually a murderer he would have done her in a lot sooner than this. He had plenty of other opportunities. Plus, something in his face just… made her want to trust him.

She closed the door and turned to him, watching as his eyes scanned her kitchen and where her food still sat before he twisted around, eyes wide. “Shit, I’m sorry for interrupting.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine.” And after clearing her throat, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you, um… what do you need help with?”

He swallowed and she watched his Adam’s apple budge in his throat. “I don’t imagine you’ll like me very much after I ask but… I need a date.”

“What?” Again, she nearly flew out of her skin.

His eyes darted back and forth between hers, gauging her reactions and very obviously on the verge of seeing himself out and pretending this never happened. Instead, he stuffed away his pride and went on. “My ex… she, uh… well we broke up a few months ago and I saw her the other day and she’s seeing someone and we were talking and I… told her I was seeing someone too and so she invited me to go on this stupid double date with her… but the thing is… I’m not actually seeing anyone and I just told her that so she’d be jealous but she didn’t seem jealous at all and I don’t exactly have many friends to ask for help and I saw you and…” He rambled, but she managed to understand his predicament just fine. 

“A double date? With your ex?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know either. She’s… she does weird shit but… I still want her back.”

Y/N’s heart ached in her chest. As much as she detested relationships, she was a sucker for other people’s relationships and she was definitely a sucker for her beautiful neighbor, even if he was asking to use her to make his ex-girlfriend jealous.

“Not that I’m saying yes but… when? And where?” She finally asked after thinking things over for a moment.

“Tomorrow night… I can pay you. I will pay you, I mean… but, seriously, you don’t have to do it I just thought I would ask.”

“Where is this date at?” She repeated when he didn’t answer that part of her question.

“At this party… and bef—“

She cut him off. “Okay so let me get this right. You want to hire me as your date to a Valentine’s Day party?”

He lifted a brow, “Well, there’s more… she wants to get dinner before going to the party.”

She shook her head, looking away, “I don’t really do Valentine’s Day…”

“You wouldn’t have to do much. I’ll pay for your dinner, too. Whatever you want. I just… really need your help and you’re my only option.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You realize I’m not exactly…” she waved at her face and his eyebrows screwed together in confusion. “I’m not easy on the eyes and I don’t think taking me will make anyone jealous.”

He didn’t say anything for a while, just stared at her incredulously. She shifted her weight nervously and he finally opened his mouth. “You don’t actually think that, do you?”

Her features scrunched up and she kept her eyes planted on the middle of his chest. And then he realized that she, in fact, did.

“I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.” He also realized that using her to make his ex jealous would possibly hurt her more than it would help him and he could no longer fathom putting her through that. “I’ll figure it out. I’m sorry.” He moved to walk past her, back to his apartment but she stopped him before he got far.

“No… I’ll help you.” And then she realized his identity was still somewhat of a mystery to her. “This sounds even worse than what you just asked me to do, but… I completely forgot your name.”

He breathed out a laugh. “It’s Adam.”

She knew it had started with an A!

“Y/N.” 

He smiled wider and nodded. “I know.” And then his face grew sad again. “I am really sorry I’m asking you to do this on Valentine’s Day, it’s definitely not my proudest moment.”

She waved him off. “I wasn’t going to do anything anyway. Just tell me what you need me to do.” She didn’t bother brining up the whole payment thing. She didn’t really care about being paid. He was nice, the only nice person she’d encountered in her apartment building and if getting him back together with his ex meant she’d never have to come home and see him in the fetal position on the floor again, she’d suffer through a date and a party on her least favorite holiday.

It was somehow even worse than it’d been yesterday. The decorations seemed to triple in size. Not an inch of the office was untouched by something pink and she prayed whoever had put up even more decorations had spared her little cubicle.

“Oh, hey, Y/N!” One of the receptionists most responsible for the overflowing decor, Kayla, called her over to her desk not even a minute after Y/N had arrived. And she stalked over until she saw the package Kayla pulled out that instantly lifted her spirits.

She stopped in front of Kayla’s desk and took the thin box from from her, already knowing what it was and thanking god for the timing so that her entire day wasn’t completely miserable. It was a new drawing pad she’d ordered, a bigger one that she hoped would be a bit more efficient to use than her current one.

Even with her back turned to the rest of the office, she sensed Harry’s presence long before he stopped beside her with his mug in hand.

He lifted a brow at the package in Y/N’s hands just as she reluctantly turned to look at him. “Getting gifts sent to the office? That’s a first.”

She rolled her eyes and stuffed the box under her arm, holding herself back from running off to her office to set it up. “Jealous?” She cocked her head.

And instead of his condescending smirk and a hateful response to go with it, the sparkle in his eyes seemed to fade as he eyed the box again, genuinely worried now that it was actually a gift from someone. 

Before either could say anything, they all turned to find a delivery man walking up to Kayla with a giant bouquet of flowers in tow. And so it began. Although, when Kayla took the vase from the man eagerly, a bright smile on her face because Kayla loved love a little too much, Y/N couldn’t help but think about Adam. About how the only time she’d managed to get a date on Valentine’s Day was when it wasn’t even real. Instead, she’d stupidly agreed to help her cute neighbor win back his ex-girlfriend in exchange for a free dinner.

It was… pathetic. To say the least.

She felt Harry watching her, too, while she eyed the bouquet of flowers as they departed reception with Kayla and made their way to their recipient. As stupid as she found everything about the holiday, she couldn’t help but want someone to send her flowers. To give her anything for that matter. To have thought about her for at least a second of their day. Harry cleared his throat and she tore her eyes away.

“So… what’s in the box?”

“None of your business.” She rounded him, heading to her office, but he grabbed her free arm to stop her short and didn’t speak until she met his gaze again.

“Can we meet up in my office to finish the proposal? Think it’ll be easier to get it done than over email.”

She had every reason to be suspicious of him. They almost never worked in each other’s offices. When they did work together, which was often, it was in one of the empty conference rooms and it was usually at the beginning of the process when they needed the space to plan things out. The last time they’d really been in each other’s offices was last spring. Figuring he just wanted to get things done so he could be out of the office on time, she let it go.

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

He watched her walk away, watched her even as Kayla returned and noticed his gaze and giggled at him as she took her spot back behind her desk.

“It was something she ordered for herself, by the way.”

“What?” Harry whipped around again, not having even realized the other woman until now.

“I know you two pretend to hate each other but I see the way you look at her, Harry.” Kayla lifted a brow at him as she began typing on her keyboard.

He feigned disgust. “I’m seeing someone, you know.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” He insisted. “I have a date. Tonight.”

She lifted her hands in surrender. “Okay… I’m just saying.”

“I don’t look at her.”

Kayla suppressed a smile and snorted instead. “If you say so. I guess you didn’t also sneak into her office this morning, either.”

“I think all these flowers and stuffed bears and heart-shaped things have gotten to your head.” He pointed around to the decor littering her desk while holding his mug steady.

Kayla met his eyes and her smile slipped off her face. “Harry, please don’t mess with her.”

His face screwed up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you don’t like her then don’t lead her on.”

“I don’t think she’s capable of being led on.”

Kayla froze for a moment and then nodded. “You’re right.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by that either. “Why are you being weird?”

“Because,” Kayla sighed, brushing her curled brunette hair onto one shoulder and then lowered the volume of her voice. “I happen to know she doesn’t think very highly of herself and I’d rather not see her get hurt, especially not by you.”

Now Harry froze. The hand that gripped his mug tightened and he didn’t even flinch as it began to burn his skin. He heard Y/N’s voice in his head then as he drowned out his surroundings.

Some of us don’t have the luxury of choosing whomever we want.

He had instantly regretted what he’d said to her yesterday when she’d told him that. And now hearing Kayla, in a way, confirm what he’d read between the lines of Y/N’s words… his chest tightened in quite possibly the worst way ever. He’d hated himself most of the day after telling her he’d never lower his standards for her and he could say he was just bickering all he wanted, but he knew now for certain she took it the wrong way. And he wished more than ever that he hadn’t said something so horrible to her, especially when it was the farthest thing from the truth. 

And the real truth, that he was trying desperately to shove away with stupid remarks like that, was that he didn’t meet her standards. She wasn’t into relationships and he knew he wasn’t good enough to change her mind.

“How do you know that?” He finally asked.

“That Christmas party last year… she’s a really happy drunk until she’s not.”

He flinched. “Did she say something?”

“I don’t want to get into it, mostly because I don’t think she remembers and would probably kill me if I told you but… just leave her be.”

He hardened back up again. “She does’t have any interest in relationships anyway, ‘specially not with me.”

Kayla scoffed. “She’s a really good liar.”

Harry stood there for a few more moments, feeling as if his life had just gotten flipped upside down. He’d been in such a good mood mere minutes ago before his dumbass waltzed into reception all because he’d seen Y/N. Because, despite everything and despite the fact he was already attempting to date someone else, it was Y/N he wanted to be close to all the damn time. Groaning, he turned on his heel and left for his office, hoping she wasn’t there waiting for him so he could have a moment to himself to gather his thoughts.

In a hurry to open her package, Y/N slumped down into her chair tossing her purse on the ground at her feet and pulling out her box cutter in a rush of movements. She was so distracted, in fact, that she didn’t even notice the little stuffed frog, the box of chocolates and envelope sitting on the other side of her desk near her mouse. Instead, she unboxed her new tablet and began setting it up, not noticing the gifts until she went to turn on her computer. And then she froze.

With reluctant hands she grabbed the envelope first, her name printed on it in perfect cursive. She knew nobody in the office who had such good penmanship. Opening the card in hopes of finding out who had placed the items on her desk, instead, she just found it signed as ‘secret admirer.’ Rolling her eyes, she set the card down and realized it had to be from her boss. Sometimes he remembered to go around and give everyone little gifts on the holidays. Obviously he’d remembered this year. 

She dug into the chocolates as she set up her tablet and began calibrating it to suit her needs before finally testing it out in the little bit of time she had before she needed to make her way to Harry’s office. 

And once that time came, she left everything in its place, besides the box of chocolates, which she continued to pick at while she made her way through the room. What she didn’t notice while stuffing her face with candy was that… no one else had a stuffed frog or chocolates or a cheesy little card on their desks.

She rounded the corner into Harry’s office, which was a real office and not a cubicle that he usually shared with one other person who was thankfully out with clients for the day. She knocked on the doorframe to get his attention after just watching him focus on his screen for a moment. Harry was cute when he was focused.

But then he turned to her and his eyes fell to the box in her hand.

When he didn’t say anything, she held it out toward him. “Do you want some? I think Andrew was feeling generous this year.”

Harry’s eyes quickly panned up to hers and his brows furrowed as if she’d just punched him in the gut. And she couldn’t make out what that expression meant no matter how hard she tried. 

“He didn’t give me anything.” Harry motioned around his desk.

“Maybe he doesn’t like you.” She shrugged, setting the chocolates down on his desk while she grabbed his office mate’s chair and pulled it up beside him.

Harry sighed, turning to his computer for a moment and then watching her from his peripheral while she picked out another piece of chocolate. “I didn’t see anyone else with chocolates on their desks this morning.”

Y/N just shrugged. “There was a frog too. And a card.”

“And why do you think he’d give you all of that and no one else?” Harry hoped she’d get the hint but he didn’t hope too hard. She was still Y/N after all. And he really didn’t mean to sound so bitter… well, okay, he did. But he knew she’d misplace his bitterness, crushing what little hope there was to bits.

“Maybe he likes me better than all the rest of you.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head as he put his attention back on his screen. 

“No one else in this office would give me a card signed as a secret admirer so… maybe I did something I don’t remember doing and he’s thanking me?” Now that she really thought about it, and if Harry was right… then it really didn’t make  much sense. It’s not like she was Andrew’s favorite employee.

Harry just lifted a brow and then pretended to lose all interest. 

Sensing the tension, she slipped the box closer to him. “Here. I think you need a knock-off Snickers if you expect me to work with your grumpy ass.” He made no move to indulge her, however. And so she went on, continuing to poke the bear. “Why are you in a lousy mood anyway? Isn’t this your favorite holiday? And you get to leave early.”

His eyes fell from his screen and he stared at the brick of sticky notes below his monitor before mumbling, “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday.”

Taken aback, she searched what she could see of his face for answers to what he was apologizing for. He’d said a few things she could imagine deserved an apology and yet, so did she. Maybe she should have been the one to apologize to him first.

“I didn’t mean to say what I did.” He finally turned to meet her face on. He’d hoped the frog and the chocolates would have been atonement enough, but considering she thought they were from their boss and not him, he just had to suck it up and actually say what he meant.

She shrugged. “It’s fine. I can be a prude sometimes.”

He searched her eyes for a moment and then shook his head, “No that’s not… I meant what I said earlier in your office… about lowering my standards. It was a stupid thing to say and not true in the slightest.”

But then she smiled and he grew confused. “Yes it is. It’s okay to have standards, you know.”

“I know that. But if we… I wouldn’t have to lower my standards. And it was cruel of me to have said that to you.”

She couldn’t stand looking at him any longer and averted her gaze, clearing her throat. “Well it doesn’t matter so… can we just get this proposal done?”

He’d wanted to spend how ever long it took to convince her that it did, in fact, matter, but Y/N was persistent, more so than him, and so he’d given in and they moved on to being productive with their time. And in less time than he’d anticipated their proposal was finished, being sent off to Andrew for approval before their presentation at the end of the week with their clients.

Harry sat back in his chair and she returned her own to the other desk where it belonged, all while he watched her. 

“What do you do on Valentine’s Day?” He asked, just trying to get her to stay longer, knowing that if those were his true intentions, then he was fucked. That he wanted to be around Y/N, even though he was seeing someone else, albeit for just a week so far, even though she’d never want the same from him. 

Maybe he was just as terrible with relationships as she claimed if he always chased after what he couldn’t have.

“That is also none of your business.” She grabbed her box of chocolates from his desk, his voice pinning her in place again though.

“Let me guess… it involves chocolate, your cat, and the most anti-romantic movies you can find?”

He would not think her very prudish if he knew what else she did on Valentine’s Day while alone in her apartment, but she figured it was best to keep that to herself. Instead, she smiled at him. “Something like that.”

He narrowed his eyes and threw his arms up behind his head as he laid back in his chair, watching her curiously like he was trying to figure her out. Meanwhile, she was trying to not make it obvious she was staring at his biceps as they just about bulged from underneath the sleeve of his pink button-up. He’d done it on purpose though, so as much as she tried to hide it, he still grinned with satisfaction when she became flustered.

“Well, have fun with that, then.” He nodded, and for a moment while she was lost in his eyes and growing embarrassingly hot, she wondered if he could read her mind. If he knew exactly what not-so-innocent things she did on Valentine’s Day. Then he brought his arms back down to rest his elbows on the edge of his desk, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers and watching as she rolled her eyes, held her chocolates close, and left his office. 

Adam arrived right when he said he would at five-thirty. It had given her plenty of time to change out of her work clothes and into one of the few dresses she owned, to at least seem somewhat convincing that this was a real date. She also fixed her makeup and put on a pinkish-nude lipstick before switching out her bulky purse for a smaller crossbody. 

When she opened the door to him, he most certainly did not disappoint. She almost let herself get lost in the delusion that it was a real date when she saw him dressed to the nines and cleaned up for the first time since she’d known him. And she especially got a little lost in it when he pulled a small bouquet of flowers from behind his back and handed them to her. 

“You didn’t have to—“

“I know.” He gave her a once over when she wasn’t looking. “You didn’t have to do this for me either.”

She quietly accepted the flowers and let him in while she found a vase and filled it with water. He leaned on the counter, watching her as she did so.

“You look… beautiful, by the way.” He blurted out once she had cut and placed the stems into the vase. Her hands froze, though, and when he met her eyes, he knew he’d made a mistake.

“You’re paying me to make your ex-girlfriend jealous. Please don’t flatter me.”

“Sorry.” He muttered, although he was beginning to wonder if the bigger mistake was not taking her out on a proper date that had nothing to do with his ex. 

She sighed and adjusted the strap of her purse. “Let’s go then.”

He went over all the final details on the Uber ride to the restaurant. Things about his ex he thought Y/N should know about. And he made sure she knew, for about the hundredth time, that she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. And she reminded him for an equal amount of times that she never did anything she didn’t want to do. So, settling that, he helped her out of the back of the Uber when they arrived and opened the door to the restraint for her as well. Everything that she’d expect from a normal date, which only left her disappointed when she reminded herself it wasn’t.

She waited quietly, and tried to catch her nerves, while Adam talked to the hostess and gave her his ex’s name for the reservation. The place was packed and anyone who didn’t call ahead surely would not be getting a table tonight. She’d never been out on Valentine’s Day, though, so it was like stepping into a brand new world for her. And as she followed both the hostess and Adam, she paid more attention to all the couples enjoying their meals than anything else.

Except for when he reached back and grabbed her hand, entwining their fingers just before they came to a stop. She blinked her eyes at their hands for just a moment before he gently pulled her around next to him. And whatever way she’d felt about holding Adam’s hand went right out the window when she locked eyes with Harry.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

The last thing she expected to find, while Laura, the gorgeous blonde ex-girlfriend, stood to hug Adam, was Harry fucking Styles. And what a fucking coincidence it was, almost as if this was her karma for feeling the need to constantly help people. 

Adam’s hand slipped from hers but she didn’t even notice it anyway. She and Harry still stared each other down and neither of them moved a muscle either. Well, besides the one in his jaw as it tightened. Then he did move, glancing over at Adam with a blank expression before landing his gaze back on her again. And then his eyes fell to the glass of water in front of him and she felt like she’d been released from chains he’d tied around her wrists.

“This is Y/N,” Adam’s hand went to the small of her back, guiding her forward to meet his ex-girlfriend and Harry’s current… whatever they were. 

Laura held out her hand, her smile a little too forced. “Laura. It’s nice to meet you. Please, sit.” She ushered them to the table as she took her spot beside Harry again. Adam, of course, took the chair opposite Laura, which left Y/N in the one opposite Harry. 

This would be a long, hellish night.

She couldn’t help but wonder what Harry was thinking. That maybe she’d come to crash his date. Or, even worse, that he’d already figured the whole thing out. That Adam was paying her to be here. She really hoped he’d never find out because it was just embarrassing enough to make her want to change her name and move across the country, thousands of miles away from him. Harry finding out that she couldn’t get a real date to save her life… beyond humiliating.

“This is Harry.” Laura motioned to him and he just barely lifted his gaze, nodding at Adam and ignoring Y/N entirely. “You know,” the blonde went on, glancing between Adam and Y/N, “I was a little shocked when you told me you were seeing someone again.”

Adam just shrugged.

“How did you guys meet?” 

Y/N left all the talking to him. Mostly because she was still in shock that she was sitting across from Harry. And she hadn’t even taken the time to properly take him in and realized he’d also changed his clothes since work. Swapping his wardrobe out for a fitted black button-up, that wasn’t buttoned all the way to the top as his shirts normally were. The sleeves were already rolled to his elbows. He’d shaved off the scruff along his jaw as well and fixed his hair so that it was combed back out of his face, although a a couple rebellious strands hung down onto his forehead. He looked… like absolute perfection. And he was being forced to be on a date with the ex-boyfriend of the girl he was seeing and his annoying co-worker. She felt terrible for him.

“Oh, uh, well we live on the same floor.”

Laura nodded, clearly anticipating more. “Is that it?”

Y/N felt Adam tense up beside her and so she took over, easily spinning a lie. “I ran out of milk one night a few weeks ago. He’s the only one who answered the door.”

She noticed a flash of movement in her peripheral and turned to find Harry’s gaze on her again, one eyebrow lifted curiously. He was either wondering how she hid it so well, or trying to figure out what to ask in order to reveal their ploy. He never said anything, though.

“Sorry, um,” Laura’s tone changed as she glanced between Harry and Y/N, both of them looking away when the other girl interrupted. “Do you two know each other?”

Harry grinned, sitting back against his seat and folding his hands in his lap. “Something like that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We work together.”

“Really?” Although her tone said otherwise, Laura’s face said everything about how she felt upon hearing that bit of information. 

Adam twisted his worrisome gaze to Y/N, but she ignored it. Harry, however, did not.

“Don’t worry, mate. I was under the impression she was celibate up until now.” With that, Y/N kicked him under the table and he sat forward to swallow the groan that very nearly left his lips after she’d jabbed him in the shin with the toe of her heels. “Guess she’s really good at hiding things, though.”

Adam just chuckled nervously and Y/N shot him an apologetic smile, trying to reassure him that this date would still work out despite Harry. 

“What a small world.” Laura laughed, trying to break the tension but dinner hadn’t even started yet. 

Sometime during the main course, Laura excused herself to the bathroom and Y/N almost, in a desperate attempt to flee both Adam and Harry, invited herself along. But she figured it’d be worse to be alone with Laura than with them. Laura might ask questions she wasn’t prepared for. So, she stayed put, as much as it pained her to do so.

“So, Adam, what do you do for a living?” Harry asked suddenly and she wanted to kick him again. Mostly because his tone was that of a jealous teenager and he’d waited until Laura was gone to pester her ex-boyfriend who most certainly did not deserve Harry’s pestering.

“Oh, uh, I’m an artist. I work for an animation studio at the moment but I’m trying to get into freelance.”

Harry’s eyes shot to the suspiciously quiet girl sitting across from him. “So is Y/N.”

Adam turned to look at her, but she just glared at Harry. “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

Harry titled his head as he narrowed his attention in on Adam again. “So you’ve known her for a few weeks and you never asked what she did?”

“Harry.” Y/N warned, trying to kick him under the table again but he dodged out of the way.

“Well… she said she was in graphic design… not art.” She had told him that, during their crash course yesterday while they got to know as much as they could about each other in a span of a couple hours.

“I think it’s the same thing.”

Adam just shrugged. “I guess. I don’t think I could be a designer, though. Most artists make what they think looks good, designers create things to appeal to customers.”

“Just ignore him.” Y/N advised and Harry was the one shooting her daggers and attempting to stomp his foot on top of hers under the table this time.

“You and Laura used to date then? She never told me how you split up.” Harry moved on.

Adam swallowed nervously. “She broke up with me.”

“Why?” Harry pushed and Y/N looked at him like she wanted to kill him, which he ignored.

“I, uh… I had a drug problem for a while. I was not the best person to be around sometimes. But after we broke up, she helped me with rehab and everything.”

“Guess that explains why you’re on such good terms.”

Now Y/N really wanted to do more than just kick him. 

Adam grabbed Y/N’s hand under the table and pulled her straight from her violent thoughts about Harry. And he didn’t lace his fingers between hers, instead, it felt as if he had just been looking for something to ground himself with. And her hand resting on her lap was the closest thing he could find. It didn’t, however, go unnoticed by Harry and his jaw clenched as he stared at the point in the table where, just below, there their hands met almost as if he was trying to set everything on fire.

Laura returned shortly after that. 

As promised, Adam paid the entirety of both his and Y/N’s bill, even though she attempted to snag it from him, seeing as the date had gone to shit and it was all her fault. Well… maybe it was also Harry’s fault a little bit too. But she definitely did nothing to make Laura jealous. Adam, on the other hand, did a great job at making Harry jealous just by existing and being Laura’s ex, whom she was still friends with. 

The four of them stood outside on the curb awaiting their Uber after dinner was over, agreeing upon splitting one car to get to the party instead of taking two. Laura was apparently very cautious about fossil fuel consumption.

Y/N shivered as she stood between Adam and Laura, wishing she’d bright a jacket instead of relying on a long-sleeve dress to keep her warm. Then an arm wrapped around her shoulders and Adam pulled her close, running his hand up and down her arm to form heat. She tensed up, though, forming into an immovable brick. She had no idea the last time she’d been that close to another person, let alone a member of the opposite sex. When he felt her go rigid, he leaned down until his lips were at her ear. “Is this okay?”

She just nodded and tried to relax. Which turned out to be quite easy because Adam was warm and he smelled nice. She, of course, didn’t let her mind wander off too far. He was still in love with his ex. He’d still shove cash into her hand at the end of the night for her troubles and go on with his life.

Adam let go of her when the car pulled up and quickly went to the passenger door to confirm with the driver. Then he opened the back door for the three of them to climb in, Laura going first, then Harry, and, at last, Y/N, while Adam slipped into the front seat beside the driver.

While the car took off, Y/N was shoved into the corner when Harry moved closer to her in order to find both his and Laura’s seat buckles in the dark. Eventually, he settled back into the middle and gave her some space again. When she made no move to do the same as them, Harry turned to look down at her. 

“Put your seatbelt on.” He whispered.

Her eyes whirled up to his. Wordlessly, and of course after rolling her eyes, she grabbed her seatbelt and he made room for her to buckle it in. Then she sat back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest while she stared out at the traffic through her window.

She would have stayed in that exact position the entire trip, too, if Harry’s knee didn’t insist on bumping into hers constantly. And she couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or not.

When she glanced up at him, and found the corner of his lips curl upward, she figured it was, in fact, purposeful. So, with the hand closest to him as her arms were still crossed, she poked him in the side, right against his ribs, hoping it hurt.

“Ouch.” He whined, covering the spot with his hand dramatically. Everyone in the car glanced at Harry, all except for Y/N who snickered as she returned to staring out the window.

Harry wasn’t giving up, though. This time, with his arms crossed in his lap, and glancing at Laura to be sure she wasn’t watching, he walked his pointer and middle finger up the outside of Y/N’s thigh, close enough to her hip to make her squirm slightly when his touch tickled her. And as soon as he got her attention, he looked down at what he was doing and pressed his middle finger against her, meeting her gaze with a smirk.

In the same moment, the driver turned up the music in the car as they waited tirelessly at a red light. It was better than silence or listening to his passengers breathing. But Harry mentally thanked him and turned his attention back to Y/N, leaning into her slightly until his lips were at her ear and she shivered for an all new reason.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before.” He whispered for her ears only. The music was especially loud in the back and he wasn’t sure Y/N had even heard him.

Especially since she didn’t respond right away. But how could she? Harry’s fingertips were still grazing her thigh, as if trying to emphasize the dress she had on. And his stupid knee was pressed right up against hers. She couldn’t think straight.

Though when she finally turned to him and whispered back, “Don’t get used to it,” he knew she had, in fact, heard him well enough. 

He leaned again, “Afraid I already am.” 

She hated that there were butterflies in her stomach. That he was saying such odd things to her when his date was sitting just on the other side of him. The date who most definitely met all Harry’s standards.

Huddling away from him, she stuck her eyes out the window and kept them there the rest of the trip.

It was just past eight when they arrived, a fifteen-minute trip up through the city taking half an hour due to all the Valentine’s Day traffic. Another reason she hated this holiday.

The party was being held by Laura’s best friend, who’s name Y/N did not care to commit to memory. In the elevator ride up to the penthouse, though, Harry stood close to Laura, his arm wrapped around her waist and Adam to Y/N, although he didn’t touch her. She wouldn’t have minded if he did, but she figured it was best to keep those boundaries in place anyway.

Pink and golden balloons littered the ceilings of the penthouse. The drink cups were also pink, as was the communal punch bowl that Y/N steered clear of, having no idea what was in it, or who had already spiked it. She knew nobody at the party besides who she’d come with, though she assumed both Adam and Harry were somewhat acquainted with Laura’s friends. 

It was most definitely not someplace Y/N ever saw herself being at, not only because it was a Valentine’s themed party, but also because she wasn’t exactly comfortable around so many people. Especially when those people were all so unfamiliar to her.

“Here,” Adam handed her a drink and then grabbed one for himself. She downed the thing in one go, needing to take the edge off. It might’ve been a slight mistake when the alcohol burned the back of her throat, but she didn’t care too much when she grabbed another.

Then he was leading her into the dancing pit of bodies where they huddled close enough so that his lips were at her ear. “Is it alright if I touch you?”

She glanced over at where Laura and Harry had been left, finding both her hazel eyes and Harry’s green ones glued to the both of them. She wasn’t sure what Harry’s deal was, but this was her moment to fix things and make Laura jealous, so, turning back to Adam, she nodded.

He eased his hands onto her waist as they began swaying to the music. And then he pulled her closer, his hands slipping to the small of her back as her arms wrapped around his neck, being careful with her own movements even though she desperately wanted to sink her hands in his hair.

And, god, he smelled so good as her head rested in the crook of his neck. And he felt good, too, as he moved against her body. She knew it wasn’t real, and that the alcohol was making skewing her perception of things, but it was still nice. Nice to be held and to just let go for a change.

Over Adam’s shoulder, Y/N caught Harry’s eyes again. His jaw clenched and he looked the same as he did back at the restaurant. Angry. And then she realized that maybe she wasn’t really trying to make Laura jealous anymore at all, but rather Harry.

It was dumb, she knew that. He’d have to like her in order for her to make him jealous. But… the way he was looking at her. The way he had looked at her. His eyes lingering too long on her lips. What he’d done in the car ride here. 

She heard Adam in her ear again. “I think it’s working. She just stormed off into the kitchen.” Then he pulled away and she realized she hadn’t even seen Laura. Just Harry. Harry and his stupid, obnoxious green eyes.

“You owe me more than just dinner.” Y/N teased but Adam grew serious.

“I know. And since you refuse to accept my money, I’ll have to figure out another way to repay you.” He smiled and then twirled her around so that she no longer had any line of sight toward Harry. He pulled her close again, one hand going to her waist while the other stayed locked to one of hers. “Suppose I could start with making your coworker just as jealous… although I think he already is.”

Confusion flooded her features as she peered up at him. 

“Oh, come on! He was ready to rip my head off when he realized I’d grabbed your hand. And when I put my arm around you? I thought I might be better off just giving you my jacket and freezing to death instead.”

“I don’t…” she shook her head in disbelief. It was one thing for her to be pretending to make Harry jealous in some delusional hope that it’d work. But this… this was a whole other thing.

“I’m actually quite interested to see what he does if I kissed you.”

She was shocked at first and then, possibly due to the alcohol, just as interested. “Are you asking my permission?”

“Are you saying yes?”

Y/N hesitated. “Is she back?”

Adam’s eyes scanned the room and Y/N realized he hadn’t asked to kiss her for Laura’s sake at all.

“She is.” He finally announced. 

Without any more second guessing, Y/N’s hand slipped to the back of his neck and pulled him in. As soon as their lips collided and she tasted the alcohol on him, she knew that she’d never agreed to this without it. Or maybe she would. Adam spun them back around again, deepening the kiss as her eyes opened and fell into the direction she’d last seen Harry.

He was still there.

Still watching.

His hands in fists. His jaw tightened into a crisp line. His nostrils flared. His eyes… sad.

She pulled away. Adam steadied her, grabbing her shoulders when she swayed. But, as she caught her breath, the dizziness went away. 

“I’m going to find the bathroom.” She told him and after he nodded, she left, forming a rift for herself through the bodies that danced all around them until she was in the clear. Then she was avoiding Harry as she walked past him, not so sure his gaze was still set on her. Maybe she’d gone too far. She didn’t often just kiss people for no good reason and that’s exactly what she’d just done with Adam. She barely even knew him.

She didn’t exactly need the bathroom, just an open, empty and quiet place. And so, she fell back against a wall in the foyer and ran a hand through her hair.

“That was quite the show.”

She startled at the sound of his familiar voice and looked up just as he stopped a few feet away from her. “What are you talking about?”

He lifted a brow. “You expect me to believe that that you, anti everything to do with this holiday and with relationships and romance, are actually dating that guy?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” She crossed her arms, willing to go as far as she needed to before she let Harry see the truth. That she was that pathetic. 

“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate to respond and she flinched.

“Well, I’m sorry that you have a hard time believing that someone may actually like me.” She had no reason to nearly be shouting at him and no reason to be saying what she was because Adam didn’t like her.

“That’s not what I said. It’s hard for me to believe you just dropped all your ideas about relationships for some guy with obnoxious blue eyes.”

“I didn’t.”

“So then what is this?”

Y/N hesitated. Hating that the truth was about to boil over out of her mouth for him to see all the embarrassing bits of it, but she had no other way of convincing him. And it didn’t really help that Adam was so far out of her league that it wasn’t even convincing to begin with. Nor did she want to convince Harry of anything either. It was clear now that he hadn’t been jealous, he was just trying to figure out when she stopped hating relationships so much.

And the truth of that was she never really hated them. It was just easier telling herself she didn’t want it than admitting no one ever actually wanted her.

She trembled, not even sure why, but he was making her incredibly nervous, so much that she wished she could rewind and stay squished next to him in the back of the car forever. Being that close to him... his stupid fingers on her thigh, whispering things in her ear that made her head spin. She’d much prefer that than standing in front of him now, seeing every ounce of judgment he was about to throw her way.

“What do you want me to say, Harry?” She shrugged and dropped her eyes to the white marble floors between them, focusing on calming her anxiety while she was no longer looking at him. “He needed a date and I felt bad for him.”

“What does that mean?”

Letting her head fall back against the wall, she stared up at the ceiling this time as her eyes burned with embarrassment. “He paid me to be his date so his ex-girlfriend didn’t find out he wasn’t actually seeing anyone. That’s what it means.”

Harry didn’t say anything.

“So, yeah.” She folded her arms, looking down at the floor again, still unable to meet Harry’s eyes and see the look that would be on his face. A smirk of amusement at her expense. Even probably his dimples, taunting her and turning her into the joke she already was. “You were right. I can’t find anyone to tolerate me, which is why I’m on this stupid date that isn’t even real.”

“Him kissing you seemed quite real to me.”

There was more exasperation than humor to her laugh. “It wasn’t.”

Harry seemed to finally understand. “He’s trying to make Laura jealous.”

Y/N just nodded. “I promise I didn’t know you were going to be there, that he was trying to get her back from you.”

“You still kissed him though.”

She couldn’t argue that, nor could she tell him the real reason she’d agreed to the kiss. That it wasn’t exactly Laura she was trying to make jealous. She’d never live that one down, if she ever managed to live any other aspect of this night down.

When she didn’t say anything, he stepped closer. “Why did you kiss him?”

“I’m sorry, Harry I just... I don’t know.”

He shook his head and took another step, making her eyes widen when he was close enough that she had to crane her head back to meet his gaze. “Seemed like you were trying to make me jealous.”

She swallowed, not exactly in the position to laugh it off and argue with him when he was this close and all she could feel were the traces of his fingertips on her thigh. Her voice was quiet when it finally came out. “Making you jealous would mean I assumed you liked me in the first place... which I’m definitely not stupid enough to assume.”

A crease formed between his brow and his stupidly perfect jaw hardened as if he was biting his tongue from saying something. And fuck him for choosing then to finally stop opening his mouth.

Just then, a pair of drunk guys, one on the other’s back, came racing through the foyer, screaming at the top of their lungs while a few others followed quickly after them. It was enough to force Harry away from Y/N again, enough for the both of them to step out of the little bubble they’d been in together the past ten minutes.

Once they were alone again, their eyes gravitated toward each other and just when she thought Harry might say something after all, he flipped around on his heel and left. And she watched as he turned the corner and mixed back into the party.

After a few moments to gather herself, she followed him, not exactly sure what she was going to do now that Harry wouldn’t talk to her and it felt weird being with Adam while Harry knew everything. But, whatever plans to keep herself occupied no longer matted when she spotted Laura.

Making out with Adam in the middle of the room. 

Without even thinking, she turned to locate Harry and he might as well have been a source of gravity because her eyes fell right to him within a second. And he was watching them too. He knew. 

He met Y/N’s eyes and she wasn’t quite sure if he was upset or not. She couldn’t really read anything on his face, and stopped attempting to when he moved towards her and she had other things on her mind, like where he was going and if he was going to bother taking her with him.

Shortly after he stormed past Y/N she made sure he wasn’t going to leave her behind and chased after him. She didn’t know Adam very well and definitely not Laura to want to stay with them. And everyone else in the room were complete strangers to her. Adam had promised he’d take her home, but he probably hadn’t expected to be making out with his ex by the end of the night, either.

Harry didn’t say anything, not even when they’d reached the foyer and Y/N asked where he was going. He just located his jacket and slipped it on before making his way out the front door.

And right when she thought he really was going to leave her behind, since she was the reason he’d just lost Laura to her ex, he held the door open and glanced over his shoulder at her while she still stood on the other side of the threshold.

“Are you staying?”

Without a word, she sprung into motion and trailed right behind him into the hallway like a lost puppy, letting the door shut behind her that cut them off from the music as it faded into the background behind them.

It was a silent trip down the elevator, mostly because she had no idea what to say that would sound sincere and he didn’t say anything at all. At least not until she followed him through the lobby until he stopped on the curb just outside the main doors.

She took up the spot next to him, eyes glued to the side of his face as he took in a deep breath of fresh air, or at least as fresh as traffic allowed it to be.

Then he spoke, and it seemed like the first time she’d heard his voice all night. “I’m the one who gave you the chocolates and the frog.”

She narrowed her eyes, both not exactly sure why he’d just said that or if he was even being serious. “What?”

He looked down at her. “It wasn’t Andrew, it was me.”

“Why?” She breathed and while she was positive she’d be freezing cold soon, the fresh air after being surrounded by so many people felt good. It felt freeing and she wondered if he felt that way too.

His eyes scanned hers before he looked away. “Well partly to apologize for what I said.”

“What’s the other part?”

Sighing, he turned his entire body to face her now. “Something else entirely…” He trailed off, only confusing her more as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at his feet. “I didn’t tell you because I know you don’t like all this stuff, but seeing you with him tonight... I wish I had.” 

“It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a frog.”

He shook his head, grinning. “It’s not just a frog, Y/N... because the thing is,” he paused to catch his breath, “I’ve been in love with you for... a really long time… since last spring. But with you being the way that you are, I never thought you’d feel the same way.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it.

“And then you come in with that guy and...” He pulled his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more jealous in my life... because all this time I thought you weren’t interested in relationships, but you just weren’t interested in me.”

Inhaling, she summoned every ounce of courage she could fathom. “You were right about why I kissed Adam.” He lifted a brow, waiting for her elaboration which never came. “You were right about other things, too. I wish I had someone to come home to almost every single night I got to bed alone. No one—“ She cut herself off, trembling again as tears stung her eyes. “I pretend not to be interested so I can ignore the fact that no one’s ever wanted me.”

“That’s not true.” He had that same look on his face as before, when she’d told him she wasn’t stupid enough to think he liked her.

She just nodded. “And I’m sorry but... why would you want me when you could have someone like Laura?”

“Y/N...” He huffed and stepped closer to her, the heat from his body making her shiver. “This is not the first time I started seeing someone to get over you... in fact, all my relationships since I met you have been shit.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Well you’re very anti-relationships so I think I was justified in wanting to avoid you rejecting me… especially since we work together and it would have been really awkward.”

“I don’t, uh... I...” She stammered, not really sure what to say to him even though her heart was screaming at her in full volume. 

He held his breath and then, in almost a whisper, “Is this the inevitable rejection?”

“No.” She didn’t even hesitate that time and at this point, her mind no longer controlled the words coming out of her mouth as she let another organ finally speak for itself. “No, I liked you the second I saw you, Harry... and at no point tonight was I ever trying to make Laura jealous.”

The corners of his mouth began to curl into a smile. “That was very cruel of you to do to me.”

“I didn’t think you liked me at all twenty minutes ago, Harry.”

“Twenty minutes ago,” he fully invaded all of her space now, leaving the smallest gap between their bodies as he could get away with, lifting his hand to her jaw and rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “I was still on this date with the wrong person.” 

“I think the date is over now.”

“No,” his eyes fell to her lips just like they had before. “It’s not.” 

“You’re looking at me like that again.” She mumbled, out of breath.

He lifted a brow and didn’t once remove his eyes from her lips. “Like what?”

“Like…” she trailed off, not having the courage to say it in case she wasn’t right. 

“Like I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time and I’m tired of pretending?” 

“Something like that, yeah.”

He grinned, both of his dimples making an appearance just before he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. And once her brain realized what was happening, she sunk right into him, letting his arm wrap around her waist as his other hand tangled its way into her hair to bring her closer. She threw her arms over his shoulders and he hunched lower to meet her. She staggered back a step when he did, nearly losing her balance but he caught her instantly and then drew his lips back as he laughed.

“This is not how I expected tonight to end.” She couldn’t help but think the way he struggled to catch his breath was possibly the hottest he’d ever been. Not to mention the tiny bit of her lipstick smeared on his face. She could look at him just the way he was right there and then for days and be perfectly satisfied.

“It doesn’t have to end yet.” She fully blamed her sudden burst of confidence on the cold, but refreshing February night. And maybe she also just wanted to get out of it before it caught up to her and she would, yet again, regret not having a jacket.

“Oh?” She wanted to smack the mischievous smirk off his face and leave him there on the curb. “And here I thought you were a prude.”

“You thought a lot of things about me that weren’t true, Harry.”

He thought about that for a moment and after realizing she was right, he then wondered just how wrong he was when he’d called her celibate. “I suppose… I’d quite like to find out just how wrong I was.” He slipped a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear, which is where his lips ended up as he whispered softly, “And I’d also quite like to show you just how wrong you were about me not liking you.”

They stumbled into her bedroom in the dark, Pretzel racing out between their twisted feet in a hurry, screeching at them in the process. Harry giggled against her lips, “Your cat sounds friendly.” 

“Well, since I was supposed to be spending tonight with her, and chocolate, and anti-romantic movies…” She pulled away from him, watching as his smile spread further. Maybe she could actually believe he’d been in love all this time. 

“Right… I’d be upset too.” 

She shook her head and kissed him again, then pulled back a second later. “You know that’s not actually what I do on Valentine’s Day.”

He lifted a brow and waited for her to explain but she didn’t.

“And what is it that you do, then?” He finally asked, curiosity getting the best of him, although he had some inkling as to what she was talking about.

Her smile was devoid of innocence as her hands fell to his belt. Harry’s shirt had already been lost to the kitchen floor. Her dress hardly covering what it was supposed to once Harry had gotten his hands on it. 

“Maybe you’ll get to find out.” 

When she brought her lips back to his, after undoing the buckle just under his navel, he spun them around and led her backwards to the bed. He wasn’t sure how far it was, but hoped he was headed in the right direction. And because of that, when her knees did finally bend over the mattress, he practically came flying down on top of her. 

She squirmed out from under him, crawling back towards the pillows as she watched him at the end of the bed while he stood and removed his belt completely, trying not to drool at the sight of him. At the sight of Harry, her fucking annoying ass, perfect, beautiful, coworker standing shirtless at the end of her bed where he was also about to be…

He pushed his trousers down off his hips and they fell to the floor with ease, almost with the same amount of ease that her eyes fell to the tight boxer-briefs he wore underneath. She swallowed as he adjusted the waistband back into place, quite certain that, even in the low light, her eyes were not deceiving her.

The bed shifted at her feet as he joined her, and then it took all her willpower to not fling herself at him as he crawled up the length of her. As he settled himself between her thighs and she felt every last, very hard, inch of him pressed against her. She couldn’t be blamed for the whining moan that she let out in his ear as his lips became familiar with the shape and taste of her neck. She also couldn’t be blamed when her hips instinctively collided with his.

He just giggled again and shook his head, the loose strands of his curls tickling her forehead. “Easy now.” He warned in a hushed mumble, his lips vibrating right against the vein in her neck that pulsed so much faster the more his free hand began to wander up underneath her dress.

He left her speechless for multiple reasons, but the main one was when she felt his fingers tracing down her thigh and then, moments later, after he shifted his weight and used his knees to keep her legs open, she sucked in a breath of air as she felt him pressed against her clit, forcing her nails to dig into his back but he didn’t seem to mind.

Coming back down to kiss her, he began moving his hand in expert little circles, grinning against her mouth every time her body begged him for more. It wasn’t long that he complied, either, when he sat back on his knees between her legs and tugged her underwear off for good, throwing it to the depths of her bedroom floor. He wouldn’t have known where they landed even if he tried because his gaze belong to her only as he lowered himself to his elbows before her, kissing his way up her thighs until he reached her center.

When she squirmed away from him, he wrapped his arms around her thighs and pressed his hands into her hips after gently moving her dress out of the way. 

“You know when we used to stay late at the office working?” He asked suddenly and the heat of his voice against her made her squirm again, but he held on tight. “And you would get sick of sitting in an office chair and made me promise not to tell Jim when you sat on his desk instead?” She had no clue where he was going with it, but still, she nodded. “Every single time I turned to look at you, I thought about doing this.” Before she could get words out or even a coherent thought, she felt his tongue on her. And this time when she jerked against him, she nearly slipped out of his hold until he grabbed her again and pulled her back down, digging himself further into her as she struggled to breathe properly.

She dug her fingers into his hair when he brought her close to the edge and showed no mercy. And somehow, she’d managed to get the sole of her foot up onto his shoulder in order to kick him away, but it didn’t matter much because he never budged. Not that she wanted him to, but he just felt so good… 

“Harry!” She shouted, pulling at his hair and making matters worse for herself when he moaned against her sensitive bundle of nerves. He let her come, never once lifting his mouth from her even as her hips jerked off the mattress and she very nearly pulled his hair out. When she stopped screaming, her voice caught in her throat because she was lost to her own orgasm, is when he lifted his mouth, replaced it with his fingers and watched her as she came down. As her eyes fluttered shut and her chest heaved, her lungs struggling to get oxygen back into her system. Her hold on him loosened as she came undone around him, melting into his hands it seemed like.

And when he began rubbing his index and middle finger into her, once she was far and beyond overstimulated, and he knew that, she reached down with a whine and grabbed his wrist with what little strength she had in her and pulled him away. His hand fell to the other side of her hip, which he used to his advantage to pull himself up over her again, his other hand taking her dress with it until he was able to tug it over her head and toss it. Then he came back down to kiss her, letting her taste herself on her lips. He rubbed his thumb across her cheek and when he pulled away, found her looking at him finally. Although it was with heavy lids as she still struggled to regain her bearings.

Before they could get much further, a loud crashing sound from the other room made both of them nearly jump out of their skin. She shot up instantly, grabbing hold of Harry’s bicep before moving him out of the way and sliding off the edge of the bed. 

“It’s just the cat.” Harry would have probably said the same thing even if it was not just the cat, he’d say anything just to get her to stay with him.

“I know but it sounded like…” her voice trailed off as her feet hit the floor and the moment she went to stand on her own two legs, her knees buckled. He reached to grab her waist but she righted herself before he could. She didn’t see the way he hid his cheeky smirk at the fact that he’d been so good, she was still dizzy.

“You good?” He asked as she stumbled her way into a shirt. With only a groan in response, and what he was sure was her middle finger, she left him alone in her bed to investigate the noise. Sighing, he laid on his back and got comfortable amongst her pillows. And after about three minutes, decided to locate the remote to her TV to entertain himself. 

He flipped onto his side and felt around her bedside table, but his fingers never landed on anything remote-like. So, frustrated, he reached up and switched the lamp on. Again, he found nothing. Looking further, he realized the table had a drawer and so he pulled it open in hopes of finding the damned remote before she got back. 

But what he found instead was so much better than turning on late night news.

“Fucking cat knocked over my vase.” Y/N was back within ten minutes. Harry had left the light on, but made sure it wasn’t obvious he’d gone snooping into her drawer, at least not yet anyway. She crawled back into bed beside him and it was then he noticed the bandage on her thumb.

“Are you alright?” He forgot all about what he planned to tease her with when he gently grabbed her hand to inspect the damage.

“Yeah. I was in a bit of hurry trying to clean up the glass…” 

Harry rolled his eyes and dropped her hand. “I would have come help you.”

She just smiled up at him as he fit his arm around her shoulders, his bicep under her neck. “That’s alright.”

He shrugged. “It was for the best anyways that I didn’t.” When he smirked, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

“And why’s that?”

She followed his other hand as he reached for something and then, moments later, it reappeared with a very familiar pink object clutched in his grasp. “Because then I wouldn’t have found this.”

Her first reaction was to pry it from his snooping fingers, but when she reached across him to grab it, he way too easily held her back and, at the same time, held it far out of her reach. 

“So this is what you do on Valentine’s Day, then?” He flicked his wrist back and forth, waving her vibrator in the air as he taunted her.

“If you don’t give that back to me,” she reached for it again to no prevail, “you won’t be doing anything, least of all, me.”

He clicked his tongue. “Why would I give it back when I plan on using it?”

She froze and he chuckled at her reaction.

“Would be rude of me to break your traditions, wouldn’t it?” 

She swallowed, her eyes slowly meeting his again. The appearance of his right dimple told her he wasn’t playing any games. She had no idea how many times he planned to make her come tonight or whether or not she’d even be able to walk tomorrow at work. But, given the stupid look on his face, she almost began making plans to call out sick instead.

“Do you actually know how to use that thing?” She finally asked, glancing at the wand still held very firmly in his hand.

He looked at her like she was crazy moments before he pivoted and pinned her onto her back, settling himself into the position they’d been in before the interruption of the cat. 

Just, this time… he was clicking on her vibrator and watching her face as she began to regret her words. 

“‘Course I know how to use it. The real question is,” he brought his lips to her ear, the soft vibrations and the sound of his voice mixing together like sin itself. Even more so when he nipped at her earlobe. “Do you know how to handle it?”

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