#// it was fun to write

[writingsfromhome]

Dos and Don’ts of H Styles

A/N: this story was literally born out of the wifi incident happening to me. It was a weird experience lol but of course it inspired me to write a story around it. Basically you used to work for Harry as a PA and your life was hell. You bump into him in the present but before it unfolds we need to know what happened in the past.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

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I watch as Winnie types into her phone the number of the guy who’d just hit on her.

“And that’s with a y?” She looks up at him with doe eyes.

“Yea,” he falls for it. He was cute, and she worked a lot I didn’t blame her for taking who she could get. His accent also helped. “What’re you doin’ now?”

“Well,” her eyes slide to me. “Hanging with my girlfriend here.”

He nods at me and I smile, holding up the almost empty glass. “We were just about done for the night though.”

“We were?” Winnie checks in with me.

“Mhm,” I give her an encouraging nod.

Both Winnie and I were employed by musician-turned-actor Oretta Smith. Winnie was her nanny—or childcare companion as she called it, and I worked as Oretta’s executive assistant. It was full-time and demanding as hell but ever since Oretta had her first child a couple months back I’d gotten a lot more breathing room as she minimized her public life and stayed close to home.

This long weekend Oretta was staying with her in-laws and asked us to take it off. I’d already requested the weekend off knowing we were in London but being off at the same time as Winnie was impossible so we’d gone out to celebrate and let loose—9pm and only 2 drinks in, both of us had already started talking about the comfort of our beds. Until flirty dude came up to Winnie.

“What do you say?” Winnie’s new date asks her.

“Aw shucks alright,” Winnie flashes her beautiful smile and hops off the stool. I don’t even see her drop the bills onto the table as she hugs me goodbye and leaves until it’s too late. She’d covered for both of us. Well I’d get her back next time.

I finish the rest of my drink, eyes flicking to the reruns of tonight’s soccer game. This wasn’t the fanciest bar—it was quite homely compared to the ones Winnie and I often found ourselves at. But it was one I used to go to when I worked in London just over a year ago. Being back in the city, despite all the awful memories, pulled me towards the nostalgic comfort of it.

I remember the many dates with my now-ex, the random nights I’d actually get off, and drown myself in drink to forget about my awful employer. Or the birthday and milestone celebrations—especially the ones I started to miss near the end.

I consider walking the few streets over to my old flat. Coincidentally the job I’d gotten wasn’t far from home. The upside was that it made dealing with “emergency” texts from my employer a lot quicker but the downside was it grouped all the traumas I experienced in this beautiful city to a few blocks. I didn’t miss it.

I cut my memory lane rabbit-hole short and decide it was time to order an Uber and get out of here; I had an early train to catch tomorrow.

The bars on my phone flicker up and down as I open the app and continue to refresh it over and over. But my signal remains unstable.

“Stupid phone,” I mutter. I had to update my provider while I was here asap.

“‘Scuse me?” I wave down someone serving drinks. “Have you got wifi here?”

“Yep we do!” She smiles. “Name’s The Violinist and the password’s capital p….”

Her voice grows far away as my blood runs cold and I stare at the list of available wifi networks. I feel myself nod a thank you when she stops talking and she leaves taking the password with her while I’m stuck staring.

My networks:

🔗H’s iPhone

I want to duck down and run away, not spend another second around anything to do with that era of my life. But I also want to hunt him down and show him how much better I was doing after him, despite.

The second instinct wins. Kind of.

I don’t hide away. I scan the dimly lit room and try to spot the familiar head of hair but it’s on the third try that I spot him. And it’s probably because his hair is barely an inch long.

He must’ve cut it recently, I’m surprised. Him without his hair was like Harry Potter without his scar.

The feelings are instantaneous though. The loathing and the need to cry. My heart continues to race as I burn a hole into the side of his head.

He was the devil incarnate and I had thought about him for a second too long just now. And now here he was. What the fuck was a guy like him doing here?

I remember the awful times; the casually cruelty and the late nights he would make me work. His constant criticism. The way my life fell apart because of him. The way I could wring his neck with very little incentive at any given moment.

He had turned my whole life upside down. He ruined me.

Harry Styles wasn’t the sweetheart everyone painted him out to be.

And yet, a flash of a feeling, a fleeting memory I try to keep locked away pushes to the front of my mind.

“Fuck no,” I tell myself. There was no room for fondness when it came to the devil.

About 2 years ago:

I straighten out the blazer, wondering if I should be chic and roll the sleeves up a bit or just keep them down. My reflection shows a nervous mousy girl that’s trying too hard. I throw my hair into a ponytail instead and feel a more like myself. Just as the elevator doors ding open.

I’m in the penthouse suite I would be working out of for the next however long; it was my first day on the job and I was still sorting out my nervous to excited ratio.

After looking for months, I’d landed a PA gig for up-and-coming rockstar Harry Styles. It was a dream come true and everyone was ecstatic for me, most of all my boyfriend who’d helped me land the role.

My boyfriend, Grayson, was a personal trainer to a lot of big names and he’d been keeping his ear to the ground for me. We met a few years ago at the gym of course, I’d still been a student and he worked part-time at the student gym. Back then he was still working to get a better client list.

We’d clicked pretty quickly and Grayson, who was anything but shy, asked me out. Soon after he was telling me he had feelings for me and I’d felt them echo back the same. He was my biggest supporter and when I told him I wanted to take this career path seriously he’d been the first to show me what steps to take to get there.

My true dream was to become a publicist and work with celebrities, but fresh out of post-grad everyone told me I’d need to dive head first and get my hands dirty. And I’d have to do that by finding a PA role for a publicist or an industry person.

“Y/n?” My name interrupts my thoughts. It comes from a disembodied head peeking out from a doorway. “You are y/n right?”

“Yes!” I hurry over. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yes. I’m Mr. Styles’ exec assistant, I’m only here for the next,” he looks down at his watch. “Half hour perhaps? So let’s get you sorted before I head out.”

“Oh okay. Sure,” my ears ring, I was going to be alone on my first day. I didn’t even know he had an executive assistant. What was the difference between him and me? What if I screw up and this guy was part of the fallout plan? Shit. “Is Mr. Styles in?”

“Not at the moment, he’ll be in before noon. He has a few appointments this morning. Typically you’d be going with him but he left before you arrived so…next time. Make sure you get any paperwork he received from the appointments and file them in here-“ he points to a room with a filing cabinet. Like an actual cabinet. This was a tight ship. “You sound American. Are you American?”

“Yep,” I debate whether to tell him I stayed after doing my degree here but decide to keep the yapping to a minimum.

I continue following the EA—who I should get the name of, as he points out rooms and overlaps it with info about Mr. Styles’ schedule and routines. A lot of info. My brain felt like it was barely holding on.

I think about the man I was now working for, the one who came into the interview for a brief 10 minutes. Surely that laid-back guy wasn’t the anal mystery man I was getting all these instructions for.

The interview itself had gone pretty smoothly apart from the fact that I nervous-laughed a few times too many. I had gone silent when The Harry Styles had walked into the office. He’d sat beside me at the round table, slouching slightly and flashing me a reassuring smile—I had felt my shoulders dip down immediately.

“So it’s y/n right? I’m pronouncing that correctly?” He’d said in his perfectly charming accent.

“Yes, it’s so nice to meet you officially.” I had to tamp down every urge to gush over him. I was a professional. I was zen.

“So y/n,” he says my name so casually and yet I feel myself lean closer to hear him say it again. “I’ve seen a couple of you come in here for the PA role. What makes you different then?”

Think think, just be calm and think!

“Well I’m a very passionate person so I put my all into everything I do. That would include this job, and in turn you’d benefit by getting peace of mind knowing I’m tackling whatever behind the scenes items that need to get done to get you where you need to go.”

“Well said,” he says with a smile that says he knew he was very good looking. “Now trust is a big factor in this relationship.”

As he talks I forget his manager is even in this room. I’m swept up in the hazy green of his eyes.

“We’ve done the background checks and all that—right?” He looks to his manager who was interviewing me and gets a nod. “But how can you reassure me. My staff gets approached by the media daily for any info on me. What’s to say you don’t sell out.”

“I would never,” I didn’t even think of that being an option. “Confidentiality and trust is the biggest pillar of this role and I take it very seriously. You’re like, the biggest celeb of the last year but I know you’re also a person and I wouldn’t betray that. On a person level.”

“So even if you had a really bad day, say I had gotten you to do some impossible tasks. And you’re heading out head full of steam and you get approached by a reporter. £5k for an exclusive.”

I shake my head. “As tempting as it would be, professional ethics reign over any of that.”

“I believe you y/n,” his eyes flicker down to my file. “Good references. We’ll be in touch.”

Now my eyes roam around the small room I’m meant to work out of. It’s the size of 1.5 supply closets with half the walls filled with shelves and cabinets. There’s a small desk but I wasn’t sure how often I’d be sitting at it. All the PAs I’d ever connected with always complained about the amount of time you spend on your feet. That’s why I’d opted to buy myself runners when I got the job.

“Any questions—mind you I have 1 minute for them before I’m off? There’s a suit I have to sort out.” The EA turns to me when we circle back to my office/supply closet.

“Oh,” a million race through my mind. Nothing that would fit in a minute. “I um, I guess I didn’t catch your name?”

He seems surprised at that, and then he laughs. “Oh you’re a doll. This place is gonna eat you alive. I’m Riley and tip for you—don’t be so eager to please. Do your job. Do it well. But you’re not here to be liked or make friends alright?”

He laughs again when he looks at my face. He hands me an iphone and tells me it’s programmed with everything and everyone I needed, then waves goodbye leaving me in a confused spot.

I wasn’t naïve, I knew what working in this industry was like but I was could swear I’d landed a good gig with Harry Styles. And meeting the man himself in the interview had confirmed it.

Maybe Riley was just jaded by too many long hours.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. A text from Grayson: good luck on your first day babe. let me know how it goes.

I only have time to heart it when I hear the elevator open in the foyer. I rush out just for Harry to brush past me and his manager following, chattering away about something.

I follow from behind and watch as he heads to the kitchen. Riley had shown me what he laid out on the island and how I should do it going forward. And like two magnets Harry reaches for the exact bottle Riley mentioned. He downs the smoothie and then collapses onto the barstool.

“But don’t forget what she was saying about the single needing to be global. Sure your fanbase would love it but would the people who hate you have to admit it’s good.”

“I make it for my fans not for the wankers that hate me,” Harry says and his voice is rich like caramel.

“You know what we mean.” His manager suddenly turns directly to me. “Can you contact the studio and let them know to push Harry’s 1pm to 3?”

“Oh,” I didn’t even know they knew I was here. They gave no acknowledgement until now. “Of course. Um, could I just get the paperwork from this morning too? The appoint-“

“Yep,” his manager unhauls the items in his hands. The whole time Harry stares out the window. I’m handed a stack of papers and I carry them to the office.

My hands are shaking when I put them down and I feel a lump in my throat. What was wrong with me? Why was I reacting this way?

I find the studio contact in the phone Riley gave me and let them know. They’re suspicious at first but accept the reschedule. I leave the paperwork for later, figuring I might be needed now.

But the rest of the morning I’m unacknowledged save by a few requests from Harry’s manager. I spend some time looking through the calender in the phone that’s pre-programmed with Harry’s entire life. It’s packed except for this Sunday. I wonder if it was actually free or just hidden from me since it was my one day off.

“You’ve got a passport haven’t you…?” It’s the first time Harry’s spoken to me. He’s changed into a hoodie and shorts, his manager is nowhere to be seen, and I’ve just bitten into a granola bar—the first thing I’d had since my morning coffee.

“Y/n.” I try to swallow the bite whole but at the last minute push it to the side to try to answer. “Erm yeah. I haven’t got it on me though.”

“Right. Y/n. Start carrying it. I’ll need you with me on Thursday I have a morning meeting in Léon and since Riley’s going to be sorting out something for my New York trip in a couple weeks he can’t make it.”

“Yes. I will. Do you need me to prepare anything else for the trip? I’m not sure if you’ve packed or-“

“It’s just a meeting.” He cuts me off. He pulls out his phone, dismissing me.

I swallow the knot in my throat once more.

I go with Harry to the studio since his manager is meeting us there. Alone in the car with him, the silence feels stuffy.

“I never got the opportunity to say thank you by the way,” I try to open up a conversation. All he was doing was looking out the window surely I wasn’t interrupting anything.

“What?” He stares right through me.

“Um, I’m just saying thank you. For the job.”

He nods.

I stay silent for the rest of the ride.

The studio is quiet, which makes sense when I think about it but upon entering an actual room I change my mind. The noise assaults my ears and I nearly jump at the volume but my hand gripping the doorknob keeps me in place.

People swarm around Harry.

“I need my tablet and my notebook,” Harry says amidst the small chaos.

What the fucks was he talking about. “Sorry?”

“My tablet and notebook,” His face darkens and so does my mood. Nobody told me! But maybe I should’ve asked oh my god.

“I don’t have it,” I say lamely.

“Any time I’m in the studio I need those two things. You need to get me my tablet and my notebook.” He speaks like a robot.

“I-I’ll head back,” I get my bag again. “Tablet and notebook, is there anything else?”

He looks angrier than I thought. He sticks his hands in his pocket, shuffles something in his hand before handing it over. “You may as well get lunch. Keep that card on you for business costs.”

I open my mouth to ask what he might want but he turns away as soon as I take the card and I’ve already fucked up royally so I decide to wing it.

In the car I consider googling what Harry Styles ate for lunch and instead will the ever living shit out of myself not to cry.

I scroll through the phone, debating if calling Riley for help would be a mistake. Going through every app for help I realize the countless notes in the app.

Morning Routines, says one. It lists things I should do when the mornings were spent at home, in studio, abroad, in a hotel, or if I walk into a “morning-after” morning. Jeez.

Another has checklists for what to do when travelling, how-to for routine appointments I should be booking, routine people I should be calling.

Why didn’t I look at this before. Right there is one called Studio Days and in bold it says what to bring.

I was an idiot. A big fat idiot.

I try my luck and search lunch. Sure enough a note with possible lunch places in cities across the world pops up.

It was a How-to guide for Mr. Styles.

Whoever put this shit together was an angel. I owed them my life.

I decide to be proactive, sorting lunch out to be delivered to the studio while the car drops me off. I run to the room Riley had said was the home studio. Sure enough I spot the tablet and a few notebooks, I grab all 3. I also grab the charger and ignore the bag of weed chilling on the arm of the chair.

What to do when he’s too drunk / What to do for Interview Days / What to do when he won’t answer the door or the phone / Day-off checklist / Social media checklist.

The dos and don’ts go on and on as I scroll through on the ride back. This was going to be my homework and by the end of the week I was gonna be a genius.

I swipe away and check if I had missed any folders containing precious info. Just the trash.

Out of curiosity I open it and there’s only 1 sitting inside: the donts of working for Harry Styles

I open it:

-don’t let one nice day fool you into forgetting he’s an arse and your employer

-don’t expect any gratitude from a narcissist

-don’t fall for his charm

-don’t shit where you sleep. no matter how tempting

-when he pisses you off which he will, don’t mouth off. what happens next is worse than being fired. which he won’t do because he’s the devil and he will want to keep you around after treating you like shite

-don’t think he’s chill. he’s anything but. follow the checklists and the rules.

-don’t have a life. actually this is a CAN’T. YOU CAN’T HAVE A LIFE WORKING FOR THE DEVIL. LEAVE AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN UNLESS YOU HATE YOURSELF

I close the phone immediately, my heart thumping in my chest like a steady bass in the background of a song. What the hell did I get myself into.

***

It’s 8pm by the time I head back with Harry. The car is once again silent.

I had spent the day reviewing emails and the checklists, fielding calls and texts. His personal chef had texted to tell me dinner was prepared and in the oven to be re-heated so I figure that’s the last thing I’d do before I head home.

I’d eaten lunch standing while watching Harry sing background vocals to the album he was working on. It was hard to deny how intoxicating it was to see such a talented man work his magic. And it really was magical seeing how a song got put together.

That is until he’d sent me to get tea for the room and I’d nearly spilled half of it on myself getting enough back to the room. I was getting an electric kettle next.

I made a new note then: Reminders to do so you don’t get fired

The notes were my saving grace.

“My head is killing me,” Harry groans.

What to carry at all times: #4 paracetamol and #2 water

Checkmarked after going to the pharmacy while he was in the studio. I’d created an emergency makeup bag with essentials I could throw in my tote. I considered it a win today.

I hand the painkillers to him and he seems surprised. He replaces them with his phone.

“I don’t want to look at a screen for the rest of the night.”

“Okay.” I leave his phone beside me and try not to think of everything on it.

It vibrates a few minutes later and I leave it, not wanting to invade his privacy but he glances at me.

“Well?”

“Oh!” I lift it but it’s locked.

“1021.”

I type it in. “Um, Jeff wants to know if you’re still at the studio-“

“Reply to him.”

I do as I’m told.

“Um Mitch wants to know if you’re-“

“If it’s scheduling questions you can probably answer them without bothering me about it.”

I look up and he’s tipped his head back, eyes closed. Right. Of course I could.

I go through his schedule and find his studio time on Friday and relay it to Mitch. I respond to another text from someone asking if he was going to a gala in a couple months—his schedule said he was in LA so no. I wondered if I would also be in LA in a couple months. I wonder what Grayson would think.

Grayson, I’d had a short call with him a few hours ago and tried not to cry hearing his voice. It felt like home when the whole day felt so foreign.

I stare at the final text. The contact photo is the side profile of a gorgeous woman.

“Kimberly wants to know if you want um,” I feel my cheeks burn. “If you’re inviting her in tonight because she has a party she really wants you to go to.”

“I can’t be arsed for a party I feel like shite.” Harry says, eyes still closed. “Tell her to be at mine after 10.”

“Ok.” I type the words with a racing heart. I remember the morning-after checklist for this exact scenario. It wasn’t going to be weird soon I guess.

I heat up dinner for Harry while he showers and leave letting him know what time I’d be in tomorrow. He doesn’t even say goodbye.

I get home around the time I reckon Kimberly gets to Harry’s. The first thing I do when I see Grayson is shed a waterfall and he holds my exhausted body tight against him.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” He whispers to me in bed after a shower and sandwich—I couldn’t stomach anything more.

“I need this job Gray. It’s gotta get better.”

“I reckon but it’s a steep learning curve,” he says as he traces the curve of my nose.

“I know,” I snuggle closer to him and yawn. I don’t know what he says next as I tip into sleep.

***

If the notes app manual with the dos and donts of being Harry Styles’ PA was a physical thing, imagine me swallowing it.

Every spare second I had—which I didn’t get a lot of, I was reading that thing. My fingers searched tirelessly before every scheduled and unscheduled event. And yet, I’d fucked up so many times.

It was Saturday and I was looking forward to my day off.

He had been hot and cold all week but ever since getting back from Léon he’d been nicer and I’d actually been getting home before 8.

Maybe things were going well, despite the fact that the learning curve was like climbing mount everest.

“What’s my morning look like?” Harry asks. I was sitting at his kitchen table trying to book a dinner for him next week with a friend that was in town. A friend who also happened to be big back where I was from—I hoped to catch a glimpse of her myself.

I glance up and look back down just as quickly. After a week of seeing Harry in all sorts of undress I should be used to it, but my face still flushes. Today he stands at the table in running shorts.

“Pulling it up,” I say and scan his schedule even though I had it memorized. “You’ve got a meeting at the bank in about 40 minutes and lunch with Michael.”

“Can’t my accountant take the bank meeting?”

“She’ll be there. She’s meeting you downstairs to discuss the meeting on the ride over. You need to sign off on some stuff.”

“Stuff,” Harry repeats.

I look at him, careful to train my eyes on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at my lack of elaboration or just teasing me.

“Documents.” I correct, still unable to tell.

He look amused. “Great. Documents. I thought I’d be signing body parts.”

Was he joking? He was joking…I think.

“Right. No, we’re saving that for the tattoo shop booked for 6.”

He raises his brows, a slow smile spreading across his face and like the sun coasting over the horizon he looks brighter and prettier.

“That’s mad, that people would get a random man’s signature tattooed on them isn’t it?”

It’s inevitable really, my eyes skim over his torso brimming with tattoos. He notices and laughs. It’s a wonderful laugh.

“I meant they don’t really know me.”

“They admire you and it’s a piece of you,” I shrug. “At least it’s not a portrait of your face.”

“I’ve seen that floating around the internet actually.”

“Really?!” Now that was mad. I pull it up on the laptop and cover my mouth.

“I know.” He hangs his head and we laugh. God, things were finally getting better. This was the kind of relationship I thought Harry would have with his PA.

I scroll through comments and it’s impossible to wipe the smile off my face. I’ve considered myself a fan for a lot of artists but tattooing their face…that was another level of commitment I couldn’t do.

I look back to Harry who has grown quiet. His eyes are on me.

“What happened to your blazers?”

I’d decided to wear a skirt today, it was my lucky skirt—the one I had been wearing when I got the call that the job was mine. It being the last work day of the week I thought it might make me feel good.

I’d paired it with a tank top and a comfy cardigan. I’d finally felt like myself compared to all the button ups and blazers I’d been parading in. But apparently Harry had noticed the wardrobe difference. Shocker because he barely acknowledged me this week.

“I thought I’d dress for a Saturday?” It comes out meeker than I’d hoped. Ugh. “I hope that’s alright. If you want me more professional-“

“That’s alright,” his eyes roam down my body and I feel hot all over. Oh god, I shouldn’t have worn this. “It looks good.”

“Thanks,” I cross my cardigan over my body and try to get back to work but he doesn’t let it end there.

“Did you make that yourself?”

He continues to surprise me, “I did actually, is it obvious?”

“Yeah there’s a big hole down the back,” he teases. I know he is because his eyes are smiling, light.

“Damnit,” I relax a little. He was only interested in the sweater. “I’d finished it late it looked okay in the dark.”

“I have a friend, she made one of those for me. With the patches. Very comfortable.” He’s weirdly intense while looking at me and I feel like squirming again.

“It is. Very stretchy.” My vocabulary seems to shrink.

He leans over to touch the fabric and I feel like a cactus has been stabbed into my neck, I feel hot and prickly. Jeez, I had to chill out. My employer was just interested in my sweater. Super interested. Maybe I should just give him the damn thing. It would definitely fit him.

“Wool,” he smiles. He’s basically perched above me and I think I’m going to have a heart attack. I went from complaining about the fact that he acted like I wasn’t in any room he was in to not even being able to hold a conversation when he did.

I’m caught looking up into his unfairly gorgeous eyes and he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room. Which I was in this instance, but still.

I’m saved by a loud voice coming out of the elevator.

“Harry you car is waiting downstairs.”

Like a book slammed shut, his expression retreats until all that’s left is the cover page with no summary. The friendly Harry from before is gone.

“Oi Harry! I had to come all the way upstairs because I’ve been sitting in that stupid car waiting! Do you not pick up your phone?”

“Lee,” Harry says as he walks across his living room. “If you can’t reach me you call my PA I’ve told you a million times.”

“And I’ve told you a million times not to keep me waiting. We have a lot to cover before we get to this meeting and I need every minute. God why are you shirtless go put on something appropriate!”

Harry miraculously does as he’s told—given I had already laid out an outfit for him. He’s ready in no time. His accountant, Lee? Simply smiles at me and goes back to typing on her phone while we wait.

“Why is that so wrinkled?” Lee judges Harry who walks out in a completely different outfit.

“I don’t have time to change again do I?” Harry bristles.

Lee looks over at me and I’m not sure if she’s accusing me of something or looking for support.

“Mr. Styles I did leave an outfit out for the m-“

“I don’t wear silk.” He cuts me off and walks out ahead. Lee shrugs my way and follows him. I trail behind, feeling worse than ever.

For a miserable hour and a half I sit in one of the most uncomfortable chairs of my life, organizing Harry’s life while I wait for his meeting to end. As hard as I try to concentrate, I keep agonizing over what I might have done wrong to flick his switch. I swear things were going better. And I know I’ve seen him in silk before. Why the hell else would it be in his closet? Why couldn’t I go a single day without screwing up?

I finally spot Harry walking out of the office and gather my things quickly to meet him. I trail behind as we walk down the hall into the lobby, Lee is nowhere to be seen.

A gasp catches my attention and suddenly a girl younger than me rushes up to Harry.

“Oh my…Harry Styles?”

Harry’s face morphs briefly into annoyance, his gaze flicking my way, before pasting on a smile for the girl.

What to do when a fan approaches H (in the wrong moment): be the bad guy, divert, get Harry to wherever he needs to go to and do it quick.

“Hi,” Harry smiles sweetly at her and the friendliness throws me off guard. But this was unexpected and I should get him away…I think.

“Oh my god could I get a picture? My mate is never going to believe this. She loves you so much, so do I-“

“We really have to be going.” I say and the girl looks at me, surprised to find me there. I look around and spot and older woman watching us. Must be her mum.

“Could I just get a picture?” She glances between us.

“I don’t think Mr-“

“It’s fine,” Harry hands me her phone. “Get a photo of us.”

Just another layer of humiliation to add to the rest of the day. The rest of the week. God was I just awful at reading cues?

I snap a couple and then we’re walking free.

He doesn’t say anything. The car ride to his lunch date is spent in awkward fucking silence and I hate myself more with every second I spend in it.

When the car stops at his destination he holds his hand up when I go to open the door for him.

“Listen -what's your name again?" He asks.

Shame and humiliation drip over me like blood on Carrie’s prom night. I repeat it for him. Just like I had daily since I was hired.

“Right. Y/n. You came highly recommended from a friend so I trust you know how to do this job. This job, is to keep my life organized and keep me on track. Make sure I'm not distracted or side tracked by anyone. Including you. It’s not to be my publicist or my fashion advisor or my personal security. Let's stick to the job description okay?"

His words land bitterly to my ears. Not personal. Just a job. Just a job. Just a fucking job. And yet it was starting to feel like my whole life.

“Yes of course.” I hear myself mumble. And like the big clown I had to be, I push open the door and get out so he can too. He walks to the restaurant without a goodbye and I crawl into the car, heading back to his place. Tears burn my eyes but I refuse to let them out. Refuse to admit just how badly this job hurt.

***

“I’m not doing this on purpose,” I hiss into the phone. “You know I’d be there right now if I could!”

“Babe I get it’s your job but you haven’t come to anything in over a month since you started your job!”

“That’s unfair,” I cup my hand over my mouth. “Gray c’mon I’m going to be there just late.”

“That’s what you said last weekend.”

Last weekend, one of our good friends invited a few friends for dinner in their new place and Greyson had had to go alone. Everyone had messaged me to say I was missed but Gray had been stony, pretended to be asleep when I got home and then given me the silent treatment until I wore him down the next day. It was exhausting begging for affection.

“It’s my job Grey I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Me neither, you know my parents want us over for weekend roast some time but I’ve been avoiding giving them a date because I don’t want you to stand them up.”

“I-“ a shadow shifts in the corner of my eyes and I look up. Harry stands in the doorway. “I have to go we’ll talk later.”

“Whatever y/n,” Grey hangs up and my chest squeezes with all the hurt I was causing. But he saw the state I’d been in since I started this job a month ago and he knows this is just my life right now. Why was he suddenly acting like it was brand new information?

“Are you done your personal call?” Harry asks. He hovers in the doorway, I’d never actually seen him in this little office space. Then again, if he did step in there wouldn’t be much room for either of us to walk around each other.

“Sorry,” I hate myself for apologizing. Here and everywhere else in my life. But I have no other choice. “Can I do anything for you?”

“When are you heading out tonight?” He asks. His eyes glued to my face. I know my eyes are teary and I try to blink it away.

“Um, soon. In an hour or so,” blink blink blink. “Did you need anything from me before then?”

“Yes, I have a friend coming over tonight. Can you order us something for dinner. Something light. And get a bottle to chill for us—champagne. And can you push Monday’s cleaning service to tomorrow afternoon?”

“Consider it done.” I tell him, hoping he would just leave me alone in the dark here.

“Do you have evening plans?” He continues. Why did he never ignore me when I wanted him to!?

“Kind of yeah,” I try to keep it short. “A birthday.”

It was Grayson’s sister’s birthday. She had invited us to a local fave called The Violinist and of course I would only make it to the dessert course if I was lucky. These days, making it to dinner at all was a luxury. I lived off of sparkling water, leftovers, and coffee.

“Well best to finish up what you’re doing so you can head out.”

He leaves and I’m annoyed. Why couldn’t he be nice and just tell me to leave after doing what he asked. But here I sit folding fucking pamphlets for some idiotic pledge he had signed on for. Fuck me.

I’m miserable by the time I leave. I’d managed to finish everything in a half hour so I’d touched up my makeup and changed into a simple dress I had kept in the office closet on Riley’s suggestion.

“A simple black number that could be used for any last minute event.” He’d said. Unfortunately that now counted for personal events too.

“G’night Mr. Styles.” I call out as I walk to the foyer, just so he knows I was going out earlier than I said.

“G’night,” he answers surprisingly. He always ignored me but tonight he sits on the couch. He rises to see me off but I notice him pause and take in my outfit. “Fun night?”

“I hope so.” I unfold the blazer in my hand, suddenly wanting to disappear with his gaze on me.

His long legs walk to me and he takes the blazer I’m fidgeting with from my hands. He actually holds it open and if I wasn’t this exhausted my jaw would definitely be on the floor.

“Oh. Thank you,” I slip it on and turn to face him. As if helping me put it on wasn’t surprising enough, he proceeds to untuck my hair from the blazer.

“That’s alright,” he says in a low seductive tone. “You look nice. Are you dressed up for someone?”

The question is dangerous, toeing a line I’m not sure I want to erase. I try to ease things with a joke. “The birthday girl I guess.”

“A friend?”

“My fiancé’s younger sister.”

Was it just me, or does he bristle when I mentioned my fiancé?

“I didn’t know you were engaged,” he mumbles, glancing down at my hand. I wore a number of rings and I guess the small diamond Grayson had proposed with back when it was the most he could afford, blended in.

“Yeah, nearly a year now.”

“Wow,” he crosses his arms. “Have a date set?”

“Not exactly,” I smooth my hair behind my ears. “We’re thinking next year but we’ve just been so busy with out schedules-“

“What does he do?”

“He’s a personal trainer,” I say proudly.

“Oh,” Harry tilts his head back. “Oh. Now I understand. Now I get the connection. My mate Liam put in a good word for you when I needed a new PA, he said he knew you through his personal trainer. He never mentioned how.”

“I see,” I’d have to thank Liam next time I saw him. He’d been one of Grayson’s first big clients and had become a close friend to us. I’d have to thank him with dinner. If I got any nights off, that is.

“That’s who you were talking to on your personal call?” He asks, his hand tracing my shoulder seam down to my elbow. My heart races from the ghost of his touch.

“Erm yeah, sorry again. I had to take it since it was time sensitive.”

“Best to get going then.”

I take a step backwards and then rush to the elevator all at once. Once I’m on and the doors start to close I turn and catch a glimpse of his handsome face watching me go.

I let out a breath. That was weirdly heavy. And kind of intimate. But weird. That was weird.

I wonder briefly who he was having over tonight. If it was Kimberly, who I’d had the misfortune of meeting in her panties one morning. Or his other “friend” some brunette named Maya or Amaya something. I’d had the misfortune of meeting her when I dropped off a late package to Harry one evening. All were awkward encounters.

I shake away the thoughts and am grateful when Harry’s driver waves me down on the sidewalk. I guess Harry had told him to take me to where I needed to go. My heart is warmed ever so slightly, although I do accidentally nap on the 15 minute drive over.

I make it for the end of dinner and Gray looks relieved to see me even though his eyes hold a hint of something unspoken. I try to ignore it tonight.

“Oh you look beautiful!” I hug the birthday girl, and we sway from side to side. I used to see her a lot before she moved away for uni. “When did you stop being a baby, Josie Duran let me get a look at you.”

“Josefina tell her what you did for your 21st.” Gray says.

“Can you let it go!?” Josie scowls.

“What?” I whisper.

“Mom will kill you,” Gray warns.

“That’s why she doesn’t have to know,” Josie bites.

“Hey,” I put my hands up between the two. “No fighting with the birthday girl. Anyway. Josie, you look beautiful, I’m so sorry I’m late but it’s so good to be here.”

“Aw no don’t worry about it,” she goes in for another quick hug. “I’m just happy you got to come. Gray said the bloke you work for is a nightmare. Tell us do we know him?”

“Ah,” I wasn’t really supposed to talk about him according to my nda. “I dunno if you would. Anyway I’m going to try to steal some of Gray’s leftovers until dessert comes.”

I sit beside Gray where the seat had been left empty and smile up at him, hoping for forgiveness. He sighs and kisses my forehead, pushing his plate towards me.

“Go ahead, have you eaten?”

I had a banana and a yoghurt for lunch but I don’t tell him, just making a vague answer for yes and scarfing down what’s left.

“She got a tattoo,” he says in my ear later as the restaurant finishes singing happy birthday and a cake with sparklers is set down. He’d gotten tipsy and I can tell because he wants to talk about his upsets.

“She’s a grown woman Gray,” I know he was protective and a little traditional—that’s where half of their sibling fights originated, but I always told him he had to let loose a little. “She’s allowed to get it. If I remember you have some tattoos of your own.”

“It’s different y/n.”

“She’s getting older faster than we can keep up with huh?” I lean my head against Gray’s shoulder and let out a big sigh. It feels good, sitting with him here surrounded by friends. It had been a while.

Gray leans his head against mine and doesn’t answer. We watch her friends take pictures like proud parents, watching her cut and then distribute the cake. I should help, but I just could not lift a finger.

“Hey y/n, is that your phone going off?” Josie’s friend beside me points to my facedown phone.

“Is it?” I sit up, my heart doing a number in my chest.

I pick it up, 2 missed calls from Harry and 3 texts. Fuck.

“Leave it,” Gray must be looking over my shoulder. “You’ve gone home now just screw him.”

“I can’t,” I didn’t want Gray getting mad—I know he was kinda drunk and he could make a scene like this. I didn’t want to ruin Josie’s celebration. But I couldn’t ignore this. This is the first time Harry’s messaged me after I’ve gone home. “I’ll take it outside.”

On my way to the door I open the messages. A picture of a bucket filled with ice. A row of question marks. And then: call me

What? What was so urgent about a bucket of-

Oh.

Fuck.

I thought I did everything but I hadn’t. I’d filled the bucket with ice and meant to ask the Italian restaurant around the corner to deliver a bottle like they usually did for Harry but I hadn’t gotten to that part.

I feel like I’m going to vomit any dinner I just had.

I crouch down. Do I call him? Do I pretend I didn’t see this until too late? No. I had to face up. I fucked up.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

I call with shaking hands but it rings and rings and goes straight to voicemail. I try again.

I had to get back, get him the champagne. Fix my mistake.

“Y/N,” Grayson’s suddenly outside. “Aren’t you coming back in?”

“I can’t. I…” how do I explain this to my fiancé without it sounding minor as hell. “I forgot to mail some important documents and I need to get back-“

“It’s Saturday fucking night.”

“Yeah but-“

“And guess what?! Tomorrow’s Sunday! The mail’s going nowhere! Fuck that wanker and come back in.”

Gray holds out his arms and I want to go back in but I need to fix this mistake.

I grasp his hand and he smiles, misunderstanding why I held it, “Gray I have to go-“

He pulls his hand away, a sneer on his face. It hurts when he looks at me that way, like I betrayed him.

“I showed up! I celebrated, I got here Gray I just have to-“

“You were barely here! Do you know how upset she was when I said you couldn’t make it?”

“Well why did you say that!?” I demand. “I told you I was only going to be late!”

“I can’t trust that!” He shouts and I try to pull his arm so he quiets but he doesn’t seem to care there are people around. “Your time is all his, every single fucking second! And when you’re not there your brain is going a million bajillion times over about him and his life. Even when you’re with me! What the fuck! What’s up with that!?”

“Gray I’m sorry look I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I swear. I’ll make it up to your sister I-“

“I don’t care y/n,” Gray slips his arm out of my grasp. “Do whatever you want. Nothing I say matters anymore anyway right?”

“Gray,” tears streak my face as I watch the man I love go back inside without another look my way.

Fuck Harry.

I try to call him again but voicemail. Again. Fuck!

What to do when you make a mistake: admit to it—Harry appreciates accountability. FIX IT! As much as you can. FIX YOUR MISTAKES OR FACE CONSEQUENCES.

An alert that my uber was here pings my phone—I take the ride to the restaurant and grab an already chilled bottle. I book it to Harry’s building and ride the elevator up, every floor causing a further dip in my stomach.

The doors open to a dimly lit space. There’s music playing, something jazzy, and it smells like…vanilla? Vanilla roses?

“Hol-hold on,” I hear Harry chuckle. A head pops up from the other side of the sofa.

“Y/n?” He looks as confused as I am.

Oh my god, I realize as a giggle comes from the floor. They were on the fucking floor of the living room? They were on the floor of the living room f…what the fuck did I walk into?

“Just back with this,” I squeak, holding up the bottle.

“Harry did you invite someone else?” The voice asks from below with another laugh. He sighs, disappearing again. I hear a very distinct wet noise before he pops back up again, I look at the doors of the elevator trying even harder not to give in to the panic attack that was looking more and more tempting.

“What are you doing here?” Harry approaches me with a softened voice. Wearing a robe. A silk robe. I knew he wore silk.

“You called—the bottle I’m sorry it totally slipped my mind I-“

“I told you to call me?”

“I did, you didn’t pick up! I thought I should swing by-“

“I thought you had a party?” His forehead scrunches.

“I…” the pieces come together. Did I take this too seriously because Harry didn’t even look angry? Great. I was an idiot and proving to Harry I had no life. “It ended. Early. I…I wanted to fix my mistake and bring the bottle.”

He takes it from my hand, still confused. “Y/N.”

I wait for him to continue but he doesn’t. And lord, in this climate with him in just a robe hearing my name on his lips is not okay. I was going to pass out.

“I’ll leave.” I go back to the elevator but he starts talking again.

“I asked you to call me so I could ask-“ he stops when I turn back around to listen. He closes the gap between us again with a sigh, and I don’t realize my face was still streaked with tears. It was probably more noticeable in the elevator light. He takes his finger and swipes across my cheek, his brows furrowing.

“Sorry,” I swipe my cheek to remove the remaining evidence. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He clears his throat and takes a step back. “Thank you for coming back.”

I nod.

“If you’re going to leave early next time, make sure you finish everything I’ve asked you to do. Don’t skip out like this again.”

“Yes yeah of course,” I stutter, relieved to fit back into our usual roles. For a second there, I thought Harry was going to be kind. And that would have been way worse.

“Good night Y/N. See you Monday.”

“Good night Mr. Styles.”

Gray’s not home by the time I get back. I wake the next morning to his side untouched.

So I do the only thing that felt good these days, I curl up into a ball and cry.

***

Taglist - leave me a message if you’d like to join it :)

[silentgravesdontexist]

Mnnhh...there's something a modern AU with Sabo who hates getting his picture taken due to the scar on his face. And there's you, a photographer, who despises taking portraits of other people. So, here's a drabble abt it~

Sabo x GN!Reader

CW: Unedited. Oh, there are typos? Ignore it (pls—)

Word Count: Around less than 1k

An eye through the viewfinder as you attempt to take a photo of the sceneric cherry blossom trees by the river. Your eyes sparkle at how perfect the composition and lighting is. Just a click of a button and you'd capture it—

A man with blonde hair passes by the frame just in time. The expression on your face immediately sours at the thought of someone interrepting such a breathtaking view. You go through the camera to check if it was somehow salvable if you just crop it.

Salvable? There wasn't even a single flaw.

You, who detest taking photos of people? Gawking in awe at the beautiful capture within your screen? Impossible. But there you were. Staring at the visage of his serene expression on the screen.

The way the light casted over his features. How his eyes seem to encapsulate an unnamed emotion while he stares at the falling petals. In the way that the wind plays with his hair just perfectly. It was fascinating how someone could fit into such a scenery seamlessly.

Your eyes lift up to try and find him. He's already walking farther away from you. Oh, how your heart raced with this newfound excitement within you. Before you could even think, your feet had been stumbling on one after the other until you were sprinting after him.

"W-Wait!" You call out breathlessly.

The blonde man hears your voice and pauses his movements. He slowly turns to face you as you come to a slow stop. His brows furrow slightly as he stares at you— a complete stranger catching their breath after chasing him.

Oh, by the gods, you were simply in awe.

Even then, just by looking you then and there. You had to resist bringing up your camera to take another shot of him. Eyes shamelessly drinking in how utterly divine he looked at that moment. It was simply unfair how such a person could topple your beliefs in such a brief moment.

Sabo, that's his name— from the introduction you two have had. You stumble over your words, a blush creeping to your face upon the realization on what you were doing. What were you doing? Asking a complete stranger to let you take more photos of him?

What a creep you must've been to him.

For a moment, Sabo does entertain the idea you're just messing with him. Of all the people, you wanted to chose him as the subject of your photos? Weren't you disgusted by the scar on his face?

But all it took was that godforsaken earnest look in your eyes. You were telling the truth. Going through lengths to pretty much embarrass yourself just to ask him this. He wanted to laugh— and he did.

You wanted to protest. He was laughing so whimsically while you were there absolutely flustered. But by the gods, all you wanted to do was to take photos of that smile. As if all you'd ever want from now on was him within the frames of your camera.

Nothing and no one else.

"Alright," Sabo muses. His head tilts slightly as he casts you a boyish grin. "I'll let you take photos of me— if you buy me a meal."

Obviously, you immediately agreed. Uncaring whether how costly it would be. All that mattered was for you to satiate the growing obsession within your chest.

And how did his heart flutter a bit at how serious you looked. It made him turn away in the guise of leading you to a nearby restaurant when in reality, he just didn't want to risk letting you see the blush on his cheeks.

~~~~~~~

This...became much longer than I expected??? I wanted it to be a cute and quick drabble but— Oh, well! If you enjoyed this, here's my masterlist for more~

~~~~~~

Taglist: @sukunas-play-thing @lynndt-chocolate @ofoceansandtombsanew (the brain rot is strong—)

[propertyofkylar]

crawls in covered in blood

Harper 19 👀?

doctor's orders - m!harper x gn!pc

tags/warnings: 19. kidnapping, drugging, dubcon, medical kink, reader's genitalia left ambiguous

word count: 1810

note: wow....i hope THE harperfucker enjoys this...

“Mhm. And how has your mood been lately?”

You shifted slightly in your chair, sitting on your hands. Dr. Harper was a strange one. He was something of a therapist and psychiatrist. But he also treated injuries, and you had heard he’d even done gynecology work, so you still weren’t entirely sure what kind of doctor he even was. But the pills he prescribed worked well, so you came every Friday to see him. 

“Um,” you hedged a bit, but Harper’s encouraging smile urged you forward. “I mean, it’s not great. You know? Things kinda…suck.”

Harper nodded as you spoke, looking the perfect image of a doctor as he jotted down something on his notepad.  

“So I guess I’ve just been kind of…down. If that makes sense?” You offered. 

Harper nodded again. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Huh?” You hadn’t expected that. Harper offered you a warm smile. 

“I’m experimenting with more herbal remedies,” he explained. “I’ve purchased some tea leaves that claim to help with feelings of depression and anxiety. I thought you might like to try some. I know you like the pills, so this would just be a supplement of sorts. It may help lift your mood, even just a bit.”

Something made you feel a little uneasy. But your doctor had never steered you wrong before. And it was just a cup of herbal tea. What’s the worst thing that could happen? It would taste bad?

So, you nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

Harper gave you another smile and stood up, busying himself with an electric kettle in the corner of the room. You watched idly from your seat. Maybe a warm cup of tea would be exactly what you needed. 

Several minutes later, Harper handed you a steaming mug. An herbal smell of chamomile, lavender, and something else you didn’t recognize wafted towards you. “If you like it, I’ll send it home with you along with your meds.”

You thanked the doctor and took a sip. It was warm with a mildly sweet taste. “It’s good,” you said, going back in for another sip. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Harper said. 

At the very least, a warm drink would make you feel better temporarily. The doctor made idle chitchat with you as you continued drinking. By the time you had emptied the mug, though, your head was feeling a little fuzzy. 

“Are you alright?” Harper asked, only seeming mildly concerned. “The herb blend does have a relaxing effect. It may be that it’s making you tired. 

“Mm…yeah…” you rubbed your eyes, suddenly feeling groggy. “Haven’t been sleeping well lately…”

“Don’t worry,” Harper was leaning forward in his chair, almost in anticipation. “Close your eyes. My next appointment isn’t for a while. You can sleep here for a bit, no worries.”

“‘Kay,” you murmured, your eyes shutting of their own accord. “Just a lil bit…”

You were out like a light. 

When you came to, you had no idea where you were. 

It didn’t feel like you were still in the hospital, though it still seemed like a doctor’s office of sorts. But the light was harsh and artificial, and you got the feeling this room wasn’t used too often. 

Also, your arms were bound to the bed, which wasn’t great. 

“Mm?” You were still quite groggy, so actual words didn’t come out of your mouth. You suddenly became aware of a figure looming over you, smiling. “D-doctor…?”

Harper undid your arm bindings, inviting you to sit up. “Sorry for that! I didn’t want you to move around or get violent in your sleep. The…tea effects are a little unpredictable.”

You rubbed at your sore wrists - how long had you been like this? - as you took in the surroundings. “Where did you take me?”

Harper rolled a chair next to the bed, stroking your hair in a rather unprofessional manner. “This is my private office. You need a more intensive therapy.”

You blinked. “I do?”

Harper nodded. “Yes. Your depression and anxiety is rather treatment resistant. I want to try some different things with you to help you get better,” he slid his hands to hold yours. They were cold and smooth. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

There was something wrong. Something was off. But your brain felt so, so fuzzy. “Yeah…that sounds nice.”

Harper beamed and clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Now, let’s begin,” he pulled his notepad out and studied it closely. “You say you’ve experienced rape and sexual assault. Is this right?” 

You shifted uncomfortably. “Uh…yeah.”

He nodded again and checked something off on the notepad. “Good. Then we are going to have sex.”

“What?!” Your ears were ringing. Did he just say that?

Harper set down the notepad and looked closely at you. “You say the assaults cause you trauma. Correct? I can show you how sex can be pleasurable and it will sort of rewire your brain.” He smiled placidly at you. “Don’t worry, you can trust me.”

It was weird. Something felt off. But…you trusted him. So you found yourself agreeing.

“Good!” Harper smiled warmly at you, standing up in front of you. Despite the smile, there was something oddly intimidating about him. But he was a doctor, and you weren’t. So it was probably okay. Right? 

The doctor sat next to you on the bed, moving closer then he’d ever been. “The first step is foreplay. This usually begins with kissing. Are you comfortable with that?” His breath was warm on your face. You nodded. 

And then the two of you were kissing, Harper’s mouth surprisingly cold, much like his hands were. “Very good,” he murmured. Harper practically tugged you into his lap and your patient gown rode up, making you suddenly very aware that there was nothing on underneath. Wait, weren’t you in a therapy session before? Where did your clothes go…?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized you could feel Harper’s cock rubbing against your most sensitive areas. The feeling drew a whimper out of you, which sparked Harper to reach under the gown and grab at your back. 

“P-please,” you whined, grinding down on Harper. 

But he did not relent. “Please what?” He asked. “You need to be specific.”

“Please…” you sucked in a deep breath. “Please, fuck me.”

“Very good,” Harper pulled away and beamed. “You’re a very good patient. You learn quickly.”

He reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a small tube. As he squeezed the slimy fluid onto his fingers, you realized what it was - lube. “This may be cold,” Harper said before slipping two fingers into your hole. You bit down on your lip and groaned as the doctor scissored his fingers inside of you. It felt good, but it also felt methodical and practiced.

You pawed at the bulge in Harper’s pants, which he was not expecting judging by his sharp intake of breath. “T-that’s enough,” he stammered, momentarily losing his cool composure. “I think you’re ready now.”

Harper pulled his hand back and unzipped his pants. With one movement he tugged down his pants and boxers and you were suddenly staring directly at his thick cock. It was flushed and twitching, and the bead of precum on the tip gave you the sudden urge to lick it. 

But that wasn’t what was going to happen, at least not today, as Harper was stroking his dick with additional lube, and the way he was looking at you - no, leering - was decidedly unprofessional. You were too far gone at that point, though. The only thought in your head was how badly you needed that cock inside of you.

Your doctor grabbed you by the hips and, ever-so-slowly, lowered you down onto his cock. Harper practically hissed as you sunk further and further onto him, until your hips were flush with his. 

“V-very good,” Harper managed to get out, his face turning red. This was an act you were quite familiar with, and your instincts kicked in. You started moving up and down, Harper’s hands still gripping you tightly, and he began rocking his hips in unison.

Harper seemed practiced in every aspect, with his cock managing to hit every sensitive spot inside of you. He was consistent, too. Every thrust was almost rhythmic. It made the hospital bed creak and squeak, and if you weren’t almost entirely fucked out of your mind, you would’ve worried about its stability. But all you could focus on was riding Harper and how fucking amazing it felt. Maybe it was that tea you had, or maybe your doctor was just that good at fucking.

His grip on your hips only added to the pleasure and you quickly began feeling heat intensifying within you.

“I think,” you tried to start but were cut off by your own moan. “I’m gonna…” 

“Cum,” Harper said plainly, though clearly struggling to stay calm. “You can cum. It’ll - haa - be good for you and your…fffucking treatment.”

You didn’t need Harper to tell you twice, his hips slamming into you. You grabbed onto his shoulders and cried out as the orgasm wracked your entire body. You squeezed your eyes shut, but when you opened them, you noticed Harper was staring intently at you. It felt as though he was staring into your soul.

After several more thrusts, you could tell Harper was about to hit his limit as well. Never easing up on his grip, Harper held you down as he came, filling your insides with his hot cum. The two of you stayed connected for a few moments before he gently pulled you off, you letting out a whine at the loss of contact. Harper quietly studied his cum leaking out of your hole and dripping down your leg, then jotted down a few more notes in his notebook. You wondered what he was writing.

“Well,” Harper smiled at you, straightening his clothes out. “You did a great job. You’re a fast learner. I hope that was pleasurable.”

You could only nod in response.

“However,” Harper looked down at his notebook with a slight frown. “I’m afraid you still have a long way to go. This is only the beginning. I’ll need to keep you here at least for a few more days for further studying and treatment.”

“Oh…” you mumbled. In your post-orgasmic state, you struggled to understand what was going on. But maybe a longer stay wouldn’t be so bad.

Harper stood up, clutching his notebook to his chest, and gave you a few soft pats on the head. “No worries. I’ve already communicated with your guardian and school, so everything will be just fine.” He gave you another grin, one that felt a little less genuine, and made you feel a little uneasy. “Trust me. There is no better place for you to be right now than right here.”

And with that, he left the room.

[brashtea]

Filled this prompt @dashadasha24 gave me in my replies to this post. Fic is posted here to ao3!

[itsabea]

Drunk!March x Reader who doesn't drink || Part 2

Description: After March gets you a drink at the bar and discovers that you don't drink, things take an unexpected turn when he comforts, and continues to talk to you in his drunken state.

Warnings: alcohol, swearing, one mention of internalised pressure to drink(ft. young March, not Reader)

Part One: here

"I don't drink.." You mumbled out as March's brain cogs seeming to stop, only to start up again to take in your words. "You don't.. Drink.." He repeated, making you slouch in on yourself in embarrassment. "Oh...." March exclaimed, frowning deeply as you sighed.

This wasn't how your night was supposed to go.. You were supposed to be enjoying yourself, not getting all nervous over some stupid, horrid tasting drink. Part of you wanted to leave.. But the next thing March said kept you in your seat.

"Well- I guess that's fair.. It tasted like crap to me for three weeks straight...." March said, taking a momentary swig back of his current beer before smiling at you widely. "Buut, that doesn't mean shit if you don't get anything out of it." He said, a goofy smile now spread even wider across his face.

You frowned at his words, not because they didn't make sense, but because they sounded strange coming from someone like March.

It actually had you wondering if he was more than just some ass that liked to belittle you. "I guess.. Thanks, March." You finally said, still slouching in on your self, but allowing your shoulders to relax a bit.

"No problem." He said back with a lopsided smile before taking another swig of beer.

A strange silence grew between you and March before either of you spoke, but strangely enough, it wasn't heavy or uncomfortable for you. So, when you spoke up it was because of curiosity instead of obligation.

"So, what got you past the disgusting taste?" You said, mixing around the beer in its container as you looked at it with distain. March gave out a noise that resembled the words 'I dunno' as he shrugged and took another sip of his beer before elaborating. "Everyone else was drinking.. Felt wrong not to." He said, which made you frown and contemplate again about possibility of March being a decent person..

"If I was a strong as you, I probably wouldn't have kept at it.." March said, flustering you with the sudden, strange complement.

Did March.. Really just call you strong?? Maybe you misheard him call you stubborn? He is drunk, and he could've just misspoken- "Still can't believe how much you've managed to do.. Town looks and operates so much fucking better than it did before.." March said with visible irritation in his tone, and taking a much heavier swig of beer.

"Oh- Thanks, I-" You started, but didn't get to finish your words as a result of March speaking past you. "Strong, determined, resourceful, fucking kind- I mean, what the hell can't you do..??" March said, facing you with squinted eyes that bored into you like he was trying to find and figure something out.

Unfortunately, March didn't seem to find what he wanted after staring at you for a good few seconds, and with the embarrassed heat spreading across your face, you were now fairly certain that this man would be the death of you. "Hm." March said after having gone back to his drink, leaving you very confused and the slightest bit more flustered.

After a few more conversations with March, you decided to call it a night and head back home before your exhaustion managed to catch up with you. And to your surprise, March ended up being drunk enough to cling to your arm when you announced that you'd be heading home.

"No." March demanded with a pout as you smiled at him with fondness and confusion. "I've got to go home, March." You said back, now thinking of a way that might sway him to let go, only for said male to repeat his words with a frown and much bigger pout. "No."

You sighed in partial annoyance, but mostly amusement at the strange display. "You'll see me tomorrow, March. I'll be sure to visit the Forge and upgrade my tools, okay?" You said, only for March to make a face and hold onto you tighter.

"No. I'll just be an ass to you again.." March said, pouting even more as if he himself hated the way he treated you.

"Come on, March.. Your not.... Your not that bad.." You lied, knowing full well that March's words would sometimes hit you right where you're most insecure and vulnerable.

"Don't fucking lie.. I'm an ass to you.... Don't wanna keep being an ass to you.." He said, slurring his words as he slumped slightly like a sad, old dog.

You couldn't help but purse your lips, thinking of something to say to March that was both true, and would allow you to free yourself from his hold on you.

"Then.. Teach me some smithing techniques when I'm at the Forge tomorrow. You'll be so busy showing off how cool you are, that you probably won't insult me as much." You offered, mentally kicking yourself for roping future you into a smithing lesson with March.

With a low, 'hmpf', March let go of your arm and leaned against the bar counter slightly. He was still pouting, but his cheeks were now dusted in a light red.

"I'll see you tomorrow at 2 then.. Don't be late, or I won't be teaching you anything." March said, watching you not-so-subtly as you smiled at him before bidding him, and the rest of the patrons a goodnight.

The next day had you worried, yet extremely productive. You were up an hour before usual, had watered and fed your animals in record time, and had even finished todays Request in the matter of minutes because you had already foraged plenty of the needed material the day before.

You ended up heading to the forge at 1:40 with all the ores for upgrading your tools. All day, you had been avoiding the whole area of said shop, going so far as to take the path through The Narrows and through your farm to get from The Eastern Ruins to The Western Ruins. That was a whole hour that you'll never get back, and yet you're fully willing to do so again.

Your worries and nerves for seeing March today were frankly making your day a lot harder than need be. And the thing that had you take a breath and relax? The thing that had you actually pluck up the courage to wholeheartedly stick to your agreement with March's drunk state?

It was when you talked with Olric at the General Store, where he told you that March spent all morning sobering up while writing out some "lesson plan", and that he had been at the forge looking anxious and only half working since 10.

Needless to say, you thanked him profusely and headed straight home for your needed ores. And when you finally got sight of the Forge.. March was tapping his foot on the floor with impatience while what looked to be pacing.

The relieved sigh that escaped you formed into a content smile that you didn't even want to hold back. "Your late." March said when he caught sight of you nearing his shop. "-But I'll let it slide.." He said quickly after as your smile grew ever so slightly.

"What's that look for? C'mon, let's get to work.." March said, turning as you mentally thanked your past self for making that deal. You now got to see a new, slightly nicer, and much less drunken side of March.

[sunriseabram]

“What do you want, Neil? Spit it out,” Andrew replied. He wasn’t known for his patience. “I want you to tie me up,” Neil said. Andrew didn’t have to even think about his answer. “Okay.”

“Not sexually,” Neil clarified. Andrew nodded. “I just…I want to get over—get better at—dealing with whatever the fuck is going on up here.” It made sense. After all, exposure therapy was a real thing. Bee had talked about it once as a treatment for PTSD: slowly exposing someone to their triggers in a safe environment to lessen their fear. However, for most people, that normally consisted of going to the supermarket rather than trying to overcome a kidnapping, near-death experience, and two weeks of back-to-back torture. “Most people go to therapy,” Andrew argued. “I’m not most people,” Neil retorted. “I don’t trust them, but I do trust you.” - Or very asexual bondage where Neil asks Andrew to tie him up as exposure therapy.

Read it here!

[the-clues-that-are-bloos]

i wrote dani's death, would anyone like to see :3

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Apparently my brain keeps coming up with cursed things so, SDV townies or SVE/RSV really reacting to farmer calling them babygirl???

And now I am starting to imagine all of them in THAT babygirl pose I'm so sorry if it's stuck in your brain too

Omg babygirl everywhere. This is gonna be one of the most cursed headcanons I've ever write (or not? depends on what people say)

By the way, I found myself in such a situation that I do not fully know the term "babygirl". That is, I knew that women were usually affectionately called that from English, and babygirl as a meme on Twitter and Tumblr referred only to men (I'm not kidding, I was looking for the meaning of babygirl and this is what Google gave me):

"Submissive and breedable", huh.

Sorry anon, but with mods you get a lot of NPCs, so I'll write about some SDVs and SVE/RSVs. I hope you still like it. Enjoy!

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

Despite the fact that he blushed a little, Alex believes that he is not just a babygirl, but the best babygirl. Look at his muscles, look at those biceps, he's just made for the perfect babygirl pose! Seriously, he praises it like he won a gridball championship.

Depending on the mood, Magnus will either give the Farmer a suspicious look and inquire about their mental health, or simply teleport them away from his tower. In any case, the wizard has too much to do to waste time on nonsense.

Immediately to the clinic! No, Harvey doesn't want to listen to any protests! Get on the bed right now, and he will bring all the necessary medicines. The Farmer does have sunstroke or a high fever if they're delusional and call Harvey "babygirl". Maru, we have an emergency!

"Perhaps there are new ways of courting among young people in the world, or maybe it was an unusual way to insult my person," Lance thought, not understanding exactly how he should react to this word addressed to him from his farmer friend.

Wh-what? No, Victor is not a babygirl! Yes, he knows what that means, but refuses to believe it. But still at home, in front of the mirror, he stood in one of the babygirl poses from social networks... And blushed because he really looks cute, he is a perfect babygirl. Victor prays that his mom doesn't catch him in this position...

Morris is in a small stupor, trying to understand if they just insulted him or said a compliment. Hm, maybe he'll rethink about that "babygirl" as the new slogan for Joja cola, since the word is so popular with young people!

Please, Farmer, don't. Gus doesn't know the meaning of the word and doesn't want to know. It also worries visitors to the Saloon. They are his friend, but there must be limits to what is permitted!

Well, all people have their quirks. And as long as it's not an insulting and vulgar word to anyone, Gunther doesn't mind. Well, he hopes it's not an insult or vulgarity.

It's because Elliott's long hair makes him look like a girl? Does this word have another meaning as well? Ah, compliment? Why, thank you kindly, Farmer. He's a little confused, but flattered anyway.

Poor Shane will choke on his beer when he hears this word from the Farmer. Now all people in the Saloon is looking at both of them. He just wanted a drink in peace, why....

...Farmer, you know that Kent is married, right?... No, he does NOT want to know the meaning of this word, he already has a headache after Sam's talk about Fortnite and TikTok trending. Give this poor man break.

Yes, he is a baby girl, baby baby baby girl. He is a small child. Come on, insult him ​​again, why not! He's a fucking joke for young assholes like Farmer apparently! (Andy took this word too seriously, like the phrase "confuse your enemy by yelling at them")

Ahh, thanks Farmer. Yes, Sam has seen on social media that some characters in babygirl poses look quite cursed, but he is pleased that the Farmer called him cute, albeit with that word. Hey, take a picture of Sam, he wants send this pic to Sebastian and Abigail and laugh about it!

Still, Jio's instinct didn't let him down. Despite the friendship with the Farmer, the victory over Gabriela's corruption and all other merits, the Farmer is still an idiot. How else to explain the word that they said to the ninja elf?

Erm, thanks? Poor June, he had strange admirers before, but at least the Farmer with "babygirl" turned out to be harmless to him. Right? Isn't that an insult?

It looks like the young adventurer hit their head in the mine a lot harder than Marlon thought. No matter how the Farmer resists, no matter how the old bones of the one-eyed adventurer hurt from the heavy and kicking burden, Marlon is determined to take the Farmer to the clinic for an examination. No, he doesn't know anything about their "Tweeters and smartphones", he'll get them to Dr. Harvey right now.

[incomprehensible-phasmid]

Posted a silly Hankcon fic ❤ There are a lot of shenanigans, miscommunication, some funny stuff... just the usual 😅

I hope you enjoy! ❤

[butdaddyilovehim99]

for the smut prompt 3 you reblogged, I wanna know which of those you think would most suit Gale and Winnie :) I can kinda see no.3 (who is naked is up to interpretation;))

Oooof I really had to think about this I could see 7 finding a somewhat private area at a fancy party to fuck (I’m thinking a party at the officer’s club) or 11 quickie where you don't take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentials (as this is what they normally do as a necessity with their circumstances on base)

This is much longer than I meant for it to be 😅 I don’t quite have a specific point where this fits in the fic

I hope y’all enjoy

Winnie forgets what she was searching for in John's locker when Gale enters the main barrack from the showers, and she looks at him. He has a towel tucked low around his hips and ruffles another towel over his head to dry his hair. Winnie licks her lips as she lets her eyes wander over his tan body, following the muscles in his biceps and over his chest and stomach. 

When he removes the towel from his head and sees her, her cheeks flush dark crimson. His eyes widen at the surprise, but then his lips curl into a slight smirk. His voice is authoritative when he asks,  "What are you doing in the officer's quarters?"

"I was just—" she looks away from Gale into John's locker, where her hands were rifling through just a moment before; she really can't remember what she needed. 

Gale approaches her, his smirk growing, and she wants to kiss it off of him. "You were just?" He prompts her. He's teasing her, and she can't take it with him being naked just in front of her. Winnie tilts her head back to look up at him through her lashes, a soft pout on her lips. 

"This isn't fair, you're naked." She whispers the word naked as if it's scandalous. As if Winnie sitting on her knees in front of Gale, who is wearing only a towel, isn't scandalous itself. They would never be able to explain this if someone walked in. Still, it's early in the night—John and the others only recently left for the pub, and they won't be back until the early morning hours.

Gale cocks an eyebrow and moves his hand to his towel. "I'm not naked," he says as his hand untucks the towel and then lets it drop to the floor behind him. "Now I'm naked."

Winnie hates the way heat instantly pools in her belly—the way his hardening cock makes her mouth water. And that's new to her. It makes her confused when she wants to reach out to grab him and lick his tip—taste him for the first time. 

His soft hand cups her cheek. She closes her eyes and leans into his touch. She feels his thumb traces her lips, then pauses to gently pull her bottom lip down. Winnie opens her eyes as she lets her mouth open for him—his pupils are already blown wide, making his gaze dark—he slips his thumb into her mouth and rests it on her tongue. 

Gale lets out a low groan when she closes her lips and sucks a little on his thumb; his cock twitches, and she knows he must like what she did—confidence takes over and makes her brave. She pulls back a little, letting go of his thumb, and bats her eyes up at him.

"Tell me what to do, how to make it good for you," Winnie says as she wraps her own hand around the base of his cock for the first time.  She watches as the muscle in his jaw jumps, and he takes a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes for a brief moment. 

Gale opens his eyes again once he gains control of himself. "Tighten your grip a bit," he tells her, and she nods, tightening her fingers that don't even go all the way around his cock. She watches as a bead of liquid collects at his tip, and Winnie can't help but lean forward and lick it away—it's salty, but she doesn't mind it, so she wraps her lips around the tip and gives a slight suck. 

Gale curses lowly at the sudden way she has taken him in her mouth, and he tangles his fingers in the hair at the back of her head. His grip is tight but doesn't hurt. Winnie places her free hand on Gale's thigh to steady herself as she slowly takes more of his cock into her mouth. 

Winnie has no other experience to compare Gale's size to, but she knows he is big. He's almost too thick to fit in her mouth, and she has to work to relax her jaw as this is her first time. Once he barely grazes the back of her throat, she gags and pulls back. She looks up at Gale with tears in her eyes, and he coos down at her. His free hand comes up to gently wipe her eyes. 

"You don't have to if it's too much," Gale says softly. Winnie wants to prove to him that she can, so she swats his hand away. 

"It's not. I can do it," she murmurs before wrapping her lips around him again, cutting off the chuckle he was letting out at her determination and making him curse again. She learns from the last try when to pull back before gagging. Winnie pulls back just as slowly as she took him in her mouth, but she picks up a bit of speed with every bob of her head.

Winnie lets the low noises he makes build her confidence as she moves her mouth up and down the length she can take. She moves her hand along the rest of his cock, keeping the grip he said. He moans out, "Fuck, just like that darling." 

She can't help the little moan she makes around his cock. She feels his grip tighten in her hair and his hips buck forward into her mouth—she gags, but his grip is too tight for her to pull away. She takes a breath through her nose and grips his thigh, digging her nails in, but Winnie calms herself down and continues to work her mouth over him.

Winnie moves her tongue along the underside, teasing along a vein, and she feels his cock twitch. "Jesus, Winnie," he breathes and relaxes his grip on her hair, "you're going to be the death of me."

She pulls back, letting off his cock with an obscene pop, and a string of saliva connects her lips to his tip—he groans lowly, and she smirks up at him. "I've already accepted that I'm going to hell. Might as well enjoy my time with you while we have it." 

Gale opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off by swirling her tongue around his tip and then swallowing him down until she might gag. She stays there and works through the feeling before she can take just a little more, and her throat swallows around his tip. He lets out a strangled moan, and his hips buck forward again; simultaneously, as his cock twitches, she feels warm liquid coat her tongue as he quickly pulls away—the warmth landing on her chin, making her gasp. 

"Shit, darling, I'm sorry!" Gale breathes heavily and doesn't give himself a single second to enjoy his orgasm. He grabs the towel from the floor and crouches down to her—he wipes her chin and instructs, "Go ahead, spit it out."

Winnie blinks up at him as she still holds the bitter, salty liquid in her mouth. She thinks back to the times she'd seen the same white stickiness leaking out from her wetness when he had finished. She swallows before she spares another thought and smiles sweetly at him when his jaw drops slightly. It's the dirtiest thing she's ever done, but how Gale looks at her now makes it worth it.

He leans in and captures her lips in a deep kiss. Their lips part and dance together perfectly. She will never get tired of his lips on hers, his tongue sliding against hers, and his hands on her body. "You're perfect," he breathes when they finally part, and she smiles again, this time a little demurely. He smiles and says, "I love you."

"You're only saying that because of what I just did." She laughs and stands up after closing John's locker—still unsure what she was looking for.

Gale stands up as well and tucks the towel around his hips—making sure to keep the side that he used to wipe her face on the outside. He shrugs, "Maybe, but I would still love you if you hadn't done it. If you never wanted to do that. I'll love you no matter what." He grins, and Winnie knows she's a sucker for his sweet words and that grin.

She grins up at him and reaches up to cup his cheek. "I love you too," she murmurs and stands on her tippy toes to press one more sweet kiss to his lips. "Goodnight, Gale."

When she pulls away, his eyes are soft, and he has a soft smile to match. "Goodnight, darling," he murmurs. Winnie returns his smile before she leaves the barracks. She would love to stay longer, to have him touch her in return, but she wouldn't go if he got her into his rack. She would want to stay all night cuddled with him, and that's impossible. 

Winnie is glad she left when she did when she passes a few men on her way back to her barrack. It's not until after she brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas, then lies awake in her own rack, that she remembers she went into John's locker for a book she had lent him.

[theloveinc]

Do you have any dick headcannons for the boys in bnha ?…

i do! actually on ihb LOL from... two? summers ago. isn't that crazy?????? TWO!!!

but let's do a little vampin' (oh oh ohhhh) and add some missing pieces, shall we? sorry if i'm a bit rusty (for more, check my links for iida , shinso + hawks)!

-

- deku — Honestly? This man has a perfect dick. Just the right length and thickness to spark a little fear in your heart, but not to actually scare you away. Just like his hands, he's thick and real veiny, but also kinda pretty, too. Pornstar-esque, which is funny cuz you NEVER would've thought.

He's also a bit on the paler side. Darkening towards the tip but staying light at the base, probably because he's almost always in his hero suit and doesn't get enough sun. Uncut with a perfectly rounded tip, he has tight balls which he tries to trim but never shaves. Excellent happy trail to go with.

- todoroki — Another pretty dick, of course, with balls to match. On the longer side with a slight slant to it that's only noticeable when he's hard. He's pale, really only the pointed tip flushing red when he's horny, though he happens to be uncut with a good amount of foreskin to play with.

He's always able to hit your cervix without even trying, and the second he wants to fuck, he's touching himself and leaking pre like no tomorrow (one of those dudes they warn you about wearing a condom with even during foreplay LOL). Stands straight up with no problem, even his cock is a model, and is very bouncy.

Doesn't trim or shave, but his pubes aren't overwhelming so it's really not a problem.

- bakugo (links are older versions!) — We already know wtf I'm gonna say: on the shorter side but makes up for it in GIRTH. A real FATTY. Concerningly thick. It's scary. AND with heavy balls, too...

And the funny part is, Bakugo is always surprised when someone brings it up. No, he's not exactly insecure, but we know how he is about praise... and wide eyes + gagging do just about the same thing in this case.

His dick is a shade darker than his normal skin tone, and has a few prominent veins which almost always show. He's also really dense, so when he's hard, it's difficult to get it warmed up and moving to fit inside you without a little help. Leaves his pubic hair alone unless otherwise told to.

- kiri — LONG and THICK, I know you know this guy has a massive dong. But it's actually not unrealistic looking, if you know what I mean: he balls are soft and gooey, while the base begins tapering into a reasonably sized head. His tip is probably the least scary part about him... and even though he's uncut, you can hardly really tell with how how the slit is always peeking through.

Surprisingly pink and flushed for such a tan guy, it hardly ever stands completely straight just due to the natural weight of it, either poking at his belly (meaning you often need to be the one positioning it) or tilting downward when he's standing up straight. Kiri almost always wears a jockstrap when he leaves the house.

[sourtomatola]

finally drew them digitally just as I also finally wrote the fic!

[dedkake]

someone else's life | g, 1.4k, carson / rodney / john

Even if everyone insists they’re the same thing, he can’t help but look for the differences. or, After a few months on Earth, John and Rodney have a surprise for Carson.

a gift for @carsonsweebabyturtles for the leftovers event <3 happy holidays! 💜

read it on ao3

[sunderedazem]

“it’s okay. i promise you, i will be here when you wake up.” with spyscrapper for the drabble prompt?

OHHHHHH YES (thank you!)

There's- something noticeably different about being hurt by the Golden Skriton, as compared to it's lesser counterparts. And as Cal stumbles yet again, holding his side where the beast's stinger had pierced him through and limping, his calf still pouring blood - he tries to puzzle out what. But it's hard to put a name to with the chill of Jedha's cool deserts leeching warmth from his shivering limbs and sapping clarity from his stream of conscious thought. It's hard to figure out with the gash in his back still seeping warmth down his clothes despite the bacta dressings.

He blinks again, and Jedha's deserts burst with kaleidoscopic color before fading back to tans and browns and the oncoming violet of dusk. He's...a bit too far from the base to make it back before nightfall, he thinks fuzzily.

It's a shame BD had stayed with Cordova. The little droid always had been good at making sure the stim capsules didn't get smashed to pieces. And Cal...Cal hadn't been so lucky this go around.

The desert sways back into vibrant colors again, the pain fluttering into strange pulses of neon for a moment, and Cal staggers to a halt, staring absently at the landscape as it flashes green and gold and bright blue around him. He....doesn't think this is precisely normal. Maybe that's what's different about the Golden Skriton sting...?

He doesn't notice he's keeled over on the sand until the grit is cool beneath his cheek and there's spreading warmth sticky and wet beneath his side and- it's a little silly, really, how everything keeps flickering into pretty colors...and the sounds are starting to get weird too, there's a humming buzz that keeps getting louder and louder-

"Cal! Holy shit, scrapper-"

Bode's face is a miasmas of blinding orange and purple above him, and spinning wildly, and Cal giggles weakly up at him. He looks weird. Maybe Cal's just tired.

"Heyyy...jetpack..." he tries to get out- but the words slur on his tongue and garble, and there's a flash of fear on the mercenary's face that seems wrong, very wrong when the pain is drifting away and Cal doesn't really feel all that cold anymore. Dark eyes blink down at him, cutting sharply through the drifting colors and glowing traces of weird lights starting to curdle his vision at the edges. It feels like he's on the edge of a dream, a little. Carefully, Bode's hands trace around the curve of his throat, pressing against his pulse. Cal stares up at him, watching.

He's so pretty. Bode's so pretty it hurts.

There's a strangled sob then, and before he realizes what's happening Bode's sliding his hands underneath Cal's shoulders and knees and lifting. It's comfortable, and Cal's very convinced he's about to have a nice nap listening to Bode's pattering heart. Everything's pleasantly fuzzy now. And Bode is still so-

He sighs, closing his eyes against the bright colors beyond. Bode's handsome. Kissable. He wants to do that, later, maybe.

"You're the pretty one, scrapper," Bode says then, and his voice is choked with fear. "You hang in there, you hear me? Kiss me later, you hear me?"

Cal hums.

"...promise?" he garbles. "promise you'll...be here...?"

Bode chokes again, and his heart's a horrid drumbeat, loud and terrified in his chest. Cal thinks they might be flying.

"I swear to you, Cal. I'll be here when you wake up," he whispers. He sounds so scared.

Cal barely has time to wonder why before the kaleidoscope swallows him.

-

(He wakes up three days later, antidote like fire in his bloodstream and bacta plastered over his injuries. Bode is no longer orange and purple, but he is there. Cal thinks that he promised to be.)

(Bode still looks kissable. He always has.)

(Cal kisses him.)

(He's kissed back.)

[randomfoggytiger]

Hi hi!! For the fic titles ask game: #9 🫶

"You Know My Memory Isn't What It Used to Be" was the first fic (I believe?) to include Tena Mulder! I tried to balance her victimization with her determined deceit.

I wanted to touch upon the dynamic she and Scully share: Scully created a connection with Mrs. Mulder after Mulder's disappearance and supposed death. Each time they meet in the series, Tena appears poised, graceful, and well-bred, traits she and Scully recognize and seem to respond to in each other. But there's a reliance Tena seems to have on Scully, too-- this young woman who told her that her son was still alive, and who helped her "speak" when she was lying, voiceless, on her deathbed.

Further, while I wanted Scully to understand there was more than Tena was letting on, I also wanted her to defer from probing deeper-- a "Mulder, what difference would it make" reflex. It allows her to sympathize with Mulder's mother in Demons and later in Sein und Zeit; or, more accurately, to the pain Tena must have felt for being inadequate to her son. How could these two points be linked? I did my best. XDDD

Quote:

She combed through again, flipped back to an older record; and found it. The numbers, Scully was certain, were different. The date remained unchanged, perhaps even the time; but Tena's blood pressure, pulse rate, heart rhythm-- everything-- had been adjusted to more reasonable, recoverable levels.

**Edit**: The titular quote is from Paper Hearts.