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trampaunt78 · 2 years

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Singapore Visas For Chinese Language

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elmidol · 3 years

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Error: Program Not Found - Eighteen

Summary: You are in charge of programming the droids that work most closely with both General Hux and Kylo Ren. Unbeknownst to you, each of these two men have it in their heads that your relationship extends beyond the workplace. This causes things to escalate quickly when your two apparently secret boyfriends compare notes on their respective partner who is far too similar for their liking.

Read on AO3

Chapter Warnings: none (I think?)

Side Notes: Contains all three routes, divided by breaks

Error: Program Not Found

“Once I knew you, I never wanted to know anyone else.” – Leo Christopher

Eighteen: Intimacy

[Kylo Route]

It had felt natural to head in the direction of Kylo Ren’s quarters following your interactions with General Hux. Your mind buzzed as your feet carried you forward; your surroundings were blurs, unfocused due to your mental fixation with your destination. Relief had flooded through you subsequent to your conversation with Armitage, however that buzz threatened to fade away. A new stage had been set. The budding relationship that you were beginning with Kylo would, indeed, change things no matter how you worked to keep things the same. That growth period, you wanted to put it off for the time being. Rest was a reward that you desperately wished to claim for yourself alongside comfort.

His very presence would offer you that, as it often did. You turned down the final corridor down which Kylo Ren’s quarters were contained. Five stormtroopers marched past you, the white of their armor drawing your gaze and causing your eyes to focus your surroundings for more than a fleeting second. Some of the tension in your shoulders melted away. You rolled them, reaching to your right shoulder with your left hand and giving a quick squeeze to tackle a knot.

You drew short at the door. Sucking in air through your teeth, you spared a quick glance over your shoulder. As you had begun to expect, two of the stormtroopers had paused to turn and consider you. Rumor fodder. Your lips quirked at the sides, and you rolled your eyes while shaking your head. There was no way around it. You returned your attention on the door, stepping forward and sighing as it slid open before you could knock.

The notorious mask most often seen on Kylo Ren when he stalked through the halls or fought on the battlefield lay on the chair atop the man’s cowl. You stared directly at the mask’s visor while stepping into his quarters. The door slid closed behind you the exact moment that you were out of its path.

Kylo lingered in your peripheral vision. Neither of you made a point to directly face the other. There was no need for that. Already more of the tension had slipped away. A lightness in your chest allowed you to breathe more easily.

“Eddard is officially on the project,” you said, finding it easy to speak of work without fearing that you would insult him. Kylo grunted by way of reply. The sound had not been dismissive, which encouraged you to continue. “Things are far from perfect, however I think they are on the right track.”

“These feelings extend beyond work.” You nodded, and here you did look his way. Those dark eyes met yours, a lightness to them that highlighted a warmth not present for others.

You walked to the chair without looking away from him. Your fingers skimmed along the metal surface. The mask contained smooth portions and rigids that alternated, making your movements jerky. The cowl provided a contrast in texture that encouraged you to lift your other hand. You bunched up the material, working it out from underneath the helmet and up into your grasp.

Kylo stepped nearer to you. “Cold?”

“No.” You ran your tongue along your lips. “You wear it often. I suppose I was curious how comfortable it was.” Kylo did not nod, nor did he stop walking closer. He set a hand atop the cowl though he did not remove it from your possession. “Do you need to train?” Whatever sentimental value the cowl had for him, you did not want drawing attention to it to cause him to withdraw from you. On that same note, however, you wanted to give him an out. He could rescind the invitation to his quarters without insulting you.

Instead he leaned forward, his mouth claiming yours. You stiffened in surprise before relaxing into the kiss, which grew in intensity. His demands were not concealed in the least. Kylo groped at your hip with his free hand before trailing it upwards towards your breast. You ground your hips into his, the bundle of his cowl a ball between you but doing nothing to keep you apart. Kylo’s hand shifted off the cowl and seized your upper arm. You allowed him to turn then steer you backwards without complaint.

He spread you across his bed. The cowl remained tucked against your stomach though he seized your wrists into one hand pinned your arms above your head. You sucked in air greedily during the brief interlude when he positioned your hands. Then he claimed your mouth again, his tongue working against yours. You rolled your hips upwards, whimpering at the feel of his cock through the layers of clothes that you both wore.

“Not yet.” You could have kicked yourself for the words you spoke. Kylo grunted against your lips, his nose skimming yours. His eyelashes fluttered, tickling your cheek. “I would like to be in my quarters when we do. That way I can curl up and rest afterwards. We do not have to spend the night together.”

“Mm.” It was a softer grunt than the first, and Kylo’s body rocked into yours. You sighed in contentment, relishing in the feel of him. “I will come to your quarters later.” You laughed before you could stop yourself.

Shielding your face with a hand, you worked to calm your laughter. Kylo did not let your amusement detract from his pleasure. He kissed the back of your hand, grazing the flesh of your wrist with his teeth. It sent a pulse of delight through your body like a shockwave.

A chime from the left caused all movement to cease. Kylo released a puff of breath, the only sign of his displeasure over the interruption. You, meanwhile, considered that it had been a good thing that you had put a stop to what activities might otherwise have been occurring. Him being called away during the first time you had sex, that would have left a sour taste in your mouth. Kylo extricated himself from the tangled mess of your entwined limbs. He lifted the comlink, his back to you. His body shielded you from view of the officer that spoke, stating that the Supreme Leader wished to speak with him.

After the communication ended, he murmured that he would come to your quarters. You nodded though he could not see you. The flutterings in your stomach did not cease; you were touched that he did not wish to alter his plans if he could help it. You stated that you would see him then whilst rising from his bed and smoothing out your clothes.

[End of Cycle]

Echoes of heavy footsteps resounding the corridor outside of your quarters announced the inevitable entrance of Kylo Ren. You considered the MSE droid that presently hid in one of the room’s corners and found yourself smirking. Your finger touched the icon on your datapad to open the door in time with Kylo’s arrival. He had chosen to redress in his full attire including his mask, the visor of which briefly met your eyes before his attention trailed towards the droid. You would have paid quite a few credits to see the expression on his face. You imagined that he had drawn his eyebrows towards one another in mild confusion.

“You kept it.” The vocoder aided in transforming his statement into something rather toneless. It failed to completely erase the edge of curiosity that you picked up from your history with him.

“I did,” you said as a grin spread across your features.” He grunted in reply while you continued to speak. “It is quite a trip hazard, I’ll admit, however I am enjoying the challenge.” It was, at the very least, no longer slamming into people. Instead the MSE droid had been stopping suddenly, which resulted in a reverse effect: you collided with and tripped over it. You had done just that earlier upon reentering your quarters. “I can be stubborn.”

“Mm.” This time his grunt, deepened by his mask, vibrated through you. You bit down on the insides of of your cheek if only to keep from seizing your lip. Anything at all to hold in the moan that threatened to rise from you. Kylo Ren, nevertheless, seemed to know what his noises did to you without any verbal confirmation. He stepped into your quarters enough that the door closed behind him. “You wish to know more of the Force.”

The statement prompted a nod from you, which he mirrored rather than speaking immediately once more. The amount of speaking he had already done since entering your quarters impressed you; he was not one to hold a prolonged conversation. That he did so with you caused your heart to flutter and heat to pool into your face.

Kylo moved within the room, his visor pointed at the MSE droid, which had rolled forward only to move backwards in retreat. It stuttered forward for a second time. Your lips quirked towards one side and you wrinkled your nose. You truly did enjoy the challenge, more due to not being critiqued on your progress. That did not eliminate the frustrations that arose in you with the multiple issues you had encountered since first bringing the droid into your quarters.

Kylo lowered himself once he was in front of you. His current seated position did not differ from when you had joined him in meditation on previous occasions. A surge of pride burst through you at the knowledge that he was comfortable with you to this extent. Kylo tilted his head to the side, as though curious about something that you could not place your finger on. After a moment, he held out a hand with its palm up, and your datapad lifted out of your hands to hover in the air between the two of you.

He made it look so simple, so natural. As though everyone in the galaxy should have been capable of this feat. The datapad curved in its path, twisting around in a circle before descending to return to your possession. You cupped it with both of your hands. Kylo’s hand had not moved, his fingers had not twitched. You wondered if he was required to use his hand at all, or if that had been for your benefit.

“The Force is more than parlor tricks.” The laugh that erupted from you caused your face to heat up further. You lifted the datapad to momentarily hide from him, your shoulders shaking. Warmth spread throughout the rest of your body. He had been intentionally funny, and it was intimate to you, special. His snark, such ironic statements, more often ventured on a path of deprecation. This had not been that. This was kind. In his way, it was sweet. “You may ask two questions regarding the Force, and I will answer.” This he stated after you managed to regain your composure and lowered the datapad.

You paused to think about what you might ask him. Misinformation about what the Force could do ran rampant, yet such questions might be vague or try his patience. The conversation that he proposed did not need to be a singular event. You tapped three fingers against your lips while replaying the act he had mere moments ago completed. You placed each of your hands on a leg.

“I want to ask a question about the questions, yet I am unsure if you will count that against me.”

Kylo lifted his hands to his helmet, unlatching it. The hiss of the pressure release never failed to evoke the need to suppress a shudder. There was something about that sound that you could not describe. Anticipation would be understating things. You were aware that you would see his face. Which he did to certain prisoners, from your understanding. Kylo placed the helmet on the ground to his left. He did not once break eye contact with you.

“I will not count it against you.” You traced every mole on his face, the thick lips that you wanted to feel on you. Then drowned in the depth of his eyes.

“If a question has two parts to it, does that count as the two questions?” He hummed by way of reply. You waited, beginning to hold your breath, and realized quickly that he was not going to offer a full response. You released a strangled noise as you worked through how to elaborate. “Nothing extensive or that requires multiple explanations.” He gave a nod and waved his hand before himself, as though giving you permission. “I am assuming that the physical gestures when one uses the Force aids in control, correct?” Another nod. “Does that change when one’s mastery of their abilities improves?”

“For some.” He shifted forward a fraction, his knees closer to yours. You curled your toes. A moment later, you pushed yourself nearer to him, finishing the contact. His desire to touch you, to fuck you, had not faded. Whatever Snoke had kept him occupied with, you assumed that he required more time to unwind from it. Nothing carnal, no violence. Mental work, you thought as you blinked.

You replaced your hands on your knees, the backs of your fingers on his. It dawned on you, the question that you wanted to ask. Whether it was too sentimental for him or not, you would leave that to chance. He was under no obligation to answer. There was no agreement stating that he could not reject one question and pose the opportunity for an alternate.

“How do I feel in the Force to you?” Your heart pounded in your chest as you asked the question aloud. Its beating echoed loudly in your ears, and for a second you swayed in place. Steadying yourself, you swallowed thickly and hoped that your reaction had not been off putting.

Kylo opened his mouth without uttering a word. His eyes raked along your face then caressed upwards. He lowered his gaze once more to settle on your lips. “All beings are specks of light. Yours is brighter to me due to familiarity.” You held your breath, waiting for him to say more simultaneous to expecting nothing. Kylo rested his forearms on his thighs. His hands dangled in his lap, near his ankles. “It is better if we wait.”

“Do you have to go?” you blurted, the muscles of abdomen tightening. He shook his head in unison with the moment the MSE droid rolled forward. It bumped into TeeArr, who startled from his rest. You sucked your lips into your mouth and waited for TeeArr to say something, anything.

The droid did not disappoint you. “Commander Ren! Do you require more training droids?” It could have been worse. Kylo tilted his head to the side without looking at TeeArr. There were no traces of annoyance on his face.

You debated answering the droid’s question yourself, however decided that it was better to not open that can of worms. You scratched at the bridge of your nose, broke eye contact with Kylo, and checked on the MSE droid. It stuttered when attempting to move. Sighing, you moved away from Kylo, breaking off the minute amount of physical contact you had with him, to power down the droid.

“Just focus on recharging, TeeArr. Next cycle is going to be plenty busy.” TeeArr did not argue with you; when it came to recharging, the droid rarely contradicted you. He powered down himself, his optics dimming before shutting off completely. Only then did you return to your previous position.

Kylo had not budged an inch. His knees were warm against yours, prompting you to scoot even closer. He rearranged his legs, and you shifted again so that you were between them. You extended your legs a bit, working to find a comfortable position that did not detract from his comfort. Kylo worked his hands along your shoulders once you were situated. He familiarized himself with the layout of your body, freely exploring with not traces of shyness that you could find. You let him, relishing in the feel of his touch as well as the knowledge that this was the man you were in a relationship with.

-------------

[Hux Route]

Before the cycle ended, you decided to venture towards Armitage’s quarter. You had shot him a message indicating your desire to see the TIE cat bed in person, and he had stated that you were plenty welcome. You fought to keep the grin off your face as you walked through the corridors. Despite the grim task of rejecting Kylo Ren officially, you were pleased overall with how the day had gone. Of course, heading towards Armitage’s quarters now that you were in an official relationship with him would have brightened your day regardless.

The stormtrooper that stood guard outside Armitage’s quarters stepped to the side when you arrived; that the trooper was aware of your permission to be there heightened your joy. Heat spread throughout your body, and you idly wondered how apparent the pleasure was to those around you.

You pressed in the entry code then stepped inside, offering a soft greeting to Armitage upon seeing him. Your eyes then scanned the circumference of the room. Seeking out the TIE cat bed took no more than a few seconds. You spotted it in one of the corners and found that Millicent was curled up there. Her purrs echoed, her contentment enough proof that you had done a good job. Normally Millicent might have skittered away or become playful when you arrived; that she was exhausted, likely from extended play with the toys the TIE provided, served as further proof.

“I wonder if I will have to come during the day to see it. She is usually more active around lunch.” You tilted your head, looking at her from a new angle.

“Yes, although she is also quite active during the night cycle.” You grinned widely at the tone of his voice, a cross between affection and exasperation. Armitage extended a hand towards you, and you stepped nearer to him. Your breath nearly caught in your throat as his hand made contact. His touch was gentle though firm. He had only recently ended his work shift; though, realistically, he could be called away at any second. “I acquired a list of other works by a newer poet I believe will catch your interest.” You released a hum in response, wondering what it was he believed you would enjoy.

Armitage slipped a finger under your chin, turning your head slightly to one side as he drew lazy circles along the area and stared into your eyes. Your stomach fluttered, and you found yourself yearning to touch him as well. It was more intimate now than when you had been in his office. You set a hand on his bare wrist, thinking how scandalous the sight had been in its own way. He covered so much of his body so often. You imagined that he could see the amusement in your gaze, as his expression further relaxed.

He leaned down and captured your lips in a brief kiss. It ended before you had a chance to respond, and you furrowed your brow. Armitage traced your jawline with his fingers before cupping the side of your face and moving in for a more proper kiss. You returned this one, melting into the sensation of that soft mouth melding with yours. Once he pulled away this time, he led you towards one of your preferred locations in his quarters.

You curled up on the blue couch beside him, both of you sitting comfortably. Armitage grabbed a datapad from the side table once the two of you were settled. He powered on the device and began to flick through files until he located the one he sought. You rested your head on his shoulder as you watched him.

He pulled up a new poem. It was structured differently than the other that he had shared with you, and you could tell by the word choice as well that it had been penned by a different poet. This individual also compared metal and nature, although their preference was more difficult to discern. They merged the two, entwining them and speaking of their coexistence in romantic analogies that caused your breath to hitch. It was ideal to you, the picture that the poet had created in your mind with their words.

“I thought you might like that.” You could only nod in reply to Armitage’s words, your hand placed on his arm. There were so many things you wished to properly express, however words did not spring to mind. Not the ones you would want to use, at any rate.

You curled your body more tightly against his. With this close proximity, every breath you took allowed you to drag in the scent of his soap. He smelled so clean, and you surmised that he had recently showered. A quick glance at his hair did not reveal any strand out of place. It was gelled, which you doubted he would do directly before bed. You reached up for the top of his head. Armitage did not bat away your hand or pull from you. He searched through more files, likely for another poem, and allowed you to touch him. His hair was surprisingly damp. Not by much, yet enough that you realized water was what held those locks in place instead of gel. You smiled at the softness of it.

“I am very fond of both,” you said at last. Order and chaos. Nature and machines. Hair gelled in place or else free to do as it pleased. Your gaze slid away from him to land on Millicent, who remained asleep. “The poem made me think of home, of when I first began working with droids.” Your smile grew as you pictured it, ran through the memory as though it had happened just the previous day. “My parents preferred that I worked on them outdoors. We had grass in the yard, and I would take a blanket to sit on. Some of my neighbors avoided using droids.” The pair of you chuckled. “I try to respect it, however I never have understood the aversion some people have to droids.”

He hummed in thought, his fingers pausing to hover above the datapad. Armitage pursed his lips forward a fraction, opened his mouth, and released a noise that sounded like the first syllable to a word. What word it would have been, you did not know. He closed his mouth again, and he grunted while letting his head fall back so that he could look at the ceiling. You said nothing, allowing him this time to think. You were plenty content to inhale deeply again, to enjoy the smell of him, his presence.

When he opened his mouth again, Armitage successfully spoke. “There are many reasons for it. Some come from families that dealt with the Trade Federation. I am certain you’ve heard of their discourse with Naboo.”

You worried at your bottom lip, bobbing your head in a nod. You had heard of it along with other planets that had dealt with Separatists and their droid armies. Mistrust stemming from trauma did make sense to you on some level. Yet you wanted to argue; you were biased, you well knew, and you wanted others to accept droids. In the next moment, your thoughts came to a harsh pause. You were aiding the First Order in designing assassination droids. It would help to sow seeds of mistrust.

“Maybe it is not as good a day as I thought,” you murmured. Armitage said nothing. You glanced up at him and found him staring at you in return. You debated saying nothing. He might well think your concerns foolish or, given that you worked for the First Order, treasonous. The relationship you had with him was new. If it started off with mistrust and paranoia, where was it to go? You would rather he chastise you here, whether you agreed with him or not, than let negativity fester.

He listened until you were done speaking, which did not take much time. Armitage patted your hip. His hand shifted up and down along your side. “There are no easy answers when it comes to the gray area of war. Your droids will hardly be the first to work towards assassination.” In another setting, and from another mouth, you might have taken insult to the second statement. Instead you thought on it, considered the reasons why you were working for this goal. In part it was to have your other project approved, the one that would help save others. The one that would enrich their lives. Gray area indeed.

In the seconds that followed, Armitage resumed his search for another poem that had been saved on the datapad. It was strange to you that it took him so long; normally he would have a better filing system for documents. That was proof enough that the datapad in his possession at the moment was used for things unrelated to work along with being a device he did not often use in general. The alternative would be that he had more works saved on the datapad than you had guessed. He never appeared to you as having a generous amount of freetime, which had caused you to assume that he did not purchase or save many works of fiction, or even non-fiction pieces for that matter.

Your budding relationship meant that you would learn a great many things about him; details that you had previously neglected to note would be granted new light. You touched Armitage’s arm at that thought, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt. He was lean in some regards, however there were tell-tale signs that he ensured he was fit to serve on the battlefield if the situation called for it. Or at least inasmuch as what would be required for him to survive. You equally preferred to remain behind the scenes. This was in contrast to Kylo Ren, and you supposed that such differences had been part of the causation that you had, in the end, felt more of a connection with Armitage.

After locating the second piece, he read it aloud just as he had done with the first. You closed your eyes to allow the words to wash over you. You could spend days listening to his voice regardless of what he was saying. It had a charm to it. Every inflection was perfect, his enunciation one that your academy teachers had worked to instill in all students. He paused in the proper places when coming across a comma, period, or similar breaks. Armitage’s voice lended itself well to evoking the correct emotions from you that the poem had been designed for.

This particular piece had a different focus than the previous works that he had shared with you. It ignored nature and machinery alike to instead focus inwardly. It painted emotions in various shades of color, each serving a purpose for stages in life as well as different experiences that one might go through. It was a longer poem than the others as well. Love had a multitude of shades; the poet explored familial, platonic, and romantic love by giving them separate turns. On occasion they overlapped, creating new hues.

Familial love was the first time you heard a quiver in Armitage’s voice that you could not shake away. When he fell silent upon completing the poem, you sat there and replayed the moment in your mind. A part of you wanted to say something, while at the same time you worried that he would become more guarded and wish for you to leave his quarters. You doubted that you would be spending the entire night—you were not quite ready for that, although perhaps soon—but that did not mean you wanted to leave just yet.

“It’s a very sentimental piece,” he said once more time had passed without you saying anything.

You nodded, pinching at the material of his shirtsleeve and rubbing it together before releasing your hold. “It is not wrong. Harnessing our own emotions, mastering them, helps us in many ways throughout life. Love can be a weakness or a strength. It comes down to not allowing yourself to be blinded. To see the larger picture through all those hues.” You glanced at him and saw his throat bob as he swallowed. “What do you think?”

It was an innocent enough question, and allowed for an assortment of answers.

“I think the hues offered may differ from person to person. Some may never see certain colors in their entire life.” It was like a punch to the gut delivered in unison with someone gripping your heart. You ached for him, for the vulnerability he displayed while he did not divulge everything that had happened to him.

It was common enough knowledge that Brendol Hux had been less than pleased to have Armitage as a son, but the exact depth had been unknown—at least to you.

You readjusted how you sat, slowly working your legs across his lap and bending them at the knees. Armitage curled an arm around you, bringing you closer. The contact was one that he needed as much as you did, one that he yearned for. How long had he yearned for it? How many would he have allowed himself to drop his guard, even a fraction, for? The emotional abuse he had endured in life had left him with scars that you were now catching glimpses of. You suspected—Maker, you hoped that you were wrong, yet you doubted it—that there had been physical blows alongside those emotional cuts.

“This is meant to be a positive experience,” he said, amusement slipping into his tone. It brought a new smile to your face, and you felt the minute amount of tension that had begun to build fade away. You rested your cheek on his shoulder while staring at his face. Armitage returned your gaze. He leaned forward, your mouths meeting. “I am satisfied with the colors I have seen.” You tried not to laugh, but failed. You snorted, covering your face and shaking your head, unable to contain your mirth.

The sound woke Millicent. She released a noise containing a meow and something of a squeak. She might have yawned mid-meow, however you were not certain. You lowered your hands from your face to look at her. She rose and stretched, arching her back and turning her head to assess all occupants of the room. Seeing that it was you, she meowed again then trotted over to her water dish to rehydrate.

You slipped off of Armitage’s lap and walked in the direction of the TIE cat bed. Noises behind you indicated that he shifted as well, though you were uncertain if he had risen. You knelt in front of the bed, reached to the side, and hit a switch that allowed you to give it voice commands; this feature had been added after one of your discussions with Aelin. It was quick to install and did not weigh much at all. You instructed the bed to convert into its other mode. The TIE’s transition was smooth, a blue beam of light running along its outside the entire time. That sensor would aid in preventing injury to Millicent if she ever came near the TIE mid-transformation. It would freeze until the area was clear.

This feature was one that you hope to improve upon in the coming weeks if given any downtime. It might help you work on the MSE droid that you were still tinkering with; remedying one issue always seemed to reveal another. This made your moment observing the TIE cat bed in action all the more rewarding. It was smooth, transforming into play-mode and dangling a cat toy from one of its wings as it hovered.

Millicent darted over to the toy, batting at it and rolling onto her back. “You do great work,” Armitage said. More movement, and you heard footsteps drawing closer. He knelt down next to you, the pair of you watching Millicent play. “I hope to get her on more of a schedule so that she does not interrupt my sleep.”

It was rare that he received decent sleep, although you were not about to say that. Instead you tapped a finger against your chin. “Creating a smaller model that works alongside this, one that is devoted to extra play, may help with that. Essentially it will be nothing more than a hovering cat toy, I suppose.”

“It sounds perfect.” Affection and pleasure tinted his voice. You thought again of the poem. Glancing at him, you took note of the love in his eyes for the small cat. She was his form of family, and she gave him her love unconditionally in return. Pitying him would have been an insult; you empathized with his struggles in his life, specifically his early life, but you marveled at the man he had become.

---------

[Poly Route]

After spending your time with Armitage then with Kylo, you found that you were more exhausted than you had been in quite a while. Of course, you mused, there had been the presentation before either of those. That had been easy from an emotional standpoint. Mentally it had been taxing. That covered the emotional and mental exhaustion, you thought, and worked to discover what had you so physically tired. It was likely a byproduct of the pair.

You laid on your bed with your hands resting atop your stomach and stared up at the ceiling. TeeArr and the MSE droid were recharging. No one else had entered your quarters since Kylo had left. You were alone. That was not always as bad as one might think. It gave you time to run through all that had occurred, and sort through what you wanted to plan for the following cycle. Work was of the utmost importance. Socially, however, you had to figure out how to divide your free time between two men. They both had stated that they were open to this polycule. The questions as: for how long? You did not want to grow comfortable with one arrangement only for one or both of them to yank the metaphorical rug out from under your feet.

For a moment, you did nothing more than breathe and trace patterns with your eyes along the ceiling. Anyone could drive themselves bonkers with negative thinking, with theories as to how a relationship would go. Even if you had been dating only one of them, there were potential factors that could shake things up. That was how life worked.

You rolled onto your side to give yourself a better view of the MSE droid. A little after Kylo had left, you had tinkered with some of its coding again, finding more flaws. Flaws that had not been there before, which indicated a potential virus. Wiping the droid clean and starting its programming from scratch would be less of a hassle. Finding a means of countering the virus would be more helpful, however, in that the repair could be replicated should it occur in other droids. You first had to ensure that none of your equipment had been damaged by the potential virus; you would use your spares when you began work in the coming cycle.

Perhaps thoughts of code-related projects should not have calmed you as much as they did. It was what you did for work. This was different though. It was personal, it was for yourself. You smiled, thinking of it along with Kylo’s reaction to seeing the droid. Next you thought of Armitage and Millicent in her TIE cat bed. Being with both of them made you genuinely happy.

Stretching, arching your back, you altered your position once more, scooping up a datapad as you accomplished this shift. You had not yet finished winding down from your day, and you had enough of your wits about you to compose a message to each of them. Something simple though nothing cheesy.

You tapped your fingers against the side of the device. The drumming held no true rhythm, although you did not particularly care. You made the decision to not open the replies no matter how soon they came. Only then did you begin to write a message to Kylo Ren, inquiring when he would be able to have a meditation session with you. It was something that would not interfere with his work or training while for you it offered a chance to clear your mind of mental tasks while enjoying his company. Dating on starships was an interesting affair to say the least. For Armitage, you hoped to join him for tea, one of the new flavors that you had purchased. It would be soothing, and was also something you could do while in his quarters. He was always most at ease there.

Once you had sent the messages, you powered down the device and tucked it away. You then slipped out of bed. Your feet pattered on the ground, taking you towards the MSE droid, in front of which you knelt.

People so often took droids for granted, and you honestly did not understand it. Some hated droids. Others preferred droids that could not communicate in Basic. They chose to purchase droids that spoke only binary, which they often failed to learn. You rolled your eyes. What people wanted were mindless slaves. Drones were different than droids. You wished that more people understood that. That more appreciated the gift that droids were, that they would cherish them. It was in part programming, however many droids learned to adapt so as to best serve their masters and partners.

Your gaze flickered over to TeeArr. That was what he was to you, you thought. He was more of a partner. Or a child, as he had somewhat implied. The people in your life influenced him as much as they did you. And he cared for you. His concern had so much to do with his programming, however what had first sparked the idea to allow room for personality had been the early stages of his adaptation into your work life.

His relationship with Kylo and Armitage will be different. I need to ensure it does not interfere with work. Should he become too casual with them… You quirked your lips towards one side. TeeArr had enough history working with diplomats that you worried less than you otherwise may have. Still, there would be work to be done. Which meant ensuring that you had free time between cycles and dates with your boyfriends to devote to yourself and to TeeArr. Evenings will be best.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you rose to your feet again and slunk back to your bed. The covers were invitingly warm in comparison with the light chill of the room. A low buzz emitted from the air vents.

Aside from running through codes, another means of relaxing yourself before bed was to recall some of your fonder memories. At present those were of previous interactions with Kylo Ren and Armitage Hux.

Early on, when it had come to speaking with political figures, you had been frustrated with Armitage—General Hux back that to you. He had given only clipped greetings, if he greeted you at all, and referred to you by your job title rather than name. That had gradually changed. One incident in particular had been when the politician had spoken over you during a discussion about Imperial droids that were, to many, obsolete. You had felt that some of their programming would be useful in newer droids. The politician had pretended to listen for roughly one sentence before he turned to Armitage and began speaking as though you were sitting there silently.

Maker, you had grown so flustered. It was the first time that you had wanted to sock someone so badly that you shoved your hands under the table to hide your fists. Armitage had, in turn, ignored the other man in favor of looking your way and requesting that you repeat yourself, because he did not believe the knowledge you were attempting to share had been heard. It was hard to not respect him in those moments. Whether you butted heads on opinions or not, he showed you professional courtesy and respect that you had worked your ass off to earn.

Next you considered one of the times you had spent nearly an hour with Kylo. Neither of you had spoken for the better part of fifteen standard minutes. You had discovered a viewport with a gorgeous view of several constellations along with a distant moon. It had given you pause, stolen your breath away. You had walked closer to the transparisteel, and stood there with your arms dangling. Kylo Ren had already been present, although you barely noticed him. He spoke first. He told you that you would be late. You hummed in absent acknowledgment, the words not registering until nearly a half hour had passed. Then you had uttered out a swear.

At that point you left the viewport and headed in the direction of the meeting room that was filled with officers awaiting a presentation from you. You worked hard to think up an excuse, anything to save face. Nothing sensible sprang to mind. Thus you entered the room to receive glowers and glares. A snarl wrinkled the face of the lead officer, who began to open his mouth only to release a strangled noise of surprise before he uttered Kylo’s name. And Kylo Ren spoke for you, stating that you had been with him. That was all. Four words. She was with me. No one had questioned it, and any animosity aimed at you had left.

They were both kind, you thought. It was in their own way, however in retrospect they had been more human to you than the majority of those you had had contact with in the First Order. You had paid that in kind, too. Had treated them with respect. Had spoken with them, smiled at them. Had unknowingly been falling in love with them, or at least parts of them.

You lifted a hand to your mouth, your eyes widening as you faced the depth of your feelings for them. It explained so well why you had faced such difficulty when believing that you would have to choose one or the other. You would have been lying to yourself to say that you could have done so. Just as you had lied to yourself, making that decision to not read the replies until the next cycle.

You grabbed at the datapad again, fingers trembling a little as you pushed the power button. There was much that you wanted to share with each of them, mentally, emotionally, and physically.

Physically. You bit down on your bottom lip and barely suppressed a shudder.

There were two messages waiting for you. Both Armitage and Kylo had replied not long after you had sent each of them their message. It caused the already-present thrumming in your body to spread.

You opened the message from Armitage first, as it was the one on top. He enjoyed the idea of having scheduled tea sessions with you on an ongoing basis. It would allow you to monitor the TIE cat bed, perhaps also allow you to design more droids appropriate for her care. No one could say that either of you were wasting time being idle. That was a risk that an officer of his rank dealt with in the First Order. It was ruthless, this organization. He had a list of three times that would work best for his schedule, and you replied back indicating the two that would work for you, stating that you would give him a definitive answer partway into the next cycle. You imagined that if things changed on his end, he would message you if possible.

With that reply sent, you opened Kylo’s response to your message. The laugh that leapt from you made you glad that you were essentially alone at the moment. He had inquired if you meant for a meditation session in his quarters or in the training room. It was impossible for you to not smile over the fact that he was seeking clarification over whether or not you were using code. Truth be told, you were plenty willing to partake in either form of ‘meditation’ he had been considering. You worked to keep your wording from being too forward. Leave room for a little bantering, you thought.

This time when you powered down the datapad and found a more comfortable position to rest, you were determined to avoid further distractions from sleep. Plans outside of work were developing. You had to get your sleep for that, to have the proper amount of energy to fully appreciate your time with Kylo and Armitage.

The humming of the vent lulled you into a deep sleep. The dreams you had were vague, but with an air of pleasantness. Familiarity. Arms wrapped around you. A person beside you. Laughter, yours and two other distinct voices. You did not dream of the presentation, as you sometimes did following such meetings. Only of them.

#errorpnf #kylo ren x reader #general hux x reader #kylo x reader #hux x reader #kylo ren imagine #general hux imagine

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

“School Life:” A Hoodie Season AU Prequel

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Hwang Hyunjin (SKZ)

Genre: Married Life AU (Hoodie Season Prequel)

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Mild Language

Summary: When Y/N is hired as the librarian at her former high school, she isn’t exactly thrilled to return. Of course, there’s also the issue of the persistent dance teacher who seems determined to win her affections.

Here’s a funny story: imagine promising yourself that you’d attend college, nail an awesome degree, and then find a job making six figures on an annual basis, only to return home with a teaching license to work at the same school that you attended when you were 16 while making less than acceptable.

Yeah, life had a funny way of making a joke out of itself, and the punch line is never really that good.

But there wasn’t time for me to complain about my prospects since I had been unemployed for six months with a lousy degree in literature that led to absolutely nothing. In desperate times, we’re often forced to do things that we hate, and I was certainly disenchanted with the idea of working in a high school library surrounded by horny and immature devils all the time.

“Good morning, Y/N!”

Oh, and I also had to deal with one of the most annoyingly persistent men on a regular basis. “What do you want, Hyunjin?”

Despite my dismissive tone, Hyunjin still leaned in across the check-out counter, and I could feel his eyes staring at my ass. “It’s my free period.”

“And?”

“And...you should come have coffee with me,” Hyunjin said, and I finally turned around to endure his flirtatious smile. It had only been two months since the start of the semester, and a grand total of two weeks since Hyunjin had first started trying his luck with me. But I was beginning to think that he didn’t know how to take a hint.

“I’m busy with paperwork,” I said, ignoring his crestfallen expression. However, in my defense, I wasn’t looking for a relationship, and I was far too preoccupied with my own self-loathing to entertain his advances.

“Again?” he pouted, giving me a look that I’m sure won the heart of any girl that he had the chance to impress.

It was too bad that they didn’t work on me.

“Bye, Hyunjin,” I said, giving him a cheeky smile before disappearing into my office.

The next morning, I noticed that Bang Chan, one of the upperclassman teachers, had arranged to pick up some books for his students. It required some set-up on my end with the computer system, and I was completing the necessary paperwork when Chan walked into the library. “Good morning, Y/N,” he said with a pleasant smile.

“Mr. Bang,” I greeted him in return. “I brought an empty cart for your request.”

“Perfect!” Chan smiled, walking around the counter to pull the cart towards the surrounding bookshelves.

I watched him from the corner of my eye while inputting the final codes for my spreadsheet. “Is this for a class project?”

Chan lifted his head from where he was examining a nearby book display. “Oh! Yeah, the kids like it when we do this kind of stuff. Well, I mean, they don’t like reading so much, but it’s better than tests.”

I nodded my head because I could certainly appreciate that considering some of the more stringent high school examinations that I recalled from my teenage years. “The school wants me to read you this long and boring list of protocols after you check-out something.”

“Yeah...” Chan trailed off with a chuckle. “Do you want to do it now...or?”

I grinned, closing out one of the tabs on my computer screen before joining Chan by the bookshelves. This close, I could appreciate the subtle scent of his cologne and his easygoing smile. “I think we can just skip it,” I said, raising a brow. “I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”

“You’ll let me off easy, Y/N?” Chan asked, turning around with a knowing look and I reveled in our simple flirtation.

“Since you’ve been so nice,” I said, breaking off when I heard the door to the library open again.

“There you are!” Hyunjin announced his presence, waltzing over to the two of us without a single care in the entire world. “How can I last all day without seeing this smile?”

I sighed when said smile disappeared. “What did you do before I came here?”

“It was a lonely workplace,” Hyunjin said, and I noticed the way that he had positioned himself between me and Chan.

“Anyway,” Chan continued, attempting to speak over Hyunjin despite his unexpected presence. “As a thank you, Y/N, would you like to come to the school’s basketball game this Friday? I coach the men’s team, and we’re undefeated this year.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s basically a tradition,” Hyunjin intervened, sending Chan a look. “The boys love the support from their teachers.”

“But Hyunjin, you don’t even-”

“You’ll come, right?” Hyunjin asked, interrupting Chan’s train of thought. In return, the older man merely shrugged before occupying himself with the task of stacking the books that he required onto the cart.

I studied Hyunjin’s beaming expression because, in all honesty, it was one of the very last things that I wanted to do, but it seemed unusually important - which meant that a small part of me was quite curious. “I guess I can try and clear some time,” I said with a shrug.

Hyunjin’s smile was impossibly large, and he leaned against Chan’s cart like he wanted to look as cool and laid-back as possible. “You know, Y/N,” he started. “I think you and I share a lot in common.”

“I doubt that,” I said with a tense smile.

“We both care a lot about our students,” Hyunjin said, and I tried not to laugh because Hyunjin couldn’t begin to imagine just how much I didn’t want this particular job on my resume. “We’re also good-looking people.”

The comment was shallow, and I didn’t feel that impressed by his attempt to compliment me. Meanwhile, Chan snorted around a laugh as he pushed his cart back, nearly sending Hyunjin sprawling into the floor. “I have things to do,” Chan said, excusing himself politely while a flustered Hyunjin tried to play off his decidedly uncool moment.

“If only your students were around to see this...” I trailed off with a distracted sigh, leaving Hyunjin behind spluttering out nonsensical words while I returned to the sanctity of my private office.

On Friday night, I parked my car near the back of the school before entering the loud and unusually crowded gymnasium where, for just a split second, I almost considered walking back out the door. It smelled like sweat and dirty laundry, and the bleachers looked uncomfortable, especially since everyone was forced to sit shoulder-to-shoulder. “What fresh hell is this?” I grumbled, shouldering off my jacket since I definitely wouldn’t need it.

I proceeded to walk around the proximity of the gym, searching for familiar faces. I spotted Chan standing on the sidelines with another teacher (Changbin, maybe?) before I realized that someone was calling my name from behind me. I turned around to greet Han Jisung, one of the Freshman English teachers, and he pointed to a section where I recognized several other staff members. “You can join us if you want,” Jisung said and I nodded my agreement.

He led us through the crowd of eager fans, keeping an eye on me as I teetered precariously on the old bleachers wearing high heels that I definitely regretted. But at the very top, I could see some familiar faces, including one that appeared far more eager than the rest. “Oh, Y/N,” Hyunjin said. “I’m glad to see you. It’s nice to have the teachers support our teams.”

“You never come to the basketball games,” Felix said, and Hyunjin shot him a silencing glare.

“What are you talking about, Felix?” Hyunjin asked with wide eyes. “I always support the school.”

“Sure,” Seungmin snorted as if he was simply placating Hyunjin’s obvious fabrication.

“Yeah, I heard it was something else,” I said, taking a seat next to Han before turning my attention to the game.

I wasn’t a big sports fan by any means, and I struggled to make sense of the chaos that included a bunch of teenage boys running up and down the court wearing their brightly-colored uniforms. Sometimes a whistle blew or the shot clock made a truly horrible sound when the buzzer went off to conclude the end of game-time. Otherwise, I felt utterly confused as I sat back and nodded when one of the other teachers surrounding me made a comment that I certainly didn’t understand.

When the game reached halftime, Hyunjin immediately stood up from his seat, starting down the staircase as he chanced a look back over his shoulder. “They have refreshments outside,” he said to me. “My treat?”

I placated him with a nod, following him into the slowly forming crowd attempting to migrate outside of the gymnasium where the smell of pizza and nachos was especially prominent. Hyunjin and I stood at the back of the line, and I swallowed down a feeling of claustrophobia. Meanwhile, I hadn’t noticed that Hyunjin was looking at me until he finally made his voice audible over the white noise of the surrounding crowd.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Hyunjin said, giving me, what I assumed, was his best attempt at a humble expression. “I’m sorry if I’ve done something to offend you...”

“It’s not so much that,” I said. “But it’s tiresome to see you put so much effort into flirting with me.”

“Oh...” Hyunjin said, clearing his throat awkwardly, but he also seemed hurt by my admission. “I’m not, like, some kind of serial dater or something. I genuinely thought you were interesting when we met at the teacher’s conference for the first time.”

“You did?” I asked, studying this vulnerable version of Hyunjin with close scrutiny.

“Yeah.” He nodded, adjusting the beanie hugging the crown of his hairline. “I’m kinda bad at this type of thing, but you’re different from the others. I think you and I both know that’s not always a bad thing, and I was hoping that you might at least give me one tiny little chance at a date.”

I gave him my full attention then, and I found myself taken aback by the look of earnest interest reflecting back at me in warm swirls of brown. “Okay,” I said, deciding that it couldn’t possible hurt to give him an opportunity. “But do me a favor and at least have a better excuse the next time you come into the library,”

Hyunjin had the decency to blush, and I couldn’t help but smile as we took another step forward.

It was Saturday evening when Hyunjin picked me up in front of my small apartment complex. I settled next to him in the front seat, smiling in his direction when he extended a tentative greeting. “How are you, Y/N?” he asked, and I was surprised to hear a hint of nervousness in his tone.

“I’m good,” I said. “But what’s this surprise all about, Hyunjin?”

“No spoilers,” Hyunjin said, and he seemed to regain some semblance of his former confidence as we drove down the crowded city streets in the direction of the main interstate.

“Well, I expect something classy since you made such a big deal about dressing up for the occasion,” I said, reaching down to smooth my hands along the hemline of my skirt.

“I don’t know much about you,” Hyunjin admitted. “But I had a friend give me some advice.”

“Dating advice?” I questioned, smirking in his direction. “You must not go on very many dates.”

“Not really,” Hyunjin remarked. “Despite what you might be thinking, it’s never been a big thing for me.”

I contemplated his words, watching as he drug his bottom lip between his teeth to worry the skin. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Hyunjin said. “I guess I’m not very good at making connections with people. I’ve been told that I can come on too strong.”

I laughed at the honest assessment. “Maybe you just need more practice.”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin agreed. “But is that okay with you? I mean, now that you know that I don’t have any idea about what I’m doing.”

“I think it’s more exciting,” I told him. “It also explains why you’re flirting was so over the top at the beginning of the semester.”

Hyunjin groaned as if embarrassed by the reminder. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said, reaching across the console to take his willing hand. “If you were quiet, then we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Hyunjin let out a shaky exhale, studying me for a moment from the corner of his eye. “I want to make a better impression on you, Y/N.”

“Trust me,” I said with a smile. “The impression I already have of you is quite persuasive.”

Hyunjin nodded, and a comfortable silence proceeded before he fumbled with the buttons on the radio to allow some music to accompany the remainder of our drive together. It was something techno and upbeat - the kind of thing that just made sense to me because I knew that he was a dance teacher. But in any case, I only really started to pay attention when I noticed that we had somehow entered the more upscale part of the city.

Maybe Hyunjin was really doing his best to impress me.

“Here we are,” Hyunjin said, pulling into a parking spot lining the side of a very familiar building.

I realized immediately that it was the opera house which meant that the Hwang Hyunjin had brought me to a pretentious affair that certainly held no appeal to someone like myself. But I tried to keep my smile, nodding at him while he handed our tickets over to the attendant. Meanwhile, at the back of my head, all I could think about was the fact that Hyunjin might’ve been trying too hard with our first date. Especially as I observed the expensive theater.

“I heard it’s a classic,” Hyunjin whispered to me after we found our seats in the middle of the enormous crowd.

“Great,” I murmured back, trying not to feel so out of place.

Instead, I focused on the show in front of me, clapping along with everyone else because I had no idea when it was actually appropriate to do so. In fact, I was forced to laugh even though I couldn’t figure out what was funny, and I shifted uncomfortably when the older gentleman next to me started crying during one of the scenes. Apparently, the gathered crowd of patrons had rehearsed all of this before attending the show, and I was left pretending to understand the social cues that the others had already memorized.

It was actually rather draining, and I forced a smile at Hyunjin when he looked down at me. “You’re not having fun,” Hyunjin finally said during intermission.

“What do you mean?” I asked, but I wasn’t nearly as convincing of an actress as the people on stage.

Hyunjin sighed. “Honestly, Y/N, do you even like this?”

I swallowed hard, struggling under the scrutiny of his gaze. “It’s...alright?”

Hyunjin grinned, but it didn’t seem genuine. “Come on,” he said, rising from his seat. “I don’t think we’ll be missing out by leaving early.”

I reluctantly took Hyunjin’s outstretched hand, allowing him to pull me down the aisle before we trudged through the crowded lobby and into the refreshing night air. The parking lot was still full of cars, and Hyunjin had parked us somewhere near the back since we weren’t aware of the necessity of arriving to these shows several hours before start time. But I didn’t mind the walk because I was trying to think of something to say to a downtrodden Hyunjin who paused next to his car.

“Look,” I finally said with an endeared smile. “You don’t have to try so hard to impress me.”

“I screwed everything up,” Hyunjin said, and I was sad to see that he was genuinely upset as he leaned against the side of his car.

“No, you didn’t, Hyunjin,” I tried to tell him, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“I really like you,” Hyunjin said. “And this felt like my one opportunity to get something right, but I fucked up again.”

I took a deep breath, tilting my head to catch Hyunjin off-guard as I brushed a soft kiss across his lips. “I can tell you have a good heart, and that’s all I care about, okay?”

Hyunjin seemed completely taken aback, and I was worried that I had sent him into some kind of shock, but he allowed one hand to wrap around my waist as he brought us closer. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said, and our second kiss was reciprocated by both sides - a tender exchange of out deepest feelings. “Does this mean that I might get a chance at another date?” he asked, looking at me with sincere brown eyes.

“I think you’re worth it,” I told him despite how cheesy it sounded inside my head.

“This makes us official, right?” Hyunjin asked, and I should’ve known better than to expect something normal with him. Doing things by the book with all the cliches involved didn’t really seem like Hyunjin’s kind of thing - and I liked him even more because of it.

“Yeah, if you want labels or whatever,” I grumbled, but his teasing laugh was the best kind of medicine. Needless to say, our first night together was perfect in every way.

#stayverse #stray kids #skz #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin fanfic #skz hyunjin #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin fanfic #stray kids drabbles #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids writer #stray kids marriage au #mostlycompetent

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wyofabdoms · 3 years

Text

Ten Days - Day Eight

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Javier is shot and refuses to take his antibiotic while recuperating. You get creative and make him a deal that ensures he will take his medicine everyday: one kiss for one pill. It's gonna be a long 10 days.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character injury, slow burn, mutually unrequited, angst, swearing, soft and sweet Javi, period appropriate sexism, brief mention of broken Javi

Word Count: 2484

Note: You have a bad day at work and seek out Javi to keep you company.

Read the full series on Ao3

The Friday work day ends early for you and finds you seething as you stomp up the stairs to your apartment carrying two loaded bags, one stuffed with your favorite take out food, the other clinking with multiple bottles of red wine (and one large bottle of whiskey).

It had been that kind of day.

All you wanted to do was drink yourself into a fuzzy stupor so you could forget the bullshit from today. The second you’re in your apartment, you shuck off your work clothes in the main entryway and pop open a bottle of wine in the kitchen wearing nothing but your bra and underwear. As you gulp down the first sharp taste of tart alcohol, you wander to your bedroom. By the time you’ve washed your face, put your hair up out of your face and changed into comfy shorts and a ratty tshirt, your glass is empty. It’s a good thing tomorrow’s Saturday because you can tell right now you’re probably going to have a major headache in the morning. You click on your record player and turn up your favorite Bruce Springsteen album, then snuggle into your couch with your food, another full glass and a trashy romance novel. A few bites into your meal, though, and your train of thought wanders back to your day and you lose your appetite.

How dare they! How dare they all. YOU were the one responsible for that intel. After the shit you’d had to do to track down that punk bartender and get him to talk...no one even bothered to acknowledge it. Not that you required them to stoke your ego and tell you how great you were, it wasn’t like that at all. It was when you were passed over despite your hard work and someone else completely undeserving earned the praise that infuriated you. It was always that way (most of the time, anyway). Every single male colleague you worked with always seemed to overlook the fact that, more often than not, you brought things to investigations that might not normally have happened; that you worked as hard as they did...oftentimes harder. You had to to be successful in a man’s world. You were damn good at your job. As cliche as it sounded, you often thought it as your woman’s intuition...an idea that many people scoffed at, but you knew was actually a legitimate and important trait. But today had been more than just the usual workplace sexism. Once again you had been overlooked as being an integral part of the team. It happened so often by now that you were still surprised when it stung so much. Today you had just felt like breaking. So you had left work early...not even bothering to clock out or finish your paperwork.

Fuck them!

You couldn’t stop yourself this time. Tears began to fall again (Christ, when did you become such a crybaby?!?) and you shoved your face into a throw pillow as you sobbed for several minutes, getting the anger and frustration out of your system. It was so unfair. And you knew that if you had been born with a penis and were in the same situation, it would be a different story all together. You also felt a pang of longing: if Javier hadn’t been sidelined and out of commission, you know he would have had your back today. He was the one exception to the sexism you experience (most of the time). It had taken some coaching on your part when you had first become partners; he had made his fair share of blunders that had hurt you and been unfair. But he had always listened when you had called him on his bullshit, when you had explained how the things he had done or said made you feel, explained how they were not fair solely based on the fact that you were female. Early on he had acknowledged when he was wrong. He still occasionally did or said something thoughtless, but he usually was quick to recognize when he was wrong and he had inadvertently become your champion when things like today happened. Though you hated to admit it, when he spoke up to others on your behalf, it made you feel good...although it also enraged you that a man’s voice pointing out your hard work was heard by the other men in a room rather than them all just recognizing it on their own. Javi would have stood up for you today if he had been there.

Thinking about your partner reminds you that you should probably check in with him before you get too tanked...you definitely don’t want to interact with him after you’ve had as much wine as you were planning to have...and after you’ve been reading things you know you’ll encounter in your book.

You snatch up the bottle of whiskey, not bothering to hunt down his keys and patter down the hall to his apartment, tap, tap, tapping on his door, enjoying the soft buzz the wine was making you feel on the edges of your thoughts, eager to make sure he was set for the evening so that you could get back your own apartment.

As soon as Javi opened the door you realized immediately that you had made several critical errors despite only being one glass of wine in. His eyes immediately traveled down your body, taking in your exposed neck; it was unusual for you to wear your hair up like this. They roamed further and assessed your t-shirt with hardly any elastic, the collar hanging low and dipping off one shoulder. Despite the fact that you swam in the material, it was obvious to his keen eye that you were not wearing a bra beneath it. You started to shuffle a little as his eyes traveled further and raked down your bare legs, his lips curling into a smirk when he saw your bright yellow, fuzzy socks. You rolled your eyes at his roaming gaze. My champion...you thought sarcastically.

“Hey!” You said loudly, snapping your fingers in front of his face a few times then waving your hand in front of your own face, drawing his eyes away from your exposed legs. “My eyes are up here, Peña. You don’t need to be lookin’ anywhere else.” He shot you a guilty grin, knowing he was caught and you felt some pressure leave your chest. After his apology last night and the unspoken sweet moment that followed, you were afraid things might be weird between you. Thankfully, though, things felt ok...until you see the smile drop from his face and his forehead crease in concern.

“What happened?” He asks. You pause, confused by what he means. Then you realize: you had just been sobbing into a pillow in your apartment...no doubt your face looked as puffy and red as it felt. You held up the bottle of whisky.

“I got passed over for another commendation today.” Your voice was full of false cheeriness, edged in steel and highlighted with fury. Javi’s eyebrows came together “Agent Dickhead got it instead. Want to have a celebratory shot with me?”

“Sure,” and he stepped back from the doorway to let you in.

***

Javi was appropriately outraged along with you at the injustice of the entire situation as you sat at his kitchen table. After inviting you in, he had gotten glasses for you both as well as a bowl of chips and you had poured them each a drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you had seen him glance at you to check that your back was turned and you had watched as he knocked back a pill from the bottle next to the sink, keeping his back to you, and making no mention of it. One shot had turned to two and you both went back and forth between chuckling and spitting ire over for the incompetence of the man who had wrongfully received the recognition that you deserved. After your partner poses a particularly explicit hypothetical question regarding “Agent Dickhead’s” relationship with his mother that leaves you clutching your sides in a fit of giggles, he sighs.

“Sorry I wasn’t there. I know you don’t need me or anything like that, that’s not what I mean, but…” he trails off for a moment and fiddles with his glass on the table before finishing. “...I just wish I could have said something. You don’t deserve to be treated like shit.” You sigh too and lean back in your chair.

“Thanks. I appreciate you saying that.” You sit in an amicable silence. Then you shift in your seat, stretching your legs from where you had tucked them up under you “I should go. I don’t want to keep you, I just…” your frustration from the day hits you again like a ton of bricks and in the next instant, to your utter horror you are blubbering into your hands, your shoulders shaking, trying not to sob hysterically in front of what you are sure is your mortified partner.

You hear his chair scrap across the kitchen tile and you feel more than see him kneeling next to you on the floor. Before you can react to his closeness, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his solid frame. You think for a moment that you should pull away...but you just can’t. You breath him in as you lay your head against his chest and cry into his shirt, the soft smell of soap and cigarettes giving you something else to focus on besides your hurt and rage and you feel your tears start to subside just a little. He buries his face in your hair for just a moment, taking a deep breath and releasing it in a heavy sigh, then he props his chin on top of your head, tightening his arms a little bit more around you.

You stay like that for a while, his arms cocooned around you, you letting him hold you while you cry yourself out. He’s told you before there is nothing more terrifying to a man than a woman in tears and you know how uncomfortable it makes him feel. This isn’t the first time you’ve cried in front of him; it’s happened before on a few occasions, but it has never resulted in anything quite so intimate. He usually slings an arm around your shoulders or simply sits next to you patiently, waiting until all of your tears are spent. And then there had been that one terrible, dark time when you had found him curled up in the locker room at work at two in the morning, his head clutched in his hands, shoulders shaking, silently sobbing into the wall. You had never been so frightened of anything as you had been then, seeing him so broken in front of you. You had held him and the two of you had never spoken of it again save for his grunted thanks the following day.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to feel safe, feel small, feel cared for, even if only for a few moments. Your breath comes in shallow stutters as your breathing begins to regulate. Reluctantly, you pull back, sniffling and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. You touch the wet front of his shirt, chuckling your apologies, embarrassed. He shakes his head and shrugs in response and you force yourself to look at him.

His eyes are full of something that makes your heart pound. The longing from previous nights, a reflection of your own hurt, and something that can only be described as adoration. He brings his hands from around you and frames your face along your jaw, his thumbs carefully tracing the trails your tears have made on your cheeks, wiping away the last of the wet streaks.

“You ok?” He gruffs softly, the question reflected in his soft, sweet brown eyes as they search yours. You can only nod, hypnotized by the incredible tenderness you see in his face. For all of the resolve you have always had that has kept you from crossing the line with this man, you have never felt so much weakness as you do in this moment. Every part of your being screams at you to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him; to beg him to touch you, to make love to you. You know if you did he would oblige you. He would make you forget how hurt you are by work, make you feel like the most special person in the whole wide world, make you splinter apart under his ministrations. All you had to do was close your eyes and lean forward…

...Before you can convince yourself to act or not, Javi makes the decision for you. Cradling your head in his hands, he leans forward, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. It lacks the heat of the last time your lips touched, but strikes a perfect balance between chaste and lustful, pressing just long enough to be more than a peck, but not so long that either of you get lost in your desires. He pulls away after a few tender moments, pausing as he does just millimeters from your face, his eyes open and studying you carefully, taking a moment to breathe in the air from your exhalation, his lips hovering over yours. Your eyes remain closed, though, unable to look at him for fear of wrapping yourself around him and shoving him to the floor to ravish him. He lowers his head, his forehead brushing your mouth and he lets out a shaky sigh. He whispers your name as though casting a spell and you open your eyes, staring at his lowered head until he raises it again.

He looks at you for a moment longer, then rocks back onto his heels and pulls himself up to standing, taking you along with him. You stand a little too close to each other for just a moment, heat crackling across the small space that separates you, your palms flat on his chest, his hands resting on your elbows before they drop to his sides. He takes a small step back and the raw desire you see in him frightens you.

You mumble your thanks for the company and the drink along with an apology for losing your shit on him. He waves you off, telling you not to worry about it, never breaking eye contact. You swallow hard and blink before saying goodnight and making your way back to your own apartment, your legs suddenly feeling like they’re made of jelly and your heart pounding so hard you’re amazed he doesn’t hear it all the way down the hall.

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Day Four

Day Five

Day Six

Day Seven

Day Nine

#javier peña x reader #javi #javier pena x female reader #narcos

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sarah-blue-eyes · 3 years

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2020 In Review

Hoo boy, here we go.

[Ok just before I begin. I had this queued to post in the first month of January but it doesn’t seem like that ever happened haha. Better late than never I suppose!]

So I am a nostalgic bitch, and since 2011, have loved to make memory boxes for each year, where I put trinkets and memories into a shoebox. This year I have continued that tradition, but I have also kept track of my happy memories throughout 2020 in my planner. This was done with the intention for me to upload a year-in-review sort of thing in hopes that maybe like, 3 people max on this god-forsaken site will read it. This sort of reminiscence was inspired by my friend @a-lbeit, who has done these for a few years now and me, as a slut for nostalgia, was encouraged to do the same back in January (I think? What even is my memory at this point?)

2020, as it has been for many, was a very shit year, and I am no different. I would safely say that this year has undeniably been the worst I have lived through. But I am here. I am present. And I have made it through some of the darkest times to face 2021 with a new sense of hopefulness. Keeping track of my happier memories has been something that has truly got me through this clusterfuck of a year, so I am glad that I can finally go through them all again and share them with you.

Read it, or don’t, I don’t give a shit what you do with your time, but if you do, I hope that you aren’t bored to tears. And I hope to keep myself accountable to continue to do this for years to come.

Buckle up, grab a hot drink and a snack and get comfy, because this is a JOURNEY.

January:

· Kicked the new year off with hosting a 1920’s themed party with some of my closest friends at my family home at the beach. Had fun with drunk SingStar, playing What Do You Meme, creating a playlist with everyone’s top 3 songs of the decade (it was a bangin’ playlist I must say), and just overall drinking too much and having a riotous time

· I remember going to the beach New Year’s Day (as is tradition in Australia) and playing ultimate frisbee in the shallows and completing a crossword puzzle on the sand (I am a 75-year-old woman, it is just a fact of life)

· I also had my friend Kirsten from South Australia stay with me for the New Year’s period and it was lovely to have a guest over! I haven’t spoken to her much this year, she sort of fell off the face of the planet, but I hope she is doing ok.

· Went town to Torquay (a beach town in Victoria) for the 6th time for Beach Mission, which is essentially a holiday program for kids in preschool-year 9 where we run activities for them. It’s a Christian-based program but the aim isn’t to convert the kids or anything like that, it’s more to show God’s love to them through our actions and how we as Christians live our lives. It’s also a convenient way for parents to dish their kids off for a few hours too haha. This was my final year of being a part of this program, and I am so pleased to have made so many memories and (hopefully) impacted many children’s lives during my time there

· I remember going on a late-night beach walk with my boyfriend Josh, talking about what the year had in store for us. We were just sitting on the beach, as you do, and I saw a shooting star. I can’t remember what I wished for (if anything) but in that moment, life was a dream.

· The week after beach mission I started at my new internship! It was for a place called KidsCo, who run school holiday programs at workplaces, so parents don’t need to take time off work to look after them. I helped with client relations and a lot of behind-the scenes stuff. I really loved it there

· On the very first day of my internship I remember there was torrential rain, and the train home was delayed by like, an hour or so lol

· One of the best parts about interning at KidsCo was that they were the official child-minding service for the Australian Open. I make an effort to go each year, but I was lucky enough to get free ground-entry for me and a guest for the duration of the event. I went quite a few times and got to take my mum and Josh along as well.

· Saw my only concert of the year, The Veronicas, at the Australian Open. When I say the moment the violin riff at the start of Untouched absolutely went the fuck off is an understatement. Grade 5 me would have cried (and 23 year old me did a little bit too tbh.) Yet another of one of my “all-time-favourite-songs” that I’ve had the pleasure of hearing live. (I also went through the year feeling sad that this was the first time in 11 years I hadn’t gone to a concert, but this one certainly fell through the cracks)

· Started planning my trip to the UK to see my twin sister, and best friend, Jess

· Went away to Rye for the Australia Day weekend #changethedate. An excellent time with excellent mates, and went to the beach pretty much every day and got mindlessly sloshed every night

· Listened to the Triple J Hottest 100. I think 4 of my picks made it in, which was pretty good

· Continued my job as the office manager/events coordinator at my church

February:

Basketball started back after the summer break for my two different teams, The Vikings and The Wildcats (honestly such a highlight of this year with how the rest of it ended up going)

As a team-bonding activity at KidsCo we hired a boat for a few hours and I got more drunk that I had been for a while. It was a very fun time jetting down the Yarra, waving drunkedly at the people jogging by

For Valentine’s day Josh and I had an indoor picnic with our favourite food! The weather was shit for Feb, hence the indoor nature of the picnic

Saw Shrek the Musical with two of my closest pals, Bec and Katie (I honestly forgot that this happened in 2020 hahaha) but it was ICONIC

Had a Jackbox night with The Boys

Had my cousin Amy from England over for dinner! I hadn’t seen her in 5 or 6 years, so it was so lovely to connect again like no time had passed at all

Went to Healesville Sanctuary, a lovely conservation park which focuses on preserving and educating its visitors about Australian animals, with Amy

Went to mini-golf for a friend’s birthday on the leap day. He technically celebrated his 6th birthday which was excellent

Saw Cody Ko and Noel Miller live with Bec and Katie

Finished working at the church office to make room for the potential job opportunity at KidsCo

March:

Ahhh March, you shitstorm of a month. This is where everything started going downhill.

The first thing of note that happened this month was me injuring my ankle at basketball, which had me out of action for a few weeks. It was especially bad because I was nearing the end of my internship and was hoping to do my best work so that I would be chosen to stay on as an employee, but had to take a week or so off to rest my ankle. My ankle would continue to be tender and sore for most of the rest of the year

Went away for the Labour Day long weekend with the family

Finished up my internship at KidsCo. Honestly was lead to believe that I would be staying on as an employee and felt sort of betrayed after all the work I did for them, but whatever

Had a party at Bec’s house to listen to Triple J’s Hottest 100 of the Decade. One of my favourite songs was number 1 which was a pleasant surprise

Went down to the holiday house for a few days just to have so me time and sort myself out

Animal Crossing New Horizons came out haha. Honestly was one of the highlights of this year though. I stayed up until midnight so I could download it as soon as it was available because that’s the sort of person I am

Mum’s birthday dinner with Dani, one of my best friends, and her girlfriend Amy

Went for a hike at Sugarloaf Reservoir with Josh and got spooked by a mob of kangaroos

April:

My mental health started really taking a downward spiral this month for multiple reasons which I won’t get into here, but this is more a note to my past self to say that it will all be ok I guess? Idk I just felt like this needed to be here

Did my ankle badly again on Good Friday

Watched the Overwatch League live with my friends and just memed in the livechat lmao

WARNING - this is a bit TMI but I am going to share anyway since it was a big part of this year, and if you are reading this you are either a stranger or a good friend so I really don’t care lmao: This month I also started to get bad pains in my uterus, like, not period pains but deep, stabbing pains. This continued on for the next few weeks without me doing anything about it, except for increasingly getting stressed about it, although I will talk a bit more about this later.

Josh and I celebrated our 6th year together which was ~wholesome~

Called my friend Ashley from the US and just caught up. It was nice to see her face again. She is a good egg. I haven’t talked to her since but I really hope she’s ok.

May:

Watched Star Wars with Josh and his family for “May the 4th”

Started a volunteer job at Kivuli, a non-for-prophet that is based in Kenya, and started helping out with their website and social media stuff

Zoom movie time with my friends, we watched How To Train Your Dragon I think? Athough everyone was talking over the movie so I didn’t really get anything out of it

Played Scattergories (one of my favourite games) with Bec and Jess on zoom and just wrote really stupid and funny answers and I remember this being just what I needed

Went for a long walk with mum and one of her friends and her daughter on a track we don’t usually go on, which was a nice change of scenery

Went down to the holiday house for the first time in forever since restrictions were eased, at least for a little while lol, with the fam

Went to Portsea for a walk along the beach with Bec and her husband Trevor

Did an online trivia night that night with a big bunch of friends

Had a doctor’s appointment to see what was goin’ on down there. Honestly freaked that it could be something REALLY bad. Got booked in to have an ultrasound the next week, so at least I’d be finding out what was wrong soon.

The day after I got my results was the 21st of May, the day my mum and I were meant to be flying out to the UK to see my sister and her boyfriend. It was already hard enough a month or so before when I had to cancel my flight, but this day was so SO difficult. I can’t remember the last time I cried so hard. I am so blessed to have a boyfriend like Josh though. He was by my side the whole day, and held me as I cried. Oh man I am crying as I write this now, it was such a hard time but I know I will see my sister again.

And then the day after THAT whole ordeal was my birthday, which was meant to be spent in London with Jess but it turned out to be the first birthday we’ve had apart. This day was also hard, but made better by being with loved ones and having dinner at my grandma and grandpa’s house. Grandma’s roast potatoes make everything better.

Went to Geelong to see the other side of my family, it was so good to see my nan again. I love her very much.

Went to the Briars with Bec and went on a lovely nature walk and saw a lot of little wallabies and even an emu

Had an ultrasound and my pain turned out to be a 10cm wide cyst!!! So fun!!!!! Thank the heavens it wasn’t a child. I was so relieved. It is still in my body so that’s cute tho.

June:

Applied for a bunch of jobs, and even got a few interviews! Still no job.

The absolute highlight of this month, and maybe even the whole year, was going away to Lake’s Entrance and Yarram with mum, dad and Josh. It was so good to go to the country, I love country towns so much and the wildlife and nature is so beautiful in the eastern part of Victoria. If you ever get the opportunity I recommend going there!

We ate so much nice food and just relaxed. It wasn’t a perfect replacement for not going to Europe, but it was something at least.

Did more work for Kivuli which kept me busy

Went to Bec’s house to bake a cake. She came out to me as bi this day too, and the cake was coloured like the bisexual flag!

Started a short course through the university I went to in Facebook for Business. It was a great way to build up my skills.

Played Animal Crossing with Dani’s little sister, Tami, a very wholesome time

Looked after Josh’s dog Jed while his family went away for the weekend (also went into the start of July) and was honestly the greatest time

July:

Halfway through the year. Thank fuck.

Had another job interview

Went on lots of walks

Was just generally cold

Did a lot of cleaning

Painted the downstairs rooms at church, which took a few days and a lot of back pain, but it’s cool to think that I was able to contribute my energy and time to something while I was not feeling good at all

The restrictions were tightened again, meaning that I couldn’t go further than 5kms away from my house, except to see Josh, so this was a really lonely time for me.

Really got into Masterchef with mum this season. They had all returning contestants from other seasons so that was really fun to watch.

Got and assembled a new couch upstairs that I can say I actually own myself. I absolutely love it.

More walks, despite the cold

This was a very uneventful month, but that’s ok!

August:

Had a call with the hospital I’ll be having my cyst surgery with. It was good to know that things would be started. I had to have a blood test and a second ultrasound then put on the waiting list for surgery. Still no sign on when that will be happening though 6 months later. Just so lucky to live in Australia where all of these appointments are free.

Went for a really nice long walk with Josh. Got shat on by a bird.

Did lots of stuff around the house, just tidying and watering the plants and sorting through my wardrobe to purge all the clothes I grew out of

Had an online Switch games night with some friends which was fun. We played Smash Bros. and Mario Kart and just had a great time!

Ok this sounds super lame but my favourite podcast, The Jenna & Julien Podcast, finished forever which came as a surprise and was just really sad. I really hope it comes back one day.

Did my tax return lmao

Baked rice puff/marshmallow bar things

Made an ASOS order to fill my happiness with material things. Did get some cute clothes and lingerie tho 😉

More games with Bec and Jess, we played Golf With Your Friends this time

Had a cocktail night with Josh, where we just made a bunch of fun cocktails and got drunk. I can’t wait to live with him so we can do this all the time.

Lots of Kivuli work, as we are planning for our 10th anniversary fundraising event

September:

Baked cookies, which was something I did a lot at the start of lockdown but sort of drifted away from. I absolutely love to bake.

Started working for Media-Wize, a small PR company that was started by someone I know at church.

Started playing Among Us at the start of the month

So many Among Us nights omg, just call me queen impostor please

Did my induction for Media-Wize

Got n e r v o u s because I kept getting things wrong in my new job. I always seem to fuck up the good things and opportunities that I get

Did a livestream reading of The Great Gatsby on my friend’s Twitch stream. It was really fun and something I had never done before. I voiced Tom Buchannan, which was interesting but cool to sort of get into the character. I hope to do something like this soon.

I burnt my hair while cooking dinner and had to give myself a haircut lmao. It was the first time since 2018 that I had cut it so it was a long time coming anyway.

So much Media-Wize work. It felt good to finally be getting paid to do a job

Got locked out of my bathroom so I had to climb up the laundry chute to unlock it from the inside, all because a fly outsmarted me (it’s a long story… and honestly best told by speaking it)

October:

Had the Kivuli 10th anniversary livestream. Lots of work went into it and it was so much fun! It’s incredible that a non-for-profit that has benefitted so many children and families is still going strong. Such a blessing to see.

Dad’s birthday, and we had a picnic with grandma and grandpa and saw them for the first time since lockdown was somewhat lifted

Walked to Beasley’s nursery with Josh and got a coffee. This was the first proper, not McCafe coffee I had had in months and it was SO good

Played Animal Crossing with Dani

More Among Us, a theme for the last few months of 2020

Watched the AFL Grand Final. Wasn’t super exciting this year tbh, especially since we couldn’t have a BBQ or party or anything, but hopefully next year will be different

Nearly moved out of home with a friend of a friend, but since I didn’t have a job, didn’t think it would be a wise decision. Would’ve been nice though

Did some more Media-Wize work. I haven’t been given anything to do since this time though, so I don’t know what’s going on with that? They really be ghosting me tho.

Applied for JobSeeker so I would at least be getting a little income

New Jackbox came out, and had a games night with The Boys playing all the new games

Voted in the local election

Went to Westerfold’s Park with Josh for a lovely long walk

Played lots of The Sims 4 (but tbh I have been doing this all year)

November:

This month things sort of started to turn around, as Covid wasn’t hitting my state hardly at all, so I was actually able to see family and friends again!

Went to my old primary school with Dani and played basketball and just shot around and talked. She also came over for dinner. It was so nice, and she is a true friend.

Had a picnic at the park at the top of the street with my dad’s side of the family, all together at last

Melbourne Cup Day, not that I really care but it’s nice to get a day off. Went on a day trip to the Dandenong mountain range. It was so, so nice and bought some lovely little things from local shops, went for a bushwalk and had a bakery lunch

Went to the park to throw the frisbee and kick the footy around with Josh and his friends, although they are my friends too tbh

Had a picnic with a group of friends that I hadn’t seen since January, so it was so, so good to catch up with them and have a delicious BBQ dinner

My favourite online comedy group, Aunty Donna’s Netflix series came out! Had a virtual watch party with a few friends and binge watched it all in one go

Had lunch with grandma. This used to be a weekly occurrence but for obvious reasons was put off for this year. I absolutely adore her and every lunch we spend together is so precious to me

Went to Kyneton with some of the family as another day trip

Christmas shopping time again. So weird to be at the shops and feel sort of normal? I went 4 different times in the span of a week and a half haha

Josh’s birthday! We went to this maze place with has a bunch of big mazes and other fun activities. It was such a perfect day. Then we had dinner with his family.

Got a letter from the IRS saying that I needed to provide them with proof of identity, so that was fun trying to sort that out. We love the outdated US tax system <3

Went to a bridal shower for my friend Katie

Went for another hike with Josh to the mountains

Drove down to Geelong for a friend’s wedding and stayed at my nan’s house

Had a pub dinner and Jackbox night while down in Geelong with The Boys

A good friend of mine was leaving to live in Japan for two years, so I went to her house one last time to say goodbye and chill in her pool and just hang out

God why is it so hard to get a job?

December:

Omg we have made it to December. It truly is a miracle with how this year went tbh. And if you have read this far, thank you but also, how little of a life do you have?

Went to my friend Katie’s wedding. Sort of surreal to go to a wedding during a pandemic but it was fun and I got to see a lot of friends I hadn’t seen in a while

Enjoyed the hot weather and went to the beach a number of times with a variety of friends

Went Christmas shopping, and just shopping in general since it was safe to and shops had finally opened again

Got a job at a talent agency where you get gigs as a paid extra in TV shows and movies, which was pretty cool! I even had a professional photoshoot to get headshots done, something that I had never done before. Glad that I could get some pictures to use on LinkedIn though haha. Still haven’t been cast in anything but here’s hoping.

Had dinner and drinks with Josh, Bec and Trev in the city for the first time since it reopened. God I love Melbourne so much. It is just so magical on balmy summer nights. This was such a special evening, and was so good just to be in the city again

Had a lovely day with Dani, starting with breakfast and then going on a hike before the weather got too hot. We went to Sherbrooke Forest, a place I hadn’t been before, and it was incredibly beautiful

Had a number of job interviews this month too, none of which got back to me which was annoying :/

Now it was heading into the time where every weekend is packed with Christmas do’s so I’ll just collate them in this point. Lots of drinks were consumed and many delicious roast dinners

Had our annual Christmas Carol’s service at church. It was a blessing to be back in the building for the first time since March, and to be able to do something I love (singing) with some of my best friends was the best

Christmas eve I went to my grandma and grandpa’s house (on dad’s side) to help them set up for Christmas lunch. Spending time together just the three of us is so special, and I am so glad I was able to come over and just chat and be in their loving presence. Then that night I went to our 11pm church service to bring in Christmas day. It was a great service and was great to see our kick-ass minister give a sermon face-to-face.

Ok here we go, Christmas was a doozy, let’s go. So Christmas lunch was, as I said, with my dad’s side of the family, which is always a great time. Cracking open crackers and fighting over who’ll get the bottle opener or nail clippers is always a highlight haha. But we had the fucking best roast potatoes I swear. I need to know what my grandma puts into them because I could genuinely eat 20 of them and still have space. Then the rest of the afternoon was spent in a food coma until I went to Josh’s house to spend dinner with his family. Another delicious meal and great banter was what I needed, although I can safely say that I put on at least 5 additional kilos after that day.

The next day the fam and I headed to Geelong to see my mum’s side of the family. Was a great drive down and I listened to all of The Avalanches new album which had just released. Easily the greatest album of the yeah hands-down. So we spent lunch there and absolutely stuffed ourselves with more food. Three Christmas meals really took a toll on me, but I am just blessed as it is to have a loving family and food on the table.

The next day dad, Josh and I headed to the beach to spend that weird time between Christmas and New Year’s. To get there we took the ferry that goes from Queenscliff to Portsea, which is always a fun time, since we don’t often go from one side of the bay to the other (if you don’t know the geography of Victoria I apologise lmao). Mum didn’t come with us as she had some symptoms of Covid, so went home to isolate and get tested. Thankfully she tested negative and she joined us the next day.

Once I got back home I had to prepare the house for my friend Jono who was visiting for new years from SA. Many last-minute chores and cleaning was done haha.

New Years Eve! Went to pick up Jono and my other friend Sarah from the airport and dropped Sarah off at her accommodation and ended up staying there with Jono for a while as this was where the New Year’s party was going to be. Although, in true Victorian fashion, our premier announced that there was going to be a limit of 15 visitors at any house from 5pm that night. Excellent. We love a last-minute change of plans. So we had lunch and spent the afternoon at my friend’s house before heading to a local park to chuck the frisbee and kick the footy around. We also had our second annual NYE trivia competition, which my team lost by 1 point!! Dang I get so competitive, but we will win next year, I can feel it. The new year came through uneventfully, we were in the middle of a game of Scattergories or something like that when someone changed the channel on the TV to see the Sydney fireworks across the screen and like, 4 second left of the countdown. I gave Josh a bog ol’ smooch and gave my friends a big hug. We had done it. 2020 was defeated.

Conclusion (damn this really be an essay tho)

This year was undeniably the hardest year I had ever been through. Going through unemployment for the majority of the year and having no sense of purpose hit me hard but I am entering 2021 with the hope and willingness to get on track with my career. And I think I will be successful. A lot of truly awful things happened around the world this year as well, with the devastating bushfires at the start of the year, the powerful BLM protests, Coronavirus absolutely destroying lives and many, many other global events but through it all, here we are. I hope you all keep well this year and that your 2021 is infinitely better than your 2020.

Song of the Year: Tangerine – Glass Animals

Album of the Year: We Will Always Love You – The Avalanches (I CANNOT stress this enough, but you absolutely must listen to this album!)

TV Show of the Year: The Mandalorian - Season 2

Movie of the Year: Bombshell (the only movie I saw at the cinemas so didn’t have much to go with)

Memory of the Year: Going away with my family and just enjoying time away with each other

Thank you for reading this, if you’ve made it this far, you’re a real one <3

#me #2020 #2020inreview #nostalgia #anactualnovel #iapologise

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agreatperhaps12 · 4 years

Text

There are a lot of misconceptions about Warren Peace. Five times Layla Williams saw through the bullshit, and one time Warren returned the favor.

happy holidays, @katiewont :)

Misconception No. 1: Warren Peace loves a good fight.

Warren Peace does not go looking for fights. Fights find him.

See: Stronghold chucking a lunch tray at him the first week of class. Dumb and Dumber challenging them to Save the Citizen. Stronghold’s date going full supervillain at homecoming and nearly dropping a school-size anvil on an unsuspecting suburb.

That’s just the highlight reel for September.

When another villain interrupts Warren’s History of Heroism midterm with another school invasion, Warren’s first thought is: Could everyone around here chill for five fucking seconds.

No. Literally, not ever. See: three weeks later, when Warren is standing in line for lunch with the entourage of freshmen he’s long since given up trying to shake off. It has not even been five minutes since Warren and Stronghold defeated their latest challenger at Save the Citizen, and Zach is already doing a clumsy live-action replay.

To Stronghold, “Did you see his face when you were like?” Zach swings his arm with the spectacular confidence of someone not standing in a very crowded cafeteria. To Warren, “And then you were like—” Zach mimes shooting fireballs from his fists, complete with sound effects. “Totally brutal. You looked scary, bro.”

“He always looks scary,” Ethan says, smiling at Warren like that’s a compliment.

Warren glares down at his tray. He and Stronghold have been defending champions of Save the Citizen for over two months, Hero Team every time. He doesn’t get how people are still managing to make him feel like the bad guy about it.

“How was play-pretend battle?”

Layla has emerged from the crowd to stand beside Warren, with a smirk that makes a stupid something flutter behind his sternum. Layla stopped coming to their Save the Citizen matches after their dozenth victory, because “violence should be the last resort in any hostage situation” and “Save the Citizen completely undermines a valuable opportunity for Sky High students to learn strategic negotiation skills.” Warren doesn’t know what she does with the free period.

Take me with you, he thinks.

“The match was epic,” Zach says. “Will got to throw a car.”

A bashful smile overtakes Stronghold’s dumb, Labrador face.

“And Warren almost barbequed Evans,” Ethan says.

Jesus, could they shut up about it already.

“Really,” Layla says, eyes on Warren while he pays for his food.

“Yeah,” Warren says, in a deadpan to rival Magenta. “It was epic.”

Layla frowns, but instead of launching into the pacifist manifesto that Warren is expecting, she holds up her bagged lunch says, “Want to eat outside?”

Before Warren can answer, Stronghold says, “Outside?” like he’s never heard of such a place. “It’s freezing out there.”

“It’s almost forty degrees,” Layla says, “and I had to come in early to finish a project, so it’s been over—” She checks the clock. “—five hours since I’ve felt roots under my feet. I’m eating outside.”

“Okay, but like.” Stronghold glances at Warren. “Do… you want me to come?”

“No, you’ll just be a baby about it,” Layla says gently. “Warren doesn’t get cold, do you?”

She looks to Warren for confirmation of a fact that Warren is one hundred percent sure he’s never told her. He shrugs to hide his wrong-footedness.

“Great.” Layla claps a hand on Stronghold’s shoulder and uses it to steer him toward the others, who are already sitting at what used to be Warren’s personal lunch table, once upon a time. She shrugs on her jacket, flips her hair out, and looks to Warren. “Shall we?”

Warren follows her outside warily. Sitting down across from her at the picnic table closest to the edge of school grounds, he says, “So, what is this, exactly?”

Layla pauses in uncurling her lunch bag. “What do you mean?”

Warren shrugs. “We don’t really hang out. Alone.”

They did, a little. Back when Layla was using Warren to make Stronghold jealous. But that pretty much ended with the homecoming debacle—after which Layla and Stronghold spent a few weeks trying to get their romantic relationship off the ground, decided they worked better as friends, and went back to normal.

“What are you talking about?” Layla says. “We hang out at the Paper Lantern all the time.”

It’s true that Layla eats at Warren’s workplace a few nights a week, when her mom is too busy with day-saving to make family dinners at home. But Layla is always doing homework, and Warren is always doing Work work, so, “I don’t think that counts.”

“It does,” Layla says confidently. It’s the kind of confidence that only Layla can pull off, because rather than coming across as arrogant, she gives the air of a mysterious woodland nymph, whose secret knowledge mere mortals wouldn’t understand.

“Okay,” Warren says, because he has precious little personal experience to back up any assertions about how friendship is supposed to work. “But this isn’t the Lantern.”

Layla raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to go back inside?”

“No,” Warren says. He doesn’t want Layla to leave, either. There’s a sureness about her that Warren finds comforting. She’s never been afraid of him—probably because she could kick his ass. Warren likes that about her. But he also likes to know where he stands with people.

By way of explanation, Layla says, “Did you know that when you get stressed out, literal steam comes out of your ears?”

“What?”

“Mm-hmm.” Layla pulls an apple out of her lunch bag. “A little. It’s easier to see when your hair is pulled back.”

Warren brings a self-conscious hand to the rubber band he used to tie his hair up during Mad Science Lab.

“It happens a lot when Zach is doing his Save the Citizen play-by-plays,” Layla observes. “Thought I might spare you an entire lunch of that.”

“Oh.” Warren’s hand drops into his lap, blind-sided by the unexpected kindness. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Layla maintains eye contact while taking a bit of apple. Warren shifts in his seat and drops his eyes to his pizza. “You could tell Coach Boomer to assign Will a different partner,” she says after a moment. “Save the Citizen isn’t mandatory.”

Yeah, except it kind of is. No one’s ever voluntarily stepped back from a winning streak like Warren and Stronghold’s. Benching himself would never be worth all the extra side-eye in the halls. Not to mention the explanation he’d have to give Boomer. What kind of superhero-in-training refuses to fight?

Except for the one Warren is currently sitting across from, of course. Who’s looking at Warren with such doe-eyed earnestness that it almost squeezes a “Yeah, maybe” out of him. But Layla is a difficult person to lie to, so he says, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about Save the Citizen.”

Layla sits up a little straighter. “Right,” she says. “Consider it forgotten.”

“Thanks.”

Not that Warren doesn’t trust Layla, but she is the kind of person to press points she thinks are important. Before her mind can cycle back to Save the Citizen from some other angle, Warren says, “Sorry I dragged you outside in the middle of November.”

Layla tilts her head to the side. “You didn’t drag me. I dragged you.”

“Yeah, but for me,” Warren says, and there’s that stupid fluttering feeling again.

“And for me,” Layla says. “I wasn’t lying about needing to get out for a bit. Being inside all day, with the linoleum and cinderblock.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s creepy quiet, when you’re used to feeling everything alive around you.”

He’s never actually thought about it, before. How Layla has her finger on the pulse of something so vast and intricate, even when she’s not bending it to her will.

“Even in November?” Warren says. “Isn’t everything, like… dead?”

Layla laughs. “No. Just taking a long nap.”

“Huh.” Warren looks around the grey-brown landscape of the schoolyard, with its bare branches and faded grass, with new eyes. It’s a nice idea, that all these lifeless-looking things are just waiting to wake up.

Misconception No. 2: Warren Peace doesn’t give a damn about his bad reputation.

Anyone who dyes a single streak of hair, wears fingerless gloves, and walks around like he’s got nothing to prove has something big to prove.

For Warren Peace, that is: I do not give a fuck about my family legacy.

Before starting high school, Warren figured a couple kids might recognize him, by name or by strong family resemblance. But Warren’s dad had already been locked up for a long time. It wasn’t like he made the news anymore. Worse came to worst, Warren thought he might have to field a few awkward questions about it.

Homeschooling did not prepare Warren for how big a household name Barron Battle was.

The first week of school was all open seats around Warren in class and at lunch, cold and curious looks over shoulders on the bus, “Check it out, that’s Barron Battle’s devil spawn” and “I can’t believe they even let supervillain kids in.”

It was treat or be treated like dirt, and Warren chose the former.

Fast-forward to junior year, and Sky High students know Warren Peace for the asshole he is, rather than the asshole his father was. Warren is comfortably back to pretending like his dad doesn’t exist. It mostly works.

Except during a History of Heroism unit on the most notorious villains of the twentieth century, when Warren’s class is staring at a PowerPoint slide that depicts the leveled Brooklyn neighborhood where Barron Battle and the Commander had their final showdown.

Warren ignores his classmates’ not-so-covert glances as Mr. Magnificent rattles of statistics like ‘seven dead and dozens injured’ and ‘nearly one billion dollars in damages.’ Magnificent has to pause his lecture to silence the white noise of whispers that has swelled up, and Warren wants to sink through the floor.

It’s like the first week of freshman year all over again. Warren is projecting I don’t care vibes so hard, there’s a good chance he’ll spontaneously combust.

What feels like an eon later, the classroom lights come up. Warren shoves everything into his backpack and heads for the door before anyone can try to talk to him. As usual, Layla is out of Hero Support early and waiting in the hall to meet Warren for lunch. Her patent sun-bright smile slips as Warren escapes the classroom.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” she says.

“What?” Warren stops up short. “Nowhere. There’s no fire.”

“I was kidding,” Layla says, and winces at herself. “Poor choice of words. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Warren rakes his fingers through his hair. “I can’t come to lunch today. I have to—work on something.”

Normally, when Warren is feeling like shit, there’s nothing he’d rather do than sit with Layla in their little oasis of calm at the schoolyard picnic table. But right now, Warren needs at least thirty minutes to pace around the empty auto shop classroom, literally and figuratively cooling off, before he subjects himself to more human company.

“Okay,” Layla says, hugging her notebook to her chest and looking at him critically. “Are you—”

“Yeah. It’s—whatever. I’ll see you later.” Warren shoulders his way through the crowded hall toward the shop room, head down.

Smooth, he thinks at himself. Very smooth.

Shut up.

Warren assumes the first chance he’ll have to apologize to Layla is the next day at lunch. But when Warren shows up for his shift at the Paper Lantern at five, Layla is already sitting at her usual table. Weird, because Layla usually doesn’t come to the Lantern on Thursdays. Weirder, because when she does come, she typically arrives sometime after eight, when the dinner rush has mostly cleared out.

“What can I get you?” Warren says, drawing his pencil out from behind his ear as he approaches Layla’s table. They do try to maintain some appearances of an employee-customer relationship, to appease Mrs. Zhou.

“Hmm.” Layla examines the menu. “I’d like one kung pao tofu, one green tea, and—” She looks up at him. “—for you to explain why you fled your History of Heroism class today.”

“I didn’t flee,” Warren says. “I stormed out.”

“All right,” Layla agrees easily. “Why did you storm out of History of Heroism?”

Warren crosses his arms. “None of your business.”

“Okay.” Layla holds out her menu.

Warren blinks. “What?”

“You’re right, it’s not my business,” she says. “I just thought you might want to talk about whatever it was.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

Warren squints. “Okay…”

“Okay,” Layla says again, and flaps the menu in her hand.

Warren takes it slowly, waiting for the catch. But Layla just pulls a binder and notebook out of her backpack. “Honey with the tea, please,” she says, and clicks open a pen.

“I know,” Warren says, and leaves Layla to her homework. He spends most of the next half-hour trying to untangle why he feels disappointed rather than relieved.

The thing is, Warren sometimes gets a “What was that about?” or “Dude, what the hell happened back there?” from classmates after he goes nuclear. Like after his cafeteria fight with Stronghold in September. Those questions always feel voyeuristic. Prickly and probing.

With Layla, though, the question feels less invasive and more inviting. For the first time, Warren wants to explain himself. He wants Layla to understand. He doesn’t want her to see him as some moody, unapproachable asshole. But he also doesn’t know how to approach her, or the subject, now that he’s already shut it down.

He’s been talking himself in and out of going back over to Layla’s table for ten minutes when Mrs. Zhou sidles up to the pass-through window where Warren is brooding.

“If you’re going to stand around making eyes at your girlfriend, take your fifteen and go over before the dinner crowd arrives,” she says.

Warren’s face heats, and he looks around to see whether anyone is in earshot, even though he’s pretty sure none of Mrs. Zhou’s whitebread suburban customers understand Mandarin. “She’s not my—never mind.”

Deciding he’d rather be having any other conversation besides this one with Mrs. Zhou, Warren forces himself to walk over to Layla’s table and sit down.

“We learned about the Barron in class today,” he says, abandoning any attempt at preamble, “for a lesson on notable supervillain takedowns.”

If Layla is surprised by Warren’s sudden attempt at conversation, she doesn’t show it. She hooks her pen through the spiral of her notebook, closes it, and waits for him to continue.

“Magnificent was showing pictures from the last time Dad and the Commander fought in New York,” Warren says, “and people were looking at me like I was involved somehow, even though all that shit went down when I was still in diapers, and those people have been in my classes for three years, like—I know, we all know Barron Battle is my dad, why can’t everyone fucking get over it already—”

Layla lays a hand on his forearm, cutting Warren off and drawing his attention to the fact that his clenched fist is smouldering like a hot coal. “Shit. Sorry.” Warren shakes out his hand, and Layla pulls back. He wishes she wouldn’t.

Layla waits for the red glow of Warren’s knuckles to dim and then says, “Mr. Magnificent is an idiot. It was totally inappropriate to include your dad in a presentation, especially without asking you first.”

Warren shrugs. “A lot of people’s parents end up in his presentations,” he says. “They’re just usually on the right side.”

“He still should have asked you,” Layla says. “Also, you helped save the entire school in September. If people still think you’re anything like your dad after that, they’re idiots and you shouldn’t care what they think.”

Warren wants to say “I don’t.” What comes out is, “This is high school. Everyone cares what everyone thinks.”

“I don’t,” Layla says.

Warren wants to contradict her, but from what he can tell, Layla genuinely doesn’t. “You have to care a little,” he says.

Layla raises her eyebrows like oh, yeah? and points to her characteristically Whoville-style twist of braids and glittery clips. “You think these hairdos made me a lot of friends in middle school?”

“I didn’t go to middle school.”

“Well, they didn’t,” Layla says.

“Then why do you wear your hair like that?”

“Because I like it.” Layla twirls a stray piece of hair around her forefinger. “And I don’t need to be one of the pretty girls to feel good about myself.”

“You are pretty,” Warren blurts, and immediately has to suppress the urge to set himself on fire.

Layla’s eyes go wide. The last time Warren saw her blush this deep, he’d just called her out for crushing on Stronghold. But instead of straight-up embarrassed, this time Layla’s blush is weirdly, shyly pleased. “You think so?” Her chin is tilted down so that she’s looking up at him through her eyelashes, which is not fair.

“Me?” Warren points at himself, like an idiot. “I don’t—I mean, I do, but it’s not just—you are pretty. People know that. It’s an objective fact.”

“Really.” Layla’s cheeks are still pink, but her smile has a playful slant now.

“Yeah,” Warren says, more defensively than he intends. Christ, he was so much better at this when they were fake-dating, when none of Warren’s smirks or swagger could mean anything. Now, without the protection of pretense, everything feels altogether too personal. Warren is not good at personal.

“Thank you,” Layla says, and bites her lip in hesitation before tacking on, “you’re pretty, too.”

Whatever that comment is—reflex, or politeness, or something else—it is officially too much. “I have to get back to work,” Warren says, overloud in the quiet restaurant, and bangs his knee on the underside of the table in his haste to stand up.

“Okay,” Layla says, trying to hide a smile behind her hand. Before he can turn away, she adds, “Warren,” and points to either side of her head.

Warren stares at her blankly for a second before he catches her drift, yanks his hair down from his ponytail to hide his surely steaming ears, and practically runs back to the kitchen.

Misconception No. 3: Warren Peace thinks he’s got the best power.

“I feel like I should warn you,” Layla says as she turns the key in her front lock, “my house is kind of crowded.”

Warren frowns. ��I thought you were an only child.”

“No siblings,” Layla says. “A lot of roommates. You’ll see.”

What Warren sees is a menagerie that would do Ace Ventura proud.

“Watch out for the—everything,” Layla says, leading him through a flock of peacocks, a few dogs and several cats that slink by too quickly to count.

“Why… is this?” is the only semi-coherent question that Warren can formulate as he shoos a parrot from his shoulder and shakes his pant leg free of a fox’s jaws.

“You’re not the only one who has to live with your parent’s superpower,” Layla says.

Layla’s mom, apparently, is a zoolinguist. The only place in the entire house not overrun by furry or feathered residents is Layla’s room.

“Wow,” Warren says as he crosses the threshold.

Layla’s bedroom is situated on the back corner of the house, and the two external walls and ceiling are all paneled glass. Presumably to usher in maximum sunlight for the greenery that crowds almost every inch of space besides Layla’s bed and desk. Warren has to shed his winter coat immediately to avoid overheating in the humidity.

“Yeah,” Layla says. “Sometimes I forget how weird it is. Will’s the only friend I’ve ever had up here.”

Layla is the only friend Warren has ever had in his room—which she immediately declared “entirely predictable,” on account of the punk rock posters plastered across his walls. Layla’s room is way more predictable, if you ask Warren. Or at least, Warren would have predicted this, if he’d known literal greenhouse was a legitimate option.

“It’s nice,” he says. “Peaceful.”

“Isn’t it?” Layla takes Warren’s coat and hangs it on a hook behind the leaves of an elephant ear plant. “Mom had the place renovated before we moved in. I think she figured, if she was going to let every animal in the neighborhood have the run of our house, it wasn’t fair to exile my plants to the backyard.”

“Do they all live here all the time?” Warren says, pointing at the floor to indicate the veritable petting zoo downstairs.

“Some of them,” Layla says. “Mom is good at finding homes for most. I think donations from her fans are single-handedly keeping every shelter in the city afloat.”

It’s rude to ask about superheroes’ secret identities, but context clues give Warren a pretty good idea who Ms. Williams might be. Charismatic Megafauna is basically a one-woman PETA operation, liberating animals from factory farms and delivering them to free-range pastures as often as she commands her elite squadron of apex predators to take down baddies. She’s a more controversial figure than the Commander and Jetstream, but she does have an extremely dedicated cult following.

“Her power sounds amazing,” Warren says.

“Most of the time,” Layla says. She collects a watering can from beside her bed and begins to fill it with a knee-high spigot beside the door. “But there’s a lot of animal suffering in the world. It can get exhausting for her to be tapped into it all the time, you know?”

Warren pauses to consider. “Yeah, I guess that would be overwhelming.”

Layla turns off the tap and carries her watering can to the closest table laden with potted plants. “Everyone’s superpower looks spectacular on the news,” she says, with a very un-Layla-like smile. “No one’s around to see it when your power makes you so sad you can’t get out of bed.”

“Except you,” Warren guesses.

Layla drops her not-really-smile. “Except me.”

Warren shuffles along the row of plants beside Layla while she waters them. He waits until she finishes refilling the can and starts a new row before asking, “Does that ever happen to you? Your powers getting you down.”

Layla studiously waters a flower with orange starburst petals. “Plants have more…auras and vibes than thoughts and feelings,” she says, and tickles the flower under one leaf. The plant visibly perks up under her ministrations, and Layla smiles. For real, this time. “Their pain doesn’t feel as sharp to me as animals’ pain does to my mom.”

“But,” Warren prompts.

“But sometimes, yeah,” Layla says, and moves on to the next plant.

Warren casts around for something comforting to say, but comes up with nothing better than, “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” Layla says, “but it’s the exception to the rule. Most of the time, I wouldn’t give up feeling this—” She rubs her fingertips over a browning leaf to paint it green. “—for anything.”

Warren shouldn’t be jealous of Layla’s powers. Especially after she’s just admitted what a burden they can be. But Layla has also just confirmed what Warren has long suspected: Superabilities, even the ostensibly powerful ones, are not created equal. Warren’s pyrokinesis is, fundamentally, a weapon. A blunt tool to wield when the situation calls for violence. Layla’s power, on the other hand, seems more like a sixth sense. A trapdoor to another plane of reality.

How much of Layla Williams’s worldview draws on the alien insight of plants that no other human being, least of all Warren Peace, could ever possibly understand?

Layla interrupts Warren’s inferiority spiral with, “I’ve never talked about this with anyone but my mom.”

Warren watches Layla coax a stem into standing up straighter. “Not even Stronghold?”

He should not take as much pleasure as he does in Layla’s dismissive laugh. “Especially not Will.”

“Why not?”

“For a long time, he didn’t have any powers, and he was so jealous of mine, it seemed mean to complain about them to Will.”

“And now?”

“Now, he’s in the honeymoon phase with his new powers,” Layla says, “and it seems mean to bring him down.”

Not even Warren believes Stronghold can be that fragile. “I’m sure he’d get over it.”

“Maybe, but, you know. The things we do for our best friends,” Layla says, with a what can you do shrug, and returns to the faucet for another refill.

“So, why tell me?”

Layla chews the inside of her cheek. “I guess because you already have a complex about your own powers the size of Texas, thanks to your dad.”

“What?” Warren balks. “I do not.”

Layla squints. “Don’t you, though?”

“No. I—shut up.” Warren looks away, feeling hot all over.

Layla bends down to turn off the tap. A moment later, her hand on Warren’s shoulder startles him into looking back at her. Her big, brown eyes are wide with sympathy. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset,” Warren snaps.

“Okay.” Typical Layla, letting him feel whatever he’s going to feel and say whatever he’s going to say and refuse to throw hands about it.

Warren’s spark of anger sputters and dies. He huffs out an exhale. “It’s not only about my dad,” he admits, quietly, mostly to the floor.

Layla’s hand remains on his shoulder while she waits for an elaboration. Warren very carefully does not acknowledge it in any way, for fear it might stop.

“Fire is...useful,” he says. “But it can only destroy things. I can’t create. Not like…” He waves a hand around Layla’s room. “All I’m good for is fighting, and sometimes I wish—” Warren shoves a hand through his hair. “I dunno. It’s stupid.”

Layla’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “First of all, you are not your power,” she says. “No matter what Boomer or anyone else says. Second, fire is creative. It creates light and warmth.”

“If I’m ever transported back in time to an era before electricity, I’m sure that’ll be extremely handy,” Warren says, aiming for wry and not quite making it, because the tickly feeling that flitters to life in his chest whenever Layla says nice things about him is going wild.

Layla rolls her eyes. “Third of all, you do not need a superpower to create and nurture things.” Before Warren can stop her, Layla has pushed her watering can into his hand.

“What?” he says. “I don’t know anything about plants. I’d probably kill them all.” He holds the watering can out to Layla, who does not take it.

“Don’t act like you don’t have a book of Keats in your backpack right now,” she says. “If you know ‘To Autumn,’ you already know the most important things about plants. Everything else is technicalities.”

Warren gives her a doubtful look.

Layla sighs. “Trust me. Which you should, because I know literally everything about plants, and I’m a very good teacher, and I would not let you hurt any of my babies. Okay?”

Layla holds out her hand, and Warren has to channel all his concentration into keeping his cool enough that he doesn’t burn her when he takes it in his own. Layla grins, and Warren feels a little light-headed with the thrill of it.

“Come on,” she says, and pulls him toward the row of potted flowers where they left off. Warren follows, as helpless as any of the flora around them to resist the benevolent force of nature that is Layla Williams.

Misconception No. 4: Warren Peace doesn’t get scared.

This illusion is at least partly on purpose. Part of the do not fuck with me ethos Warren has been cultivating for the better part of three years.

In reality, plenty of things scare Warren. Like the idea that everyone is right about him after all, and he’ll end up on the Superheroes Guild’s Most Wanted List someday. Or that deep down, a kernel of grudge in his mother resents Warren for taking so closely after his father. But those are more midnight-existential-crisis concerns than acute fears.

Warren gets scared during battles, too. But the initial kick of adrenaline always seems to knock his consciousness clear of his body, such that he spends most of the fight controlling the firestorm of his fists from somewhere above the action. He usually doesn’t realize how freaked out he is until after the fact, when his brain plugs back into his body and he thinks, huh, my hands won’t stop shaking.

It’s rare that Warren feels, in real time, the bass-drum beat of his heart and a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. But that’s exactly what happens every time he gets close to asking Layla out on a date.

He’s come close so many times. He’s had the tickets in his jacket pocket for weeks. But the prospect of actually asking Layla invites the prospect of Layla saying no, and Warren—can’t.

Sometimes, he can almost convince himself that she would say yes, despite the fact that Layla is kind, beautiful, mystical Layla, and Warren is social-pariah, problem-child Warren. Like last Tuesday, when Layla said “you’re such a disaster” with such heart-stopping fondness, while she pulled a rubber band from Warren’s hair to replace it with one of her own, more comfortable fabric hair ties. Or last Friday, while they were watching a movie at Layla’s place, and she tucked her socked toes under Warren’s thigh on the couch. Or yesterday, when she held her hands out over the picnic table for Warren to warm her pink fingertips between his palms.

And always, in the back of Warren’s mind: “You’re pretty, too.”

But whenever Warren opens his mouth to ask, his tongue goes dry and his palms go damp. It’s such a stupid thing to be afraid of, it makes Warren want to close his head in a locker. Worst case scenario, Layla turns him down. They’d still be friends. She wouldn’t be cruel. She’s Layla. But Warren isn’t used to having so much of himself caught up in another person. The idea that Layla isn’t equally caught up in him provokes a strangled, withering feeling in the pit of Warren’s stomach that he can only imagine would intensify tenfold after the actual rejection.

So, Warren’s been procrastinating.

But time is running out.

It does not help that Stronghold’s flock of freshmen is currently obsessing over Winter Formal like a bunch of… well, freshmen.

“You guys asking anyone?” Zach says at lunch, one day when freezing rain is lashing Sky High too hard for even Layla to sit outside. Zach hooks an arm over Magenta’s shoulder, as if to underline the fact that she’s already spoken for. Magenta rolls her eyes but doesn’t shrug him off.

“I would ask Larry,” Ethan says, pushing steamed vegetables around on his plate with his fork. “If I could stop going full-puddle every time he looks at me.”

Layla and Magenta make sympathetic noises.

“I think I’m gonna ask Abby,” Stronghold says, eyes cast over at a table where Warren assumes this Abby must sit. He hasn’t bothered to keep up with Stronghold’s latest romantic fixation. They’re already two—three?—full crush cycles past Layla. Warren can’t believe he ever felt threatened by a kid with the attention span of a housefly.

“She’d totally say yes,” Magenta says. “I overheard her about how hot you are during the Shapeshifting Students Association meeting.”

“Really?” Will says, at the same time Layla goes, “Magenta!”

“What?”

“Gossip.”

“Okay, Mother Williams,” Magenta says. To Will, “We’ll talk later.”

Layla looks intent on pressing the matter, but Ethan says, “Do you have a date, Layla?”

Everyone turns to Layla, except for Stronghold, whose eyes inexplicably flick over to Warren—who glares him into dropping eye contact.

“No,” Layla says, unconcerned.

“Not yet,” Zach says. “Just a question of who asks first.”

Warren’s heart stutters, and he swallows back a “What?”

Luckily, Stronghold has less restraint. “What?” he says, like he wasn’t ogling another girl 0.2 seconds ago.

Zach looks at Stronghold like, Are you kidding? “Layla’s hot,” he says slowly. Magenta nods in agreement. “Chen, Robinson, and Feinstein are all thinking about asking.”

“And those are just the ones we’ve heard about,” Magenta says.

“Where are you guys getting this intel?” Ethan says. “We’re your only friends.”

“You can hear a lot from the inside of a locker,” Zach says.

“Or from the vents,” Magenta adds.

“Who’s still shoving you in a locker?” Layla says, frowning at Zach.

“Don’t deflect,” Magenta says. “Who are you going to take?”

“I don’t know,” Layla says, very pink and very determinedly acting like she’s not. “I didn’t know I had options until right now.”

Warren didn’t know he had competition until right now. In his defense, he deliberately pays as little attention as possible to rest of the Sky High student body, except for the five freshmen who invaded his space last fall and refused to leave. But of course other guys want to ask Layla.

Fuck.

“What about you, Bucky Barnes?” Zach says, throwing Warren an upward nod. “Got your eye on any hot junior goths we don’t know about?”

Warren scowls. “No.”

“Warren’s too cool for school dances,” Magenta says.

Stronghold frowns. “He took Layla to homecoming.”

“Only to make you jealous,” Layla is quick to correct.

Warren’s eyes snap over to her, but Layla isn’t looking at him. Just stabbing at her salad with her fork and letting her hair partially obscure her still pink cheeks.

An uncomfortable, sour feeling settles in Warren’s stomach. He makes himself look back at Zach. “I don’t do school dances. I have a thing anyway.”

“What thing?” Magenta says.

“A thing,” Warren says, with enough finality that even Zach knows better than to push it.

That is, until Stronghold corners Warren at his locker after final period to ask, “What thing do you have to do instead of Winter Formal?”

Warren continues loading books into his backpack. “A thing.”

Stronghold, in a bid for Warren’s full attention, shuts his locker door. As soon as Warren turns a glare on him, the kid goes bug-eyed.

“I am so sorry!” he says, reaching out to open the locker, only to remember that, duh, it’s Warren’s and he can’t. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Warren must be spending too much time with Layla, because instead of picking Stronghold up by his shirt collar, he merely swats Stronghold’s hand away and unlocks his locker.

“It was only—I know someone who was hoping you’d ask them to Winter Formal,” Stronghold says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Warren fixes Stronghold with a flat expression. “You’re not my type.”

For an aspiring superhero, Stronghold flusters extremely easily. “Wh—not me!” he says, and then leans in and lowers his voice. “You know.”

Warren, who is not in the business of getting his hopes up—no matter how many summersaults his stomach is doing—raises his eyebrows.

“Layla,” Stronghold murmurs, so low that Warren has to read his lips.

Summersaults, cartwheels, handsprings. Warren’s stomach is performing a full-on gymnastics routine. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Stronghold admits, and Warren’s stomach immediately flops. “But I am something of an expert on Layla Williams.”

Warren, who has an entire September’s worth of evidence to the contrary, makes a psh noise.

Stronghold squares his shoulders and ticks off on his fingers: “She hangs out at the Lantern all the time. She eats lunch with you, alone, every other day. The way she talks about you—”

“She talks about me?”

“Dude.” Stronghold lays a hand on Warren’s shoulder, looking so delighted with the irony that it takes everything in Warren not to ignite. “You’re so stupid. She’s totally into you.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Right.” Stronghold’s hand immediately slides off. “Seriously, though. If you don’t ask Layla to the dance, someone else will.”

“Noted,” Warren says, like he isn’t already tying himself into knots over that exact possibility.

“You’re gonna ask her, then?”

Warren heaves a sigh. He can’t believe he’s about to confide in Will Stronghold, of all people, but at this juncture it seems like the path of least resistance. “I have tickets to something that night, and I want to ask Layla to go with me.”

Stronghold has the audacity to look innocently perplexed. “So, why haven’t you?”

“I’m, you know.” Warren pushes back his hair. “Waiting for the right time.”

Stronghold looks dubious. “It’s a date, not a prom-posal.”

“I know that,” Warren snaps.

Stronghold blinks, and something seems to click in his head. His expression goes slightly amused and, even worse, sympathetic. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not,” Warren says, but it sounds like a lie even to his own ears. “I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

“Okay, well.” Stronghold blows out a breath and puts his hands on his hips. “Any chance the right moment might be, like, today? Around now-ish?”

Warren narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Because Magenta texted me five minutes ago that Andrew Chen is standing next to our bus, waiting for Layla.”

Warren’s heart lurches. “You should have led with that, Christ.” Guess he’s doing this now. Is he really doing this now? He has to, so he is. Warren slams his locker and swings his bag over his shoulder. “Where is Layla?”

“Magenta said she stayed after class to talk to Mr. Boy about—oh, okay, then. Bye! Good luck!” Stronghold calls after Warren’s retreating figure as he strides off down the hall.

Warren is so preoccupied with figuring out what he’s going to say to Layla when he finds her that he nearly runs into her as she exits Mr. Boy’s classroom.

“Warren,” she says, blinking up at him in surprise. “Hi.”

Warren, who suddenly feels like he’s stepped on stage with no lines prepared, takes a second to remember how to breathe before he gets out a “Hi.”

Layla stares up at him expectantly. Right. He’s supposed to say more words.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

A pucker forms between Layla’s eyebrows. “Sure. I actually wanted to talk to you, too.”

Warren clenches the tickets between sweat-damp fingers in his pocket. “Okay. Do you want to…” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the mostly empty hallway.

“Okay.”

Layla follows him out into the hall, and they stand in semi-awkward silence until Warren says, “You first.”

“All right.” Layla tucks her hair behind her ears. She already looks embarrassed. Not good. “So, I might be way off base here, but I get the feeling you’ve been working yourself up to asking me to Winter Formal?” Her voice lilts up like a question, but she must find all the confirmation she needs in Warren’s expression, because she immediately continues, “and I just wanted to make it clear that you don’t have to.”

When Warren opens his mouth, “Oh” is all that comes out.

“Yeah.” Layla hooks her thumbs through the straps of her backpack. “I know school dances aren’t really your thing—and they’re not exactly mine, either. So I didn’t want you to think homecoming set some sort of precedent, that you have to ask—”

“I wanted to ask you,” Warren says, finally unsticking his throat.

It’s Layla’s turn for surprised silence. It takes a full two seconds for her to get out, “You did?”

“Yeah, but—not to the dance. Here.” Warren pulls the tickets out of his pocket. His thumb has smudged the ink of the top ticket, so he hands the bottom one to Layla. “Town hall is holding a fundraiser gala next Saturday to raise money to build a park on an empty lot in my neighborhood.”

Layla takes the ticket in both hands and stares down at it.

“There’s going to be food and music and dancing,” Warren says, heart rate accelerating. “I think they’re going to auction off dedications for benches and flower beds and stuff. There will probably be a couple boring speeches by some government officials, but.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I dunno. It sounded like it could be fun.”

Layla still hasn’t said anything, and Warren’s heart is throwing a fit in his ribcage, so he adds, “It’s the night of Winter Formal, though. So if you wanted to go to the dance with someone else and hang out with your friends, I totally—”

“No,” Layla says, looking up at him with bright eyes and a wide smile. “I’d love to go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Warren says, too overcome by the cold flood of relief pooling in his gut to say anything more substantive than, “Cool.”

Layla carefully slots her gala ticket into the front pocket of her backpack. “Took you long enough,” she says, angling a teasing smile at Warren. “I couldn’t take another week of you opening your mouth like you were going to ask me something and then not saying anything.”

“Thank Stronghold,” Warren says, wondering what his life has come to, that those words just came out of his mouth. Must be the generosity of giddy relief.

Layla’s nose scrunches up in tickled confusion. “Why?”

“He warned me that Chen was gonna ask you to the dance this afternoon,” Warren says. “Sort of lit a fire under my ass.”

“But Andrew—” Layla breaks off with a laugh and shakes her head. “Will.”

“What?”

Layla takes Warren’s hand and starts walking them down the hall. “Andrew Chen’s been sick with the flu all week,” she says. “He’s not even here today.”

Warren’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds. “Stronghold.”

Layla laughs again and swipes her thumb across the back of Warren’s hand, and a great, soft warmth blooms in Warren’s chest.

Well. If he has to be indebted to Will Stronghold for something, this is as good a favor as Warren could have asked for.

Misconception No. 5: Warren Peace is not a touchy-feely person.

Warren himself would have sworn by this one, until a month ago. He has never, in all his life, considered himself a cuddly person. By any stretch.

It turns out that in order to identify as a cuddly person, you need someone to cuddle. Or, more specifically, someone you have permission to cuddle.

Dating Layla Williams finally gives Warren that permission.

He expected it to be harder, weirder, more awkward to transition from being someone who looks at Layla and thinks I want to put my arm around you, to being a person who can actually reach behind her back and curl his fingers over her hip bone.

It’s not hard at all. The first time Layla kisses Warren, up on her toes with her hands fisted in the lapels of his suit, in the dark of her front porch after the fundraiser gala, there’s a shift. A gravitational kick that sends them into closer orbit around one another, so that now it’s routine for Warren to wrap Layla in his jacket and tuck her into his side as they walk. Steal her hand to press her knuckles to his lips. Knock his knee gently against hers under their picnic table.

“Who knew Warren Peace was such a cuddle bug,” Magenta says, tipped back in a papasan chair to peer at Warren upside-down.

Warren is sitting on the shag carpet of Stronghold’s basement with his back against the couch to let Layla play with his hair while they talk over a movie. She’s just tied off an elaborate braid, so now his cheek is resting against her knee while she twirls the fine hairs at the nape of his neck around her fingers.

“Call me ‘cuddle bug’ ever again and I’ll roast you like a marshmallow,” Warren says, too sleepy and comfortable to put any real heat behind the threat.

Magenta, true to form, doesn’t so much as blink. “Hate to break it to you, but an elegant Dutch braid kind of undermines your whole tough-guy act.”

Warren simply shrugs. It’s an occupational hazard of dating Layla, spending a lot more time around her—their?—friends outside school. Warren resisted at first, but at this point, it’s more exhausting to continue holding them all at arm’s length than to let them have the run of his life.

“Layla, in general, kind of undermines his whole tough-guy act,” Zach says. “You know he wrote her a poem for Valentine’s day.”

“Read her a poem,” Warren says. What else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t very well get Layla clipped flowers.

“That’s still sappy as hell, dude,” Ethan says.

“It was very sweet,” Layla says, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Warren’s forehead.

Warren unsuccessfully tries to bite back a smile.

“He’s preening so hard right now, oh my god,” Magenta says.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t tease him, or he won’t come back,” Layla says, but Warren hears the smile in her voice.

“Please. He’d go anywhere you go,” Magenta says, and as Layla’s fingertip traces the shell of Warren’s ear gently, always gently, Warren doesn’t even attempt to contradict her.

+1 Misconception: Layla Williams is a just happy, go-lucky hippy chick.

Outside Layla’s bedroom window, everything green is tucked under snow and the weight of waiting for spring. On the other side of the world, everything is burning.

Record-setting wildfires have raked Australia for weeks. Neither Layla nor her mom can directly feel what’s happening to the outback. But Layla knows her mom must sense it like she does, every time a singed koala or graveyard of splinterlike tree trunks appears on the news: a gnawing sensation that something on the far edges of her mind is vanishing into smoke.

The worst part is knowing there’s nothing Layla can do. Even if she had the means to get to Australia, there’s no way to salvage the aftermath of a forest fire. Layla wields incredible power over living organisms. But it’s like conducting an orchestra. Not much to be done if the entire ensemble is already dead when she takes the stage.

Actually, the real worst part is knowing that the inferno currently eating up Australia isn’t an outlier. The warming world is parching landscapes and revving up hurricanes, and every weather-related threat to her beloved biosphere is only going to get much, much worse. It makes Layla feel horribly, inescapably small.

To avoid sitting around the house and chewing her nails down, Layla takes on more volunteer shifts at the animal shelter. Helps Magenta with outreach for the Shapeshifting Students Association. Spends a couple Saturdays with the local river cleanup volunteer crew. Cooks dinner on the nights her mom is actually home. Overstudies for an exam in Hero Support.

It’s all a good distraction, but at the price of exhaustion. Layla feels emotionally sore. Like she’s been doing the psychological equivalent of running springs.

Case in point: “Layla?”

Layla blinks herself out of her middle-space-stare at the picnic table. “Hmm?”

Warren frowns. “I said, are you coming to the Lantern tonight?”

“Oh, no,” Layla says, and winces her apology. “Will’s coming over to study for Hero Support.”

“Why? You’re gonna ace that thing.”

“I promised Will I’d help him review.”

Warren’s frown deepens.

“What?”

“You should take a break,” he says.

Layla hides a yawn behind one hand and waves the other dismissively. “I’m fine.”

Warren gives her a flat look. Most of his expressions are pretty flat, but Layla has gotten good at reading the subtleties. This one says, quit your bullshit.

“What?” she says.

“You—” Warren spends a couple seconds struggling to find the right words. “Your hair is in a ponytail.”

Layla replays that in her overtired mind, wondering whether she heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“No sparkly clip things. No scrunchies. You didn’t even do the thing where you wrap a little piece of hair around the elastic to hide it,” Warren says, as though that clarifies anything. When Layla’s expression makes clear that it does not, Warren sighs. “Babe. You’re exhausted.”

“Am not,” Layla says, and feels totally betrayed by her own body when the words are stretched out by a yawn. “Coincidence,” she says, in response to Warren’s unimpressed eyebrow-raise.

“Layla.”

“It’s fine,” she insists.

“Take a break,” Warren says, more insistently. “Stronghold can survive cramming for one exam on his own. Let baby bird learn to fly.”

“He’ll drop like a rock,” Layla says mournfully.

“Probably,” Warren says. “But you don’t have to be there for everyone all the time.”

Layla studies her bitten nails. “It makes me feel better.”

Warren’s ever-warm hands take hold of Layla’s, making her look up. But whatever he has in mind to say is interrupted by the bell. Warren gives her fingers a brief squeeze before releasing them, so that they can collect their things.

“Tell Stronghold to find himself another tutor so you can have a night off,” Warren says, hooking an arm over Layla’s shoulders as they head for the front doors. “Please.”

Layla does not. Which is why, when she says “come in” to the soft knock on her bedroom door at eight o’clock, she expects Will. Instead, she gets Warren, hovering on the threshold with his usual carefully concealed uncertainty, like he’s a vampire who has to wait to be invited in.

“What are you doing here?” Layla says, sliding off her bed. “I thought you had work.”

“Got someone to cover my shift,” Warren says. He’s holding what looks like a magazine. “This was more important.”

“What is… this?” Layla says. “You know Will’s going to be here any minute.”

“No, he’s not,” Warren says. “He’s at Magenta’s”

Layla narrows her eyes. “What did you do?”

“Told him to go find another study partner,” Warren says. “Since you’re already prepared.”

Layla crosses her arms and sinks her weight into one hip. “I told you, I want to help.”

Warren adjusts his grip on the magazine. Layla hears the paper stick to the sweat on his fingertips, but his determined expression doesn’t change. “Then help me.”

Layla blinks. “With what?”

Warren holds up what turns out to be a gardening catalog. “I want to get my mom a couple of indoor plants for her birthday,” he says. “Something pretty but doesn’t require a lot of attention, because she’s gone so much. I thought maybe you could help.”

Layla stares at him. “I love shopping for potted plants,” she says slowly.

Warren exhales a short laugh. “Uh, yeah, I know. And you are a good teacher, so.”

He rolls the catalog up between his hands and looks at Layla with guarded hope that shoots a bolt of affection like heat lightning straight through her stomach. She needs to sit down.

“Come in, then,” she says, and ushers him through the door. While Warren is taking off his shoes, “Just so we’re clear, you are not going to make a habit of rearranging my schedule behind my back.”

Warren stands up straight, dead serious. “Got it.”

Layla indulges a smile and leans up to kiss him. “I’ll forgive you this time, though.”

They sit on Layla’s bed, flipping through Warren’s catalog, as well as a stack of magazines that Layla has pulled out from under her desk. Warren loops his arms around her waist and hooks his chin over her shoulder, listening intently while she explains the care and keeping of flowers. It’s comfortable and easy and requires just enough idle attention to avoid falling into a slump. Layla could do this forever, she thinks.

Not an hour later, Layla is lying with her chin propped on her hands, which are folded over Warren’s chest, struggling to keep up conversation through yawns of increasing frequency.

“You can go to bed, you know,” Warren says, dryly amused, and tucks a strand of hair that has fallen out of Layla’s loose ponytail behind her ear.

“I might fall asleep right here on top of you, if you keep talking about it,” Layla says, closing her eyes and pillowing her cheek on her hands.

She feels, rather than hears Warren’s hitched inhale, and suddenly feels more acutely awake than she has all week.

Three seconds pass before Warren murmurs, “You can. If you want.”

Layla very carefully keeps her body relaxed and does not open her eyes to avoid breaking the fragile moment. “Mmm-kay,” she says, and adjusts to find a slightly more comfortable position. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Warren says, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, his other thumb smoothing the hair back at her temple.

Layla is so keenly aware of every point of contact that she thinks she might stay awake after all. But within minutes, the soft touch pulls her down into sleep.

#layla williams #warren peace #sky high #my 11-year-old self would be proud #first het fic ever #but i caught feelings writing this and guess now i ship ForestFire #i think it got angstier than your original adorable prompt intended but #what else is new #apologies for the climate change existential crisis that popped up at the end there #i might have been projecting

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timerogued · 3 years

Text

JACK’S MENTAL HEALTH.

TW for mental health, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, the lot.

jack’s official and clinical diagnosis were not completed until he was around the age of 24 but has suffered from the symptoms of his illnesses for as long as he can remember. his diagnosis was done professionally first by counsellors at his workplace, then by a doctor, and finally by a clinical psychologist. in his official notes jack is described as high functioning which comes into play a lot - this will be talked about a little bit later on.

his diagnosis are: clinical depression, anxiety (generalised and minor social anxiety), and minor psychosis. with reference to his psychosis, he has not had it checked out or determined as much as the other two so his counsellors are unsure if his psychosis is there because of his depression (which can develop if not treated correctly) or because of other underlying causes - aka. because of everything he has seen playing around in his mind and developing the psychosis on its own. ( psychosis can develop on its own but is more common under depression ).

DISCLAIMER: DEPRESSION, ANXIETY, AND PSYCHOSIS AFFECTS EVERYONE IN DIFFERENT WAYS. I WILL BE EXPLAINING / EXPLORING JACK’S MENTAL HEALTH THROUGH MY OWN EXPERIENCES, MY OWN DIAGNOSIS, &. RESEARCH OF THESE CONDITIONS.

DEPRESSION: the main symptoms that jack suffers with are bad self-esteem, constant manic-to-depressive episodes, lack of motivation, suicidal thoughts / suicidal tendencies, being irritable / sensory overload (which falls into his anxiety too), a lack of appetite, and a disturbance of sleep.

SELF ESTEEM: this does not just focus on appearance but also extends to having bad self-esteem about everything he does. jack can often be heard mumbling “i can’t do this” to himself and can slip through in conversation if his anxiety about something is high - and can be about absolutely anything. depending on how bad his days are he can feel like this about minimal things - ie getting changed, making food. if he drops a glass of water this can set him off because “fuck, i can’t even do this right!” it can also mean he has pre-thoughts about doing something. he’ll expect the absolute lowest of outcomes when doing work, food, anything.

on top of this he’ll often apologise for anything. remarks of “i’m sorry it’s not great”, “sorry i’m like this”, “sorry for being a downer all the time” with no prior conversation on the matter. this leads to an eager / want to please his peers and often doesn’t realise he’s doing it.

his self-esteem about his appearance does not affect him as much as it used to but small things still linger. when looking at a mirror he’ll often just stand in silence at his reflection - analysing everything about his face, an acceptance that he’s “alright looking” and will follow with a defeated sigh. however, he’s learnt to control himself from doing this and so-often will say a compliment to himself.

jack has learnt to almost deal with most of his problems. it’s not an acceptance or change about them but deals and carries on his life feeling like shit. he can often feel uncomfortable when in public or even at home when wearing the wrong type of clothes. ( self-esteem about his face includes the shape and the fact he always has dark circles around his eyes. he’s more inclined to hate his body - including his scars and the fact that he’s not exactly “in-shape”. again, he’s learnt to deal with this ).

to carry on with being uncomfortable, jack can be very hit and miss about compliments. someone has to be persistent for him to “accept” what they’re saying, but too many can draw too much attention to him and can make him extremely uncomfortable. if you want to compliment jack, don’t be too forward but be soft. he’s more likely to say thank you about it!

MANIC TO DEPRESSIVE EPISODES: when jack is manic he’s still depressed but takes a twist on it all; there’s laughter and jokes about what he’s suffering with. during these episodes he’s more likely to be accepting that his mental health is being ridiculous but will often follow them with a shrug. eg. “hey i feel like i want to die but whatever who doesn’t anymore lol”. this can cause adverse reactions on those around him - you are more than welcome to call him out and tell him it’s making you / the muse uncomfortable.

but be warned: once he comes out of his manic state it’s straight back into being depressed - but it shoves him right down to the bottom. he will mentally “beat himself” up for what he has said / done during these. this is a period when his low and irritable mood will be at full effect. this does not happen every day and he will tell when he feels like it’s about to happen.

MOTIVATION: there will be days / weeks at a time where jack will have minimal motivation. he will still do things due to him being “high functioning”. high functioning is defined as suffering with these issues and feeling the full effect of them, but still be able to go about their day. with jack, this affects him in the way of: he’ll still do things he needs to but gets little to no satisfaction from completing the tasks.

SUICIDAL THOUGHTS / TENDENCIES: he likes to believe he’s past his suicidal thoughts but during bad nights they will come flooding back. he does not act on them. suicidal tendencies come through with a lack of self-care: crossing roads without looking, looking for rushes that could potentially kill him, a willing to sacrifice himself without a second thought.

sometimes he can be irritable and suffer with sensory overload - this means he can often come across as nasty but he won’t act on it. he’ll probably just warn you that he’s not feeling great and any anger that comes from him is because of that. he will never take anything out on another person.

APPETITE: he has very little. he’ll eat one to two meals a day with occasional small snacks if necessary. he can and will go days without eating because he just doesn’t feel hungry or, due to a lack of motivation, can’t be bothered.

disturbed sleep and insomnia come under the psychosis diagnosis more than the depression but he has no average sleep. sometimes he’ll be out for an entire day, other times he’ll have breaks of being asleep, but more often than not he’ll find himself up until the early hours of the morning and surviving on 3 or 4 hours - then sometimes not sleeping at all.

PSYCHOSIS: this can be determined as its own diagnosis or as an episode. jack’s still hasn’t been completely determined. an episode can be anything from only suffering with it once, to consistent suffering that could last years. psychosis has been defined as a “lower schizophrenia” and medically has been linked to the eventual development of the condition - however that is not all cases. jack suffers with: hallucinations, paranoia, and confused disturbed thoughts / speech.

HALLUCINATIONS: jack’s hallucinations are limited to shadows / silhouettes of objects or people and can often be seen as things rushing past him. hallucinations can include hearing voices that are not there which jack also suffers with. these voices used to affect him more but after much training and accepting that the voices aren’t there, he’s getting used to them. a big thing about jack’s hallucinations is knowing that they’re part of his mental health issues which grounds him big time. this does not stop them from happening and on certain days could affect him more by causing them to be more realistic or the belief that they’re there to hurt him.

DISTURBED SPEECH & THOUGHTS: disturbed speech and thoughts is when someone will switch topics during conversations or lose their train of thought during a conversation and can bring it to an abrupt pause. jack does both of these. as with everything else, it’s something he’s learning to control, but during bad episodes (manic, depressed and even affecting with his anxiety) it could appear more frequently. how to know when jack does this is that he’ll often say “uhh where was i going with this” or “shit. what was i gonna say?” literal seconds after knowing. he will give absolute no warning when switching topics. he cannot help this.

his depression / psychosis can be affected by the change in seasons. this is called seasonal affective disorder (abb. sad). his psychosis is worse at night which results in him not sleeping and will lead to extreme paranoia when he’s out in the dark. things he will be paranoid about is seeing people / shadows around him and thinking that they’re out to get him. when he’s in bed he can often see these faces come right up to him and he believes if he doesn’t wake up in time they’ll get him. there’s always the anxiety that something is behind him. behaviours he’s picked up from this is anything from double-checking an area he knows is safe, a build-up of anxiety around opening doors, and having to close windows / curtains at night for the fear that he will see something ( he often does ). this can cause nightmares and they can become very visual due to everything he’s seen from work / the streets / his mutant ability.

ANXIETY: anxiety disorders can be different for everyone and can randomly be triggered. for most people anxiety can be physically and mentally draining which untreated can develop into anxiety and depression. to jack, this is his worst disorder that he suffers with because he can’t deal with the symptoms. there are two aspects of an anxiety disorder: the physical symptoms ( panic attacks etc ) and the mental symptoms. jack mostly suffers with the physical aspects but can feel the full mental side of them too. due to his anxiety being untreated for a long period of time he also suffers from minor social anxiety.

PHYSICAL ASPECT OF ANXIETY: jack feels like he’s always full of energy. this energy can come from excitement or happiness but can quickly turn into a panic attack if untrained. people can often find it difficult to separate anxiety attacks from genuine excitement ( i suffer largely from this ). this causes him to be restless and hyper-fixated on things going wrong around him. time can seem to slow down and during panic / anxiety attacks he feels like there’s focus on him and him alone. this will stop him from doing anything.

this can trigger for no reason. there will be random worry about anything - but it is more likely to happen when in a social situation. jack does not take medication for his anxiety (or anything) but drinks to “calm his nerves” before doing certain things. he is not reliant on alcohol. however, this can affect his depression the next day and turn into an endless cycle.

his panic attacks start with a twist-feel in his stomach before becoming restless in his legs and arms - usually shaking. this then turns to his breathing which becomes rapid and difficult to control, which then leads to his heart beating uncontrollably - when your chest hurts during a panic attack this is usually the reason. ( panic attacks can be confused with heart attacks - that is how serious the feeling can be ). these can last from a few seconds to at least 10 minutes. after a panic / anxiety attack jack will be very much on edge and anything could cause another. he can have up to 10 a day.

MENTAL ASPECT OF ANXIETY: having the boundless energy locked inside of you can cause extreme mental issues. it’s exhausting. anxiety can cause different reactions in different people, some can get angry, others upset. jack gets upset and will cry. this then makes him feel awful for the rest of the day. he’ll get migraines which in turn can make him more exhausted and his depression can be worse as a result of that. after an episode of panic jack will be extremely vulnerable depending on the situation. as he’s got older he’s been able to have one and go “okay that was an inconvenience. anyway” and continue on; this may not happen all the time.

he’ll often feel like a failure for having them, which in turn feeds his self-esteem and so the cycle continues on.

SENSORY OVERLOAD: sensory overload occurs when one or more of the body's senses experiences over-stimulation from the environment. it is more common with people who suffer anxiety and autism - however i can only speak for the anxiety side of it. bright lights, loud noises, they’re part of sensory processing issues that can be a key part in one’s anxiety. my own personal sensory processing condition means i cannot look at certain lights without me triggering an anxiety attack and if in the facility of a loud noise i will have an anxiety breakdown. jack also suffers with this but not to a high extent. loud noises can set off his anxiety but will not push him into an anxiety attack. however, constant subjection to them can have a serious impact on his mental health.

HIS MUTANT ABILITY: the sensation he has after activating his power is extremely similar to a panic / anxiety attack, and could actually trigger one if he is not focussing properly. during times of extreme anxiety it can set his mutation off and could send him somewhere in time he doesn’t want to be and if he doesn’t calm down - he might get stuck there for a while.

jack has seen many things with his mutation; whether it be for his job or normally, he’s seen a lot of death and has seen things happen that he cannot stop from happening. this can, and has done, trigger a mass depressive episode if bad enough.

sometimes his anxiety can work in his favour. jack is terrified of arriving late, doing something wrong, not submitting things on time - this does mean that he’ll be up to 15 minutes early before things, submitting things hours before they’re due, and making sure that everything he is doing is right (don’t get me wrong, this also affects him because if it’s not perfect then i can’t do anything right - feeding back into his self-esteem). in his own words: “hey it may cause me to have a mental breakdown but at least i did what i needed to!”

jack will see his mental illnesses in a humorous light and is extremely open about them. he’ll make / share jokes about what he suffers with - this can lead to suicide jokes so if you’re uncomfortable, tell him. he believes if he can’t make a joke about this then he’s not really moving on / accepting what he suffers with and ultimately can defeat him and is why he’ll make light of a situation ( even if it is inappropriate. because he’s an idiot ).

#wanted to geeeeeeeeeeeently place this onto here #as jack's mental health is SO damn important to me #and how i portray him!#so give this a read if you'd can <3 #mental health tw #anxiety tw #psychosis tw #depression tw #suicidal thoughts tw #headcanon.#ooc. » minoan enthusiast.#ask to tag :)

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allmightyneed · 4 years

Text

Villain!All Might (Smite)x reader. part 2/20

link to part 1

You pass weeks in a distracted, miserable state. Two, three, a month. Longer. At first, you chalk it up to the huge secret you now have to keep. A secret that feels as big as All Might himself. By a complete accident of time and place, you’ve come into possession of valuable intel on the most wanted criminal in Japan, possibly the world. Every day, you consider spilling the details to your best friend, who you also happen to work with. But how would you possibly bring it up?

“Oh, hey Kiko, guess what, I met a guy! Yeah… he’s super hot, tall, bit of a dark side. His name? I’m not sure, but professionally he goes by All Might.”

You can only imagine the confusion and disgust that would elicit. Even from Kiko, who usually tries to support your decisions, no matter how bad. The knowledge itself needles at you too, day after day. This information about his quirk could be the key to capturing him or bringing him down— forget using it to advance your own career. You could go to the police with this, you could go to Endeavor’s hero agency. You could change things. You could save lives. To your shame, that guilt isn’t strong enough to betray All Might’s confidence. He had trusted you. The number one villain trusted you with his secret identity, and apparently still does, because he hasn’t hunted you down and executed you. (Yet.)

Maybe he can’t. Your analytical mind spins theories in the absence of more definitive information. Maybe that muscle form takes a lot out of him, energy-wise. Maybe it’s too hard to maintain for long, and that’s why he sometimes disappears for days and weeks on end. And what about that whole coughing up blood thing?

By the third week, you’re using what little spare time you can find at work cobbling together a timeline of every documented All Might incident, closing in on a thousand entries in a hidden spreadsheet on your computer, and you’re only up to what most subject matter experts would consider the midway point of his active period. You haven’t found any patterns yet, nothing definitive, though as a foreigner yourself, his mysterious stint in America raises so many questions.

“Hey!” A chipper voice and a knock-knock on your cubicle divider make you close the spreadsheet. You turn and see Kiko there, smiling and curious.

“Hey!”

“Whatcha working on?”

“Oh, you know.” You wave your hand airily. “Nothing, really, just some busywork for Mr. Shimada.”

“Well, come on! It’s team lunch today.”

“Aw, really?”

“Yes. And you can’t skip. You’re looking too skinny.” That couldn’t be true, but the accusation reminds you of All Might, how he looked like he never got enough to eat. At least, one version of him. Kiko is sweet to be worried about you. She’s always so kind and considerate, always making sure you don’t bury yourself in your work, inviting you to lunch and for midday walks to get some sunlight.

“Okay, okay. I’m not trying to get out of it.” You lock your computer screen and collect your jacket from the back of your chair. It will be nice to get a break outside of the office for sure. Given the sensitive nature of your work, your building is a secure one, with no windows and checkpoints to get in and out. Other than a few cultural holdouts, the workplace bears little resemblance to a traditional Japanese office, having adopted some more western practices, like cubicles and excessive use of PowerPoint. “Have you heard back from the Licensing Bureau?”

Kiko heaves a big sigh, which tells you that she hasn’t. “I thought I would last week at the latest, but nothing.”

You follow her into the elevator. “That’s weird. Don’t they usually send confirmation or denial pretty promptly?”

“Most petitioners receive the news right after their test.” She shrugs, throwing you a little smile as she precedes you into the lobby. “Guess I’m special.”

“Of course you are,” you laugh, rolling your eyes a little, but you mean it. She has pure hearted intentions about becoming a part-time volunteer hero. Discussion about the intricacies of Licensing Bureau policies and mailing schedules continues all the way to the barbecue restaurant where together you conclude, that her unusual quirk must be holding up their decision. It makes sense. Reanimation, her ability to create a zombie from a dead body, is dangerous and powerful, and is rightfully quite closely controlled. It’s also very much at odds with her sunny, happy personality. She rarely brings it up, but you know she regrets not having a more standard type of quirk. She’s also one of the few people who know about your quirk and has been a steadfast guardian of the secret.

Nothing much happens at the team lunch. Office gossip, rehashing the latest news, etc. Though, you do find out from Mr. Kawada, your supervisor, that you are one of two analysts who have been selected to support and consult on a new account the firm is taking on. So exclusive that you aren’t even allowed to know who the client is yet. You act grateful, mustering as much enthusiasm as you can— it’s a great opportunity— but inwardly, you’re daydreaming about All Might. That’s been happening more and more.

When you get back to the office after lunch, you’re roped into a meeting with Mr. Kawada, and Mr. Shimada and the rest of the team leads. You know you should be paying attention but you zone out through most of it, replaying that fateful night in your head.

A couple days later, the obsession reaches a critical level. You have to find him. Not as an analyst, not to bring him to justice. You just have to see him, and you don’t quite understand why, but it’s a need, a hunger that grows sharper and more potent each day.

Riding the train to work, you start searching in your web browser. ‘All Might’. Too much noise. News articles from twenty different sources all about the same recent attacks clog the entire first page of results. When you get into the office, you go through the motions, sitting down at your workstation, logging in, all on autopilot.

The only thing you can think about is All Might. As time has passed, you try harder and harder to keep fresh that image in your mind of how he looked in his other form. The skinny one, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. He hadn’t been any less intense like that.

You refine your searches, hitting wall after wall of no results or way too many. A passing coworker’s idol-themed lanyard catches your eye; you finally hit on an idea: ‘All Might fan club’. That gets you something. You navigate to the first result, an outdated page with a garish background and little animated pixel version of All Might in the corner of the screen. Dancing. you have to admit it’s kind of cute. Suddenly, loud sound plays through your computer’s speakers.

“I am on a website! I am on a website!” It’s All Might’s voice— his villain voice, which has people in other cubicles peeking over the dividers at you to find the source of the noise. Panicking, you close the tab. Then, after making sure your computer’s volume is muted, you find your way back to that same page. Sure enough, there’s a link at the top titled I LOVE TO MEET MY FANS. Following it brings you to a listing of a mailing address and… yes. A phone number.

Heart racing, you copy it down on a sticky note, tuck it in your purse and, before it can register in your mind as a bad idea, slip out of the office.

The train back to your home stop is nearly empty in the middle of the day. A few tourists, old people, some kids playing hooky.

You turn your phone over and over. It said he loves to meet his fans… what fans? Doesn’t everyone hate him? Maybe that’s how you should open the conversation. Hey Mr. All Might, I know you’re universally reviled but I thought I’d hit you up anyway. The idea makes you snort-laugh. No. Just keep it simple.

You: hi.

A few seconds later, during which you stare at your phone, the three ‘typing’ dots appear. Then go away, with no message coming through. Could this really be him? Or is it just some weirdo’s phone number? Some otaku impersonating All Might on the internet. Not like you are in any position to be accusing someone of obsession.

You: this is the girl you met in the alley. You pause for a second, thinking of how you could signal to him who you are. He might meet a lot of girls in alleys.

You: I saw you shrink.

A moment later, he replies with your name. Shock hits you; you click the screen off, black then click it on again. Your name is still there.

Him: I tHOUT I told =you to standstill and bee silent.

It’s him. With lots of typos, but it’s him.

Oh, god. What are you doing?

You don’t reply again until you get inside your apartment. Standing just inside the front door, with your shoes still on, you write out three versions of a witty retort, and erase each one. Stupid. What are you even trying to get out of this?

You: I think people deserve to know who you really are.

Nothing. Nothing for an unbearable minute that feels like another week gone by.

You: I’m going to the media.

You’re not. You don’t know why you just told him that.

The three dots appear and disappear, again, with no new text. You watch the screen for what seems like an eternity, still standing in your entryway with your purse on your shoulder.

And then there’s a thundering knock on the door.

Link to part 3

#villain all might #villain all might x reader #All Smite #all smite x reader #All Might #all might x reader #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction

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brokebuckkmountain · 3 years

Text

Today was the worst

(long rant ahead, mostly about workplace politics with irl problems sprinkled in for flavor)

So. I’ve already been in my feelings lately due to like: life sucking, it’s the plague times, I am struggling to find a psychiatrist despite being told it was imperative I get help immediately, it’s winter and winter makes me sad, I’m losing friendships left and right thx to Miss Rona, I hate my job, yesterday was the one year anniversary of my breakup, there’s tons of gossip about me at work for things I genuinely did not say, and some of my work buddies are ignoring me for no apparent reason (including my best friend who has been ignoring me since my literal birthday a month ago? It’s all her friends that are ignoring me to it’s hard not to think it’s something related to that). Also, those PMS mood swings are a bitch.

I wanted today to be a good day. I wanted to get up early. I wore my new clothes and new perfume and was excited to train a coworker I genuinely like who was never trained when she was hired a year ago and struggles to get through her shifts. I mean I volunteered to do it for free because she deserves the help. But no no. Today was not a good one.

-I was woken up at 3 am to a litany of text messages from an ex asking to hook up again. Promptly fell back asleep and missed my later alarm, causing me to have to skip my workout this am and rush my shower.

-My boss didn’t assign my trainee online learning or make a schedule, told me I was a “strong enough trainer” to just do what I felt needed to be done. That was all he said to me, no further instruction. This is important later. Trainers and trainees are considered non-coverage and I run into an issue with this everytime I train- shifts want us on the floor doing different tasks than what I’m actually teaching. I personally think being a little backed up for 30 minutes is preferable to new hires not knowing how to do things because they never got one on one time, but most supervisors think otherwise.

-My trainee and I had about 25 minutes until our joint lunch break. She had expressed to me that knowing more about the mechanics of coffee- what is the body of a shot, why does it expire, what’s the difference between blonde and regular- was helping her, so I decided 25 minutes whizzing through that part of training before lunch was fine. I was immediately chastised by someone we’ll call Manager 1 because that “isn’t part of the training”. It very much is, and is available on every training resource, it just never gets taught because of time constraints and corporate not really caring about coffee quality. Manager 1 has consistently made a scene every time I train a new hire over us doing training and not just whatever she wants to get done. Manager 1 is also known for berating almost every one, and has lied about altercations that never happened between me and customers before to our manager. So she’s not exactly a fan favorite of mine. I maintained that the coffee basics was part of training and returned to the back, planning to use that time to do coffee basics and more memory games for drink recipes.

-After about 5 minutes, my coworker came to the back and told me the two managers wanted us out there helping. I went out alone to tell Manager 2 (who was technically in charge and generally less awful) what we were working on and asked if they really needed us or if they’d be okay. She said they needed us and Manager 2 began snapping that we were floor coverage, that my trainee was supposed to be on the floor all day, and that she had no business in the back “staring at a computer screen” (which we were not doing, but I digress). Since this is about the fourth time I’ve had this issue with this particular manager, I responded that we were supposed to be doing whatever I felt needed to be done, not working the floor. When they maintained that they were “under the impression” from our boss that my trainee and I were to remain on the floor all day, and we were coverage, I said “I guess I got confused by the dashed lines on the schedule that signify non-coverage as us being non-coverage” and went to get my trainee.

-My trainee knew the situation because she had overheard, got super nervous, and started making drinks wrong that she had been making correctly all day. During this time I overheard Manager 1 and Manager 2 not-quietly discussing them both texting our boss to complain about me. Fair, I guess, since I planned on doing the same when I was on my lunch. At one point they both left the bar area to send their texts and squat by the safe while waiting for it to unlock (it’s on a timer and beeps when it’s ready, no need to hover) which only infuriated me more- they moved us to bar so they could leave it. When it was finally our lunch time I sent my trainee and was pulled aside by Manager 2. I tried to move the conversation to the break room (something I have always been adamant about- not publicly berating coworkers in front of others) but she stayed on the floor where multiple people were and reprimanded me for my bad attitude. I told her I was never instructed to stay on the floor, had a schedule, and would’ve been more flexible if they had actually spoken to me rather than yelling and demanding. She maintained that I had a bad attitude and needed to follow orders. I said, once again, “mutual respect goes both ways, if you want me to incorporate things into my training schedule then you need to have an actual conversation with me about it and not demand it at random”. She said that as my superior I wasn’t allowed to “talk back” (ignoring my point that they had both, indeed, begun yelling at me) and told me my bad attitude “wasn’t a good look” and that she didn’t feel I was understanding. I said I understood perfectly that I shouldn’t be rude, but that they shouldn’t yell at me either, and I wasn’t going to take unprofessional yelling to pull me off my job as a trainer. Manager 2 didn’t listen to a word I said and kept going “you can’t have an attitude, do you understand?” so after a period of staring at her silently I said “Can I clock out for my lunch now and proceed with training?” and walked away.

-After lunch I was able to continue training, only because that part of the training constituted us being on the floor helping. I apologized profusely to my trainee for putting her in that situation, reassuring her that regardless of who was in the “right” or the personal issues of the people on the floor, my first priority was her being able to successfully learn and feel comfortable. She told me she had a hard time focusing on drinks and was anxious after the scene, and that she felt the public reprimanding I received was far out of line and unprofessional. I told her I knew that, but being as it was two managers against one me, I would probably still receive a write up tomorrow morning and not to let it worry her when it did go down (tomorrow is our final day of training and my last day before a long break from work, so I know it’s going to happen in front of her). She said she would talk to my boss on my behalf and I told her not to worry, I didn’t want her pulled into workplace drama, but she insisted it wasn’t right (she is considerably older than everyone in the workplace and I think a little protective of me since we volunteered together and I’m the only one who doesn’t chastise her for small mistakes). We’ll see if she says anything tomorrow but I don’t want her to feel like she has to “go to bat” for me and involve herself in unnecessary drama against people who will lash out at her.

-While trying to clock out, I overheard Manager 2 trying to get other coworkers of mine to give accounts against our boss to his superior over not liking their scheduling. Perhaps I’m biased, because I am friends with my boss and literally vacationed with him this summer, but he is the type to listen to concerns and always give people the benefit of the doubt. I’ve never seen him give a write up and he bends over backwards to accommodate people. So whatever their issues are, something tells me they haven’t brought it up to him. Manager 2 frequently breaks safety protocols because she “doesn’t care if she gets Covid” and has vacationed out of state many times resulting in us not allowing her to come back to work and being short staffed. Despite this, I’ve never given my boss her name when he asks who is breaking safety protocols. Manager 2 is well known for being deeply unpleasant, her and my boss have been at odds for years from working together at another location, and has frequently tried to egg on other employees to get our boss in trouble while refusing to make any formal complaints herself. If you’ve been following for a while, she’s the same ass-kisser who used to say my old boss could break any rules she wanted and allowed herself to be constantly demeaned in hopes of a promotion (10 years without a promotion and she thinks it’s unfair rather than realizing she’s mean and unpleasant, chooses to attack the people who do get the promotions she wants). I know there’s a way to spin those two plotting against my boss as a way to cast some doubt on their accounts of me, but no way to do it without being a blatant shit disturber who’s just retaliating. Which is not how I want to live my life. But he deserves a heads up.

-Now I’m sitting at home with an arts and craft project I came up with to give my coworkers all a gift before the New Year and no desire to do it. Like, fuck these people, why should I do something nice for them? Even though I know the majority are good people, just not the ones in management. No energy, completely lethargic (yay depressive episode and still no antidepressants because I can’t get ahold of a goddamn psychiatrist even though my GP okayed the antidepressants herself), wishing I just could get a better job but I need the insurance at mine. It’s one thing to be constantly belittled and insulted by customers (and a very big thing, at that), but to get it from coworkers too just makes me feel awful, day in and day out. I know I’ve hated my job for the entire 3 and a half years I’ve been there and bemoaned how much less interwork drama I’ve had at every other job I’ve had (so I don’t think it’s all me, many agree it’s a toxic environment likened to a high school), but quitting a job you’re great at, passionate about (at times), live super close to, that gives you insurance, during a pandemic? Harder than it looks.

Life sux. Super anxious for tomorrow. Thanks for reading. Pls don’t reblog.

#i should text my boss since i KNOW he's gonna wanna talk tomorrow and my anxious ass will forget half of what i want to say #but thats also nerve wracking i guess #personal

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jimlingss · 5 years

Text

Jungle Park [20]

Chapter 19 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 20.5 OR Chapter 21

➜ Words: 6.3k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

The first date consists of a warm meal in the comfort of your own home. It’s simple, but cozy. The second is spent chatting at a quaint breakfast diner, or rather arguing about what movies currently in the box office are worthwhile and those that are atrocious. This leads to the third outing at the theater where you both watch three movies back-to-back and get a headache afterwards, storylines in your head morphing together so you can’t distinguish which is which. There are countless more dates after that, from being dragged to the gym and being forced to workout to heading to a karaoke bar and re-discovering his superior singing skills to deciding to recklessly buy all ice-cream flavours from one brand for the sake of ranking them all. The first time he stays over is when you watch a comedy movie in your living room...that turns out to be a horror — by then, it’s too beyond the point of return and he stays over for both your sakes. And the first time he kisses you… “You have chocolate on your mouth.” “Where?” “Right there.” “Is it gone?” “No. It’s still right there.” Hoseok’s hand lifts, swiping at the corner of your lip and he licks the trace of chocolate off his thumb. A grin pulls into his cheeks, eyes gazing into your features like he adores you — it’s still strange. You’re not sure if you’ll ever get used to his affections like before. “There’s still some there.” “Really? What the...” Your brows furrow, wondering what kind of chocolate was on these chocolate covered strawberries and how it’s possible that it can be so stubborn. But a thought flickers into your mind and you steal the opportunity that is presented. Your arms raise until your hands are pressed on his cheeks, mouth puckering. You stand on your tiptoes, planting one chaste and quick smack to his lips. In the next second you’ve pulled away with a cheeky smile. “Is it gone now?” Jung Hoseok blinks hard and the corner of his mouth curls. “Nope, it’s still there. You’re going to have to kiss me harder.” The first time he kisses you is actually when you kiss him. The first time he hugs you — the first time he holds your hand — the first time he stays over — the first time you kiss him. You always thought it would be painful to relive these, to experience all these firsts again, even when they’re not the first for you. But it never occurred to you that experiencing all these moments over again wasn’t going to be painful at all. To relieve one of the best periods of your life again, to try one more time, it feels like watching your favourite movie or reading your book after having left them in dusted corners for so long. It’s seeing the most beautiful places with fresh eyes again, visiting those special moments once more, loving the same person twice. You’re lucky. It’s not his memories that are lost. It’s a future with him that’s being found. // “Hold the door!” Someone calls out and you push the button, keeping the elevator doors parted. Hoseok appears, slipping in with a nod. He steps beside you, keeping a good distance between both your bodies as it shuts. “Good morning.” “Morning.” He sips on his coffee, looking straight ahead and carrying his briefcase in his other hand. “You wanted to talk to me about vacation times?” “Yes. There are some concerns amongst the employees.” You keep your eyes trained on the numbers, watching them increase as you move past the floors. “You can come by my office any time after one then. I have another meeting before then.” “Sounds good.” The doors part with a ding, and you both walk your separate ways. But temptation is far too great and you end up glancing over your shoulder with a small smile, watching the lawyer enter his office. The pair of you agreed to keep your workplace romance discrete — it’s important to both you and Hoseok to remain professional and focused on your jobs during working hours. The two of you loved your jobs and didn’t want any of that to change. And for the most part things are normal. You’re more than content with it. “Y/N?” Sunyi pops her head through your doorway. “You have a second?” “Always.” You set aside your work with a smile and she doesn’t hesitate to step in, plopping down in the familiar seat across from yours. “What’s up?” “Oh nothing, just Yoongi again.” “What did he do this time?” When lunchtime rolls around, it’s Taehyung who’s visiting you. “A bunch of us are going out to lunch.” He wiggles his brows up and down with a mischievous grin. “Jin lost a bet, so he’s paying. Wanna come?” “Sure. Where to?” “This expensive place I know.” Taehyung skips away and you can practically feel Jin’s agony radiating off his body. It’s ordinary days like this that you cherish the most. As mundane as it is, the normalcy that lacks pandemonium offers a sense of peace of mind and you wouldn’t want it any other way. You get back in time, enough to approach causally with papers in hand and knock on his office door. Through the bottom crack, you can hear shuffling until it goes quiet again. “Come in.” “Hey.” You step into his office, shutting the door behind you. Hoseok automatically smiles, mouth curling upwards and his eyes crinkled ever so slightly. “You’re not wasting time, right? If you take too many extended lunches with the others, I’ll have to write you up, especially for encouraging them too.” “It was a business-related lunch.” You sit down with a slight pout. His brows raise and you laugh, giving in. “Business between Taehyung and Jin. I just happen to be there to observe and make sure no conflict breaks out that could be detrimental to office morale. Just doing my job.” The lawyer scoffs, amazed at how well you twist words. “You’re going to get all my employees to revolt and run me out of business one of these days.” “I’m sure Jimin wouldn’t mind.” You offer a cheeky smile. “It’ll give him the chance to break into the jungle gym business.” Hoseok’s serious persona completely shatters, losing all composure, and he laughs. “Oh god. Don’t remind me. The kid knows nothing about playground equipment and neither do I. Might as well declare bankruptcy now. Anyways, what do you have for me?” You slide over what’s in your hand except for one sheet. “It’s a new proposal for vacation days. I think the receptionists deserve three more days in the upcoming year….” He hums, considering the plans. For a while, it’s just business talk and discussions related to the office since you’ve both split the job of office manager together, a natural progression that happened without any change of official titles. But you fiddle with the single page in your lap, glancing at it, mind preoccupied. You clear your throat when you get the chance and slide it over to him. “Since I’m here...you should sign this too.” “What is it?” Hoseok grins, taking it. “It’s just for filing purposes.” You look away, suddenly made shy. It feels official to be documenting it — to have a ‘love contract’. Really, it’s nothing special. It’s to limit his liability as an employer and show that it’s a consensual dating relationship. There’s also a section on proper workplace behaviour expected of both parties as well as guaranteeing Hoseok will treat everyone fairly regardless of your personal relationship with him. “I’m part of HR and all and office romances are kind of part of my job...we’re actually the first ever, so that’s sort of exciting. First time I got to write guidelines for employees dating....” Hoseok's cheeks ache with his ginormous smile. He doesn’t say anything, only grabbing his favourite ink pen from his cup and happily singing his full name. He takes his time, drawing every swirl dramatically, looping the letters, relishing in the moment. It’s probably the best thing he’s signed in the past ten years of his life. “Are you going to frame this?” “No. It’s just a form.” “I feel like I need to frame this.” He holds it out in front of him, leaning back in his chair, admiring how both your names are side by side on the paper, acting as if this was a magnificent painting. After a long moment, he gives it back to you. “I’m going to need a copy of this on my desk before five o’clock today,” he commands sternly. A snort of air rushes from your nose. “Yes, sir.” Hoseok laces his fingers together, putting his hands under his chin as he gazes at you. “I’m also going to need a kiss from you before you leave this office.” “What happened to staying professional?” You loll your head to the side, too amused. “Is anyone around?” “No,” There’s a pause and you counter, “but we’re still in the office.” “That’s a good point.” He nods with another grin. “But I’m too tempted to do worse things.” You scoff, standing on your feet and leaning over. Your right hand is pressed on the surface of his desk, holding your weight as you bend. Your left hand tugs on his tie, pulling him closer and you plant a kiss on his cheek, faintly staining his skin with your lipstick. You pull away just as fast, plucking the sheet of paper away from him. “Save it for after work, Jung. Or else I might find cause to sue you.” “You’d never win.” He smirks, watching you saunter off. You spin around one last time. “I think you underestimate me.” The door shuts again and Hoseok sighs helplessly, turning back to work. Oddly enough, he’s more motivated than before to get things done. // While sometimes the workday feels short, for you it’s too long. If someone paid close attention to you, they’d notice the way your left leg was jumping underneath your desk and the way you were constantly glancing at the clock, waiting for five o’clock to roll around, too antsy to get out of here. Luckily for you, after the ninetieth glimpse of the time, five o’clock has finally come. “Goodnight, Y/N.” Naul bids farewell as she passes and you mimic her goodbye. The office slowly but surely empties out. You’re getting closer and closer— “Are you leaving yet?” Seulgi swings by your office, coat and bag in her hands, big eyes anticipating and slightly surprised you’re still at your desk. “I...uh…overtime….” Your eyes accidentally stray to Hoseok’s office and the door that remains closed. With a long sigh and not wanting to draw suspicion, you collect your belongings. “I’m leaving too.” “Cool.” The paralegal follows you out, past the floor, his office, the front desk and the elevators. The metal doors part and sadly close. But you try not to seem disappointed. “Are you doing anything after work?” “Just the usual. Hanging out at home, catching up on some TV, catching up on some sleep. You?” “Just going out with some friends.” Seulgi checks her phone, scrolling through her endless text messages. “I’ve already skipped out on three outings with them because somehow Hoseok always miraculously finds a way to shove work at me right before I’m supposed to go.” “Well, he tries his best. There’s a lot of work to do.” The female scoffs. “I don’t know about that. He’s not so strict anymore, but he’s still an ass.” “I don’t think you should speak about our boss in that way.” You turn to her with a sudden sharp and fierce tone, causing her to become startled. You swallow hard, softening your voice and trying to explain yourself, “Hoseok tries his best and he actually has a hard time keeping everything afloat. He actually cares a lot about his employees. We just have to learn to recognize it.” “I’m...sorry,” she murmurs after blinking a few times. “No, it’s okay. I understand how easy it is to be swept up and believe that he doesn’t care, but believe me, Hoseok is the complete opposite.” Seulgi nods and when the elevator doors open, you both walk through the lobby, bidding goodbye to the security guard. “Oh, Y/N, do you want me to give you a ride to the station? I’m heading in that direction anyways.” You smile, touched by her offer. “No, it’s okay.” “Are you sure?” She frowns in confusion. “Yeah, I’m fine. I have to pick up some stuff on my way to the station, so I don’t want to be a bother.” “Alright.” She gets into her car. “See you tomorrow?” “Tomorrow!” You wave goodbye. Meanwhile, Jimin is still packing up his things in his office. He didn’t realize it was so late, having been working ahead and caught up in it beyond the recognition of time. So now he happily hums, stepping out of his office, heading towards the elevators. But a flicker of light from the corner of his eye causes the lawyer to freeze mid-step. His neck cranes over. He walks. And he throws open his partner’s door. “Are you going?” “No.” Hoseok is preoccupied with papers all over his desk. “Have some work to do.” But Jimin doesn’t buy it so easily, especially when he knows what work there is...or rather, lack thereof. The brunette frowns, thinking hard and tilting his head. “What work?” At the same time, the lawyer’s phone chimes loudly. Hoseok picks up the device, smiling momentarily at the screen before pocketing it. “Actually, I am going.” The lawyer already standing is shocked to say the least. His partner isn’t one to change his mind so quickly. He can’t help but stare at him, even as they both walk out. “Why are you so happy lately?” “I’m not. It’s nothing.” “You’re not or it’s nothing?” “Both.” Typically, Jimin can read his partner’s expression — Hoseok doesn’t hide many things. But at the moment, he can’t read his expression at all. “Does it have to do with Y/N?” “What? No. Why would you say that?” “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “You guys talk a lot these days — I thought you said she was annoying.” Jung Hoseok is appalled and his mouth draws open, high-pitched whining voice channeled outwards. “I never said that!” “Alright, alright.” Jimin backs off with open hands and the two of them exit the elevator. “Maybe I’m remembering wrong,” he mutters and they leave the building. But even stranger and more baffling to him is how Hoseok takes a left instead of right, the opposite direction of the parking lot. “Hey! Where are you going? What about your car?” “I parked somewhere else. Bye! See you tomorrow!” “What the…” If it were possible, there would be a question mark floating above his head. Heck, his entire face has practically turned into a question mark. Jimin can’t understand — Hoseok has a reserved parking spot. Why would he park somewhere else? Yet, he is only left with more unanswered questions as he watches his partner walk off with a skip in his step. And he can only get into his own vehicle with a sharp inhale, confused to no end. Hoseok walks three blocks and then he hears a very familiar, warm voice. “‘Bout time.” He smiles, finding you leaning on his car with your arms crossed and lips pouty. “Sorry, I was caught up.” “You don’t have to drive me in the morning, you know.” The two of you parked far away, not wanting to get out of the car together in the morning and arouse suspicion from the employees of the office. It was definitely a hassle, but one you didn’t mind so much. “But I want you to see you,” he says and you know he doesn’t mind either. Hoseok gets into the car while you slide into the passenger seat. “You still see me at work.” “It’s not the same.” He has a wide grin and then leans over, soft lips stamping on your cheek, kissing you, and catching you completely off guard. He says nothing, putting his keys into the ignition and firing up the engine. You give a small helpless sigh, smile stuck on your face as he pulls away from the curb and you both go home together.

It’s another ordinary day, one of the kinds that you’re most content with— “Hey. Has anyone seen Hoseok?” Namjoon frowns, pushing up his glasses and leaning over to gather the attention of the other legal assistants. Seulgi shakes his head and so does Jin. “Actually, I was looking for Y/N too.” Seokjin chews his crunchy carrots and speaks with his mouth full, annoying the living daylights out of Seulgi. “She’s not in her office either.” “Huh.” She snaps out of her irritation caused by her coworker and tilts her head to the side. It was a mystery indeed. Jungkook passes by at the wrong time and is unfortunately questioned too. “Hey, Kook, have you seen Hoseok or Y/N?” “Uh…” The boy’s doe eyes stare back into theirs. “No..?” He walks away slowly, practically doing the moonwalk and he leaves into the kitchen, slipping away from them and making the legal assistants even more baffled with his bizarre behaviour. Eventually, the lawyer is found again and he tells Namjoon that he was in the bathroom. As for you… “I was in the lobby.” You smile at Seulgi. “Is there something you needed?” “No, I’m fine.” She shakes her head and walks away. Her thoughts are running wild, but she shakes it off with a tiny laugh and a scoff, feeling like she’s driving herself insane with her active imagination. It can’t be…

These ordinary days are the ones you love most. You can’t complain, especially with the way your morning starts off. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” You slip into the passenger seat with the brightest of smiles that would probably make Min Yoongi, the opposite of a morning person, want to kill you. “I thought you were against being late.” Hoseok grins, hands on the steering wheel, but still not driving away just yet. “Isn’t that part of your rules for the office?” “Yes,” you confirm. “So, we better get going here, Jung.” “Not before I get my morning kiss.” The lawyer childishly pouts and he taps his plush lips with a single finger. You sigh in exhuasion and he only sulks harder, tilting his head. “C’mon! Hurry!” he whines and you laugh, giving in. You lean over the console, pressing a single kiss to his mouth. The edges of his mouth lifts, smiling against yours. When you pull away, he mischievously chases after it, planting another peck to your lips. Happy and satisfied, Hoseok hollers loudly and begins driving. “Alright! Now we can go!” Really, you don’t know what you’re going to do with him— “Are you alright, Y/N?” Inyoung appears by your side, shocking you and nearly making the coffee slosh past the rim and onto your clothes. You set the cup down, dazed. “Huh? Uh, yes, why?” “Nothing. You were just smiling to yourself.” The accountant has her mouth meekly upturned and she scans you from head to toe, judgment lacking from her gaze and filled with fascination instead. “You look great.” You blink. “I do?” “Yes, you look very refreshed. Actually, I’ve noticed these days that you seem pretty happy, it’s almost like you’re glowing.” “T-..thanks.” You laugh nervously, trying to cover it up, but cringing at how stiff it sounds. “It’s what eight hours of sleep does to you, I guess.” “Ah...I wish I got eight hours of sleep. I actually suffer from insomnia sometimes.” “Oh, you want to talk about it? I don’t know how much actual advice I can offer you, but it might help. I know insomnia is linked to stress.” “I would love that,” she says with a grin. Your head nods once, picking an appointed time later on in the day and taking a sigh of relief at how you narrowly escaped. You really need to stop daydreaming.

But what were you thinking about? Yes. It’s ordinary days like this that— Kim Dahyun. She is a receptionist at Jung and Park. Most of the time, she feels like she’s just a side character in the firm, a sidekick so to speak. Not only does she have less of a strong personality than Lisa, the other receptionist, but she’s the newest addition to the office, albeit joining months ago. Apparently, she replaced a psycho girl before this. But that’s not important. The important fact of the matter is that she’s decided to take control of her life again! No longer will she be just a side-character. No longer is she going to be quiet and confused in conversations, still learning about the dynamics between people here. She’s going to make herself known in this office. She is going to show the other employees her bubbly personality that has been hidden away. She’s going to be the main character now! And she’s going to start by going directly to her boss and asking for a raise! Knock. Knock. She opens after hearing a squeak inside. “Um—” The words die on her tongue when she realizes she’s interrupted. You’re standing across from Hoseok’s desk, obviously both having been engaged in a conversation. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The receptionist begins to back away, but you smile. “No, it’s okay. I was just leaving.” You slip out of the room and Hoseok looks up with his piercing eyes. “Is there something you need from me?” “N-No. Sorry.” Okay. Courage might not be Dahyun’s strongest suit, but she’s going to assert her dominance one way or another. Now’s just not the right timing. But maybe she should talk to you and get your help. You’ve helped the others in this office get a raise before… “I’ll be right back.” Dahyun sets down her bag and coat on the chair. Lisa nods, booting up the computer while peeling the vibrant pink paint off her fingernails. “I’m going to grab a coffee.” She’s going to get herself a drink and find you. Tell you what’s going on. Get that raise. “Why are you doing that?” Dahyun hears a giggle and she freezes. “Stop that, Hoseok.” The receptionist’s eyes land on both you and Hoseok side by side at the counter of the kitchen. Her breath hitches. Her eyes grow wide. She begins to back away as if a predator is there, but it’s too late. You turn and notice her. Immediately, the conversation dies. Hoseok’s smile falls and your expression glazes over. Then, faster than she can blink, you smile at her. “Good morning, Dahyun.” “M-morning.” The lawyer nods in acknowledgment and walks off with a coffee cup in hand while you’re still staring at the girl who’s caught like a deer in headlights. But you’re oblivious to her turmoil. “Did you need something?” “No, no, I’m good…” Kim Dahyun is in agony. Every corner she turns, she’s placed in an awkward position, somehow sandwiched between you and Hoseok. She is the third wheel with no intention of third-wheeling. This isn’t right. Maybe she’s not supposed to the main character, maybe this isn’t her story. All she knows is that it was certainly more peaceful when she decided to just do her job and not chase after this imaginary raise and ambition of being noticed. She was being noticed alright — just in all the wrong ways. A sigh spills from the seams of her lips and she pushes the elevator button to return to the proper office floor. She waits patiently and then the silver doors part. “—don’t make me tickle you!” Your giggle and Hoseok’s laugh dies off. Dahyun stares.

The lawyer glares. You smile at her again, stepping aside. She enters after a delayed moment, holding the file folder to your chest. The stiff air nearly suffocates her to death. Hoseok looks straight ahead, face blank and serious while you peek at the receptionist. “Is everything okay, Dahyun?” “I..uh...I’m okay,” she murmurs, breaking a sweat from the tension. That’s when she decides to go for the kill, just to put herself out of her own misery. “But...I...um..was thinking….a r-raise.” “Would you like a raise?” you clarify and although Hoseok doesn’t say anything, you nod. “We’re in discussion for raises, so we’ll definitely keep you in mind. You’ve been doing a good job.” “T-..thanks…” The doors part with a chime and both you and the lawyer go your separate ways. Dahyun barely drags her feet back to the front desk. Lisa is startled at how pale she looks, skin sickly in lack of colour. “What’s wrong?” The receptionist doesn’t say anything, simply collapsing in her chair. Finally, her goal is complete. That’s all that matters. And she’s given up — she’ll just do her job quietly, go home quietly, mind her own business and hope one day she’ll save enough to pay for her own funeral. Trying to be the main character of a story that doesn’t belong to her is giving the poor girl too much stress. She doesn’t want the spotlight anymore. Not only is she confused and placed in such bizarre situations, she doesn’t think she can handle it any longer. It was definitely weird… But maybe it’s just a coincidence that you and Hoseok were always together. What were you thinking again? It felt like you forgot and faded in the background for a second…. It’s ordinary days like this that you cherish the most. Yes. That’s it. “Hi, could I get a large black coffee to go? Also...I’d like a strawberry strudel.” The question mark returns over Jimin’s head and after he makes his own order, he follows his partner to where the pick-up station is. “Don’t you hate strawberry strudels? You said it was too sweet once and you even spat it out.” Hoseok shrugs nonchalantly. “My tastes changed.” “Huh. Aren’t you a picky eater?” The lawyer doesn’t even answer or respond to his question, preoccupied with tapping away on his phone. // Later on in the day, Jimin is making his rounds around the office, finding some spare time and checking around. He used to do it more often and it would take much longer considering how many times he would be stopped and complained to (most notably by Sunyi towards Yoongi). But it seems like these days, he can happily weave through tables and offices without being bombarded with excessive whines. Everybody was doing well, focused on their jobs, office morale at a good place, content and happy. But there’s one notable thing. “Oh, is that a strawberry strudel?” You look up at your desk towards the brunette lawyer who’s popped his head through the doorway. “Yeah. Do you want some?” “No, I’m okay. But did you get that at the coffee shop?” He tilts his head, pointing at the sweet treat with a twitching smile and his other arm behind his back. The question mark above Jimin’s head is on the verge of exploding. “I brought it from home,” you say with a smile. Boom. The floating question mark blasts. Jimin leaves casually, but behind his office doors, his eyes are narrowed, two fingers parting his blinds carefully to stare out at the office floor. He isn’t Park Jimin anymore — he’s Sherlock Holmes. And he’s going to find out what the fuck is going on because he knows there’s something, merely right under his nose. He can sniff it in the air. He’s a hyperactive cat high on curiosity instead of catnip. There’s never been a moment where he’s been this curious, itching to know what’s going on, and as nosy and intrusive as it is, he stalks you both. But when he eavesdrops, it’s just mundane conversations and always work related. When you’re both together, it’s by coincidence. The rational part of Jimin’s brain tells him that you and Hoseok are just good friends and he’s projecting his own ‘needs’ onto the two of you, as if you both were having some hot affair that Jimin wishes he had…. But the lawyer is stubborn and won’t give up so easily, especially when it comes to his equally stubborn partner. “Hey, Y/N. Do you want to go out to lunch?” “I’d love to,” you reply easily, playing right into Jimin’s hand. It was perfect. He was going to set it up and make it so that you both would be going out to lunch with him. From there, Jimin would be able to observe how you two react with each other and he could do his interrogation at the same time too. It was impeccable— “I’m busy,” Hoseok mutters. “Can’t.” “What? You have to!” “We already had our monthly date last week if you didn’t remember.” He flips through several papers, licking his thumb in the process, chin deep in work. Jimin makes a last ditch attempt. “Y/N’s coming.” Hoseok doesn’t even look up at him. “So?” Fail. He sighs and walks away, not knowing what else to do. With his mind preoccupied on it all day, even as you sit across from him in the breakroom and share a salad during lunch, he doesn’t realize when five o’clock has rolled around and all the employees are leaving. “Hey, I’m heading out now,” his partner tells him on the way out. “Oh. Okay. Goodbye.” Jimin waves like a prince riding a carriage, acknowledging his presence. Hoseok disappears soon after...and then, Jimin’s legs take off. He bursts down the hallway, stopping on his heel and looking into your office. Lo and behold, you’re still there. “Y/N?” “Hey.” You look up at him. “Is everything alright?” His chest rises and falls, trying to catch his breath. “No-....I’m good. Are you going home?” You melt into a sheepish smile. “No. Unfortunately, I think I’m going to go overtime. I’m trying to finish this. I hope you don’t mind.” “It’s fine.” He backs away and then runs towards his office, ignoring the frown Seulgi sends him for being so outlandish. Jimin is more focused with leaping towards his glass windows and then he looks down….finding Hoseok driving away in his car. Whelp. Perhaps the strudel incident was really just a coincidence. There’s no other evidence of anything else going on. You’re both the same and Hoseok doesn’t act like he particularly cares about you. Jimin doesn’t want to ask you or his partner directly, knowing his boundaries and honestly already feeling guilty for being so suspicious and nosy in your private business. But the emotion that overwhelms him the most is disappointment. Jimin would’ve been so happy if you and Hoseok had actually something going on beyond a platonic sense. For a second there, he was actually excited. Secretly, he always felt you two were a good match with each other — you got to the deeper parts of Hoseok’s personality and he always seemed to anchor you down. Plus, Jimin doesn’t want Hoseok to die alone. The guy’s been working hard for the past two decades and he’s the one who deserves to feel happy the most. Park Jimin sighs to himself and muses that by the time Hoseok’s in a retirement home, the guy will only have him. But it would’ve been so nice if you both were together. Oh well. It is what it is. // Twenty minutes later, you’ve left the office to make the trek towards the station, but you stop only a block away from the firm. While standing on the curb of the street, eventually a familiar car pulls up and you open the door, jumping in. “Did you get the food?” you ask, planting a quick kiss to his cheek. “Just in time before they closed!” “Nice!” Things were great. Everything was going smoothly with Hoseok thus far. You were happy as can be, floating on cloud nine, and no one in the office suspected a single thing.

Min Yoongi wants to jump in front of a train, a school bus, maybe both. He couldn’t believe he was going into the office when it was nearly midnight, just because he was a big enough idiot to forget to bring his work home. Sunyi’s right. He’s a dumbass. Sure, Yoongi needed to finish it over the weekend and he could’ve picked it up tomorrow when it wasn’t at an ungodly hour. But then again, he also knew that there was no way in hell he was waking up at a reasonable time and he most positively did not want to step out of his house on a Saturday when it was not necessary. He’s a night owl and isn’t tired when making the trek to the office. On the bright side (if there was one), at least he could come in wearing his pajamas and no one would notice….only the night guard who waves while making his rounds. Yoongi fishes out the office keys and easily opens the door. Immediately, something catches his eye. It’s odd. Hoseok’s office lights are still on. The impassive lawyer wonders if Hoseok is having a late night like he is or maybe one of the cleaning staff accidentally left it on. He approaches, about to ask his old friend, but then he hears….moaning. There’s the sound of creaking inside, like a ghost taking refuge on an old rocking chair placed on a patio of some horror house. He walks away, beelining for his office. Yoongi sighs, picking up his shit to get the fuck out. But unfortunately for him and probably because Sunyi has cursed him so many times, as he walks out with an entire box of papers, the door to Hoseok’s office opens. You’re there. Just like he thought. “Yoongi?!” You’re shocked, frozen mid-step, not able to take a step closer towards the bathroom that you were heading into. You blink hard, wondering if you’re seeing a phantom. You aren’t. “Hey.” He greets you with a blank expression like it’s an ordinary day and he isn’t dressed from head to toe in blue airplane pajamas, freshly washed hair, and you weren’t still in your work attire. “I came to pick this up. Working on the client file over the weekend.” “Oh. I-uh...I was doing some overtime. I’m….a-about to go home too.” Yoongi nods, gripping the box. “See you.” But as the lawyer brushes past, he stops temporarily, cranes his neck and whispers in your ear— “Your skirt is on backwards.” You’re beyond embarrassed. Mortified. The planet could swallow you whole. Steam rises from your ears. It doesn’t help that you’ve preached about not engaging in any sexual misconduct within a five hundred radius of the building. But you don’t say anything and as Yoongi walks away nonchalantly, he peeks into the office where Hoseok is putting on his pants, faced away from the door and oblivious to his existence. You knew it was a bad idea. But when you tell Hoseok, he only laughs, mumbling something about how that sounds exactly like Yoongi. // You’re not so sure how long the butterflies will last. There will come a time when holding hands with Jung Hoseok and kissing him on the lips will no longer send swooping tingles to your stomach and make you giddy and giggly. But then you remember already living past the part already. Past the part where special moments became ordinary and mundane, and you’re not so worried as before. As long as neither you nor Hoseok give up, then things will work out. You believe in him. You believe in yourself. You believe in the two of you together. That’s how the thirty days pass and no one makes mention of it, no one decides to wave the white flag and declare to adjourn this relationship. “What is this?” He asks as you throw a thick pile of two hundred sheets on the coffee table, nursing a glass of wine in your other hand. You plop down on the plush couch, taking your place beside him. “It’s my first draft of the staff handbook. I finally finished.” “What?” He frowns, putting down his own glass to hold the pile. “Remember? You told me to work on one when I first came to the firm.” It takes a long second before his features light up with recognition. “Right. Wow, I didn’t know you would actually do it.” A grin pulls into his rosy cheeks and he flips to the second page, reading it. “Okay, let’s see what you did here. Oooh, Jung and Park. A Divorce Law Firm. I like it already.” You scoff, having an inkling that he’s so soft, he’ll even like it if you only wrote three words per page. Throughout the night of reading and going through the draft of your staff handbook, the wine glasses become empty and you become sleepy, curling onto his side, lulled from the warmth radiating off his body. “Hoseok…” “Hmm?” “Hani wants to go on a trip,” you murmur. “All of us. Taeyeon, Changsub, Daehwi.” He hums a soothing, low note that vibrates in your ears pleasantly. “That’ll be a lot of fun.” “I’m still mad at Changsub,” you whisper and he laughs quietly, squeezing you. “Well, I’m thankful for him,” he says. “Actually...if it weren’t for him, how long would you have waited to tell me about all of it.” “I don’t know.” Your eyes flutter shut, words spilling out slowly. “Didn’t...want to risk it. I wouldn’t mind being your friend...as long as I’m beside you…..” The corner of his lips tilt and he gazes endearingly at your profile before kissing the top of your head. Hoseok nuzzles into you, pulling the blanket up to your chin and you both fall asleep on the couch together.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fluff #hoseok scenario

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mensbodybuildingtips · 5 years

Text

10 Exercises That Suck and What to Do Instead

There are some workouts you should just never ever do.

If you intend to be really bad at the workplace out, all you have to do is comply with the lead of the average gymbro.

Wander with them from maker to equipment, drop set the whole shelf of dumbbells, book five stations for your supersets, and only utilize the squat shelf for curling (ladies don't care about legs anyway).

If you're lucky sufficient to be mentored by someone who really knows ways to do it wrong, you're mosting likely to do a great deal of terrible workouts too, including much of the ones I'm going to discuss in this post.

So, below are the 10 finest exercises for stopping working in the fitness center, and also exactly what to do rather if you intend to actually make some gainz.

1. Weighted Side Bend

Getting shredded.

If I had to guess why numerous people do this exercise, it's because they're attempting to identify reduce their love handles.

Well, the paradox is that side bends build up your oblique muscles, which just makes their trouble worse. The bigger your obliques are, the fatter you look.

That stated, developed obliques are absolutely an important aesthetic part of an excellent core when you're lean. And luckily, the simplest method to develop them is to just do hefty, compound lifts like squats and also deadlifts each week. Your entire core will certainly create, obliques included.

If you're already doing that as well as feel your oblique growth is still lacking, after that I recommend adding twists to your abdominal muscle routine, such as benting cable crises or air bikes.

2. Anything on the Smith Machine

Okay this is really rather awesome.

The Smith Equipment is a bromagnet. It lets them load up even more weight compared to they could actually take care of and also truly make the various other cowards jelly.

Well, the Smith Maker draws. Period.

It's bad for squatting.

It's bad for benching.

It's just poor for everything. It entirely eliminates the stabilizer muscle mass from lifts as well as pressures an abnormal variety of motion. The result is crappy gains in both size and also toughness, which comes to be VERY noticeable if you attempt to change to complimentary weights.

So do on your own a favor as well as stick to the exercising weights. Your muscular tissues will thank me later.

3. Hyperextension

Don't be this guy.

For whatever reason, this workout is often done by individuals that also do side bends. And also once more I wonder why they're doing it.

Want a stronger lower back? It's time to deadlift. End of story.

The only individuals that should be doing hyperextensions are those that are rehabilitating their reduced backs. Well, and also girls with awesome bodies and also skin-tight exercise outfits. They should do these a lot.

4. Yates Row

Do you even range of motion?

What the heck type of vanity workout is this? It resembles a half-rep cross in between a shrug and turn around weights curl.

It breaks the easiest weight-lifting concept there is:

The greater the series of activity in a workout, the extra work your muscles need to do. A lot more work= more growth.

That's why partial associates draw, and also why this exercise sucks.

Instead, make me happy and do your rows similar to this. The weight begins and also upright the ground, the back stays identical, and also the bar touches your stomach every rep.

5. Pec Deck

Gotta get that unwell pump prior to the club.

There's typically a line of bros waiting to use the Pec Deck device, discussing how it actually brings out the striations.

They're incorrect. This workout sucks.

It does not permit adequate weight to appropriately overload your pecs, and also it raises the threat of hyper-extending your shoulders as you reduced the weight backward.

The profits in building a huge, strong breast is a lot of hefty pushing, both with the barbell as well as dumbbells. As well as slope pressing in particular.

Every breast exercise should have at the very least 6-9 hefty pushing collections, and also if your physique and also objectives call for seclusion work, that's done last.

6. Anything Done on the BOSU Ball

Did he find out that in his Crossfit class?

The BOSU Ball is made use of by instructors anywhere to deceive their clients into assuming they know exactly what the hell they're doing.

It's normally claimed that utilizing the BOSU to add the element of instability to workouts improves the activation of core muscles.

Well, it does not. Executing workouts on unstable surface areas in fact just makes them much less effective.

So, leave the BOSU as well as Swiss spheres to the 'professionals,' and also keep your feet as well as back on secure surfaces.

7. Partial Squat

youtube

HELL YEAH BRO NEW PR!!11!1

That's the kind of individual that will hobble around at 50, whining concerning just how squatting spoiled his knees. No, half-squatting foolish quantities of weight did it.

There's absolutely nothing impressive about half bows. Like the half bench press, it's just the mark of an amateur or idiot.

The fact is bowing properly (deep) really enhances your knees, as well as is often utilized to rehabilitate injuries.

So, read my write-up on the best ways to squat effectively and also do it right. Your knees will certainly thanks, and also your legs will certainly grow much quicker.

8. The Behind-the-Neck Pulldown and also Press

It's everything about the muscle mass confusion.

Unless you have crazy shoulder versatility that enables complete series of movement, behind-the-neck exercises are at finest a wild-goose chase, and also at worst a shoulder injury waiting to happen.

They were promoted by powerlifters and strongmen, however that doesn't suggest we should all be doing them. You should have extraordinary shoulder adaptability to also want to do them right, and even after that they place the shoulders in really unnatural placements, and could put a lots of stress on the neck as well.

Play it secure and just stay with the standard pulldowns as well as presses. You won't be missing out on out on anything.

9. Ab Machines-All of Them

Ooo youz fancy.

The conventional crisis sucks enough as it is. Do we actually have to add devices to make it also worse?

My most significant complaint with abdominal equipments is that they lower the participation of the reduced back, which is meant to flex as well as strained along with the abdominals. This could boost the risk of injury.

Instead, here are the most effective workouts for building excellent abdominal muscles:

1. Heavy squats and deadlifts. Both of these exercises are exceptionally effective means to educate your entire core, and also will certainly do a whole lot for your abdominal muscle development.

2. Weighted Cable Crunch. I believe heavy abdominal muscle training is crucial because many of us, even when we're lean, do not have actually specified, splashing abs that actually pop. Heavy training is one of the most effective method to fix this, and also the weighted wire crisis is, pass on, my favored weighted abdominal muscle exercise.

3. Captain's Chair Leg Elevate. This is just one of my preferred core workouts. It functions the abs and obliques, and you can also add weight by nabbing a pinhead in between your feet.

4. Air Bicycles. This is another excellent workout for training both the abdominals and obliques. Just what I want to do is include it last in an abdominal muscle circuit, as well as go to burnout.

10. Triceps Kickback

Worst exercise ever.

This is possibly the worst triceps exercise you could do. It's simply also easy.

The triceps muscles truly only feel like they're doing anything at the actual end of the lift, as well as you can't make use of any amount of weight and still preserve correct type. Even if you're a female, this exercise isn't for you.

Instead, I suggest you concentrate on the complying with exercises for your triceps.

1. Close-grip bench press

2. Overhead triceps press

3. Skullcrushers

4. Triceps pushdowns

#exercise #fitness #fitness center #the fitness center #weight #workout

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arcticdementor · 5 years

Quote

To be sure, this is a man speaking. But the fundamental quality of this kind of approach to art, culture, the public square, and the rest of it, is evidence of a disordered and out of control femininity. And an equally dysfunctional and abdicating masculinity. A comment left by Youngamconreader on another thread got me thinking about this. I think there is a direct connection between the sexual orientation and gender identity and "alternative family" topics that this blog often discusses, and what's going on in a story like this one, here. I think we are collectively experiencing a massive breakdown/derangement of sex, of masculinity and femininity, and the damage is felt in every single corner of our society and our politics. The "pink police state" (Poulos--check him out) that is coming into being is the product of a miserable and frustrated femininity, which holds the field almost without opposition due to the near-complete abdication of men, who are, sometimes I think almost "to a man," in today's society, nihilistic and disengaged. For those who would say Trump proves that this is not true, I would say look at how he stands alone--at least in America and indeed in the Anglosphere. Everybody agrees that he is sui generis; all of the establishment of his own party just wants things to go back to the way they were; there is nobody who even remotely resembles something like a successor. Also, it is telling that one of the major reasons he won is because he is an online troll, but rich and famous enough to do it under his own name; he is the stand-in for huge numbers of men who have nothing but contempt for today's world but who only reveal their views and feelings anonymously. In large measure, men are opting out. Our bourgeois and hugely wealthy and powerful nation is decadent and its people are soft and domesticated; and, what is worse, the men of sensitivity and intelligence, of taste and discernment, are disgusted by what they see -- a rotten culture of placelessness, hideous architecture and built environments, unbelievably bad art and culture, degenerate music, films made for lowest-common-denominator global audiences, films that are so much more hideous than what was being done for decades, even as early as the 1930s, that it boggles the mind (every single person involved in CGI production should be lined up and shot), universities that have destroyed their own liberal arts programs -- OK, I need to stop myself, but you get the point, they are disgusted by what they see -- primarily they are disgusted by the *domestication* of the people they are supposed to look up to and/or emulate -- and they withdraw. We know about the video game and pornography addicts, the shut-ins, the "incels," but there is very much more to it all even than that. In the meantime, there is relentless, endless, earnest propaganda directed at women like a fire hose, constantly telling them that the essence of their own womanhood is bound up with their bourgeois career success. Nonstop messages received during their schooling, on TV and the movies and the internet, from bougie parents, tell them that they should reach for the stars (by *working*, always by working) and never to settle for just being a mother or just a wife. This has been going on for a long time, and many Boomers are certainly true believers in it -- my Boomer mother certainly believes it like a religion, God bless her -- and it is certainly true that if you have no training or career you are going to be more financially dependent and/or more financially precarious, and the Boomers, who divorce at the drop of a hat, greatly fear that. But my generation and the generations after (I was born in the early/mid 80s) have been taught constantly and relentlessly that work/career is identity, is the *point* of life, and quite frankly women got it MUCH more than men did, since the idea was to correct or change the unfairnesses/biases/power imbalances of the past. And it has resulted in a huge number of women who are unhappy and unfulfilled. It turns out that a life of making PowerPoints or pushing papers or running workplace conflict-resolution trainings or whatever do not really fulfill people; those women who substitute career for family entirely, or who find themselves torn between the two and not very sure they are finding a balance that they will ultimately be very happy about when they look back on their life, know that something is not right. I think we all used to have a much saner approach back in the day, before "career" was a word much used, and before resume/CV culture was so widespread; people may have been a lot poorer, but at least they understood that a job was about doing something that somebody or other had to do, and putting food on the table and a roof over the head of their kids; at least people weren't being sold a bill of goods by their parents, their teachers, authority figures, and the culture as a whole about what the point of being human and living life really is. I don't blame women for being unhappy -- I think the way our culture *relentlessly* propagandizes women that their very femininity and their very identity is bound up in bourgeois career success is one of the very cruelest aspects of life in "late capitalism." It is worse for them than for us men. It is not just that there is nothing wrong with having and raising children -- an incredibly difficult and honorable job. It is that the vast majority of people are not going to find true purpose and meaning in a consumer capitalist society (or probably any other society) just via their work alone. Selling phones or cutting hair or writing ad copy or processing loan applications or playing the Pachabel Canon for the three billionth time at weddings might not be so bad, you might even like it OK most of the time, but it is not the same thing as, say, raising your child, at least not for most people, and certainly bourgeois career success should not be so incredibly inappropriately stressed in our society to the point where increasing numbers of women -- women who want kids! -- are waiting until they are 37 to start families and freezing their eggs and the rest of it. It is just cruel and it alone by itself is enough to make me strongly dislike this consumer capitalist system we live in. Women are unhappy and are sort of flailing about projecting their unmet needs and frustrated desires in numerous directions. They are frustrated with the aforementioned nihilistic and disengaged men, they are pissed that they work outside the home and inside it too and they still struggle to make ends meet and especially to find the time they need, they lose out because a consumer capitalist society constantly f***s them over by creating an arms-race situation for intrasexual competition. In a more conservative and traditional society, say a society that frowns on makeup, women do not have to compete in that sphere. But in a society like ours, if certain women have the money and time to do a lot with makeup, then suddenly large numbers of women have to spend the time and money on it too just to compete or keep up. This does not make women better off. A consumer capitalist society squeezes them constantly. A society in which the health-care system is a disaster -- and I don't care if you hold the typical liberal views about why it's a disaster or the typical conservative views about why it's a disaster -- hurts women more because they rely on it more for basic biological reasons. Woman carry a human being inside them for a significant period of time (if they have kids) -- nothing men have to deal with ever compares to that health/biological-wise. All that said, women today -- who are not being well served by our current economic/cultural/social orthodoxy, at all -- are playing a major/primary role in this disordered and I think semiapocalyptic woke politics. Chesterton was not afraid to write, and did write, about why he opposed women's suffrage, and he said that in human history, women *have* been queens (including some very good ones), have been monarchs, have certainly wielded power -- but it is precisely in the context of *democracy* that they have not had the vote, not in human history or at least Western history. And, indeed, as he put it, women have/had not been given the vote precisely because they are in some sense too powerful, they are absolute rulers in their bones in a way that men are not. There is something to this, even if in our age we cannot tolerate or hear it. One of the things that amuses me is the way -- and they used to do it more often than they do now, but perhaps you know what I mean -- conservatives often lament or attack depictions, in TV or movies, of the married couple where the man is a stupid shlub while the woman is the smart, knowing, sensitive, and competent one. I agree with the conservatives who see this as anti-male---sure. But to me, it really means something else. The reason we see men depicted this way and women depicted that way is because men tolerate it and women would not tolerate the reverse. What it means is that men give in, don't want to deal with it, don't want to fight, while women will NOT let it go, will do what it takes to make the man understand that it is NOT worth his time and energy to go there, to do X annoying or undesired thing, etc. So, we have men depicted as losers, and women depicted as anything but. There is a lesson here. This is *exactly* the same dynamic that we see with conservatives and liberals, with the Republican and Democratic parties! If, for example, Roe v. Wade was overturned, there would be an efficient, effective, organized, identify-every-single-pressure-point-and-*squeeze* response from upper middle class women that would bring the entire Republican Party to its knees within days. It would be a massacre the likes of which you have never seen. Every single HR and public relations department of every single company on the Fortune 500 list would tell the wholly owned and wholly craven Republican Party exactly what to do--stand now right now-- and that would be that. I don't mean to say that conservatives are all men and liberals are all women, but the conservative "spirit" of the current moment is very male (the natural law arguments! Good Lord!) and the liberal "spirit" of the moment is very female. And it is no contest, at all. Women understand that men are less socially adept (quick: what is the ratio of male autists to female autists?) and that men, while unquestionably stronger physically, are more conflict-averse and more predictable (as everybody knows, men want certain things and it's pretty easy to know exactly what they are and to use that information to one's advantage; whereas, as Freud so perfectly distilled, the question of what women want is itself so difficult to answer as to be a kind of female superpower) -- and women use this for everything it's worth. And today, in our democracy, we see the consequences, as a kind of feminine disordered or frustrated impulse holds the field basically unopposed. This idea that this mural -- to get back to the topic of the original post! -- needs to be torn down because "it makes the children feel unsafe" -- here we see a feminine sensibility both disordered and displaced but winning the field because there's hardly anything else with the will to stand up to it. The masculine counterpoint to this smothering mother has withdrawn -- perhaps to 4chan, perhaps to Pr0ntube. Conservatives used to love pointing out that in the inner city, the family had completely broken down to the point where the matriarch/mother was the only influence in childrens' lives and husbands and fathers had ceased to exist. Well, we see that now in our society/culture as a whole. Somehow, the mother alone, the feminine quality alone, does not yield great results, when not counterbalanced with the masculine.* Things become disordered and even monstrous. I am a gay man, and I can't help but think that, when I do this, when I write about this stuff, Camille Paglia (PBUH) should be my model and my inspiration, because she saw so clearly, and so strikingly, from the outside, so to speak, the great and immortal interplay and relationship between male and female that produces *all* of us, and that is essential to -- not only beauty and art, but order, form, and *lastingness*, things that do not die. We all and every one of us need a society in which the male and the female are counterbalanced and juxtaposed and brought together in a great tension and a great union. The disordered and indeed cataclysmic collapse of the male and female counterbalance is impacting us everywhere, and in ways we do not even realize -- I firmly believe that. There must be a return and rediscovery of the masculine force and the masculine will -- to connect this to the posts about open borders, to a masculine will that says "no, I am drawing a line" -- how many of you have read Sexual Personae, and the CENTRAL role that the idea of "drawing the line" plays in that book? Men "draw the line," which is why men have dominated almost beyond measure the realm of visual art in human history. There must be a return to this, or the nation will dissolve into the primordial swamp that Paglia says represents--not the feminine, but the feminine when outside of civilization, the feminine in a state of nature and crude and unformed.

Matt in VA

#quote #long quote #very long quote #matt in va #the american conservative #comments section

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katsitting · 6 years

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Uhhhm hi can you pls write a tomarry drabble/one shot thingy where they try to keep each other warm while theres a storm outside or smth bc i just saw the textpost. Pls and thank you

It took me some time, but here you have it. You may find the fic posted here on AO3. I hope you enjoy my take on this trope. This is an 11k word fic ^^;.

Rating: M

Tags: Swearing, Violence, Uresolved Sexual Tension, Alternate Universe- Office, Workplace Harassment, Humor, Suggestiveness, and Tags Subject to Change.

“He’s staring again,” Ron whispered into Harry’s ear before stuffing a donut into his mouth, crumbs of sugar smearing on the corners of his upper lip. Harry grimaced, shifting his attention to the pretty red-headed server at the other end of the diner. “This marks the fifth time this week.”

A groan rumbled from Harry’s chest, appetite leaving him entirely now that Ron had pointed out that Riddle was, once again, sitting at the diner and staring at him.

Harry had been content with just ignoring it. He was more than aware of the fact that Riddle was there. It was difficult not to notice when he worked with the bloke, and Riddle had made it almost routine to head to the same diner Harry frequented after work. How the man knew Harry’s schedule was beyond him. After all, they had never spoken to one another outside of the office.

Ever.

Of course, they’d interacted one or twice at work, the niceties and all that rot were necessary as supervisors at the company. That, however, did not necessarily mean that they saw one another often—or had the opportunity to—in the first place. They ran in completely different circles.

Harry was head of an entirely different department at work while the creep ran another at the opposite end of the building. The creative department and accounting department hardly ever interacted.

Ron cast a glance behind Harry’s back, and Harry wanted to groan into his hands.

“Would you stop giving him attention? He’s going to notice that I’ve noticed. The last thing I need on my day off is for him to think that you looking at him is an invitation to sit down with us.”

This was supposed to be his time to sit back and relax after an awful week of dealing with executives and their stupid complaints. How those stuffy executives could complain about every single detail, particularly when Harry didn’t even deal with the sales of the products, was beyond him.

He just handled the graphic designers and the digital artists, not the math and figures. That was what accounting did. The creative department looked at viewers and their interests. They measured their receptiveness to a particular advertisement over another. They weren’t paid do the rest, and even if they offered to pay for such services, Harry refused to.

It would only give him another reason to leave the office.

Harry’s work wasn’t…exciting. It was a decent job while waiting for the processing at the police academy to go forward, but it would never be enjoyable. The company policies were absolute shite.

At least with the police department he would be doing something he liked while still dealing with the nonsense of the bureaucratic world.

He just needed to hold out for a little longer. He had met all the requirements, had done all of the physicals. All he needed to do was wait and then he could quit his job and dedicate himself to the force.

It killed him to wait, but it would be incredibly stupid to quit months before he’d even get approved. He needed to save as much money as he could before he was inevitably penniless for the next few years as a low-tier cop.

“I mean, you should just talk to him. It’s not like the bloke is going to bite your head off or something.” Ron said with his mouth full of donut, eyes still trained on Riddle even after Harry had asked him to stop giving the bastard attention.

“Ron, you don’t know Riddle. There’s just something off about him, you know? Don’t you ever get that feeling about someone—” Harry began, casting an exasperated glance at Ron when he didn’t immediately answer. “—like there’s more to a guy than what he lets on? He’s so…polite and charming at work. He’s practically got everyone wrapped around his finge—”

“Do I, Mr. Potter?”

Harry froze at the sound of a familiar, masculine drawl. Horror and recognition speared him, only just noticing that the reason Ron had stopped talking was not because he had shoved a whole donut into his mouth, but because Riddle had risen from his seat and had made his way over to where they were seated at the counter.

“I was not aware you had that kind of impression of me.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

Harry swiveled around, almost toppling from his chair when the tip of his nose nearly collided with Tom’s chest.

Why was he so bloody close?

Harry pressed his side into the counter, uncomfortable with Riddle’s invasion of his personal space before leveling the man with an irritated glower. The fact that he looked ridiculous this way hardly registered to Harry.

“And you probably never would have had you minded your own bloody business.”

Shock spread over Riddle’s stupid handsome face, and sweet sweet vindication surged through Harry’s insides, a smirk stretching over his lips when Riddle did not immediately respond.

Good, it served him right.

“It’s a pity, then. Our company retreat at the end of this week will certainly be ripe with awkward tension.”

Harry’s smirk fell, shoulders tensing at Riddle’s mention of their forced retreat. He’d forgotten about it entirely. It was something the CEO of the company had been harping on for the past few months. Something about improving relationships between supervisors and executives, and all that rot.

It was absolute bullshite.

“Did it slip your mind? Oh, I understand if it did.”

Riddle’s expression twisted into one of pity, the glimmer in the man’s eyes far too bright for Harry to believe it was sincere.

Wanker.

“The holidays are right around the corner. I’m sure the executives are keeping you quite busy with the marketing.”

Harry slammed an open palm onto the counter, startling both Ron, who had yet to say a word since Riddle had graced them with his parasitic presence, and a couple sitting not too far behind Ron.

If looks could kill, Harry’s glare alone would have killed Tom fucking Riddle at least ten times. His pitying glance combined with the obvious heat to the man’s words had all but pushed Harry past his boiling point. There was only so much bullshite he could deal with in a single week, and Riddle’s was not the kind of bullshite he was being paid to handle.

“One more word, and I promise that after I’m through with you, no one in the office will ever call you handsome for the rest of your miserable life.”

Riddle blinked at him, the pitying expression slipping off his face like an oil slick. Then—

The man smiled.

All the blood in Harry’s veins froze at the sight, unable to comprehend what was happening before Riddle leaned down, pressing into his personal space until their noses were nearly touching.

“Kinky.”

It was one word. A simple, unobtrusive word.

But in that moment, it sounded anything but. Frankly, it was a word Harry knew from that moment forward would forever remain ingrained in his psyche until the end of his days. Harry didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to bloody do. He was flabbergasted, confused to his very core because Riddle’s voice had…changed. Sounded huskier and breathier, somehow.

Riddle’s smile widened, his eyes flashing with something Harry refused acknowledge, before Riddle pulled back and turned to leave.

Thank god.

“H-harry?” Ron whispered into Harry’s ear, but Harry wasn’t listening. His mouth was wide open with shock, an embarrassed heat coiling over his face that was definitely not a blush. It burned him from the inside out, his humiliation at being thrown by that word almost worse than the unmistakable heat in the man’s voice.

Don’t let it get to your head, Harry. It was him just fucking with you, is all.

“What happened just now?” Ron asked again, once Riddle pushed past the double doors of the exit.

Turning to Ron with the straightest face he could muster, Harry paused, unsure of how to even begin. He honestly didn’t know anymore than the Ron did, and he had been the one subject to Riddle’s unwanted attention.

“I—” Harry swallowed, unable to finish his response.

In the four years he’d been working at the company, this was the first time he shared more than five words with Riddle within a 24 hour period. And somehow, in the span of 15 minutes, Riddle had not only managed to get a rise out of him—something no one, except for his ex-boyfriend Draco had ever been able to accomplish—and embarrass him.

Pressing his hands into his eyes, careful to avoid crushing his glasses, Harry groaned aloud, casting Ron a tired look after he finished.

How he was going to survive the company retreat after this bloody spectacle was the million dollar question. If he’d nearly lost his patience after speaking to Riddle for 15 minutes, there was simply no telling what a weekend at some winter resort would do to his sanity.

“I don’t know, Ron. Your guess is as good as mine.”

To say that Harry was tired of this trip was the understatement of the century. Already, he was dreading the fact that he had to be stuffed in some cheap bus with Tom Riddle, the newest bane of his existence, for a whole fucking weekend. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this kind of treatment. Maybe, somehow, he’d pissed off the wrong deities while working as a supervisor and this entire trip was just a means for those aggrieved gods to acquire their retribution. Harry honestly wasn’t sure.

Either way, Harry was done with this day and it had only just started. An unsurprising fact considering Tom Riddle had decided to sit beside him on the bus. Harry was certain his angry expression had been obvious. He hadn’t been hiding his displeasure from the moment Tom Riddle entered the bus—fashionably late of course, but no one was going to ride his ass about that, now were they—and sauntered over in his direction.

Harry had made a calculated decision to sit in the back, knowing, of course, that Riddle being the straight-laced goody two shoes that he pretended to be, had always been one to sit in the front nearest to the conductor to ensure that nothing would go amiss. The supervisor for the accounting department of the firm was not required to do all that, but no one would dare say something to the contrary.

Tom Riddle had just about everyone wrapped around his bloody finger, and there was no telling just who might end up fired should they cross Riddle.

That was what had happened to the last intern that had come into the fray a few weeks back. They entered the accounting firm and simply never came back, disappearing into the ether to never be found again. Of course, no one thought it odd that the poor intern just hightailed it out of there, except for Harry, but nevertheless, that was how the company went.

Yet, somehow, in spite of Harry’s careful consideration of all these facts, Riddle still felt the need to follow him all the way to the back of the bus. The thought of flinging himself into oncoming traffic had crossed his mind once or twice since then.

“Hello, Harry.” Riddle purred next to his ear, his side pressing uncomfortably into Harry’s side. It was unsurprising that he of all people refused to abide by societal norms, such as personal space.

Personal space wasn’t a foreign fucking concept.

“It’s been too long. How are you?”

Harry grit his teeth, staring hard at the traffic moving away from the city. They were leaving his home, his place of sanity, and heading into an unknown small town in the middle of fucking nowhere at some “winter palace.” At least, that was how the brochure for the place had painted it, but Harry did not believe a word of it. It was a load of bullshite in his honest opinion. It was simply another way for his bosses up top to convince their over-caffeinated and exhausted employees to play nice and stick it out until they could find replacements that did their work with far more efficiency and less ambition.

“Are you looking forward to the trip? This might be your only time off after the holiday craze begins.”

Whipping around, Harry leveled Riddle with the most intense glare he could muster. He wanted Riddle to stop talking. Didn’t he understand that Harry wanted nothing to do with him? That after their fucking fiasco at the diner, Harry wanted to avoid him?

It was basically sexual harassment what had happened at the diner. He should have reported it to human resources instead of sucking it up and ignoring it, wanting to pretend that it never happened. But whatever, it was too late now. They were trapped on this bus with perhaps six other supervisors from the company that Harry hardly interacted with on a good day.

“I don’t know what gives you the impression that I want to talk to you, but I don’t. What you did at the diner was sexual harassment. Hell, you’ve been stalking me for bloody months now!”

Harry was breathing heavily by the end of his tirade, but Riddle was utterly unfazed. His eyes were taking him in from the wild curls atop his head, to the angry flush of his cheeks, and down to the collar of his thick coat.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a terrible temper, Harry? It’s quite unbecoming.”

What?

Harry blinked, disbelief draining all the anger he clutched into his chest.

Riddle was completely bent. An utter nutcase.

Harry had never felt more certain of this fact that in that moment, eyeing the thick green scarf wrapped around Tom’s throat, covering a portion of his mouth.

“Can’t you just leave me alone? Pretend I don’t exist? You’ve done a marvelous job of ignoring me at work functions, why stop now?” Harry asked, defeated. It wasn’t much to ask. He was going to leave his job anyway. It would be peaceful, a mercy in and of itself, for Riddle to let him go on with his business without incident.

But Riddle wasn’t a kind man. Clearly, Harry’s hunch about Riddle’s true personality had not been wrong, for in that moment, Riddle’s lips curved into a wicked smile. His eyes flashed with something downright cruel, and Harry’s stomach plummeted all the way to his ankles.

“Oh Harry, now what would be the fun in that?”

Sighing loudly, Harry turned his attention back to the window to watch the flurries of snow pass. There was no use answering that question. He’d be wasting his breath trying to convince Riddle to stop.

So, rather than argue with Riddle til his face turned blue, Harry instead watched the world pass through the window—the buildings growing smaller and smaller until there was nothing but countryside. An agricultural paradise that went on endlessly with only the occasional interruption of a car passing through, until those interruptions too, ceased.

If Riddle crowded closer to him on the bus, Harry didn’t say a word to acknowledge it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The words came unbidden, his genuine shock and frustration at what he was seeing impossible to hide.

The “winter palace” that the CEO had spent months harping about to his employees was no palace. It would be too generous of a statement to call it anything but a run down warehouse. When he saw it from his window, only several feet away from the driveway they turned into, Harry had hoped that this building would not be their stop.

But he had been wrong, resigned to his fate when the Greyhound bus stopped right at the iron entrance of the place.

“Clearly not.” Tom whispered into his ear, reminding Harry that Tom was sitting beside him and had, in fact, heard Harry’s curse. “It seems that our stay at the “Winter Palace” will not be a pleasant one.”

Harry pressed his face into his hands, wondering if it was too late to turn back. This was a literal shit-hole. The building looked like it hadn’t been renovated in at least twenty years. The iron gate they had driven through was rusted, the tell-tale red and brown patterning around the iron like the scales of a snake.

“Alright everyone.”

Harry was forced away from his thoughts, attention turning to one of the executives sitting at the front of the bus, who he vaguely knew as Mike. The man rose from his seat, his inky black hair and sallow skin gleaming unnaturally beneath the dim light trickling through the bus windows.

Here comes the bad news.

“We’ve divided you all into pairs. The rooms can only fit two at a time. We understand that you were all under the impression of sleeping in your own rooms, but autumn season was not a kind one to the company.”

Harry huffed, miffed that they would use such an excuse on them. They weren’t ignorant, lower-tier employees that didn’t know just how these things went. To say that the executives had planned to provide them with their own accomodations was a lie and a terrible one at that. They never intended to in the first place. Why would their boss bother to give them a wonderful room when he could be spending the company money as he saw fit? On other things that were of little to no importance to anyone but himself?

“Please try not to switch rooms. Management has made it clear that all parties staying in their hotel must remain in their rooms. It was this agreement that allowed us to receive the lower rates that we did.”

A snort nearly escaped him. Of course, Harry thought. It was all about the cheaper rates with these arseholes.

“If you have any issues or concerns with your accommodations, please notify the front desk. This trip is non-refundable, so unless you have good reason for needing to leave early, we will deduct the difference from your salary.”

Great.

There was no escaping this place. There was no way in hell he would pay for this disaster of a hotel. He’d sooner ask Riddle over for tea and biscuits before letting them take a cut of his salary.

“You look quite upset, Harry.”

Grinding the crown of his teeth, Harry turned his attention back to Riddle. He’d nearly forgotten the man was there, caught up with his own thoughts and frustrations concerning this stupid company. It shouldn’t have surprised him that they’d pull this kind of stunt after all the bullshite they’d flung in their general direction for years, but still. This was no reward for their hard work at the company, and certainly no gift, if the stakes of leaving before their stay was anything to go by.

It was punishment.

“As I should be. This place looks like a bloody death trap.” Harry hissed, his expression going sour when Riddle smiled, all teeth. It made every single hair on the back of Harry’s neck stand on end, the unsettling whisper of danger lurking in that face enough to make him press closer to the window and away from Tom. “Look at it. There’s cobwebs on the bloody windows and the front porch has uneven floorboards and chipped paint.”

Tom turned away from Harry to regard the hotel with a thoughtful expression, leaning further into Harry’s space. Harry tried not to let his impatience show when Tom took his sweet time to look at it, as if this were some kind of expensive art piece at a famous art gallery rather than some shite motel.

It was only after Harry began to shake his leg that Tom stopped and turned his attention back to him.

Then, just as Tom was about to speak, Harry’s attention was forced away from the dread of staying in this crappy place and his irritation with his bizarre co-worker.

“Alright then. We took the liberty of pairing you all off—” the man paused at the loud groans and complaints that erupted at that. Harry only pinched the bridge of his nose. “—it was not my idea. This was something the head personally cooked up. Don’t give me that look, John.”

Harry glanced at Mike, then followed his gaze to the supervisor he’d mentioned by name. He was tempted to flash him a smile and give him a thumbs up for expressing what everyone certainly felt at that moment. To be paired off with people from the company they did not even know was a pain in the arse. What if Harry hated them? What if they snored?

With his sleeping habits, he doubted he could sleep a solid night if his roommate was loud.

“Anyway,” Mike continued, ignoring the collective murmurs of displeasure from everyone on the bus. “I will call out the names of those that will be rooming together. So please, once you’ve been called, it’d be great if you would head to your rooms. Check-in is in about fifteen minutes and they have a strict check-in policy.

Of course they did, Harry thought, his mouth pursing into a thin line. They picked a fucking shitehole that hasn’t seen a customer in possibly years.

They’d tack on as many conditions to their stay as they could, if it could justify them keeping their security deposit and charging added fees.

“Robert Smith, you’re with Frederick Wilton.”

Harry didn’t recognize the names, and promptly after watching a portly, dark haired man storm out of the bus with a scowl on his face, Harry wondered if the partnership was a terrible one.

“It would be amusing if we ended up sharing the same suite.”

Harry jumped, smacking his leg against the bottom of the seat in front of him. Riddle had whispered into his ear, lips brushing against the shell. It had been too close, and Harry rounded on him in seconds, uncaring that he was nearly at his wits end and going to leave with a massive bruise on his shin.

“No,” Harry said vehemently, nostrils flaring. “It would be an absolute nightmare to be put in the same room as you. You have no fucking respect for personal space.”

Tom smiled at him, eyes twinkling with a mirth that had no business being on his stupid face. They were not friends, and would never be. The man was a creep, and it would be a crime against all of humanity—but most of all, a personal attack against Harry—to be put in the same room.

Lord knows, Tom might fucking watch him as he slept.

A shudder crawled up Harry’s spine at the thought.

“Harry, I hope you are aware that our transportation is rather small. I cannot help that I am a large man that takes up quite a bit of space.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Sure, the Greyhound bus wasn’t large by any means, but that did not excuse Riddle leaning into him and whispering inane things into his ear throughout the entire ride. It had been suffocating to have him breathing his same air, his hot breath and voice brushing along the shell of his ear whenever the bus so much as rocked—

“Yeah, but do you have to whisper into my bloody ear? It’s unnecessary. You could tell me all about the crap that crosses your mind without your mouth getting anywhere near me—”

“Is there something wrong with my mouth being near yours, Harry? My, that’s quite an inappropriate thought to have of a fellow employee.”

Sputtering, Harry tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t end with him punching Riddle in the face. When he couldn’t, Harry opted to level Riddle with a glare and say—

“Yes, there is something very wrong with it. It is precisely because you are my co-worker that I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

Tom leaned back into his seat, hand cupping his chin, his stupid smile still stretched along his lips. “And yet here you are. You simply could have moved to another seat if you were so offended by my presence.”

Harry blinked, frowning when he realized that Tom was right. He could have moved. Nothing was stopping him from leaving—there had still been space when he’d sat in the back in the hope that Tom would not follow.

Still, that didn’t answer the question of whether Tom would have let him leave in the first place. The man could have followed him to another seat and annoyed him there. Or worse, if Harry had sat beside someone else, have pulled his weight as one of the favorites at the office and gotten the poor bastard to move and let him slide in beside Harry.

Had Harry really had a choice? No, Harry thought with conviction, absolutely not.

“Oh, that’s rich. As if you wouldn’t follow me wherever I decided to sit. You were always following me to that diner, so how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t follow me to another bloody seat?” Harry demanded, watching how Tom’s shoulders tensed before smoothing out.

Victory surged inside him, a vicious smile stretching over his lips. Good, Tom should be annoyed.

However, rather than reacting as Harry had expected, Tom began to laugh. Harry was flabbergasted.

It was a deep and throaty sound, one that Harry had never heard before. An angry blush spread through his cheeks, irritation blooming inside him like the burn of an ulcer when Riddle didn’t stop for a solid minute.

Bastard.

The chatter of the other people on the bus was lost to the cacophony. Even Mike’s annoying voice calling out names had dissipated into nothing, the sound of his blood rushing to his ears and Riddle’s laughter too difficult to ignore.

Then, it abruptly stopped. Riddle’s expression sobered, and Harry’s breath hitched when Riddle pressed forward until their noses were touching, faces so close that Harry could count each individual lash framing his eyelids.

He tried to rear back, but there was nowhere to go. He had chosen the window seat, and was already pressed as far back as he could to the glass and the uncomfortable polyester chair he was sitting on.

“You’re right—” Riddle said, voice dropping to a low murmur that Harry strained to hear even with how close they sat. “—where else am I going to get my entertainment if not at your side?”

Harry froze at the flash of something predatory in Riddle’s eyes, like the kind of look Harry had seen Ron give his mother’s home-cooked meals after he’d spent months surviving off his own cooking. Throat suddenly dry, Harry tried not to shrink into himself when Riddle’s mouth parted and a hot breath fanned against his lips.

He didn’t want to think about what that meant, about the implications in the man’s words and the way he looked at him—

“Harry Potter.”

At the sound of his own name, the strange tension between them dissipated. Riddle pulled away from him in an instant, granting Harry the space to breathe and turn his attention back to Mike. The man looked just as exhausted as Harry felt.

The bus was nearly empty save for the two executives still seated at the front and a pair of supervisors seated just behind them. A bad feeling bloomed in his chest, realizing that if there were only seven people on that bus, and Riddle was still sitting beside him, then—

“You’re with Riddle.”

Shock spread through his insides, the sound of Riddle’s low laugh beside him drowned out by the horror that followed.

No.

“Don’t even try it, Potter. Unless you’re willing to pay 800 pounds for your room and the special amenities the company has provided, you best keep your mouth shut and take your things into the room.”

At Mike’s steely tone, Harry clamped his mouth closed and clenched his jaw. When he had opened it to complain, he didn’t know, but at that moment, Harry wished more than ever that he could give everyone a piece of his mind. This was a disaster. They had no idea what it was that they had done, pairing him off with Riddle as if Harry would be able to sleep comfortably with that creep breathing down his neck.

Harry didn’t bother to spare Riddle a glance, shooting up to his feet and pushing past the man’s legs to head to the front of the bus.

Anger fed his movements, his scowl turning lethal when Mike gave him a pitying glance as he passed. He didn’t bother to look back and see for himself if Riddle was following after him. He probably was right at his heels, his longer legs making it easy to dwarf any space Harry managed to put between them.

Bloody perfect.

When he finally emerged from the bus, its doors wide and letting in winter’s frigid breath, Harry turned to see that his things had already been taken down from the storage compartment.

It wasn’t much. Just a small carry-on bag and a hiking bag carrying the essentials necessary to survive the duration of his “vacation.” He had at least three different winter coats packed into the backpack, mindful that it was going to be in the negatives for the entire weekend, and it would be stupid of him to let himself go unprepared.

Grumbling, Harry scooped the bag and slung one strap over his shoulder. He pulled out the handle of his roller bag, and began walking toward the set of buildings further out from the driveway.

Upon closer inspection, Harry found that the building looked even more run-down than it did from a distance. There were cobwebs on the upper suites and cracks in the pillars, which held up its once opulent entrance.

Great.

It was a lonely walk. His footsteps and his own breaths the only sounds cutting into the silence that descended over the place. His colleagues were nowhere to be found. They had long since made their way to the hotel, perhaps an attempt to escape the hideousness of the building and the biting cold cutting through their coats. It was a good thing Harry had packed well, he would have joined them in their desperation to get inside, otherwise.

Then, just as Harry was reaching the unsteady cover of the porch, footsteps sounded behind him. Harry did not turn, knowing already who it had to be. There were five others left on the bus, so Mike would still be inside with the remaining passengers.

“In a hurry?” Tom said, the sound of his footsteps growing louder and louder, alerting Harry of the unpleasant reality that he was getting closer. “Our destination is one in the same. Why not enjoy the weather? There is still time before we have to check-in.”

Gritting his teeth, Harry did not turn back even when Tom finally caught up to him and mirrored Harry’s brusque pace to the main building. There were several edifices stretched on either side of this main one, all in varying degrees of ugly. He hoped the inside was nicer than the outside.

“No.” Harry finally said when Riddle followed him, his movements easily mirroring Harry’s own. It added to Harry’s annoyance. “I just want to head to my room and forget that I am stuck here for an entire weekend with you.”

Riddle did not speak after that. It was the closest to a reprieve Harry had gotten all evening. The man wasn’t known for his chattiness, but on the bus, the bloke just didn’t know when to quit. Talking and talking about his observations of each of the supervisors and his opinions on the debacle that was this entire trip.

He could not immediately recall Tom ever talking this much in the past. This was more words than Harry had exchanged with Tom in his entire time at the company, including the fated afternoon where Riddle approached him at the diner.

Perhaps, if Harry hadn’t been so creeped out and annoyed with Riddle, he might not have minded the chatter. Ron was not a quiet guy, and neither was Hermione when someone fired her up, but Riddle was a creep. An attractive-looking man, but a creep all the same that placed too much weight on his attractiveness to get him special treatment at the company.

“There are worse things than being in a room with me, Harry.”

At the sound of his name, Harry turned to Riddle, slowing down so that he didn’t end up eating dirt and snow. He hoped his skepticism at the comment was obvious. There was nothing he could think of that could possibly be worse.

“Yeah? What?” Harry asked, humoring him when Riddle looked entirely too serious with his scarf wrapped around his neck and two massive luggage bags gripped beneath his fingers.

“Being trapped with a monster hiding in plain sight.”

Unease bloomed low in his stomach when Riddle smiled a beatific smile. A shudder rippled through him that had nothing to do with the cold air cutting through his cheeks.

He didn’t say anything in response, turning back to look at the wooden doors of the hotel. There wasn’t anything he could say to that. It had sounded like a warning, an ominous promise that made all the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end.

Harry hoped Riddle had only been kidding and that there wasn’t some special meaning to what he’d said.

Harry had been right when he said that the hotel was a literal death trap.

At first, when they’d stopped by the receptionist desk to pick up their keys, the place had looked decent enough. It was marginally better than the exterior of the building, at least. Tasteful potted plants and landscape paintings lined the cream-colored walls, adding an air of sophistication that the outside lacked.

However, after checking in and learning that their suite was a great distance from the main entrance, Harry had grown immediately suspicious. After all, it was one thing to be within the same area as everyone else, but entirely another to be cut off from the rest of his co-workers.

They’d been assigned to Suite S, which turned out to be a separate building entirely. It was its own private space and there was only one room. A place, he found, that was better suited for couples wishing to escape noisy tourists rather than for jaded company employees.

Then, of course, just when Harry had thought the entire thing could not possibly get worse, when they opened the door, the interior of the room was a wreck. It looked like something straight out of some cheesy 90s porno. The couches were made of velvet. The bed was decorated with cheesy heart pillows and red satin sheets that looked to be stained with something he didn’t want to think too hard about.

There was an air conditioning unit and an electric hearth within centimeters of one another, pushed against the opposite wall facing the bed and the two white nightstands.

Apparently when his company had selected the rooms, they had, in their desperation to get a solid deal for the whole trip, had forgotten that this was meant to be a professional affair and not some shite attempt at matchmaking.

“Well, this is certainly interesting.” Tom chimed in, stepping past Harry and into the room with his luggage in tow.

Interesting was not the word Harry would use to describe this disaster.

“They must have made a mistake.” Harry said, stepping into the room and sighing in relief when there were at least two beds in the room rather than the one he had seen from the entrance.

Thank god.

“I doubt that they did. It seems that this room has all the trappings of a love motel, but the fact that they’d at least included a second bed and a kitchenette on the other end suggests otherwise.”

A flush stained his cheeks at the mention of love motels. God, Harry hoped that the room hadn’t been used as one for some time now and that the sheets were laundered well enough.

Harry didn’t think he could take many more surprises.

“Hopefully, they’ve recently renovated this room and washed the sheets.”

Harry did not dare dignify Tom’s comment with a response, kicking the door shut once he’d dragged his things inside.

The room was hideous, certainly, but the thought that this had once been a hotel where people slept with each other made him green with nausea. Sex wasn’t something he got too much of or pondered on, after his split with Ginny and his disastrous relationship with Draco. But to sleep in a bed where he knew others had fucked? That was too much even for him. At least, when the hotel didn’t having the history of a sex hotel, he could pretend no one had sex in those.

“I can’t sleep like this.” Harry said, trying to recall if he’d seen a laundry room somewhere in the building on his walk over to the suite. Management had mentioned that they did have a place to launder their clothes, free of charge, but where that was, was a mystery.

“Well, the sun is still out. There would be no need for you to rest until the sun at least sets.”

That was not the answer Harry had been hoping for, a loud groan escaping him when he sat on the bed, its springs creaking with his weight.

“This sucks.” Harry sighed, realizing then that there would be no way out of this. The laundry room was possibly on the other side of the place. He was sharing a room with Tom Riddle, who didn’t seem at all fazed by potentially sleeping on sex-drenched sheets, and this was a weekend long excursion with no escape until the length of their stay ended.

At the sound of rustling cloth, Harry turned his attention away from the carpeted floor and glanced at the source.

Harry wished he hadn’t. Riddle had removed his shirt, his bare chest pale white beneath the incandescent light of the suite. His trouser button was undone, a band of dark green poking from the slit where his trousers laid open.

Turning away immediately, Harry tried not to blush with his discomfort. “I swear to god, Riddle, couldn’t you have changed in the bathroom? You’re not in the privacy of your own damn flat.”

The rustling stopped and Harry barely kept himself from turning once again when the side of his bed dipped.

“I’m well aware that I am not alone.”

Riddle’s voice had come far too close for comfort, his breath fanning across the bare skin of Harry’s neck. “If you do not wish to see me, then avert your eyes. I am not forcing you to look at me.”

With that, Riddle pulled away.

Harry didn’t say anything else after that, the haunting memory of Riddle’s hot breath against his neck and the fact that he didn’t care that Harry was there with him, a poignant one.

God, Harry thought, pressing his hands into his face, this is going to be a fucking nightmare.

Thankfully, his rooming together with Riddle hadn’t ended in catastrophe. Despite realizing he was staying in a renovated love hotel and learning that Riddle honestly gave zero absolute shits about personal space, Harry acclimated rather quickly.

As long as Harry didn’t think too hard about what Riddle did in the room or about what people had done on the bed, it was bearable. Riddle, for the most part, left Harry to his own devices and didn’t demand any more than was necessary of his time. Most often, Riddle talked to him about inane things like the weather and the flaws of each employee currently staying at the place, but it wasn’t too bad. He could handle it.

However, things took a turn the second day of their forced cohabitation.

Apparently, the hotel had a partnership with one of the local resorts that offered discounted pricing on sledding and skiing equipment. The company had offered to pay for the whole thing, as a means of quieting the complaints of almost everyone. Apparently, their rooms were shite. Something about the air conditioning unit not working and the room being plagued by a bizarre odor—Harry wasn’t certain on the logistics.

So far, his room had a fully functional heater and his room did not smell of strange things. The smell of cheap detergent wasn’t ideal, but it was markedly better than the stench of sewage and garbage that his co-workers complained of from theirs.

Either way, after many complaints from the disgruntled supervisors, the company had relented in paying for their equipment for that afternoon. The resort itself wasn’t a “resort” by any means. It was more of a small shack with a bustling hearth and maybe one or two employees manning the whole place, but it seemed to pacify the others.

Except Harry.

He wasn’t fond of the idea, if he were being honest. The hotel had a terrible reputation and after looking up reviews on Yelp for the equipment rental store, Harry was even more convinced that borrowing anything, even when it was free, was a bad idea.

If only he had followed his instincts and not allowed Tom to badger him into coming along with everyone. He would have preferred to stay inside, warm and comfortable, rather than out in the snow with a man he disliked immensely and fellow co-workers he had no reason to talk to.

Harry sighed, sulking as he waited to go down the small mountain. They had been taking turns, the more seasoned skiers taking the lead while the other less experienced bunch watched on with terrified and intrigued eyes.

He’d skied before. Sirius had taken him out once when he’d been a teen and it had been fun. Watching Sirius eat snow more than once while Remus had watched on with a fond smile had been worth all the bruises he’d earned trying to learn.

However, this was nothing like those lazy winter afternoons. There was no Sirius or Remus here to poke humor at his expense. There was only Riddle and the other equally exhausted employees waiting to have a go before retiring for the day.

“Are you ready?” A voice whispered into Harry’s ear, rousing him from his thoughts.

He turned to the voice, frowning when, of course, it was Riddle who had spoken. He was the only that ever whispered so damned close to his ear.

“About as ready as I’ll ever be.”

He ignored the small smile that spread along Riddle’s face before turning back to the winding path before him. It was a long ways down, white with snow and littered with patches of evergreen.

“You don’t look very thrilled, Harry.” Tom pointed out, stepping forward to stand over the edge of the hill to Harry’s right. It looked like Riddle planned to go along with him. Why he wanted to do something like that beyond Harry. “Why don’t we make things a bit interesting. Start a bet of sorts?”

Harry paused, turning his attention back on Riddle. He was smiling still, his eyes bright and mischievous. It made something turn in his stomach, as if he’d already taken a dive down the mountain.

“A bet? What do you have in mind?” Harry hedged, humoring the bloke if only to satisfy his own curiosity. It wasn’t common for Riddle to gamble, especially when he was the one that ran the company’s accounting department. It was strange.

“The first one to reach the bottom of the mountain gets to ask for one favour of the other.”

A frown stretched across his face while Riddle’s smile remained in place. That didn’t sound like a good enough deal to him. What could he possibly want from Riddle?

A favor? There was nothing Riddle had that Harry wanted.

Harry was about to reject the offer and turn back to the mountain when Riddle’s hand clamped on his arm, smile gone. Something in his insides wrenched at the contact, the proximity between them reminding him of the bizarre event on the bus and the strange conversation on their walk to the front desk the previous day.

This couldn’t be good.

“If you win, you could ask me to never speak to you again.”

Oh.

Surprise made his mouth part in shock, his eyes growing wide at the fact that Riddle would volunteer that kind of favor. It was…tempting. Harry didn’t want anything to do with him, so perhaps asking him to leave him alone, well. That sounded almost too good to be true.

Harry narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious.

“And why would you risk that? So far, you’ve shown little interest in honoring my personal autonomy.”

Riddle didn’t speak for a moment, his hand still grasping Harry’s forearm. It wasn’t a death grip by any means, but it definitely wasn’t a hold Harry could easily shake off without getting into a scuffle.

“Because it would be fun. What is the point of a bet if one of the parties is not interested in his prize?”

That was a good point, and Harry’s lips pursed at that. He wasn’t wrong. He wouldn’t agree to a bet if there was nothing in it for him.

Still, Harry thought, that still doesn’t answer the question of what Riddle could want.

“And you? Are you interested in your prize? Why would you want a favor from me?” Harry asked, unable to curb his own curiosity.

“I am interested, I wouldn’t be asking for a favor if there wasn’t something of worth to be gained.” Riddle offered, his fingers tightening on Harry’s arm minutely before releasing it entirely. The flesh ached where Riddle had gripped him. “I am only interested in the favor itself. One that I can cash in at a later date when necessary.”

Well…that did make some sense, Harry thought. He knew enough about people to know that sometimes they were just happy knowing that they had someone watching their back. He would be the first to say that he didn’t know Riddle, but he also knew that although he was odd and creepy, he wasn’t mass murderer. He said strange and cryptic things Harry didn’t always follow, but he wasn’t evil.

What was the worst that could happen? Riddle already followed him around like a debt collector, how bad would it be to owe him a favor?

“Alright, I’ll do it. Just don’t get any funny ideas, okay?”

Riddle tilted his head to one side, lips stretching into a thin smile that looked far more genuine than all the other expressions he’d seen Riddle wear, before outstretching his hand. Harry didn’t hesitate to take it, shaking on their agreement.

“Agreed.”

Nodding, Harry turned once again to the hill. His goggles were pressed against his forehead, and he grabbed the ski poles and readied himself. At his side, Harry took one quick glance to see Riddle do the same, gearing up for the race. He looked determined, strangely sober for a race that was allegedly meant to be purely for fun.

“Ready?” Harry asked, tugging on his goggles, ever so grateful that he’d opted for contacts that afternoon.

“Ready.” Riddle said.

“Then, on three.” Harry said, fingers clenching tightly around the ski poles, a bead of sweat gathering on the nape of his neck.

“One.”

Harry turned away from Riddle, watching the clouds obscure the sliver of light above them. Dark and oppressive, reminiscent of the shade of Riddle’s own eyes.

“Two.”

Harry’s heart was racing a mile a minute, euphoria and adrenaline close companions as he prepared himself for the race. It’d been a long time since he’d played games with high stakes.

It felt good.

“Three!”

They were off. The wind blowing against his face was relentless, the darkening sky and the sensation of his skis hitting the snow one that made his blood sing. He didn’t turn to look if Riddle was following him.

In that moment, it was Harry and the snow. The wind was all he could hear, the biting pressure of the air cutting through every layer of his coat and his thermal underwear. It was thrilling, and he couldn’t help the smile that stretched over his face when he pushed on, wading through the snow like a sea snake swam through a river.

A whoop tumbled from his lips, and he watched how the trees passed him in a blur of green and white, rocks and other debris easily avoided with a careful push of his ski poles. It was amazing—he’d forgotten just how much he enjoyed this feeling.

“Harry!” A voice cut through his excitement, loud and familiar. He almost turned toward it, befuddled that someone could be shouting his name when he was flying through the snow at a speed that was almost unreal.

“You have to turn back!” Frowning, Harry did turn his head at that, confusion coloring his face when up at the top of the mountain there was a crowd of onlookers that he couldn’t identify. They were too far for him to see their faces, but their screams rang through the sound of rushing snow and wind.

“There’s a storm brewing, you have to stop!”

A storm?

Trepidation bloomed in his stomach, recalling in that instant the darkened clouds that had begun to gather at the top of the sky, the sun nearly overcome when he’d been talking to Riddle earlier.

There had been no mention of a storm on his weather app, he had checked three hundred times to make sure. It was unprecedented that things could unravel so quickly.

“Watch out!”

At that loud cry, Harry had one split second to turn around and look forward before he smashed into a tree, his body careening out of control. He screamed, eyes falling shut as the snow and his own inertia forced him down the hill and further away from the screaming voices of his colleagues.

His body lifted mid-air, rolling through the ground in a heap of limbs. Harry had no time but to buckle down when his ankle smashed into a rock, an ear-splitting crack sounding in the air. A cry tore from his lungs, the pain making his eyes water when his body continued to roll further down until he could hear nothing but the sound of the blood rushing to his ears and his own whimpers each time he jostled his leg.

Help!

Harry couldn’t scream, mouth filling with snow as he continued to roll until finally, he smashed into what could only be another tree, halting his descent. Everything hurt. His fingers were wet and sticky with blood from when the rocks along the path had cut through his coat and into his skin.

There was no telling how long he laid that way. It could have easily been an eternity before he gathered the wherewithal to open his eyes.

Blinking, he tried to repress his tears when he tried to get up and unwittingly awakened a deep, pulsing pain concentrated on his ankle.

A swear tumbled from his mouth, then a whimper, his eyes blinking away the darkened spots of his vision to take note of his surroundings. He didn’t dare move as he took in the winding trees towering above him and the bloodied snow. No, he held perfectly still, afraid to jostle any other injuries.

Fuck, he should have been paying attention. It was a rookie mistake to turn one’s back, to lose one’s concentration while in the midst of a run.

“Hel-help, somebody,” Harry cried out, coughing when his lungs began to protest at his efforts. “R-riddle? Someone!” He didn’t know why he called for him, why he would bother, but he had to try. He couldn’t just lay there, helpless while a fucking storm rolled over the horizon.

There was no response. It was only him and trees around him. The sky, in the time that it took him to come to a stop after hitting every rock and fallen branch on the way down, growing darker. Purple and heavy, the threat of a storm thick in the black clouds that floated above the trees.

Perfect, just bloody perfect.

Harry laid there helpless, unable to do anything as he waited for someone come find him. He was certain he hadn’t rolled too far away from the main skiing camp. There was only so much inertia a person had before they stopped, and Harry doubted he could have gotten very far.

But when the minutes seemed to stretch out for what felt like an eternity, Harry’s confidence began to wane. Apprehension crept over his senses, the possibility of dying out here in the cold while he bled out, a heavy one that made his breaths come far too quickly.

So much for a wonderful vacation, Harry.

“Harry!”

At the sound of his name, Harry perked up, wincing when he jostled his arm, realizing that he’d probably broken it too when he tried to break his fall.

“I’m he-here!” He screamed. His voice echoed through the trees, and he prayed in that moment that whoever had followed him down there had heard him. He didn’t know how long he could last if he didn’t get some help.

He had already lost feeling in his extremities, the numbness more terrifying than the actual fall. When one started going numb, that was when fingers or limbs were lost. Eaten away by the frost, victim to winter’s cruel breath.

“Harry, where are you!?” That voice came again, closer this time. Harry tried to crawl toward it, teeth aching when his ankle began to pulse in time with his racing heartbeat. It was so fucked that Harry doubted he could put any weight on it—he’d need a doctor to fix it if he didn’t want a permanent limp. “Harry!”

“I’m here. I’m here!”

Harry was screaming bloody murder, crawling toward the voice. His nails dug into the snow, his fingertips, even with gloves, tingling with each mound of snow he dug through to push himself forward.

A shadow passed over him, lurking from somewhere inside the trees, and Harry opened his mouth to scream again.

“I’m here, please. I’m here—” His throat was aching fiercely by the end of it, scratchy and hoarse. He doubted he could keep shouting without losing his voice entirely.

The minutes trickled by, the shadow lingering in the trees for a long stretch of time, before the shadow broke through the trees and ran toward him. Harry couldn’t quite make out the person, his vision was coming in and out, blood loss and pain taking its toll on him after forcing himself to crawl that one meter he had.

“Harry…”

The person threw himself to the snow beside him, his hands, gentle and so warm, pulling him up to rest his head over his lap.

“You idiot,” the man said, fingers carding through the hair peeking from beneath his cap. It was a miracle it hadn’t fallen off, with how quickly he’d rolled down that mountain, but he was grateful for it. His insides were cold, his hands and feet had gone numb. “You could have gotten yourself killed. Why would you look back while skiing?”

Harry coughed, head lolling to one side. His head felt heavy, as if weighed down by stone. His vision was growing darker and darker as the minutes passed, and it was only at the stranger’s curse that he became aware that he was being scooped up, the pain in his arm and ankle yanking him out of the strange haze settling over him.

Whimpering, Harry tilted his head to regard the man that was now dragging him by his waist and shoulders toward, what he assumed, was the hotel.

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to recognize who this person was. The goggles, cap, and thick coat had obscured most, if not all, of the man’s features.

“R-Riddle?” Harry said, throat dry and aching as he was pulled along. “They sent you?”

Riddle fixed his gaze on him then, his dark eyes the only discernible feature on the man’s face. They were intense, a glimmer to them that made something nervous jolt in Harry’s stomach. It wasn’t a pleasant look. One might even say that Riddle looked upset. Harry didn’t get it.

“I sent myself.” Riddle replied, his eyes staring into Harry’s eyes. It almost hurt to look at him, the strain of his eyes making his head pound. “When I saw that you were nowhere to be found, I set off looking for you.”

That made sense. They had both pushed off the top at the same time. It would be odd not to find his competitor after they’d both made their gambles.

“The storm should be here soon. I did my best to find you before you became buried in it.” Riddle continued, his movements careful even though, in retrospect, Tom should be rushing to find cover somewhere. There was no time for him to be gentle with him. His ankle and arm were broken, but what did his limbs matter if he didn’t survive in the first place?

“Riddle, then you might want to hurry up. I-if we do have a storm coming, then you shouldn’t be this slo-slow.” Harry coughed, cheeks itchy with dried tears as he tried to compose himself through his hacking fits. Maintaining conversation was a strain, but he couldn’t just be quiet when their lives were at risk.

“We’ll be fine. There’s a cave not too far from here.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and allowed Riddle to guide him to the cave. It was certainly no hospital, but he couldn’t afford to be picky. There was no time to make it back to the hotel and avoid the storm. A quick glance towards the sky revealed that it would be upon them at any moment. It had gone a sickly dark purple, the sun eaten entirely by the terrifying weather.

Heaviness swept through him, the same sensation of floating away making his head fall against Riddle’s chest. He was exhausted, eyes struggling to stay open when Riddle’s rocking movements lulled him to sleep. It didn’t help that his fear and adrenaline had gradually dissipated, Riddle’s words and presence serving as a comfort for the real danger he’d be in without it.

He didn’t want to die here. Not now when there was so much for him to do, when his life was only just beginning. How terrible would it be to die with his last memories being this shitty trip? No, he refused to die here.

Riddle did not speak for some time, the sound of his steps crushing snow and his own breathing the only thing to break the eerie silence that had settled between them. Harry tried to stay awake, shifting his head to look at Riddle, but the numbness was too much. Even Riddle’s heat, though welcomed in that moment, was not enough to drive away the chill still clinging to his limbs.

“Ar-are we almost there?” Harry said, eyelids falling shut and refusing to obey his desire to remain awake. It was dangerous to fall asleep, to give in to that strange sensation undulating beneath his skin. He’d heard stories, seen enough survival series to know that sleep was the last thing he wanted to have when he was losing blood and freezing his arse off.

“Harry—” Riddle said, but Harry could not make out his words. They faded in and out of his hearing, even when Harry’s cheek vibrated with the force of Riddle’s voice. There was something calling to him, something familiar.

Harry…

It was a soft voice. One that sounded an awful like his mother, singing for him to close his eyes and to dream. He recognized it, latching onto it desperately because it was his mother’s voice. It was unmistakable, the rich velvet of her tongue speaking his name could not be anything else.

Sleep, my darling, my son.

A smile crept over his face and the world became nothing. Haziness settled into his bones, over his fingertips until there was nothing but her.

Close your eyes and let yourself be free…

The lolling motions ceased, evaporating like a white mist.

Cover your ears, I’ll be here…

His mother had never come back. Her voice and the rich scent of her hair were the only memories he had of her—her face and her hair, a nebulous nothing that he couldn’t recall with detail. Not when it’d been years since she’d died, since his father had joined her in the afterlife, leaving him at the mercy of the Dursleys…

To battle the monsters reaching for your feet…

“Harry!”

His eyes snapped open to a sea of grey, his chest heaving with shallow breaths as he tried to make sense of where he was and why it was so damn bright…

“Don’t close your eyes. You must stay awake.”

He blinked repeatedly, trying to will away the black spots flickering over his vision.

“W-where—?” Harry coughed, unable to finish his phrase when the short puffs of air turned into heavy wheezing. His eyes burned, tears threatening to fall from the violence of his breathing. It was so terrible that it took him a while to notice the warmth stretching along his back, rubbing soothing circles against his clothed flesh.

There was no telling how long he remained that way, equal parts enjoying the warmth seeping into his back and hating the burn of his throat.

God.

“There, that’s it. Breathe in through your nose and let out slow breaths from your mouth.” A masculine voice whispered into his ear, a strange sensation blooming in his belly when lips grazed the shell of it. “Try to stay awake. You cannot fall asleep in your condition.”

Confusion spread through him, and then—

Harry glanced down after his coughing subsided to find that his ankle was bent in a way that he’d never seen his leg bend before. It was lying on the floor, his trousers smeared in blood and dirt, the cuff torn so as to reveal bruised and swollen flesh.

There was no pain despite its grim appearance.

Swallowing, Harry was just about to ask what had happened when all of his memories came at him at once. The bet, the cries of an oncoming storm, the loud crunch of his ankle and arm making impact with tree and rock, the sight of his blood on white snow—oh god, his blood—and the cold. A fierce, unwavering cold that spread through him as sickness cut through impoverished villages.

“O-oh god,” Harry stammered, the lack of feeling in his legs and fingers making panic choke on his spit. “I-I can’t feel my fingers, my feet—”

“You were out in the cold for some time. There’s no need to panic. I’ll try to get you warmed up as we wait for the storm to pass.” Riddle—yes, that was who this was—said into his ear before his arms wrapped around him.

Harry stiffened, unable to repress that reaction, before he inevitably sank into the embrace, unable to resist the heat Riddle emitted. It made his blood warm, his body tingle strangely to be pressed against his body after winter had nearly devoured him with her icy mouth. There was a strange sound beneath the background, not nearly as loud as the sound of Riddle’s voice or the heartbeat beneath the man’s chest, but it was there.

It was a constant thrum.

“Unfortunately, in the time it took me to bring you to the cave, I was not able to gather some dry wood to start a fire. We will have to make do with one another’s own body heat until the storm tapers off.”

Storm…? That had to be the source of the sound. It couldn’t be anything else.

Then, the reality of Riddle’s words finally registered. It was nearly enough to spring him from the brink of death.

Sharing body heat? If this had been any other situation, Harry might have balked at such a suggestion. But he was out of options, nearly having died for the second time that afternoon by sinking into hypothermia.

Had he been out that long that he’d nearly succumbed to it? Had he lost that much blood that he’d thought it a great idea to give in to the weakness in his body? There could be no other possibilities.

“H-how long did it take you to find me, out in the snow?” Harry asked, voice shaking.

“Three hours, possibly. I cannot be sure.”

Closing his eyes, Harry sank deeper into Riddle’s body. He couldn’t believe that he’d been out that long. Could he have passed out after his fall? Harry frowned, a gasp escaping him when he moved his arm and a searing pain shot past his elbow and up to his shoulder. It made his eyes water, reminding him once again that he was far more injured that he’d originally thought.

“Careful. Try not to move. You’ve broken your arm and ankle. It is also possible that you’ve sustained other injuries not easily seen.”

No shit, Harry wanted to say, but refrained from doing so. As much as Riddle annoyed him on a good day, the man was helping him. He’d come out to his rescue, had saved him not once, but twice, from death. Riddle had been nothing but helpful, his touches gentle and soothing even when they came from someone as strange as him.

It was uncharacteristic how such an unfeeling man in many ways managed to be understanding of his pain. Perhaps, Harry might have misjudged him? Had jumped too quickly to conclusions by convincing himself that Riddle was an unfeeling automaton?

Guilt cut through him, recalling some of the unwarranted insults he’d thrown in Riddle’s direction when the man had done nothing but make conversation. He supposed now was as good a time as any to apologize and thank him for his help. He would be dead if not for his intervention. It was the least he could do.

“Ri—”

A sharp intake of breath cut off whatever apology or amends Harry intended to convey. Hot air fanned against the back of his head before something hard poked it, a something that was unmistakably a nose—

“D-did you just bloody sniff me?” Harry said, eyes wide with disbelief when Riddle did not cease the gesture, breathing him in as if he’d been waiting years for this privilege. “Are you really doing this right now?”

Harry was too shocked to feel any anger. He was injured, exhausted, and trapped in some cave for an indeterminable amount of time. He didn’t have it in him.

“We are quite close. There isn’t much room for me to breathe elsewhere.” Riddle replied smoothly, almost too smoothly. Harry’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced, but didn’t push the issue. There was a time and a place for arguments.

Injured, trapped in a cave, while a storm was raging outside was clearly not the time nor place.

“Fine.” Harry said, giving into the warmth Riddle provided. He was still cold, fingers and feet still numb. As much as it pained him to have to rely on Riddle, he was the only source of heat available for the time being.

And if Riddle’s mouth trailed too close to his neck, or his fingers played with the hem of his winter coat? Harry would make no mention of it. Not when he huddled closer, basking in Riddle’s warm embrace.

Their bet and their tumultuous relationship, temporarily forgotten.

#Tomarry #Harrymort #fanfiction #tropes #Anonymous

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