#and the store was actually all out of black ink pads which made me very sad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tobesobri · 4 years

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Traditions | 17.3k

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

prompt: doube date

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know her.”

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

“Couple weeks.”

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

“Well at least I’ve had one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, way to make us feel incompetent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N wait, I have to—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like I’d lower my standards for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She recoiled. “Um… why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A double date? With your ex?”

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

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

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

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

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

“At this party… and bef—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He breathed out a laugh. “It’s Adam.”

She knew it had started with an A!

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was… pathetic. To say the least.

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

“So… what’s in the box?”

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

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

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

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you?”

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

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

“I don’t look at her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He flinched. “Did she say something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t have to—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

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

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

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

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

This would be a long, hellish night.

She couldn’t help but wonder what Harry was thinking. That maybe she’d come to crash his date. Or, even worse, that he’d already figured the whole thing out. That Adam was paying her to be here. She really hoped he’d never find out because it was just embarrassing enough to make her want to change her name and move across the country, thousands of miles away from him. Harry finding out that she couldn’t get a real date to save her life… beyond humiliating.

“This is Harry.” Laura motioned to him and he just barely lifted his gaze, nodding at Adam and ignoring Y/N entirely. “You know,” the blonde went on, glancing between Adam and Y/N, “I was a little shocked when you told me you were seeing someone again.”

Adam just shrugged.

“How did you guys meet?”

Y/N left all the talking to him. Mostly because she was still in shock that she was sitting across from Harry. And she hadn’t even taken the time to properly take him in and realized he’d also changed his clothes since work. Swapping his wardrobe out for a fitted black button-up, that wasn’t buttoned all the way to the top as his shirts normally were. The sleeves were already rolled to his elbows. He’d shaved off the scruff along his jaw as well and fixed his hair so that it was combed back out of his face, although a a couple rebellious strands hung down onto his forehead. He looked… like absolute perfection. And he was being forced to be on a date with the ex-boyfriend of the girl he was seeing and his annoying co-worker. She felt terrible for him.

“Oh, uh, well we live on the same floor.”

Laura nodded, clearly anticipating more. “Is that it?”

Y/N felt Adam tense up beside her and so she took over, easily spinning a lie. “I ran out of milk one night a few weeks ago. He’s the only one who answered the door.”

She noticed a flash of movement in her peripheral and turned to find Harry’s gaze on her again, one eyebrow lifted curiously. He was either wondering how she hid it so well, or trying to figure out what to ask in order to reveal their ploy. He never said anything, though.

“Sorry, um,” Laura’s tone changed as she glanced between Harry and Y/N, both of them looking away when the other girl interrupted. “Do you two know each other?”

Harry grinned, sitting back against his seat and folding his hands in his lap. “Something like that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We work together.”

“Really?” Although her tone said otherwise, Laura’s face said everything about how she felt upon hearing that bit of information.

Adam twisted his worrisome gaze to Y/N, but she ignored it. Harry, however, did not.

“Don’t worry, mate. I was under the impression she was celibate up until now.” With that, Y/N kicked him under the table and he sat forward to swallow the groan that very nearly left his lips after she’d jabbed him in the shin with the toe of her heels. “Guess she’s really good at hiding things, though.”

Adam just chuckled nervously and Y/N shot him an apologetic smile, trying to reassure him that this date would still work out despite Harry.

“What a small world.” Laura laughed, trying to break the tension but dinner hadn’t even started yet.

Sometime during the main course, Laura excused herself to the bathroom and Y/N almost, in a desperate attempt to flee both Adam and Harry, invited herself along. But she figured it’d be worse to be alone with Laura than with them. Laura might ask questions she wasn’t prepared for. So, she stayed put, as much as it pained her to do so.

“So, Adam, what do you do for a living?” Harry asked suddenly and she wanted to kick him again. Mostly because his tone was that of a jealous teenager and he’d waited until Laura was gone to pester her ex-boyfriend who most certainly did not deserve Harry’s pestering.

“Oh, uh, I’m an artist. I work for an animation studio at the moment but I’m trying to get into freelance.”

Harry’s eyes shot to the suspiciously quiet girl sitting across from him. “So is Y/N.”

Adam turned to look at her, but she just glared at Harry. “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

Harry titled his head as he narrowed his attention in on Adam again. “So you’ve known her for a few weeks and you never asked what she did?”

“Harry.” Y/N warned, trying to kick him under the table again but he dodged out of the way.

“Well… she said she was in graphic design… not art.” She had told him that, during their crash course yesterday while they got to know as much as they could about each other in a span of a couple hours.

“I think it’s the same thing.”

Adam just shrugged. “I guess. I don’t think I could be a designer, though. Most artists make what they think looks good, designers create things to appeal to customers.”

“Just ignore him.” Y/N advised and Harry was the one shooting her daggers and attempting to stomp his foot on top of hers under the table this time.

“You and Laura used to date then? She never told me how you split up.” Harry moved on.

Adam swallowed nervously. “She broke up with me.”

“Why?” Harry pushed and Y/N looked at him like she wanted to kill him, which he ignored.

“I, uh… I had a drug problem for a while. I was not the best person to be around sometimes. But after we broke up, she helped me with rehab and everything.”

“Guess that explains why you’re on such good terms.”

Now Y/N really wanted to do more than just kick him.

Adam grabbed Y/N’s hand under the table and pulled her straight from her violent thoughts about Harry. And he didn’t lace his fingers between hers, instead, it felt as if he had just been looking for something to ground himself with. And her hand resting on her lap was the closest thing he could find. It didn’t, however, go unnoticed by Harry and his jaw clenched as he stared at the point in the table where, just below, there their hands met almost as if he was trying to set everything on fire.

Laura returned shortly after that.

As promised, Adam paid the entirety of both his and Y/N’s bill, even though she attempted to snag it from him, seeing as the date had gone to shit and it was all her fault. Well… maybe it was also Harry’s fault a little bit too. But she definitely did nothing to make Laura jealous. Adam, on the other hand, did a great job at making Harry jealous just by existing and being Laura’s ex, whom she was still friends with.

The four of them stood outside on the curb awaiting their Uber after dinner was over, agreeing upon splitting one car to get to the party instead of taking two. Laura was apparently very cautious about fossil fuel consumption.

Y/N shivered as she stood between Adam and Laura, wishing she’d bright a jacket instead of relying on a long-sleeve dress to keep her warm. Then an arm wrapped around her shoulders and Adam pulled her close, running his hand up and down her arm to form heat. She tensed up, though, forming into an immovable brick. She had no idea the last time she’d been that close to another person, let alone a member of the opposite sex. When he felt her go rigid, he leaned down until his lips were at her ear. “Is this okay?”

She just nodded and tried to relax. Which turned out to be quite easy because Adam was warm and he smelled nice. She, of course, didn’t let her mind wander off too far. He was still in love with his ex. He’d still shove cash into her hand at the end of the night for her troubles and go on with his life.

Adam let go of her when the car pulled up and quickly went to the passenger door to confirm with the driver. Then he opened the back door for the three of them to climb in, Laura going first, then Harry, and, at last, Y/N, while Adam slipped into the front seat beside the driver.

While the car took off, Y/N was shoved into the corner when Harry moved closer to her in order to find both his and Laura’s seat buckles in the dark. Eventually, he settled back into the middle and gave her some space again. When she made no move to do the same as them, Harry turned to look down at her.

“Put your seatbelt on.” He whispered.

Her eyes whirled up to his. Wordlessly, and of course after rolling her eyes, she grabbed her seatbelt and he made room for her to buckle it in. Then she sat back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest while she stared out at the traffic through her window.

She would have stayed in that exact position the entire trip, too, if Harry’s knee didn’t insist on bumping into hers constantly. And she couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or not.

When she glanced up at him, and found the corner of his lips curl upward, she figured it was, in fact, purposeful. So, with the hand closest to him as her arms were still crossed, she poked him in the side, right against his ribs, hoping it hurt.

“Ouch.” He whined, covering the spot with his hand dramatically. Everyone in the car glanced at Harry, all except for Y/N who snickered as she returned to staring out the window.

Harry wasn’t giving up, though. This time, with his arms crossed in his lap, and glancing at Laura to be sure she wasn’t watching, he walked his pointer and middle finger up the outside of Y/N’s thigh, close enough to her hip to make her squirm slightly when his touch tickled her. And as soon as he got her attention, he looked down at what he was doing and pressed his middle finger against her, meeting her gaze with a smirk.

In the same moment, the driver turned up the music in the car as they waited tirelessly at a red light. It was better than silence or listening to his passengers breathing. But Harry mentally thanked him and turned his attention back to Y/N, leaning into her slightly until his lips were at her ear and she shivered for an all new reason.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before.” He whispered for her ears only. The music was especially loud in the back and he wasn’t sure Y/N had even heard him.

Especially since she didn’t respond right away. But how could she? Harry’s fingertips were still grazing her thigh, as if trying to emphasize the dress she had on. And his stupid knee was pressed right up against hers. She couldn’t think straight.

Though when she finally turned to him and whispered back, “Don’t get used to it,” he knew she had, in fact, heard him well enough.

He leaned again, “Afraid I already am.”

She hated that there were butterflies in her stomach. That he was saying such odd things to her when his date was sitting just on the other side of him. The date who most definitely met all Harry’s standards.

Huddling away from him, she stuck her eyes out the window and kept them there the rest of the trip.

It was just past eight when they arrived, a fifteen-minute trip up through the city taking half an hour due to all the Valentine’s Day traffic. Another reason she hated this holiday.

The party was being held by Laura’s best friend, who’s name Y/N did not care to commit to memory. In the elevator ride up to the penthouse, though, Harry stood close to Laura, his arm wrapped around her waist and Adam to Y/N, although he didn’t touch her. She wouldn’t have minded if he did, but she figured it was best to keep those boundaries in place anyway.

Pink and golden balloons littered the ceilings of the penthouse. The drink cups were also pink, as was the communal punch bowl that Y/N steered clear of, having no idea what was in it, or who had already spiked it. She knew nobody at the party besides who she’d come with, though she assumed both Adam and Harry were somewhat acquainted with Laura’s friends.

It was most definitely not someplace Y/N ever saw herself being at, not only because it was a Valentine’s themed party, but also because she wasn’t exactly comfortable around so many people. Especially when those people were all so unfamiliar to her.

“Here,” Adam handed her a drink and then grabbed one for himself. She downed the thing in one go, needing to take the edge off. It might’ve been a slight mistake when the alcohol burned the back of her throat, but she didn’t care too much when she grabbed another.

Then he was leading her into the dancing pit of bodies where they huddled close enough so that his lips were at her ear. “Is it alright if I touch you?”

She glanced over at where Laura and Harry had been left, finding both her hazel eyes and Harry’s green ones glued to the both of them. She wasn’t sure what Harry’s deal was, but this was her moment to fix things and make Laura jealous, so, turning back to Adam, she nodded.

He eased his hands onto her waist as they began swaying to the music. And then he pulled her closer, his hands slipping to the small of her back as her arms wrapped around his neck, being careful with her own movements even though she desperately wanted to sink her hands in his hair.

And, god, he smelled so good as her head rested in the crook of his neck. And he felt good, too, as he moved against her body. She knew it wasn’t real, and that the alcohol was making skewing her perception of things, but it was still nice. Nice to be held and to just let go for a change.

Over Adam’s shoulder, Y/N caught Harry’s eyes again. His jaw clenched and he looked the same as he did back at the restaurant. Angry. And then she realized that maybe she wasn’t really trying to make Laura jealous anymore at all, but rather Harry.

It was dumb, she knew that. He’d have to like her in order for her to make him jealous. But… the way he was looking at her. The way he had looked at her. His eyes lingering too long on her lips. What he’d done in the car ride here.

She heard Adam in her ear again. “I think it’s working. She just stormed off into the kitchen.” Then he pulled away and she realized she hadn’t even seen Laura. Just Harry. Harry and his stupid, obnoxious green eyes.

“You owe me more than just dinner.” Y/N teased but Adam grew serious.

“I know. And since you refuse to accept my money, I’ll have to figure out another way to repay you.” He smiled and then twirled her around so that she no longer had any line of sight toward Harry. He pulled her close again, one hand going to her waist while the other stayed locked to one of hers. “Suppose I could start with making your coworker just as jealous… although I think he already is.”

Confusion flooded her features as she peered up at him.

“Oh, come on! He was ready to rip my head off when he realized I’d grabbed your hand. And when I put my arm around you? I thought I might be better off just giving you my jacket and freezing to death instead.”

“I don’t…” she shook her head in disbelief. It was one thing for her to be pretending to make Harry jealous in some delusional hope that it’d work. But this… this was a whole other thing.

“I’m actually quite interested to see what he does if I kissed you.”

She was shocked at first and then, possibly due to the alcohol, just as interested. “Are you asking my permission?”

“Are you saying yes?”

Y/N hesitated. “Is she back?”

Adam’s eyes scanned the room and Y/N realized he hadn’t asked to kiss her for Laura’s sake at all.

“She is.” He finally announced.

Without any more second guessing, Y/N’s hand slipped to the back of his neck and pulled him in. As soon as their lips collided and she tasted the alcohol on him, she knew that she’d never agreed to this without it. Or maybe she would. Adam spun them back around again, deepening the kiss as her eyes opened and fell into the direction she’d last seen Harry.

He was still there.

Still watching.

His hands in fists. His jaw tightened into a crisp line. His nostrils flared. His eyes… sad.

She pulled away. Adam steadied her, grabbing her shoulders when she swayed. But, as she caught her breath, the dizziness went away.

“I’m going to find the bathroom.” She told him and after he nodded, she left, forming a rift for herself through the bodies that danced all around them until she was in the clear. Then she was avoiding Harry as she walked past him, not so sure his gaze was still set on her. Maybe she’d gone too far. She didn’t often just kiss people for no good reason and that’s exactly what she’d just done with Adam. She barely even knew him.

She didn’t exactly need the bathroom, just an open, empty and quiet place. And so, she fell back against a wall in the foyer and ran a hand through her hair.

“That was quite the show.”

She startled at the sound of his familiar voice and looked up just as he stopped a few feet away from her. “What are you talking about?”

He lifted a brow. “You expect me to believe that that you, anti everything to do with this holiday and with relationships and romance, are actually dating that guy?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” She crossed her arms, willing to go as far as she needed to before she let Harry see the truth. That she was that pathetic.

“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate to respond and she flinched.

“Well, I’m sorry that you have a hard time believing that someone may actually like me.” She had no reason to nearly be shouting at him and no reason to be saying what she was because Adam didn’t like her.

“That’s not what I said. It’s hard for me to believe you just dropped all your ideas about relationships for some guy with obnoxious blue eyes.”

“I didn’t.”

“So then what is this?”

Y/N hesitated. Hating that the truth was about to boil over out of her mouth for him to see all the embarrassing bits of it, but she had no other way of convincing him. And it didn’t really help that Adam was so far out of her league that it wasn’t even convincing to begin with. Nor did she want to convince Harry of anything either. It was clear now that he hadn’t been jealous, he was just trying to figure out when she stopped hating relationships so much.

And the truth of that was she never really hated them. It was just easier telling herself she didn’t want it than admitting no one ever actually wanted her.

She trembled, not even sure why, but he was making her incredibly nervous, so much that she wished she could rewind and stay squished next to him in the back of the car forever. Being that close to him... his stupid fingers on her thigh, whispering things in her ear that made her head spin. She’d much prefer that than standing in front of him now, seeing every ounce of judgment he was about to throw her way.

“What do you want me to say, Harry?” She shrugged and dropped her eyes to the white marble floors between them, focusing on calming her anxiety while she was no longer looking at him. “He needed a date and I felt bad for him.”

“What does that mean?”

Letting her head fall back against the wall, she stared up at the ceiling this time as her eyes burned with embarrassment. “He paid me to be his date so his ex-girlfriend didn’t find out he wasn’t actually seeing anyone. That’s what it means.”

Harry didn’t say anything.

“So, yeah.” She folded her arms, looking down at the floor again, still unable to meet Harry’s eyes and see the look that would be on his face. A smirk of amusement at her expense. Even probably his dimples, taunting her and turning her into the joke she already was. “You were right. I can’t find anyone to tolerate me, which is why I’m on this stupid date that isn’t even real.”

“Him kissing you seemed quite real to me.”

There was more exasperation than humor to her laugh. “It wasn’t.”

Harry seemed to finally understand. “He’s trying to make Laura jealous.”

Y/N just nodded. “I promise I didn’t know you were going to be there, that he was trying to get her back from you.”

“You still kissed him though.”

She couldn’t argue that, nor could she tell him the real reason she’d agreed to the kiss. That it wasn’t exactly Laura she was trying to make jealous. She’d never live that one down, if she ever managed to live any other aspect of this night down.

When she didn’t say anything, he stepped closer. “Why did you kiss him?”

“I’m sorry, Harry I just... I don’t know.”

He shook his head and took another step, making her eyes widen when he was close enough that she had to crane her head back to meet his gaze. “Seemed like you were trying to make me jealous.”

She swallowed, not exactly in the position to laugh it off and argue with him when he was this close and all she could feel were the traces of his fingertips on her thigh. Her voice was quiet when it finally came out. “Making you jealous would mean I assumed you liked me in the first place... which I’m definitely not stupid enough to assume.”

A crease formed between his brow and his stupidly perfect jaw hardened as if he was biting his tongue from saying something. And fuck him for choosing then to finally stop opening his mouth.

Just then, a pair of drunk guys, one on the other’s back, came racing through the foyer, screaming at the top of their lungs while a few others followed quickly after them. It was enough to force Harry away from Y/N again, enough for the both of them to step out of the little bubble they’d been in together the past ten minutes.

Once they were alone again, their eyes gravitated toward each other and just when she thought Harry might say something after all, he flipped around on his heel and left. And she watched as he turned the corner and mixed back into the party.

After a few moments to gather herself, she followed him, not exactly sure what she was going to do now that Harry wouldn’t talk to her and it felt weird being with Adam while Harry knew everything. But, whatever plans to keep herself occupied no longer matted when she spotted Laura.

Making out with Adam in the middle of the room.

Without even thinking, she turned to locate Harry and he might as well have been a source of gravity because her eyes fell right to him within a second. And he was watching them too. He knew.

He met Y/N’s eyes and she wasn’t quite sure if he was upset or not. She couldn’t really read anything on his face, and stopped attempting to when he moved towards her and she had other things on her mind, like where he was going and if he was going to bother taking her with him.

Shortly after he stormed past Y/N she made sure he wasn’t going to leave her behind and chased after him. She didn’t know Adam very well and definitely not Laura to want to stay with them. And everyone else in the room were complete strangers to her. Adam had promised he’d take her home, but he probably hadn’t expected to be making out with his ex by the end of the night, either.

Harry didn’t say anything, not even when they’d reached the foyer and Y/N asked where he was going. He just located his jacket and slipped it on before making his way out the front door.

And right when she thought he really was going to leave her behind, since she was the reason he’d just lost Laura to her ex, he held the door open and glanced over his shoulder at her while she still stood on the other side of the threshold.

“Are you staying?”

Without a word, she sprung into motion and trailed right behind him into the hallway like a lost puppy, letting the door shut behind her that cut them off from the music as it faded into the background behind them.

It was a silent trip down the elevator, mostly because she had no idea what to say that would sound sincere and he didn’t say anything at all. At least not until she followed him through the lobby until he stopped on the curb just outside the main doors.

She took up the spot next to him, eyes glued to the side of his face as he took in a deep breath of fresh air, or at least as fresh as traffic allowed it to be.

Then he spoke, and it seemed like the first time she’d heard his voice all night. “I’m the one who gave you the chocolates and the frog.”

She narrowed her eyes, both not exactly sure why he’d just said that or if he was even being serious. “What?”

He looked down at her. “It wasn’t Andrew, it was me.”

“Why?” She breathed and while she was positive she’d be freezing cold soon, the fresh air after being surrounded by so many people felt good. It felt freeing and she wondered if he felt that way too.

His eyes scanned hers before he looked away. “Well partly to apologize for what I said.”

“What’s the other part?”

Sighing, he turned his entire body to face her now. “Something else entirely…” He trailed off, only confusing her more as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at his feet. “I didn’t tell you because I know you don’t like all this stuff, but seeing you with him tonight... I wish I had.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a frog.”

He shook his head, grinning. “It’s not just a frog, Y/N... because the thing is,” he paused to catch his breath, “I’ve been in love with you for... a really long time… since last spring. But with you being the way that you are, I never thought you’d feel the same way.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it.

“And then you come in with that guy and...” He pulled his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more jealous in my life... because all this time I thought you weren’t interested in relationships, but you just weren’t interested in me.”

Inhaling, she summoned every ounce of courage she could fathom. “You were right about why I kissed Adam.” He lifted a brow, waiting for her elaboration which never came. “You were right about other things, too. I wish I had someone to come home to almost every single night I got to bed alone. No one—“ She cut herself off, trembling again as tears stung her eyes. “I pretend not to be interested so I can ignore the fact that no one’s ever wanted me.”

“That’s not true.” He had that same look on his face as before, when she’d told him she wasn’t stupid enough to think he liked her.

She just nodded. “And I’m sorry but... why would you want me when you could have someone like Laura?”

“Y/N...” He huffed and stepped closer to her, the heat from his body making her shiver. “This is not the first time I started seeing someone to get over you... in fact, all my relationships since I met you have been shit.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Well you’re very anti-relationships so I think I was justified in wanting to avoid you rejecting me… especially since we work together and it would have been really awkward.”

“I don’t, uh... I...” She stammered, not really sure what to say to him even though her heart was screaming at her in full volume.

He held his breath and then, in almost a whisper, “Is this the inevitable rejection?”

“No.” She didn’t even hesitate that time and at this point, her mind no longer controlled the words coming out of her mouth as she let another organ finally speak for itself. “No, I liked you the second I saw you, Harry... and at no point tonight was I ever trying to make Laura jealous.”

The corners of his mouth began to curl into a smile. “That was very cruel of you to do to me.”

“I didn’t think you liked me at all twenty minutes ago, Harry.”

“Twenty minutes ago,” he fully invaded all of her space now, leaving the smallest gap between their bodies as he could get away with, lifting his hand to her jaw and rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “I was still on this date with the wrong person.”

“I think the date is over now.”

“No,” his eyes fell to her lips just like they had before. “It’s not.”

“You’re looking at me like that again.” She mumbled, out of breath.

He lifted a brow and didn’t once remove his eyes from her lips. “Like what?”

“Like…” she trailed off, not having the courage to say it in case she wasn’t right.

“Like I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time and I’m tired of pretending?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

He grinned, both of his dimples making an appearance just before he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. And once her brain realized what was happening, she sunk right into him, letting his arm wrap around her waist as his other hand tangled its way into her hair to bring her closer. She threw her arms over his shoulders and he hunched lower to meet her. She staggered back a step when he did, nearly losing her balance but he caught her instantly and then drew his lips back as he laughed.

“This is not how I expected tonight to end.” She couldn’t help but think the way he struggled to catch his breath was possibly the hottest he’d ever been. Not to mention the tiny bit of her lipstick smeared on his face. She could look at him just the way he was right there and then for days and be perfectly satisfied.

“It doesn’t have to end yet.” She fully blamed her sudden burst of confidence on the cold, but refreshing February night. And maybe she also just wanted to get out of it before it caught up to her and she would, yet again, regret not having a jacket.

“Oh?” She wanted to smack the mischievous smirk off his face and leave him there on the curb. “And here I thought you were a prude.”

“You thought a lot of things about me that weren’t true, Harry.”

He thought about that for a moment and after realizing she was right, he then wondered just how wrong he was when he’d called her celibate. “I suppose… I’d quite like to find out just how wrong I was.” He slipped a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear, which is where his lips ended up as he whispered softly, “And I’d also quite like to show you just how wrong you were about me not liking you.”

They stumbled into her bedroom in the dark, Pretzel racing out between their twisted feet in a hurry, screeching at them in the process. Harry giggled against her lips, “Your cat sounds friendly.”

“Well, since I was supposed to be spending tonight with her, and chocolate, and anti-romantic movies…” She pulled away from him, watching as his smile spread further. Maybe she could actually believe he’d been in love all this time.

“Right… I’d be upset too.”

She shook her head and kissed him again, then pulled back a second later. “You know that’s not actually what I do on Valentine’s Day.”

He lifted a brow and waited for her to explain but she didn’t.

“And what is it that you do, then?” He finally asked, curiosity getting the best of him, although he had some inkling as to what she was talking about.

Her smile was devoid of innocence as her hands fell to his belt. Harry’s shirt had already been lost to the kitchen floor. Her dress hardly covering what it was supposed to once Harry had gotten his hands on it.

“Maybe you’ll get to find out.”

When she brought her lips back to his, after undoing the buckle just under his navel, he spun them around and led her backwards to the bed. He wasn’t sure how far it was, but hoped he was headed in the right direction. And because of that, when her knees did finally bend over the mattress, he practically came flying down on top of her.

She squirmed out from under him, crawling back towards the pillows as she watched him at the end of the bed while he stood and removed his belt completely, trying not to drool at the sight of him. At the sight of Harry, her fucking annoying ass, perfect, beautiful, coworker standing shirtless at the end of her bed where he was also about to be…

He pushed his trousers down off his hips and they fell to the floor with ease, almost with the same amount of ease that her eyes fell to the tight boxer-briefs he wore underneath. She swallowed as he adjusted the waistband back into place, quite certain that, even in the low light, her eyes were not deceiving her.

The bed shifted at her feet as he joined her, and then it took all her willpower to not fling herself at him as he crawled up the length of her. As he settled himself between her thighs and she felt every last, very hard, inch of him pressed against her. She couldn’t be blamed for the whining moan that she let out in his ear as his lips became familiar with the shape and taste of her neck. She also couldn’t be blamed when her hips instinctively collided with his.

He just giggled again and shook his head, the loose strands of his curls tickling her forehead. “Easy now.” He warned in a hushed mumble, his lips vibrating right against the vein in her neck that pulsed so much faster the more his free hand began to wander up underneath her dress.

He left her speechless for multiple reasons, but the main one was when she felt his fingers tracing down her thigh and then, moments later, after he shifted his weight and used his knees to keep her legs open, she sucked in a breath of air as she felt him pressed against her clit, forcing her nails to dig into his back but he didn’t seem to mind.

Coming back down to kiss her, he began moving his hand in expert little circles, grinning against her mouth every time her body begged him for more. It wasn’t long that he complied, either, when he sat back on his knees between her legs and tugged her underwear off for good, throwing it to the depths of her bedroom floor. He wouldn’t have known where they landed even if he tried because his gaze belong to her only as he lowered himself to his elbows before her, kissing his way up her thighs until he reached her center.

When she squirmed away from him, he wrapped his arms around her thighs and pressed his hands into her hips after gently moving her dress out of the way.

“You know when we used to stay late at the office working?” He asked suddenly and the heat of his voice against her made her squirm again, but he held on tight. “And you would get sick of sitting in an office chair and made me promise not to tell Jim when you sat on his desk instead?” She had no clue where he was going with it, but still, she nodded. “Every single time I turned to look at you, I thought about doing this.” Before she could get words out or even a coherent thought, she felt his tongue on her. And this time when she jerked against him, she nearly slipped out of his hold until he grabbed her again and pulled her back down, digging himself further into her as she struggled to breathe properly.

She dug her fingers into his hair when he brought her close to the edge and showed no mercy. And somehow, she’d managed to get the sole of her foot up onto his shoulder in order to kick him away, but it didn’t matter much because he never budged. Not that she wanted him to, but he just felt so good…

“Harry!” She shouted, pulling at his hair and making matters worse for herself when he moaned against her sensitive bundle of nerves. He let her come, never once lifting his mouth from her even as her hips jerked off the mattress and she very nearly pulled his hair out. When she stopped screaming, her voice caught in her throat because she was lost to her own orgasm, is when he lifted his mouth, replaced it with his fingers and watched her as she came down. As her eyes fluttered shut and her chest heaved, her lungs struggling to get oxygen back into her system. Her hold on him loosened as she came undone around him, melting into his hands it seemed like.

And when he began rubbing his index and middle finger into her, once she was far and beyond overstimulated, and he knew that, she reached down with a whine and grabbed his wrist with what little strength she had in her and pulled him away. His hand fell to the other side of her hip, which he used to his advantage to pull himself up over her again, his other hand taking her dress with it until he was able to tug it over her head and toss it. Then he came back down to kiss her, letting her taste herself on her lips. He rubbed his thumb across her cheek and when he pulled away, found her looking at him finally. Although it was with heavy lids as she still struggled to regain her bearings.

Before they could get much further, a loud crashing sound from the other room made both of them nearly jump out of their skin. She shot up instantly, grabbing hold of Harry’s bicep before moving him out of the way and sliding off the edge of the bed.

“It’s just the cat.” Harry would have probably said the same thing even if it was not just the cat, he’d say anything just to get her to stay with him.

“I know but it sounded like…” her voice trailed off as her feet hit the floor and the moment she went to stand on her own two legs, her knees buckled. He reached to grab her waist but she righted herself before he could. She didn’t see the way he hid his cheeky smirk at the fact that he’d been so good, she was still dizzy.

“You good?” He asked as she stumbled her way into a shirt. With only a groan in response, and what he was sure was her middle finger, she left him alone in her bed to investigate the noise. Sighing, he laid on his back and got comfortable amongst her pillows. And after about three minutes, decided to locate the remote to her TV to entertain himself.

He flipped onto his side and felt around her bedside table, but his fingers never landed on anything remote-like. So, frustrated, he reached up and switched the lamp on. Again, he found nothing. Looking further, he realized the table had a drawer and so he pulled it open in hopes of finding the damned remote before she got back.

But what he found instead was so much better than turning on late night news.

“Fucking cat knocked over my vase.” Y/N was back within ten minutes. Harry had left the light on, but made sure it wasn’t obvious he’d gone snooping into her drawer, at least not yet anyway. She crawled back into bed beside him and it was then he noticed the bandage on her thumb.

“Are you alright?” He forgot all about what he planned to tease her with when he gently grabbed her hand to inspect the damage.

“Yeah. I was in a bit of hurry trying to clean up the glass…”

Harry rolled his eyes and dropped her hand. “I would have come help you.”

She just smiled up at him as he fit his arm around her shoulders, his bicep under her neck. “That’s alright.”

He shrugged. “It was for the best anyways that I didn’t.” When he smirked, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

“And why’s that?”

She followed his other hand as he reached for something and then, moments later, it reappeared with a very familiar pink object clutched in his grasp. “Because then I wouldn’t have found this.”

Her first reaction was to pry it from his snooping fingers, but when she reached across him to grab it, he way too easily held her back and, at the same time, held it far out of her reach.

“So this is what you do on Valentine’s Day, then?” He flicked his wrist back and forth, waving her vibrator in the air as he taunted her.

“If you don’t give that back to me,” she reached for it again to no prevail, “you won’t be doing anything, least of all, me.”

He clicked his tongue. “Why would I give it back when I plan on using it?”

She froze and he chuckled at her reaction.

“Would be rude of me to break your traditions, wouldn’t it?”

She swallowed, her eyes slowly meeting his again. The appearance of his right dimple told her he wasn’t playing any games. She had no idea how many times he planned to make her come tonight or whether or not she’d even be able to walk tomorrow at work. But, given the stupid look on his face, she almost began making plans to call out sick instead.

“Do you actually know how to use that thing?” She finally asked, glancing at the wand still held very firmly in his hand.

He looked at her like she was crazy moments before he pivoted and pinned her onto her back, settling himself into the position they’d been in before the interruption of the cat.

Just, this time… he was clicking on her vibrator and watching her face as she began to regret her words.

“‘Course I know how to use it. The real question is,” he brought his lips to her ear, the soft vibrations and the sound of his voice mixing together like sin itself. Even more so when he nipped at her earlobe. “Do you know how to handle it?”

#1dffvalentine #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine

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officerjennie · 3 years

Text

A Hopeful Hesitance

CW: None

Rating: T

Summary: Jaskier isn't sure a picnic date with Valdo is the best idea, nor is he sure if he should trust the hope blossoming in his chest - but he wants to believe that, just maybe, this could work.

Thanks once again to @jaskierswolf for looking this over for me

Jaskier still hesitated. Every step of the way, he hesitated, from when he slipped into his cute new sandals to the moment he stepped out of his car with the bottle of wine Valdo had requested he bring. His big blue sunglasses tinted the world a cooler shade but they did nothing for the sweltering heat that wasn’t even on the forecast for that afternoon - no surprise there, really; weatherman were the best and worst of liars - and Jaskier already found himself sweating as he made his way out of the parking lot and towards the park.

It had been a while since he’d been here. A quaint little place, with a nice sized pond that currently had a bunch of ducks and geese floating around in it. Jaskier thought the ducks were cute but steered clear of the geese that had waddled up onto the grass, keeping a massive distance as one eyed him like he was the perfect beating bag for its wings.

Some people called him stupid, which he took exception to despite the occasional questionable decision he made. But Jaskier was far from suicidal. He’d leave it to Lambert to fuck with the geese.

As far as he remembered, they were supposed to meet on the far side of the pond. According to Valdo it would be cooler there - Jaskier had his doubts - and since most people would be there with their kids they’d be at either one of the big gazebos filled with picnic tables or they’d be nearer to the playground and the basketball court that was right next to the park.

Jaskier had his doubts about that as well. He made a face at the pavement as he followed the walking path towards the other side of the park, wondering not for the first time if this was really such a good idea.

They’d been at odds with each other for so long. At each other’s throats during the worst of it. Could they really be anything...more?

He was a romantic but there were some dreams even he was afraid to dream.

Sunlight reflected blindingly off the surface of the pond, Jaskier having to shield his eyes with one hand even despite his sunglasses. He was sweating and he hated it. Even the light shawl he wore over his tank top was almost too much though he would be loath to take it off. Without it he’d be so devoid of color and sometimes fashion was worth the pain.

At least he reached the trees soon enough. The path wove into a nice little cove of maples and pines and shielded him much better than his hand could do, the temperature dropping immediately to something Jaskier could at least stand to be in. It had always been more the sun itself than heat that had bothered him, anyway.

He wasn’t the first to arrive, surprisingly. Jaskier caught sight of a familiar derriere and slowed down, taking a moment to smirk and admire it from afar. His rival turned friend turned...whatever they were now, whatever they would be, was bent over, shaking out a blanket as he tried to straighten it on the ground.

A blanket, right. Jaskier blinked, his smirk fading - Valdo had brought a blanket for them. It was a cute one, too, from what he could see. Red swirling patterns, not some plain, boring old shitty thing he’d expected Valdo to bring. If he’d expected him to bring one at all. The hesitation came back but it was mostly born of not wanting to hope, of being afraid to give that spark any kindling, but Jaskier squashed the hesitation for the moment as he’d done so many times already that day.

One chance wouldn’t kill him. A little bit of hope wouldn’t crush him. And some free food would make just about anything worthwhile.

“Careful, I might take that as an invitation,” Jaskier teased out as he got closer, practically smelling the scowl that immediately scrunched up Valdo’s face at the tease. But Valdo ignored him long enough to straighten out his blanket, straightening up and pushing his bangs out of his face, and he most certainly sent Jaskier one pinched scowl.

It wasn’t one of his really heated ones, though. Over the years Jaskier had learned to read his expressions better than he knew any others, able to tell whenever his jabs hit home, when his teasing was taken lightly or to heart. He knew him better than any lover he’d ever taken in the past, and yet…

And yet they had never been that to each other.

Would they really work like that?

“Good, you brought the wine.” Valdo waved his hand towards the basket he’d brought himself-

-and wasn’t that yet another thing that had Jaskier pausing, blinking, because he’d brought a basket. Valdo was not the type to own a picnic basket, he was sure of it, so did he...buy one? Just for this occasion? Just for a small, little date between former rivals?

“I can remember to bring one item, Valdo.” The retort wasn’t as barbed as it should have been, nor was it all that good. Jaskier breezed past him to settle down on the blanket, hoping to act like he wasn’t all that concerned with their banter - but his heart was fluttering away in his chest, a traitorous rhythm.

“We all know how your memory can get, Julian.”

“And we all know how you never know what on earth to wear- are you wearing long pants in this weather?” Jaskier stared incredulously at the other man as he settled down onto the blanket near him. Very near him. He tried to focus on anything but his hands, those long finger and beautiful wrists, as Valdo brought the basket near and started raffling through the items he’d brought with him. It was an assortment of cheese, crackers, preserves, some salami, and other finger foods.

Things Valdo could have gotten in a single prepackaged deli tray, that he’d instead picked out by himself. An assortment, so many different choices, as if Valdo had looked at all the store had and decided he couldn’t decide at all.

Jaskier’s heart fluttered some more. His fingers itched to know how smooth Valdo’s cheek was, to scratch through his beard, to find out if his lips were chapped or not. All things he’d been telling himself to not think of for so long he’d convinced himself he didn’t want to know - but he did.

“Jaskier.”

His eyes snapped to focus at his name - Jaskier, not Julian, and he could count on one hand the number of times Valdo had used the name he preferred - and it almost hurt to see the careful look Valdo had schooled his face into. Those deep green eyes were closed off, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly, his lips becoming a thin line as he prepared for something. But for what?

“You don’t have to be here.” Valdo sighed, something like bitterness flashing across his face, and Jaskier ached at it. “This is- this doesn’t have to…” The poor man floundered, almost twitching with agitation.

Valdo had never been any good with positive emotions, or he’d never seemed to know how to show or process them as well as the others. Jealousy, anger, bitterness, those had always come so naturally, had always shown so clearly on his face - but joy, tenderness, contentment, those were all things Jaskier had rarely if ever seen on him. And for the longest time he’d thought it was because Valdo didn’t know those things but there was a vulnerability to the slump of his shoulders, a resignation to his lower tone that made that damned hope flutter up in Jaskier’s chest.”

It was far too hot to even be outside, let alone be close to someone, but Jaskier braved the heat and the distance. He reached out and took a gentle hold of one of Valdo’s hands, daring not to look up at him, though he at least finally pushed his sunglasses up and away from his eyes as he studied the stock still fingers now resting in his hand.

Valdo had planned this. Had gotten together a basket full of food that they wouldn’t at all be able to finish in one sitting, had gotten a lovely, colorful blanket for the occasion (because there was no convincing Jaskier he had own anything of the sort before this), and had dressed himself up in nice black pants and a nice shirt to meet with him in some small park next to a lake surrounded by trees and dandelions.

He was trying. And if he was trying then maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to give him the smallest, most minuscule benefit of the doubt and believe that Valdo wasn’t going to crush his heart to dust when this was all over. If it was ever over. If it ever actually began, whatever it was.

“Valdo,” Jaskier sighed out, holding his fingers gently and caressing them with the rough pad of his thumb. A breeze rolled past through the trees and ruffled his curls and Jaskier could almost pretend he could smell all of the free food he’d been promised - if only it weren’t still neatly tucked away into all of its packaging. He still thought it would be more romantic if he could smell it. “I drove halfway across the city to come meet you, you know that right?”

“I know where you live, yes.”

Jaskier’s eyes flicked up to catch the pinched, thoughtful look on Valdo’s face, finding it still guarded as if he wasn’t sure where Jaskier was going. And perhaps Jaskier should have been extra nice to him but he couldn’t help himself, no matter how his heart fluttered away, no matter that he slid their hands together until their fingers were intertwined, and no matter that he never wanted to let go even if their palms were sweating against each other.

He wondered if their hearts were beating the same erratic rhythm intandem.

“If you made me drive all of this way,” he said, shooting his once rival and once friend a look he hoped would get his point across quite firmly, “just to tell me this isn’t a date, I am going to personally go through all of your music notes and spill ink onto every other note.”

Valdo stared at him for a breath, and then snorted, an ugly noise that made his whole face scrunch up in a very undignified fashion - and it made Jaskier desperately want to kiss his wrinkled nose. “Every other note? There has to be a more efficient method, Julian.”

Those long fingers squeezed Jaskier’s and he squeezed back, winking at his once friend, now date. “No better way to infuriate you than to waste my time and yours.”

“Better ways to get my attention, Julian, since we both know that’s what you’ve always been after.”

“Wha-” Jaskier started, huffing and sputtering that Valdo’s attention had not been what he’d been after, but it was impossible to form a coherent argument when the wine he’d brought had been expensive, the shawl brand new, and that with each passing banter he drew himself closer to the man who used to infuriate him more than any other.

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#my summer bingo #valdo marx #valdo/jaskier #jaskier #jaskier/valdo #valdskier #valskier #...#jaskdo #xDDD #jaskier x valdo #valdo x jaskier #the witcher #mywriting

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jemej3m · 5 years

Note

Biker AU? I read one last night and it immediately made me think of you.

oOFT

Andrew watched him swing by every Sunday, like clockwork. It was a crisp morning, the sky an untouched swathe of blue ink, disturbed only by a few hesitant puffs of white.

Palmetto street was always quiet on Sundays. Columbia was a small, religiously minded town: they all gathered for church at ten o’clock, and stay for a communal meal afterwards. Andrew’s family were all there, as usual. And, as usual, Andrew neglects to attend, manning his little bookstore instead.

Even Kevin took Sundays off. Obsessive Kevin, who spends hours meticulously filing every title within his non-fiction half of the store as he lamented about Andrew’s own organisational habits, or a lack thereof. He stays at home with his wife and his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s boyfriend. The whole Kevin&Thea&Jean&Jeremy situation always seemed a little much for Andrew, especially when the three of them all turned up during their lunch breaks to hassle Kevin during his shift.

It’s fine. Kevin’s never lonely, which was good, because Andrew remembered what it was like when he was.

Andrew leaned himself against the doorway of his bookshop with his arms crossed, watching. Because, like clockwork, he’s there. Five-past-ten on a Sunday morning. The object of all Andrew’s attention, and thus, his hatred.

His bike skidded to a stop by the curb: he cut the engine and swung his leg over it. His helmet came off in one smooth pull and his elegantly long neck arched as he shook out his ruby-red curls. Andrew noticed every one of these things, despite having done-so for months, because it never seemed to grow old.

He always wore old, shredded black jeans and that horrific black leather jacket, the enormous embroidered fox on the back clashing horribly with his auburn hair. His boots were laced up to the ankles and metal-capped: a gift from Andrew for his last birthday.

And that god-awful smile.

“Hey,” Neil said, helmet under his arm.

Andrew hummed, pushing off from the doorway to fall back inside. Neil, of course, followed.

Neil Josten was Andrew’s very own conundrum. He was a part of a bikie gang, comprised of four others. Andrew only liked one of them, Renee, but she was an avid Christian and spent her Sundays at church. Dan and Matt, married and attached at the hip, went to church too, mostly to see Dan’s adoptive father David Wymack. Allison used to just loiter around her old boyfriend, but he’d gone and overdosed about a year ago, so she followed Renee and terrorised her God-fearing parents with her sleeve tattoos and her maybe girlfriend.

Neil, like Andrew, had no interest in attending Sunday mass. Seeing as Andrew’s bookstore was the only place open, he always ended up there, sitting on the bay-window seat and sipping on a steaming mug of Earl Grey.

The thing was that Neil ticked every one of Andrew’s boxes. He was perplexing enough to keep Andrew’s undivided attention, whilst being methodical enough to be unthreatening. He was cautious and understanding and so easy to talk to. Andrew wanted to pin him to a wall and shuck off that stupid leather jacket, so he could trace all the tattoos that covered his scarred torso and arms.

“Has Kevin worked out your eidetic memory yet?” Neil inquired, walking through the shelves as his fingers brushed over the haphazard spines. “He must have. There’s no way you would be able to find anything otherwise.”

“He’s about as thick-headed as you are,” Andrew muttered, ears still pink from Neil’s smile.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

Neil sipped his tea. Andrew wondered if marriage was actually the constrictive construct he’d always insisted it was.

They were both sat on the bay window cushion now, Andrew with his chamomile and honey, Neil with his 1 to 100 milk to tea ratio Earl Grey. His tattoos didn’t reach up to his fingers, but the scars did, half-moons across his knuckles and fingerprints. Andrew wanted to kiss them.

Neil’s gaze was weighted, pressing against Andrew’s temple like he wants to carve himself a space. He always looked at Andrew like that, like Andrew mattered, like they aren’t fundamentally different in every way possible.

“Renee offered to tattoo my scars,” Andrew said, trying his very best to clear his cotton-padded throat and failing. He hated the way Neil made him feel things. This young biker, with a bandana around his neck and silver rings that represented each member of his found family. The only finger bare was his fourth, on the left. Andrew wanted his there. “I’d have to outsource the design.”

Neil sat up, a glimmer in his eyes. He designed many of the Foxes’ tattoos, including his own. He was a brilliant artist. “Are you asking me for a design?”

“Maybe,” Andrew conceded, muttering into his mug.

Neil grinned. “I’d be honoured.” He’d already seen the canvas before, in the lamp light over a bottle of whisky. Andrew remembered that night with both irreverence and mortification: he’d opened up too much, too soon, but Neil had taken it perfectly well and offered his own vulnerabilities to match.

Andrew hummed, putting his tea aside and casually pulling his sweater off. It was lavender wool: underneath he wore a black blouse with rounded collar edges and no sleeves. Little white daisies were woven into a crown, perched on his hair: he’d worn the silver-wire glasses rather than his usual black frames. He didn’t usually put this much effort into his seemingly pastel-goth aesthetic, but when he knew Neil was coming, well. He felt it was rather appropriate.

Neil blinked repeatedly, looking from the black armbands to his bared shoulders to the delicate silver buttons that lined the shirt-front. His fingers clenched around his mug tighter, cheeks pinked.

They had been going at this dance for a while now. Both were too careful, too broken, to simply launch into something so unknown. But, like clockwork, Andrew dressed up a little. Like clockwork, Neil smiled in that way that was only for Andrew. Like clockwork, they shuffled a little closer on the bay window as the sun gleamed overhead, church-bells ringing as the sermon ended in the distance.

“Can I?” Neil whispered, fingertips warmed by the tea. He had a piercing through his bottom lip, his left nose wing, his right eyebrow. Andrew pieced them together like constellated stars, the freckles and the grey-speckled blue eyes like little galaxies.

When Andrew nodded, Neil lifted his hand and gently brushed his fingers over the pale skin of Andrew’s shoulder. They drifted upwards, warm and sure, to trace the corner of Andrew’s jaw.

It made no sense. Neil was a flight-risk, a menace on a motorcycle, and Andrew was a busybody, a bookshop boy. It made no sense in theory, so how did it feel so right in practise?

Neil’s fingertips went from the corner of Andrew’s glasses, to the shell of his ear and the flowers in his hair. He had that look on his face. The one Andrew hated with a burning, all-consuming passion.

“I need to tell you something,” Neil whispered. “Don’t think it has to change anything. I know that you don’t feel the same.”

Andrew just looked. And looked. And looked.

“I think I -” he swallowed, looking down. “The others had always teased me for being so affectionate towards you, but I think - I think they may be right. About how I feel about you.”

Andrew held his breath.

“I don’t understand it,” Neil murmured then, his fingers slowly lowering to brush over Andrew’s lips when he’d given Neil a terse nod of consent. “I’ve never felt this way before.”

“How can you be sure it’s something you want, then?” Andrew forced out, nearly crushing the teacup in his grip.

“Just because it’s new doesn’t mean it’s not clear,” Neil retorted. He gently unwound Andrew’s fingers and relieved him of the mug. “I’m sorry if this makes it strange between us, but I wanted - I needed - you to know the truth. This is real for me.”

Andrew almost couldn’t believe himself. “How could one man be so possibly idiotic and still survive?”

“Beats me,” Neil chuckled. Andrew cupped his hand over Neil’s jaw: the man blinked.

“Yes or no?” Andrew inquired, his heart fluttered so faintly that he was sure he would go into cardiac arrest.

“Okay,” Neil whispered, already leaning forward.

The thing was that Andrew had gone most of his life assuming that he existed purely to be used and thrown away. Thirteen foster homes and thirteen psychologists or psychiatrists meant existing in a constant transitive state. He hadn’t felt stability till he had settled with his family, here in the quaint town of Palmetto.

But even then, stability wasn’t certainty.

This, Neil’s lips against his, the jostle of his Harley keys in the pocket of his leather jacket, the lip ring and missing canine tooth: this was certainty.

Their lips unsealed on a honey-sweet exhale.

“I’ve got a spare helmet,” Neil whispered. “Shall we go for a ride?”

And if Andrew relished in holding Neil’s waist in a tight vice as they sped around the outskirts of his town, well.

That was nobody’s business but his own.

teehee

ty for the prompt it was fun!!

#andreil #biker au #bookshop au #biker!neil #pastel goth!andrew #soft #so soft #fluff #andrew minyard #neil josten #the foxes #all for the game #aftg #tattoos #piercings #scars #jem writes

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deathsteel · 4 years

Text

30 day fanfic challenge

Prompt #13 -Regret

“Fuck”, Dean muttered, scrubbing at the dark ink curving over his collarbone with a washcloth.

It hurt like a bitch, the skin red and inflamed and raw like he was scrubbing over a sunburn. But, damnit, Dean was NOT going to keep looking at the name of his ex-fucking-girlfriend tattooed right over his heart like some damn fool.

Last night was supposed to be their 5 year anniversary, but instead Dean had gotten drunk alone at the divest dive bar to ever exist while looking at pictures of Lisa on her honeymoon on Instagram. They’d gone on to Jamaica, how lame. Dean would have taken her to see the Northern lights, kissed her in a forest, and climbed to the top of a mountain to declare to the world how much he loved her. In his hungover state, Dean spitefully hoped that Lisa and Benny got rained on the whole time they were there.

So yea, Dean was out a best friend and a girlfriend all in one fateful night two years ago. He didn’t even really know why he hadn’t unfollowed the two of them on Instagram yet. Sam said it was because he liked to torture himeself, but Dean had just thought of it as him playing the long game until Lisa was single again. He’d had the tattoo for two and a half years and it served as a constant, daily reminder of how shitty one Dean Winchester was at relationships.

“You should get that covered up,” his roommate Garth said, leaning nonchalantly in the doorway of the bathroom.

Dean just groaned at the other man who looked annoyingly well-rested and continued to rub at the curling script even though he knew it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. He tried to avoid his own gaze in the mirror because he knew he looked like death warmed over and eventually just tossed the washcloth in the sink with a growl of frustration.

“Really, man,” Garth continued, cheerful as ever even though Dean had brusquely pushed past him on the way out of the bathroom. “The guy that does all of my work, he’s great. He specializes in cover ups too! He did this trailing flower thing on Bess’s side to cover up the scar from her accident. It's pretty awesome.”

Dean knew which of his girlfriend’s tattoos that Garth was talking about. Bess had worn a bikini last summer for the first time that Dean had known her and he’d seen the ink flowing gracefully down her ribcage. It had been lifelike and beautiful, dandelions both in bloom and as the white-tufted seeds clinging to delicate stems; waiting to turn into wishes. He hadn’t even noticed that Bess had a scar that the tattoo was covering up, but that was probably the point.

He stormed towards his bedroom, mulling over the thought of going under the needle to cover up Lisa’s name on his skin.

How much longer could he kid himself? Was it even healthy to continue to hope that he and Lisa would get back together? She was fucking married at this point, to Benny of all people! Benny was a good dude, the best dude. And Dean was scum for selfishly wanting them to split up.

The little voice in Dean’s head that sounded an awful lot like Sam whispered that it was time to let go.

“Garth!” Dean hollered, pulling a grey t-shirt roughly over his head and reaching for his discarded jeans from the night before. “You got the name of this tattoo guy?!”

Ethereal Ink was in the up and coming part of town that all the locals snidely called ‘gentrified’. It was located in a refurbished furniture manufacturing plant that had one been the town’s pride and joy in the 60s and 70s, but it had since been updated and broken up into smaller subsections that housed the tattoo shop, a smoothie bar, and a hot yoga studio respectively. Dean grimaced at the sign for the empty space next to the tattoo shop that declared ‘Artisanal Cheese Shoppe Coming Soon!’ as he walked into the parlor before dropping his jaw open as he started at the flash adorning the walls around him.

It was unlike any tattoo shop he had seen before, which granted he had only seen the one when he had initially gotten the ‘Lisa’ tattoo and it had been much seedier than the shop he stood in now. One of the walls of the shop was painted with a sweeping solar system, glowing in hyperrealistic color and scale, the stars and constellations radiating vibrantly against the starkly painted navy hue of the wall itself. A second wall was swathed in plaques and trophies, proudly displayed showing the triumphs and accolades of the shop’s employees.

The remaining two walls showcased lovingly framed flash art and pictures, but it didn’t look like the kind that someone could just pick off the wall and request to have put on their bodies. No, the placement of it looked purposeful. Arranged artistically and clustered into themes, the art seemed to capture the personalities of the people who drew them.

Dean noticed that the artists Anna seemed to prefer portrait art of people and pets, keeping mostly to a black and white color scheme. Hannah, on the other hand, used bright colors and worked in a style that reminded Dean of old sailor tattoos. Billie seemed to favor a tribal, geometric style, and Jess appeared to be the shop’s resident piecer since her cluster was artfully taken photo close-ups of healed piercings. But the last group of artwork, infuriatingly unsigned, seemed to be a marriage of realism and storybook illustrations. There was something arrestingly lifelike in the drawing of a fox posed among vibrantly pink wildflowers and playful in the drawing of a rocketship taking flight. Dean liked all of the artwork, but these caught his attention, these made his hands itch to reach out and touch.

“You my two o’clock consult?” A femenine voice asked causing Dean to spin around and face the counter that separated the awards from the rest of the store. A dark skinned woman with riotously curly hair and tattooed arms revealed by her black tank top leaned comfortably on her arms against the glass top of the counter.

"Yea," Dean replied, putting on a charming smile. "You Cas?"

“No,” the woman said flatly, unfolding her arms to reveal twisting dark tribal tattoos going up the inside until they disappeared under her top. “I’m Billie. Cas is sick and I’m the next best at cover ups.”

Dean tried not to be disappointed, Cas must be who the unsigned artwork belonged too and it was much more intriguing than the stark tribal pieces the woman seemed to favor.

It must have shown on his face though, “You can reschedule with him in about a week or so,” Billie offered. “He has the flu, so he shouldn’t be out longer than that. But Cas said you sounded pretty eager to get this done in your email so he asked me to see you.”

“Cool, well.” Dean floundered, not wanting to appear ungrateful because really, he wanted this fucking name off of his body like yesterday. “Uh...where do we start?”

“Come back to my office and show me what I’m working with,” Billie said, gesturing to the hallway that led behind the counter and deeper into the store before heading that way herself.

Dean followed quickly and was led into a doorless office that contained a padded, reclining tattooing chair, a very large tool chest that was covered in stickers, and even more art featuring tribal tattoos on the walls.

“So where is this no doubt beautiful work that you want to get covered up?” Billie asked blandly, taking a seat on a small rolling stool that had been tucked into the corner.

“On my chest,” Dean answered, perching on the tattoo chair before he hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the inked skin in question. “It’s just the name of an ex and well…”

“Hey, no shame,” Billie said, leaning forward to study the ink. “We all do dumb stuff for love, right?”

Dean shrugged and let out a puff of air through his nose in amusement. It was nice not to be made to feel like a tool for getting a dumb tattoo.

“Can’t say I’ve ever gotten a person’s name put on me though…”Billie mused, pulling out her cell from her back pocket. “Mind if I take a few reference pictures? So I can make sure my sketch actually covers the old ink?”

“Sure,” Dean replied, feeling like a moron again. He should’ve never gotten this tattoo, even Lisa had thought it was dumb when he’d shown her.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?”

“Um...yea?” Dean said hesitantly, reaching back to pull the shirt over his head.

“Don’t be shy,” Billie replied, her phone audibly clicking as she snapped a few pictures of Dean’s newly revealed torso and shoulders. “This way I’ll know how much room I have to work with. Plus you’re not my type.”

“Oh,” Dean laughed nervously. “Not enough muscles?”

“Not enough tits,” Billie replied with a smirk, winking at him before snapping another picture and sliding her phone away. “But I’m sure there are lots of people who would appreciate your physique just the way it is. You can put your shirt back on now.”

Dean smiled to himself as he did just that; he had never been one to turn down a compliment from anyone, even if they weren’t interested in more than just admiring for aesthetic reasons.

“So what are you thinking as far as design?” Billie asked, taking her seat back on her stool.

“Well…” Dean started before hitting a proverbial brick wall. He really hadn’t thought beyond just wiping Lisa’s name off of his body. “I’m open to suggestions?”

Billie just raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you alway this impulsive when it comes to putting something permanent on your body?”

Dean just waved his hands in a helpless gesture and put on what he hoped was a charming smile. Based on Billie’s expression it didn’t really work as well as it typically did.

“Which art did you like the best out there?” Billie asked, smiling when Dean froze like a deer in headlights. “I saw you looking at Cas’s stuff? You like those flowers and nature things?”

“Yea, but uh...yours are really great too,” Dean offered trying to backpedal his way out of inadvertently insulting his tattoo artist.

Billie just waved away Dean’s compliment with a grin, “I know my stuff is not everyone’s cup of tea. I can see the appeal in the Cas’s pretty stuff.”

Dean wanted to protest that the prettiness of the other artist’s work had very little to do with why he liked it, but honestly it was pretty and Dean was comfortable enough with his masculinity to admit that he liked flowers sometimes. Especially after all of that therapy he did after his and Lisa’s breakup.

“Listen,” Billie continued, entirely unaware of Dean’s inner monologue. “This is just a consult, we’re not getting married. If you like the flowers, I can forward these pics onto Cas and he can work something up for you.”

Dean gnawed on his lip for a second, ultimately deciding that another week or two with Lisa’s name on his body didn’t mean anything. Maybe he could just cover it up with some bandages or something. He nodded in agreement and moved to get to his feet.

“That settles it then,” Billie said, getting to her feet and leading Dean back towards the front of the shop. “But, let me get your contact info so Cas can reach out once he’s back to schedule with you.”

“No prob,” Dean replied, jotting down his cell number and email address for Billie before giving her a little salute and bidding farewell.

The first text came the next afternoon.

“What is your favorite color?” Unknown Number 1:47pm

Dean stared at his phone incredulously for a minute before shrugging and typing in ‘Red’ and hitting send.

It had been a slow day at work, maybe this was one of those call/text your number neighbor things going around again.

“What is your star sign?” Unknown Number 3:20pm

‘Aquarius,’ Dean replied, feeling bold. ‘What’s urs?’

‘Leo,’ Unknown Number replied a few minutes later, followed quickly by, ‘Favorite flower?’

Dean smirked to himself as he thumbed out a reply, ‘Chocolate sunflower.’

‘Opportunity’ Unknown Number 3:42pm

‘Huh?’ Dean replied back.

‘Chocolate sunflowers symbolize opportunity,’ Unknown Number answered. ‘I like proteas, myself.’

A quick google search taught Dean that proteas symbolized change and hope; he decided to share this newfound knowledge with his mystery text buddy.

He earned a photo in return. It was just a picture of a blooming flower, one which Dean now knew to be a protea, inked onto a forearm that was corded in sinewy muscle and ended in a long-fingered masculine hand. Dean noted the ink smudges on the tips of the index and thumb, the fine, dark hairs dusting the skin around the tattoo, and the freckle on the edge of the palm of the hand.

‘I was thinking of a bouquet,’ Unknown Number shared. ‘Something big to cover up that name on your chest. I’ll send some sketches along shortly.’

Dean swallowed hard, realizing that he had been flirting with his tattoo artist via text. His apparently inked and muscled and weirdly nerdy tattoo artist.

If asked he would deny stalking the tattoo shop’s instagram until the day he died, but it was in a picture simply captioned ‘#flowerboy’ that Dean managed to find a picture of the elusive Cas. The Cas who would be covering up the name of Dean’s ex-girlfriend. The Cas who had probably seen shirtless pictures of Dean courtesy of Billie. The Cas who was practically the walking embodiment of all of Dean’s wet dreams that featured a male counterpart.

He groaned into a pillow for a little bit, questioning all of his life choices, before beginning to feel better. Dean had a lot of regrets, but bailing on this tattoo would not be one of them. This could be an opportunity for something. A change that he needed. Hope for something more with a cute guy who had the swoonest arms that Dean had seen in a long time.

And yea, he did swoon. Just a little.

#30 day fanfic challenge #destiel #spn #regret #fic writing #fanfiction

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cardandpixel · 4 years

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RocketBook Flip - a rare review and it’s not a game!

Before I go any further, I feel I must point out that I don’t have any financial connection to RocketBook whatsoever – this isn’t a piece that was requested or courted by RocketBook or affiliates and I’m not receiving any reward or sponsorship either in product or direct payment for this article. I just like the damn thing and love it when an innovative piece of tech (in this case quite low key) just works. Hi I’m Paul, and I have a bit of a problem with notebooks – A4 lined, sketch, reporters, Black & Reds (ohhhh the sheer number of B&Rs), goofy ones, serious work ones, battered ones, pristine ‘for best only’ ones – and they all fill at an alarming rate. I make notes on everything. Working as a sound engineer and designer, there’s always mix notes, soundscape plots, ideas, VO notes and scripts, SFX ideas etc etc. At home it’s a very different story – it’s much worse. Game notes; blog notes; hurriedly scribbled quiz questions spurred by watching another episode of Mental Floss’ 500 facts about cheese; RPG notes and story ideas; my own script writing; world building; sketches; other creative ideas; song/music notes and ideas; and that’s before we get to to-do lists; and the dreaded ‘things I must remember’. So my journal life is many, varied and plenty. The usual issue is… ‘what frakking journal did I put that amazing idea in????’, and that’s way before we get to the utter horror that is possibly losing a whole journal or forgetting to bring one home from work. I’m 53, I forget more than I recall, and journals help bring some semblance of order to a massively chaotic and fertile brain. What I’ve needed for a long time is some way of organising all this info or centralising it in some way. Sure I’ve looked at apps – I used Things, Evernote, Notes, and One Note for years, and they are really, really good, but they relied on either having a charged device exactly when I need it (yeah – me too) or net access, which for a new-ish theatre, is surprisingly a bit of an issue at work. And the most important part – I actually enjoy the physical act of handwriting long-hand. I still write actual physical letters to people, it’s adorable and a bit creepy in this age, but I call it charming and leave it at that. Handwriting, for me, allows me time to think and process in a way that typing just doesn’t. Handwriting is slower, I rarely cross anything out, and so I always have the whole of the thought. So what I’ve ideally wanted for years, was a reliable way of organising all my notes and storing them electronically so I have access even without the actual journal, with OCR so they’re editable, and still being a tactile handwritten experience. I’m naturally a sceptic (I actually subscribe to Fortean Times – yeah – I card carry!) and so online ads and particularly FaceAche ads are a field day for critical thinking triggers. I don’t think I’ve ever received from Wish, exactly what I ordered from Wish. And so when an ad from RocketBook constantly kept popping up on my timeline a few weeks ago, I was naturally “it’ll never work” But their website looked legit enough – they had a dedicated UK shop, it was relatively steep to buy in but not so wild that if it didn’t work I wouldn’t be crying too much about the money wasted, and at the end of the day it was a 10th the price of a ReMarkable 2 which is actually what I thought would solve my problem. I’m furloughed at the mo and though I could argue the case for £300+ notebook (test me, I could), I just couldn’t justify it now. And RocketBook had a good summer intro offer. I ordered on the Wednesday, and the impressively glitzy and graphic-design-playbook poly package was dropped on my doorstep just 2 days later by my cheery postie who yelled up the drive “Package for ya, looks very exciting!!!!” I like that our postal service is still invested in the hopes and dreams of their customers. It was exciting. All the instructions for getting started with my new Teal RocketBook A4 Flip were right there before you even open it. The main body houses the pad and a cleaning cloth, and a clever little side pocket houses the supplied Pilot Frixion pen.

RocketBooks come in several models, all configured slightly differently. I have the Flip which is a top spiral-bound softback pad with 21 double sided ‘pages’ giving 42 pages in total. The Flip has lined paper one side, and dot paper on the reverse (great for D&D maps, impromptu tables, mixer channel plots etc)

DELIVERY & FIRST IMPRESSIONS The pads are nicely made, with sturdy covers (available in some really nice colours too) and a solid, thick plastic ring binding. Initially, The RocketBook does feel a bit odd. Its ‘pages’ are actually a synthetic polyester blend and feel quite shiny to the touch. The sort of surface you just instantly feel is not going to be great for ink! Each page is edge-to-edge lined or dotted with a heavy black border. At the bottom is a prominent QR code used for scanning and some very feint icons. These 7 icons are the key to the ease of use of the RocketBook series. But more later.

THE APP

The pads work with a companion app, that is absolutely free and available for Apple & Android. In fact, RB even do downloadable printable pages so you can try the whole system absolutely free before you buy – I didn’t, I just bought one, y’know. The app allows you to set up your destination locations, your preferences and does the actual scanning. Just one quick note, I have the app on both my phone and iPad and had to set-up the app the same for both, there appears to be no way of swapping preference settings between devices, though I can see why this may be intentional.

Currently, the RocketBook allows you to choose from the following locations to send files to: GoogleDrive, box, EverNote, DropBox, slack, OneNote, iCloud, OneDrive as well as simply to an email (or multiple) addresses and iMessage. Impressively, these are not fixed either, so you could choose your 7 destinations to be 7 email addresses of team members. These 7 locations are the icons at the bottom of each page. To select a destination for your file, you just make a mark in that icon box (tick, circle, something unsavoury) and that page will be sent to whichever you select. This makes the system very flexible indeed as not every page is necessarily sent to every destination. You always decide every time you fill a page. Change your mind on a second revision? No problem, add or change icons at any time and re-upload.

There’s a really handy table on the inside front cover for you to note what icon sends what where. This is also wipeable, so can be changed anytime.

I have mine set by default to:

Rocket > main email address (either as PDF, JPG, OCR embedded or as separate txt file)

Diamond > GoogleDrive (you can specify exactly what folder too)

Apple > iMessage

Bell > OneNote

That actually still leaves me 3 spare: shamrock; star; and horseshoe.

The app took me maybe 20mins to set-up, that included decision time for destinations and setting up a few target folders. It also included a few ‘test firings’. I didn’t get everything right first time and a few things didn’t send, but crucially, a tiny bit of digging revealed very simple troubleshooting (including the aforementioned issue with no sync’ing of phone and iPad), and all in I was finding the files in all the right destinations within about 30 mins. The website, FAQs and community are immensely helpful with any other issues as well. I had a tiny issue with OneNote seeming to take ages to sync, but I think that’s an issue with my OneNote settings, everything else was almost instantaneous. You can also handily set the app to auto-send as soon as it scans, or allow for manual review.

CLEAN UP ON AISLE ROCKETPAD The main reason I wanted to look at the RocketBook was the issue of reusability. My journal shenanigans are by no means the biggest ecological disaster on the planet, but if we are to believe Tesco (who probably issue as many receipts at our local Tesco Express in a day as journals I’ve ever used), every little helps. If I could find an ecologically better solution, I should at least take a look. The RocketPads work by partnering with Pilot pens called Frixion. The really clever bit is RB’s paper technology and how it works with the Frixion ink. At present, the pads only work with the Frixion pens – except the RB Colour which works with Crayola’s dry-erase crayons. When you write on the ‘paper’ with a Frixion pen, it remains wet for a few seconds and then dries pretty quickly. There’s no smudging whatsoever in transit, which is pretty cool. From then on, it may as well be permanent, until you have transmitted your page and decide you don’t want the text anymore. To wipe the page clean, you can dampen the supplied cloth and just wipe the surface clean, it’s weird but it works! But then damp cloth in your bag? So I use kitchen roll to dampen, then wipe dry with theirs. Others even have an adorably kitsch spray bottle in their kit. RB reckon if you are not going to use the pad for a few months, to clean the pages as the ink can get trickier to shift after a long time, but for day-to-day use, I’ve tried writing and wiping well over 20x and the page hasn’t become discoloured or tarnished at all. The only pad different in the range is the Wave which cleans by microwaving! Do NOT do this with any of the others, bad things will happen. The ink doesn’t take scrubbing or any time to come up, I clean my pages in about 10-15s. The page can feel a little tacky when it’s damp, but leave a minute or so and the page will be back to normal. RB do say that odd things can happen if the book is left near a heatsource or in a hot car, vis-à-vis, the ink can completely disappear horrifyingly enough. They say that putting the pen or the pad in the freezer for a little while will actually restore the ink, but I’ve not tried it yet so can’t confirm or deny how that goes. Handy for spies in hot countries though, so there’s another target market. If you are always going to send your pages to the same places, then don’t erase the marked icons, and the page is ready for new notes straight away, otherwise, scrub them too.

I CAN’T READ YOUR WRITING – ARE YOU A DOCTOR? Initially, the RB pads send their files as scans of the pages in high contrast monochrome (colour is available) when you snap the page in the app (which auto-frames for you and takes maybe 10s to capture). The formats are either as images or PDF. If that had been it, I would have been quite happy, but the RB pads have another trick up their sleeve. Firstly, they have a function called ‘Smart Titles’ which allows you to name your files directly from the page by writing a filename between double hashtags ie ## this is my scrawl 24/8/20 ## and the file will pop up in your destinations with the filename “this is my scrawl 24/08/20” – this is insanely handy – there’s no protocol except your own and the hashtags, and it makes your files super easy to search. You can even send groups of pages as a single PDF. But the notebooks go even further. They actually offer full searchable OCR which the app can be set to send embedded in the PDF or image, or more usefully, as a companion separate .txt file. Now, my handwriting isn’t the neatest, but it’s not bad so I was prepared for some editing to be necessary, but impressively again, the OCR was about 90-95% accurate. In a page of text it missed maybe 3 or 4 words and even those not badly. This is all considering their full OCR is still only in beta! It gets confused with diagrams on the page, but that’s to be expected.

Text Generated by OCR: ## Blog post och test Aug 2020 ## This is a little demonstration of the OCR capabilities of the Rocket Book pads and app. I've told the lovely people that the hit rate is about 90-95% so please dant let me down here flip pad. Hopefully the file name will also prove another point further up in the section and not make me look like some charlatan or snake-oil salesman.Hope you enjoyed this demonstrahen, now go away and leave me to write the next great novella.Bye!

HOW MUCH? On average, I pay anywhere from £4-8 for a decent A4 notebook/journal, so at £30-37 (dependent on model), the RocketBook pads are not a whim purchase. That said, I get through a lot of journals in a year, and given that I would expect to easily get 2-3 years out of a RocketBook pad, then I’ve saved money. Will it replace all my notebooks? No. You need to be thinking of carrying this round as a kit: pad, Frixion pen (at least 2), and cloth. RB do a series of portfolio sleeves for the pads but it does push the price up a bit still, but for a rep, engineer or salesperson, this still makes sense. They’re less bulky than a normal A4 pad too. What I would say is Tesco and Sainsbury’s currently stock Frixion pens and at much better prices than buying them from RB directly, I just paid £3 for 3 pens on offer at Tesco compared to £10 from RB. You get one pen with the pad, but you’re going to want more soon, so stock up next time you’re shopping for truffle oil crisps. If you use whiteboards a lot, RB also have you covered. Instead of the pad, £16 will get you a 4 pack of ‘beacons’ – little self-adhesive triangles that effectively do the same thing as the QR code in the pad. You don’t have the icon options obviously, but if you’re looking to distribute quick meeting or group notes, this would be a boon. CONCLUSION Considering this was a fairly speculative purchase on my part, my early experiences with the RocketBook Flip have been really impressive. The flexibility, the ability to store every page in a different location if you really wanted to make it fantastic for organising my notes, which can save me hours of finding the right ^^$&^$&$ notebook in the first place, then scouring that for the one paragraph I was looking for etc etc. The searchable text facility, in-app history for re-sending etc and last but no way least, functional handwriting OCR, makes the RocketBook not only novel, but actually useable! Would I buy another? As a second notebook – yes. I look forward to seeing what the actual longevity of the product is once I come off furlough and start cramming my day bag with all my junk and a notepad again, but yes, I’d probably just have one at home, and one for work, but make the last 5 mins of each day, scanning and sending work notes so I have them with me wherever. Impressively, the RocketBook Flip just works and it works well. ‘Er Across The Table has already sold several folk at her work on the idea and she doesn’t even have one herself yet! I love it. It’s taking a little adjusting to, but it’s all good. The most important thing though is the writing experience, and I have to say, the combination of the Frixion pen/ink and the polymer technology of the Flip, again, just works. It’s smooth, doesn’t skip or smudge for me (I know some right to left users and left handers have reported some issues) and feels great to write on. If anything I have to slow down a bit as the contact is so smooth that your writing can get a bit ahead of you! RocketBook have produced a cracker of a product. It might not seem like much, but if practical working journals are your thing (ie not create and keep things) then I can highly recommend the RocketBook series.

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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years

Text

Awkward Sibling Hug

Guess which minor ship I’ve jumped aboard. Toot toot for there being no content so I make my own!

If you enjoy this or my other work, reblog, leave a comment on ao3 or donate to my ko-fi!

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Cassandra’s mouth twitched up into a smile at the sign on the elevator doors. Printed on stiff, dove grey paper with the crest of the building at the border (what kind of apartment building had a crest?) so it didn’t marr the effortless elegance of the foyer, its tone of polite exasperation was clear nonetheless.

No residents are to tamper with the elevator under any circumstances. Regardless of previous experience with mechanical engineering. A qualified technician has been contacted.

She had a pretty good idea who that referred to.

The stairs weren’t so bad at first. The black carpet was so thick and lush Cassandra felt as if every step were a spring and the whole staircase was wrapped in nothing but thick glass so you could watch the city unfold as you climbed. And climbed. And climbed.

By the time she was almost at the top, even her small backpack of books and a few days worth of clothes was starting to feel like it was full of rocks. She started to wonder if this ridiculous, ostentatious building was actually so tall she’d start to get altitude sickness before she reached her brother’s door.

She’d been here a few times before, of course, whenever time away from her classes coincided with the part of her that missed Percy getting louder than the part that wanted to strangle him when she saw him. And of course, Cassandra had grown up surrounded by luxury, they all had, there was a part of her that could still sink into it so easily.

Percy’s apartment was the topmost one, the one their father had been granted when their company had bought the building in the first place and fixed it up and polished it into what it was. It made sense for Percy to live here, of course, Cassandra knew that. They’d probably always intended it for him when he came of age. But especially now that everything Mother and Father had built was his, the company, the subsidiaries, the charities, all of it and this building lay in the centre of it all like a beating heart. Like a glass and steel spider squatting in the middle of it’s impossibly intricate web. Surely here was where he belonged.

She just didn’t understand how he bore it.

Surrounded by things that reminded them of their parents. Decor so elegant that it could only have been chosen by their mother. Old heirlooms that had the family crest engraved in it. Books their father that thumbed through so often, highlighted and crossed out and scribbled his thoughts down in the margins so he wouldn’t forget them later, almost like he was bottling his sudden flashes of brilliance.

Cassandra would have torn and ripped it to shreds, as small as she possibly could, and set it on fire.

That was another one of their reasons she saw her brother so infrequently. A reason other than the distance between school and the city, the distance she’d placed there herself, or the natural distance but there by two siblings who were either just too different or far too similar.

It was the other, deeper distance between the two of them, though who’d put that one there, neither of them had any idea. It was a distance made of awkward silences, an uncomfortable tugging in the chest, when your throat closes suddenly because a slant of a jaw, a sudden smile reminded you of someone you missed so desperately.

It was hard to be around.

But Percy was all Cassandra had left. And she was all he had left. So she was coming for a surprise visit, just to see his tired, heavy lidded eyes brighten a little at the sight of her and hear him call her Cassie and look so proud when she told him her most recent grades, even if she’d been a little disappointed in them herself. It would be worth the twinge in her chest when he’d smile like their mother.

Cassandra rapped on the black wood door. There was a silver number nailed to the front, a perfect round 0, she could see her reflection stretched and twisted in its surface.

No one came to her knock which didn’t surprise her. Percy was probably sequestered in his workshop like a medieval monk, bent over greasy gears and cogs and springs rather than illuminated manuscripts, music blaring through his earphones which he turned up far too loud to be good for his health.

Another reason why Cassandra had come. Someone needed to make sure Percy got some sun every once in a while. And while she didn’t wholly appreciate that the task had been left to her, it was a small price to pay to feel less lonely. Or at least to be lonely with someone else, who understood the unique, sharp de Rolo brand of loneliness, passed down like a particularly ugly heirloom.

The door was locked but Cassandra had a key, fishing around in her pocket before closing her fingers around the reassuringly cold metal. Trying incredibly hard to feel, or at least act like, she felt at home, she dropped her backpack straight in the hallway and kicked off her trainers.

“Percival?” she called, knowing it annoyed him when she called him that. Maybe he wasn't at home, he might be at work, at one of the rare meetings he was required to attend as de facto head of the company. Or maybe out combing the scrap yards or making deals with the less than reputable scrap dealers he still kept in contact with from his slightly seedier days before he successfully won back his parents’ worldly goods.

She walked through to the living room, noting how the whole place still looked like an Ikea showroom, perfect and pristine and unlived in, all of the mess of her brother’s existence carefully stored away behind his workshop door. The walls were white, the furnishings were gleaming steel and black leather, the cupboards looked like they’d never been opened.

The sofa had a man on it.

A man who was completely and utterly naked. Feet up on the coffee table and a book in his hands, resting in his lap, mercifully providing some cover.

Cassandra stopped in her tracks. The man regarded her with eyes that were more bemused than embarrassed or startled, relaxing back on her brother’s sofa like he’d always been there.

His hair was thick and black, tied carelessly into a knot on the top of his head that was coming undone, spilling locks like dripping ink down his shoulders. His ears were delicatley pointed, subtly elvish. His mouth turned up in a perpetual amused smirk.

“Well, hello,” he said, his voice sprightly, accented like her’s and Percy’s though with a bounce to it that no de Rolo had ever possessed.

“Hello,” she replied politely, not left with many other options, short of throwing her shoes at him.

There was a long silence, while the two of them sat and marveled at the ridiculous awkwardness of their situation. Fortunately, just as things were getting on to the point where they really should have to do something, bare footsteps came from down the hallway and things got insurmountably worse.

“Vax, darling, I don’t think my arse can stand another round just yet but I had a think about what I want for breakfast and I’ve decided on your co-”

There was no awkward pause with Percy, he went straight for an alarmed, birdlike shriek, jumping and slamming his back against the wall. Fortunately, he was wearing boxer shorts.

“Cassandra, what in the name of fuck are you doing here?” he yelped, face immediately turning vermillion.

“I thought I’d treat my brother to a surprise visit,” she replied, her words still very deliberately calm and careful, even as her brain was shrieking inside her skull. Never in a million years would she have expected this and she couldn’t see why the gods were punishing her so. “I didn’t know you were going to have...company.”

“You could have called!” Percy ground out through gritted teeth, eyes darting to this Vax man, sitting on the sofa and grinning delightedly like this was the best day of his life.

“I’m Vax’ildan, by the way,” he chirped, fluttering his fingers at her.

“Can you go dress please?” Percy managed to choke out, eyes begging shamelessly, looking like he was trying to decide whether or not to just make a break for it.

“Of course, my love,” Vax’ildan rose languidly, still keeping his book rakishly covering the juncture between his legs, though Cassandra snapped her eyes to the view out of the wall to wall windows and kept them firmly there until the delicate, padding footfalls of the half elf had passed her by. “Lovely to finally meet you, Cassandra!”

The two siblings stood silently in their torment for a long few moments, neither able to quite look at the other, Percy in his embarrassment, Cassandra because she had never seen her brother in this little clothing and had no intention of starting today.

“I like men,” Percy ventured cautiously after a while, “I don’t think I ever...um, formally announced that to you.”

“It was a little obvious,” Cassandra replied, wondering which muscles the human body used to cringe because she was pretty sure hers were going to ache tomorrow.

Percy shifted from foot to foot, looking utterly lost for what to say or do.

“He called you love,” Cassandra eventually said, her voice quiet and curious.

Percy’s dark eyes flickered to her, surprised. He hadn’t been expecting her to say that. Neither had Cassandra. Both of them got the sudden, strong sensation that they were in the vast uncharted waters of their relationship.

“He did…”

“And do you?” Cassanda asked, making herself look at him. His face, at least. “Do you love him, I mean?”

Percy’s mouth opened and closed, though not in the way where he didn’t know the answer. More in the way where he was trying to form words he wasn’t used to saying.

“I do love him,” he eventually murmured, “I know that’s strange for me. But I do, I love him. I’d like to spend the rest of my life with him, if I’m allowed.”

Cassandra allowed herself a small smile and a weak chuckle. She reshouldered her backpack, striding past Percy, towards the spare bedroom that was always hers when she stayed over. As she passed, she patted him on the shoulder in the detached, fond way they had. Though for the first time, there was a spark of hope in it.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, brother.”

#vox machina #cr: vox machina #modern au #percy de rolo #vax'ildan #cr: percy #cr: vax #cr fic #critical role #percildan #perc'ildan

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squilliamnylander · 6 years

Text

all the small things | auston matthews

Note: I wrote a thing and here it is?? I’m kinda nervous to post this so any and all feedback is appreciated - whether it’s positive or constructive criticism.

Word Count: 4.8k

Rating: some nsfw y’all, but not a lot

“Bub, have you seen my game-day hoodie? I thought I left it in the bathroom but It’s not there.” Auston calls from your shared bedroom, voice growing clearer as he makes his way down the stairs. He thumps down each step, slow and deliberate and you know he’s just woken up from his nap. You set down your copy of Jane Eyre as a sleepy Auston stumbles into the living room, clad in grey sweats and an old ZSC Lions tee shirt. The shirt was well-worn - the colours are faded and there's a small hole near his naval. As he approaches the couch, you sit up from your cave of blankets to kiss the patch of skin showing through, and he offers you a small smile.

“It smelled a little gross so I washed it,” you reply, “Sorry, shoulda told you. In the laundry room, I think it’s near the bottom of the bin.”

He looks down at you, still smiling over your small show of affection, and crinkles his nose.

“Buuuub,” he draws out his nickname for you so it sounds almost like a whine, “I told you not to do my laundry. You’re not a housewife,” and he winks at you, “yet…”

You roll your eyes, but a giggle escapes and you take his hand in yours.

He continues: “Seriously, we have staff for this. Thank you, I appreciate you, but I don’t want you to feel like you need to take care of me.”

You tug on his hand and he gets the memo, sliding onto the couch, far enough away so as not to disturb your elaborate blanket set-up, your book still lying propped open on your lap.

“You’ve been tired and stressed Aus - more tired than usual. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Your bin was overflowing, so I thought I’d help. It’s really nothing, I don’t mind.” You reach up and run your fingers through the mop on his head, untangling as you go, lightly pinching his ear in reassurance.

“Besides, we can’t have Auston Matthews warming up without his lucky hoodie, and it really was disgusting. Zach and Willy won’t go near you if you show up smelling like ass-sweat.”

You thought he would laugh - you were going for a laugh, hoping it would ease the tension he was holding up in his shoulders, but he just looks at you instead, and it’s so full of love and reverence, you think your heart is going to burst. He leans in, pressing a firm kiss to your lips. He doesn’t deepen it, just holds you there for a second, before moving his mouth to your earlobe.

“It’s not nothing,” he whispers. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

..........

“Tomatoes, garlic, onion, red peppers, green peppers, chilli peppers, mango, corn chips, avocados… I think I got everything.” Auston mumbles, walking into the kitchen, carefully balancing two very full grocery bags on his shoulders. You start to stand up. try to reach out to take them off his back, but he spins, dodging your grasp the way he always does to opposing players on the ice.

“Relax, I’ve got it.” He places the bags on the floor, pulling out the items you asked him to pick up on the way home from the rink. A few nights ago, Auston had confided in you that he missed his mom’s homemade Mexican food, and that his cache of homemade hot sauce just wasn’t cutting it. A lifetime of hockey meant to more nights eating out than in, and it was pretty obvious - he was horrible in the kitchen. The most he knew about cooking was how take leftovers out of the plastic takeout containers before reheating, and there were no genuine Mexican places in his UberEats delivery zone. So, you offered to make him the one dish you knew how to make - a recipe you had mastered in the early, broke days of freshman-dorm living - salsa. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Oh, and I grabbed you these.” He pulls a small black box out of the grocery bag and puts it on the counter, before moving to put away the produce. You pick it up, inspect it, wondering why your boyfriend decided to meander down the feminine hygiene aisle of your local Sobeys while shopping for salsa ingredients. He must sense your confusion, because he shuts the fridge, turning to look at you. He places his hands on the counter, leaning over it to kiss the crease between your scrunched eyebrows.

“Borrowed your toothpaste this morning ‘cause I left mine in my suitcase and while I was in your side of the vanity, I saw you were almost out. Figured you’d forget to restock before it was too late.”

You mouth an inaudible ‘aw’ and stand up, walking around the countertop to latch your arms around his middle. His arms immediately circle around you, pulling in you in. He smells like sweat and hockey tape and his deodorant - like Auston - and you squeeze him back tighter.

“Love you,” you speak into his chest, voice muffled by the sweater he’s wearing, but he hears you anyways. Auston always hears you. He laughs quietly, a breathy laugh you can feel as his chest rumbles against your cheek.

“It’s just tampons bub, no big deal.”

..........

“Matthews, get in here for a sec. I got something for you.”

Auston gets off his bed, padding barefoot through the hotel room’s connecting door into Mitchy’s room. They’re in Niagara for pre-season training camp, and it’s the first night of two weeks away from home for the boys. Mitch is holding a small box, wrapped in blue tissue paper, and Auston immediately knows it’s from you. You had wrapped all of his presents for him last christmas - he was hopeless, couldn’t even figure out how to cut enough paper, and you chided him for wanting to have a store attendant wrap his own mother’s gift - and he recognizes your signature corner folds. Mitch smiles a big toothy smile, before handing Auston the box.

“She made me promise not to give it to you until your birthday, which is technically not for another hour, but I’m hella tired and I want to catch some actual shut-eye before morning skate tomorrow - knowing Babs, we won’t get much this trip. So yeah, here.”

Auston laughs at his teammate’s comment, and takes the box.

“She’s a keeper, brother. Gave this to me over a week ago and texted me everyday to make sure I didn’t forget. A pain in the ass, but a keeper.” This earns Mitch another laugh from Auston, knowing very well how persistent his girlfriend could be.

“Believe me, I know,” he says, “Thanks for doing it.”

“Not a problem.” Mitch replies with a yawn, “Now get out, I’m going to bed. Goodnight Auston - and happy almost birthday.”

Auston heads back into his room, closing the connecting door for some privacy, before getting back into bed with the box. He opens it, tries not to tear the paper to shreds, wants to save everything his girlfriends gives him, and finds a note.

‘For my boy’ it reads, written in blue ink because she knows it’s his favourite colour, knows that even though it’s a simple thing it makes him happy, and he already wants to call her and tell her he loves her just for remembering that. But it’s late, past eleven at night, and he doesn’t want to wake her, not on a Sunday night when she has to be up early for class the next morning. So he sits alone with the box and the note, traces his fingers over her neat printing, before breaking the seal and reading what she wrote for him.

“Happy Birthday, Aus. I wish I could be there with you today to celebrate your incredible life. I loved you at 20 and I’m going to love you now at 21 too. Call me sometime if you can - I promise I won’t sing over the phone. I love you, and I hope you like your gift. Xoxo.”

He doesn’t even need to open the it the rest of the way to know he loves it. She knows him, knows his favourite colour, knows he likes to stay up till midnight on the eve of his birthday, knows which of his teammates would remember his birthday too - anything she bought for him would be perfect. And while the Bon Jovi tour tee, the blue baseball cap and the key to her apartment she had included in the box were certainly appreciated, he finally understood what people meant when they said it was the thought that counts. He would wear the shirt and cap tomorrow, had the perfect pair of black skinnies in mind to match, he was most looking forward to calling her in the morning to thank her for always thinking ahead, for always thinking of him.

..........

“Can I offer you anything else, ladies? Some more champagne?” The waiter asks, approaching your group. A chorus of ‘no’s’ and ‘no thank you’s’ is heard from around the table, and you join in quietly, shaking your head and offering a polite smile.

The venue is enchanting, with high ceilings and crystal chandeliers that shimmer in the candlelight, and you try to focus on the beauty of the moment instead of your persistent hunger. You’re here to celebrate your friend’s marriage, and although you love her, would never survive hockey season without her, you kind of want to kill her for choosing lobster as the main dish. Maybe it’s because you grew up in a city, away from coastal towns and seafood diners, or maybe you just have reasonable taste, but the buttery smell is stuck in your nose, every whiff triggering your gag reflex, and choking down the fingerling potatoes was not enough to quell the uneasiness in your stomach. You’re lost in the art on the walls, pushing food on your plate like some kind of toddler, when you feel a blunt jab to your side. Trailing down, your eyes find Auston’s elbow as the culprit, you angle towards him, meeting his eyes. He looks amused, gives you a knowing look - knowing that you despise seafood, knowing that the smell makes you want to vomit - and you can’t help but offer a small pout in return. After all, he can’t stand lobster either, so he’s probably feeling as nauseated as you are. He looks both ways - at William sitting next to him, at the Bozaks across from you, like he’s about to pull some sort of magic trick, and once satisfied no one was paying attention, he picks up his plate and scrapes his potatoes and bread onto yours with a wink and a half-smile.

You’re feeling equal parts grateful and guilty, because as hungry as you are, your boyfriend just gave you the only food he’s going to get for the next five hours or so.

You lean towards him to whisper, “What are you gonna eat?” Auston just shakes his head before replying. “I ate a big lunch, I’m good, go ahead.”

Placing your hand on his thigh, you give a small squeeze to show your gratitude before taking a too-big bite out of his dinner roll, which elicits a chuckle. The rest of the night flows beautifully, and by the end of the meal, you’re satisfied enough to drag your boyfriend to the dance floor. The song is melodic and slow, and Auston’s got you wrapped in his arms so your head is resting on his shoulder.

“You know,” he murmurs, lips grazing the crown of your head, “When we get married, I think we can pick a much better dinner menu.”

His grip around you tightens, his body stiffening. If he hadn’t been holding on to you, you might have dropped right in the middle of the dance floor. The two of you had never talked about marriage before, choosing to focus on the more immediate future, like bye-week and playoff trips and off-season. You never expected him to bring it up either - before you, Auston had been a serial dater, never holding on to a girl for more than a few hours or at most a few nights. And yet, here he was, talking about the real future, at his teammate’s wedding of all places, and he was clinging on tighter than ever. You turn your head to look up at him, and he looks scared. You’ve never seen his eyes like this, not even before game 7 of the playoffs, not when he was faced with the possibility of surgery, not even when he had first asked you to move in with him. So, you press a light kiss to his shoulder, trying not to stain his suit with your lipstick, and bury your face back into the crook of his arm before saying,

“I think so too, I think our wedding will be so much better. Although, I really do like this ballroom. The chandeliers are stunning. Maybe we could steal them right from the ceiling for ours.”

You don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling, can feel him relax his body back into yours. He sways you to the music, and just for a moment you imagine this to be your wedding day. Dancing with Auston, surrounded by your favourite people dancing in celebration of your love, you realize it’s all that you want. Well, it’s almost all you want, you think, holding back a laugh when you hear Auston’s stomach grumble. Ideally, you’ll both like the food at your wedding. Ideally, he wouldn’t have to give up his food to keep you full. But he’s Auston, the boy you know yore going to marry someday, and you know that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you full and happy and dancing for the rest of your lives together.

..........

You wished more than anything you could be there to welcome him home. The boys had played an incredible game; a stellar, unexpected win that, with playoffs right around the corner, had everyone buzzing. The team and friends and girlfriends were all headed back to yours and Auston’s shared home to celebrate, but you had a flight out of Pearson that night, and not only missed the game, but missed your chance to give him a celebratory kiss - an easy tradition you had picked up early on in your relationship.

As the boys stumbled through the door, followed by their already-tipsy girlfriends, Auston was struck by how quiet and cold the living room felt without you home. The fireplace, which was usually on, was dark, and the windows were all shut even though you normally kept them open, a fan of the fresh air and the city sounds from outside your downtown home.

He makes his way through the house, turning on the lights and the stereo, as his teammates and friends fill up the place. There’s chatter and music and the sound heels clicking on the hardwood, and it’s not you, but it’s better than being alone. He finally makes his way to the kitchen, heads for the fridge to grab a beer, when he notices something on the kitchen table you normally kept bare. It’s a tin, a christmas tin complete with cartoon Santas and reindeers with red noses, with a post-it note sitting on top.

In your always-neat printing, it reads: “Sorry I couldn’t be there to welcome you home. Hope this is enough of a substitute for my congratulatory kiss (for now xoxo). Love you, I’m so proud of you.”

He opens the tin, smiling a real, eye-crinkling smile when he sees what you’ve left him. Your homemade fudge brownies were a fan-favourite, never lasting more than a day whenever you made them. You weren’t a special occasion baker, your philosophy being that it was never not time for brownies, and he certainly wasn’t going to complain. Except this time, you adorned each brownie with a Hershey’s kiss, and the cheekiness of it all has Auston laughing, nodding his head as if you could see that yes, this was enough for now, enough to make him feel like you were there supporting him. He’s about to take out his phone to check your flight status, to see if he can call you to thank you, when Travis comes bouncing into the kitchen, and whether he was buzzed about the game or on wine coolers, Auston wasn’t sure.

“What are you.. woah did she make us brownies? I fucking love her brownies, dude. Bring em out!”

Travis grabs Auston’s arm, and he’s too tired, too blissfully happy to resist, happy about the win, happy about the brownies, happy that his teammates have welcomed you in so lovingly, so he allows himself to be pulled into the group, and as he joins in the celebrations, he knows you’re right there with him. You always are, and you always will be.

..........

He’s got his hands hooked under your legs, grasp unforgiving as you squirm beneath him. His touch is liquid fire, each finger spreading heat through your belly as he digs into the soft flesh of your hips. You’ll bruise tomorrow, and he might wake up to a bald patch with how tightly you’re pulling on his hair, but you can’t really think about it, can’t really think about anything when Auston’s mouth is on your pussy.

You groan as his tongue juts into your folds, and it only encourages him to pull your body even closer to his face. You’re really wet, cum dripping down the junction of your leg, right onto Auston’s chin, and it dribbles down, soaking the bed sheet beneath you.

“Aus,” you murmur, “I’m not gonna last if you keep this up.”

He had been relentless in his teasing all night. Fingers wandering up your thigh, sneaking under the hem of your little black dress, hidding by his professional demeanor and the white table cloth. As he walked to the podium to accept his award, the applause of the crowd drowned out the flithy things he had murmured into your ear on his way up.

“The only prize I want is your pussy wrapped tight around my cock when we get home tonight.”

His comment had left you with goosepumps on your limbs and a throbbing between your legs that hasn’t subsided since. This is how you ended up here, both naked and needy between the sheets of Auston’s California King. Only he wasn’t taking what you thought he wanted, wasn’t stretching you out and slamming his hips into yours the way he usually did on nights like these. It was his night - his big night, his award, his achievement - and he deserved an easy orgasm. You were more than willing to give it to him, to oblige him in any way he wanted. You were prepared to do most of the work. Instead, he head you spread out, spread open for him, propped up on pillows, about to cum for the the third time in a row, and he hadn’t even touched or let you touch his leaking cock.

“Aus,” you repeat your earlier plea, only this time it comes out as a whine - he’s got you past a point of no return and you know that you’ll come again whether he fucks you or not.

“It’s okay bub, you can come again. Fuck, I need you to come.”

Everything is heightened as he pulls you a little closer, spreads your legs a little wider, sucks you into his mouth a little harder. It’s enough. Stars cloud your vision and there’s a tingling in your tummy and your legs shake around his head and you collapse back into the pillows in a state of tired bliss.

You feel the mattress dip, and Auston places a wet kiss to your temple before stumbling into the bathroom. You watch him walk, focusing on the curve of his bum and the dimples in his back as he disappears behind the door. Water runs down the sink, and he’s back a moment later with a damp washcloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Placing the cup on the nightstand, he takes his time with you, swiping the cloth up your thighs, cleaning you up, careful to avoid your sensitive mound. When he’s done, he exchanges the cloth for one of his t-shirts off the top of the hamper, passing it to you before dropping back into bed.

Hands still shaking from your high, you reach over for his upright cock. You know he can’t be comfortable right now, and you want to get him off, want to watch him fall apart in your fingertips - but he stops you. He grabs your wrist and pulls it and you to his chest, bringing the blanket up to cover both of your bodies.

“What about you?” you ask, voice still hoarse, “Tonight was supposed to be about you.”

“No baby,” he says, voice thick and heavy, his throat still coated in your cum, “all you. Couldn’t have done it without you. Wanted to thank you, wanted to thank you for always supporting me, even when I’m on the other side of the country. Can’t do this -“ he pauses, trailing his fingers back down to your thigh, fingers curling into the hair between your legs, and his touch combind with his sultry, fucked-out voice is almost enough to bring you back to the edge for the fourth time, - “when I’m on the road, which really blows, because I’m so much better when I’m with you.”

He leans in to kiss you, soft and slow and he tastes like you and his toothpaste and as his tongue swirls into yours, you know that you’d rather have him like this sometimes than never at all.

..........

You know things aren’t good - no, they’re bad, really bad - before they even carry him off the ice. Your boyfriend is tough to break, a stone-cold wall who doesn’t fight back, doesn’t get emotional, but he had taken the chirping a bit too far tonight, and it had earned him a brutal hit. Your chest tightens, hands shake, and Sydney takes the wine glass from your hand before you spill it all over her carpet.

“I’m sure he’s fine - just fine.” She offers, but it doesn’t reach you. If he was fine, he would have gotten up. If he was fine, he would have been back on both skates, watching the asshole who jumped him head for the penalty box. Instead, his face was in his hands, helmet somewhere across the ice, and there are too many people covering him and you can’t see if your boyfriend is okay - he has to be okay. Everyone in the room is holding their breath, watching the Leafs staff carry their star centre off the ice. It’s a familiar feeling to most of the women in the room; hockey is a contact sport, a dangerous, violent sport and you know it’s the nature of the game, know that it was bound to happen at some point to someone in this series, but you didn’t think it would be Auston. Didn’t think you would have to be the desperate, pitied girlfriend of an injured hockey player.

He’s off the ice and play is resumed, but you can’t even see the game - only Auston lying on the ice, the camera panning out to Babcock’s worried face, the staff coming and going from the tunnel, whispering, covering their mouths from the camera. It only takes about fifteen minutes, though it feels like hours, for the call to come in. You’re so out of it, so caught up in a downward spiral of “what ifs” that you don’t even realize Christina is talking to you until she puts your phone in your hand.

“Yes, she’s right here, hold on.”

You take the phone, bring it up to your ear, and there’s an instant sigh of relief when you hear your boyfriend’s voice.

“I’m okay,” is all he says, and though you know he’s lying for your comfort, it works, because he’s speaking and he’s conscious and he remembers you and that’s all you needed to hear to stop yourself from completely dissociating. “Just a small fracture, maybe a mild concussion, they don’t know for sure yet, but I’m okay. Just wanted to call you in case you were watching, in case you saw it.”

You suck in a breath. The pain in his voice his obvious, his breathing uneven, but it doesn’t sound nearly as bad as it could have been. You know he’ll beat himself up mentally for the break he’ll have to take, for not being able to help out his teammates, more than anyone on the ice ever could physically. “Of course I was watching. Do you want me there?” You ask, hoping he says yes. You think you might need to see him more than he needs you, need to press your palm to his heart to make sure that fucker is still beating, need to flick him for scaring you so badly.

“You don’t need to-“

You don’t let him finish. “Not what I asked. Do you want me there? With you?” “I always want you here.” He replies, and it’s quiet, a whisper - he’s never been very good at being vulnerable, and you know that even admitting to you that he’s been injured was not an easy thing for him to do.

“Then I’ll be there,” you say simply, like Boston isn’t 1000km away, like you’re just going to run a quick errand to the drugstore.

“I love you,” you say, already on your way to your bedroom to pack a bag.

“I love you,” he says, and his voice doesn’t sound as shaky, as panicked, as it did just a few minutes ago. You were showing up for him, just as you always did.

..........

It’s not their usual locker-room talk. It’s eleven in the morning, half-past the end of a regular Tuesday morning skate. Mitch is in the middle of the room, trying to teach Matt how to do some ridiculously elaborate handshake, while Curtis and Kappy talk to Coach about some power play drills they had run through. Naz is lying on the therapy table getting his hamstring worked on, and Travis is shuffling through a Drake playlist that blasts from the speaker on the wall. Willy is wandering through it all, lost in his own world with his ass on full display, looking for his other skate. The rest of the boys bustle around, trying to pack up. It’s chaotic, really chaotic, but for once Auston appreciates the noise. It allowed him to slip out unnoticed, Patty following closely behind.

When they’re finally alone, the door shut behind them, Auston pulls the small velvet box from his pocket and hands it to his teammate. Patrick takes the box, opening the lid to look at the ring. He’s the first person to see it - the first person Auston has decided to tell - and he doesn’t take that responsibility lightly. He knows how proud of himself Auston must be, knows the nervous excitement, the effort it’s taking him to squash his rising fear of rejection. Patrick reaches out, his firm grip clasping down on Auston’s shoulder. Giving a light squeeze and a few finger pats, encouraging the boy to stop bouncing, he embraces the fatherly role he’s taken on. “I’m impressed, kid. I always knew you had it in you.”

Auston looks at Patrick in surprise. “You did?”

“Absolutely, Although, you know, to be honest, I didn’t think it would be this soon. Not that it’s too soon, but, you know, I just meant that I didn’t think you’d find your perfect match right away. I thought there would be a few more ’almost’ is all. ” He’s rambling now, trying to find the right words to calm the clearly anxious boy.

Auston smiles at that. “Me n’either, man.” He replies, and he smiles, the bright, beautiful, toothy smile usually reserved only for his girl.

“How’d you know?” Patrick asks, wanting to know exactly what’s running through Auston’s head. He wants to include it as an anecdote in his wedding speech.

It’s a loaded question, the answer a bullet capable of ripping through even the most solid relationships. Why do you pick the person you think you want to spend a lifetime with? It’s the biggest commitment he’ll make in his lifetime, but Auston doesn’t hesitate when he answers.

“It’s the little things, man. It’s laundry and tampons and eating out and birthdays and kisses and singing in the car. All the little things. The big things, the hard things, aren’t so bad because with her, the little things are everything. She’s everything.”

#mmk #riley writes #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl headcanon #nhl headcanons #nhl writing #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews fanfiction #hockey rpf #nhl rpf #hockey fanfiction #a matthews

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latinegro · 6 years

Text

Sketchy

I am a brilliant asshole and not in a good way. I’m always putting myself in a situation that sounds great at first, but as it happens, it’s not so great at all.

I put the pencil on the paper and I begin to outline the basic layout of my model. Myra is laying on the couch in front of me. It’s old couch too, she’s probably the best thing that has happened on that couch in years.

She posed herself in a particular way so that the contours of her curves can be accentuated. I nervously erase the first mistake I make. It’s been a very long time since I’ve drawn a nude model. I’m acting like I’ve never sketched a naked woman before, it’s really not that hard. But, this is absolutely the first time I’ve drawn a woman that I’m acquainted with. It doesn’t help that I find her to be one of the sexiest women I know.

I can feel my heart racing because I know what I’m doing is wrong. I know that I shouldn’t be doing this but an opportunity presented itself and I had to take it. It does sound selfish but in a way, it really isn’t. First of all, the artist in me will not allow me to call this whole thing off. Secondly, I try to tell myself that she’s not a hot woman that I have been attracted to for a while but rather a future portrait for a client. I take a few deep breaths so I can maintain my concentration. Nervousness will only lead to a shaky hand and that’s not good for any sketch.

But, of course, I had to open my big mouth. I’m a writer at heart and by trade. I can describe what she looks like the best way I can use words and adjectives not with this damn pencil that I’m pretending was my hand going down those beautiful thick brown legs of hers. The thing is, I used to draw fairly regularly. I was one of those kids that would be so annoyingly good at drawing anything that I felt I didn’t need those pretentious art classes. I could freehand any comic book cover I see. I could draw anything or anyone if they were standing in front of me. My only weakness was I could never draw anything as I good as I wanted to from memory. My measurements were always wrong, at least that was what I was told.

At the end of the day it wasn’t big deal to me because no matter how good I was at drawing, my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t love it like other people love it and that’s probably why I didn’t take it as seriously. I felt much more at ease using words to describe anything. I can perfectly describe how beautiful Myra is. She’s like a brown-skinned Athena from Themyscira that Wonder Woman would never talk about. Myra is the reason some would believe that God exists. When scientists talk about how we’re all made from stardust, they had Myra in mind.

I need to focus.

I have the basic shell of her body that fits perfectly on my old couch that should seat three people comfortably. Her black curly hair may be a problem for me. Myra chooses to wear it natural which makes her even more attractive but if I don’t shade it correctly this whole drawing would look like a caricature. But, alas, her big brown eyes look past me. She stares off into space truly hoping that I’m capturing this moment and indeed I am catching this very moment of her looking past me. I will consider that to be my fault. I may be good with writing words but actually speaking them to women is another thing entirely.

I met Myra first but I lacked the basic courage to kick it to her. We ended up being a little less than friends but more than just passing acquaintances. Of course, when Jules met her it was all downhill from there. I was always happy for them but mad at myself. Jules is a decent guy and when they first got together, all they did was fuck. Yes, I know that is normal because if it were me, I would hope that she would break me every damn day.

Another mistake. I may need a better eraser.

I get up and she asks, “Everything OK?”

“Sure, I just have to get another eraser,” I answer. She shrugs her bare shoulders as I walk to the desk and open the drawer. Jules is the real artist in all this. He’s one half of the team behind the independent Black comic book, The Insiders. We met at the NY Comic Con years ago and Jules and I became fast friends. Through the years we created our own comic book universe that has a plethora of characters. The excitement for this project is palpable because we’re building something important. In our universe, there are no meaningless black characters created for the sole purpose of being sidekicks. Together we’ve molded superheroes that matter; superheroes that look like us. There is a true meaning behind every page and we’re ready to take the industry by storm.

Jules has tons of different art supplies in this desk that it’s hard to keep track of all of it. But, at least I know where the erasers are. He stores most of his art supplies in my apartment since it has become our default workspace. It’s just easier this way since both of our day jobs make it hard to be the creators we are. We need a place to work and bounce our ideas off of each other. I pick one a small eraser and close the drawer. Before I walk away from the desk, my eyes focus on one of the sketches he was working on from issue #3. One thing about working with friends is, at times, it’s hard to come to a real agreement on the philosophy of a particular story. I really don’t think that the splash on page 11 is necessary but clearly, he’s working on it anyway.

I walk back to my chair and I smile at Myra before I sit down. I grab my pad and I keep going. My eyes scan slowly scan her from left to right. She’s laying on her right side with her right arm holding up her head and her left arm resting on her hip. Her breasts are a perfect size. They don’t sag at all and her tummy is a result of a lot of gym work. No visible stretch marks and no tattoos. This makes this sketch easier than what I originally anticipated.

I draw carefully. My pencil tries to mimic everything that my eyes absorb. I cannot believe that Julius’ wife is laying on this couch modeling for me. She wants this to be a present for him on their upcoming anniversary. Has it been two years already? It must be. That’s was around the time we decided to build this whole comic book company together. He’s the artist and I’m the writer. Now, look at me, doing a sketch that I may be getting more pleasure from than she is. Granted, this probably a bad idea, but how can I deny her this. I tried to convince her that perhaps it would be a better idea to dress up as a sexy gender bender of Grand Admiral Thrawn and I would make sure to get the colors right. She denied that, but I can, at least, convince myself that I tried to get her to wear the most clothes as possible.

I scan her navel trying to make sure that I can get the correct dimensions and diameter of the belly button ring. It looks like a small little pendant that sparkles from the light coming from the ceiling fan above. I scan further past her navel toward her vagina. Her legs are slightly crossed with her left leg slightly bent downward covering her right. It casts a shadow from the light.

My pencil breaks. Shit, was I pressing down that hard? She chuckles, “Having trouble?”

“Not at all,” I reply as I grab the extra pencil next to me. I want to try to be as emotionless as possible. Mentally I’m shaking my head. How did you get into this Zander? I will tell you how; I was cocky. I thought that I could talk enough shit in hopes to just flirt a little and now... my partner’s wife is my living room, nude.

Did I mention I was a brilliant asshole and not in a good way?

I remember staying over their townhouse in Brooklyn one night and while I have wondered what is that she does that allows her to own such a place, that was the night I got a glance of how skillful she was.

It was a late night of partying and they offered me a room to crash. I was so drunk that night that I just passed out as soon as I hit the bed. It must of been an hour or two later when I really had to use the bathroom. I got up and there was a long hallway that I had to navigate despite my lightheadedness. As I begin to walk down the general direction of what I thought was the bathroom, I hear noises. I slowly passed the room where it coming from and that is when I catch a glimpse of her reverse cowgirl riding Jules in a way that made me realize that twerking needs to a sport. I tried not to voyeur too long and thank God I had to piss, but all I remember was my heart beating so much that I felt it in my dick.

I need to continue on her legs and feet. I really do hate drawing feet. I can never get the right angle. I need to take my time and make sure the curvatures are correct. Shadowing will also be a problem. The lighting is pretty decent in here but I will need to at least need to define her curves with some type of shadow.

I can’t even imagine actually inking this. The good thing is that I can scan this into the computer and work on all the coloring there. I assume she wants it colored. Actually, I never asked. “Did you want this sketch in color?” I do my best to look at her eyes when I converse with her.

“Hm, You know, I think that would be a nice touch. Sure, if you can do it. But I will take one in black and white, just in case,” Myra chuckles a bit. I think she knows that coloring may be a tad difficult for me. Not only do I have to make sure that I color inside the lines, but how do I get her exact skin tone?

Then it hits me. I put the pencil down and I look at her. “So, I have an idea and it’s totally ok if you’re not willing to do it.”

“What would that be?”

I’m nervous to even suggest it. “You know what? Never mind. It’s a dumb idea. I don’t even know why I would even think of such a thing.”

“Just tell me.”

I take a deep breath, “Ok so, I want to get the shade of color just right and once I scan this in into the laptop I will need to..”

Myra laughs, “Zander, just spit it out.”

“I need to take a picture of you so that I can match your skin tone with the RGB color code.” I look down at my unfinished sketch as soon as I said it.

“You sly little devil!” Myra sits up and looks at me with a surprised look on her face as if she caught me red handed.

“What do you mean?” I ask

“Why the fuck you lyin?” She asks in a sing-songy manner. “You just want a nude picture of me!” I honestly can’t tell if she’s being serious or not, but she’s absolutely telling the truth. See how much of a brilliant bastard I am? This is how I get myself into trouble and once again I feel my heart coming through my dick.

“I mean, I would delete it as soon as I got the color correct.” Which is a lie.

“I don’t know about that. In all honesty, you can just take pictures of me with my clothes on and then screen-grab the color.” She was totally right about that. I hadn’t thought about it. Then she continues, “The reason why I am asking you to do this sketch is because I do trust you. That is why I never said anything to Jules when I saw you peeping into our room that night.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask nervously. I was never sure if she actually saw me and I assumed that since no one said anything that perhaps we were all just drunk. Of course, I cannot forget that after I went to the bathroom I returned to continue my voyeurism. Shit.

Myra gives me a smirk, “Please, do not insult my intelligence. I know you’ve seen me naked before and I am quite comfortable with my body. So I will save you more embarrassment by saying that I do want this drawing to come out correctly. So I will allow you to take a picture but I want you to delete the picture in front of me.”

I pull out my iPhone from my pocket and ask her to return to her original pose. Myra is right about this but I don’t care right now. Even if I delete all the photos from my device and the cloud, I will still have her body burned into my brain. If not, there is always the original copy of this sketch… for portfolio purposes of course. I take a few pictures with and without the flash.

Myra smiles and asks, “How many photos do you plan on taking?” I want to explain lighting and such but then she cuts me off, “I hope you have enough space on the cloud for all of these.”

I freeze, “Um…”

“I am not stupid, Zander. I fully expect you to find a way to try to keep pictures of me. Just know that…”

Bang. Bang.

We both look up. There’s a knock on the door. I look at Myra as she gets up quickly and covers herself with a robe I gave her.

“Who is it?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s Jules. Dude, let me in. We need to talk…about everything.”

Shit. I put my face in my palm. This could be four years and three issues down the drain.

#smut

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7070-mailbox · 6 years

Text

Ink Review: Birmingham Pennsylvania Railroad Boiler Steam Blue/Black

Birmingham Pen Company is a U.S based stationery store located in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Previously known as XFountainPens, they were one of the first places that I was first introduced to (next to Amazon) when I was considering going back to using fountain pens. When they changed their name and opened their brick and mortar shop, I decided to try out their new ink colors, which in this case is similar to the first ink color that I first got from their store (Chesterfield Night Sapphire). I figure that since this is a new post to mark the new beginning of this blog, I might as well take it all the way.

Cat sketched on Rhodia dotted pad with brush and nib pen

While their predecessor Chesterfield ink (which were discontinued due to their exclusivity to XFountainPens) that were made in the UK (by the same manufacturer as Diamine ink), Birmingham inks were made in Germany (possibly by the manufacturer of De Atramentis ink) and bottled in store. I actually find it impressive that they went to the extent of marking the bottling date. Gives it a kind of archival feel to it.

Tested photocopy paper, Rhodia dotted pad and Borden & Riley Paris Paper for Pens

So why blue-black ink? I think blue-black colored inks stand somewhere in the middle where you’re not really a fan of pure black ink while staying formal. It’s perfect for the high school to college student to write their essay without anyone raising eyebrows at them (I got back to fountain pen in my senior year of high school). Subtle and practical.

Pennsylvania Railroad Boiler Steam Blue/Black (I tend to call it Boiler Blue Black for short) does have nice sort of dark blue with a very tiny tint of greenish storm grey that sort of reminds you of Payne Grey when diluted or when it dried out much later.

Drying time: Good. Even on paper like Rhodia, it takes about 15-20 sec to dry.

Water resistance: Not water resistant but still legible to read.

Feathering: Mild, even on copy paper.

Bleeding: Low (unless large nibs or flex)

Pricing: $7.99 (30ml), 11.99 (60ml).

Also available as 3ml sample for $1.19

Thoughts:

I would definitely recommend this ink to note takers or daily use, as it is definitely affordable for those who want to give fountain pen ink a try while keeping a formal look to your note with a good flow as well as decent drying time. The ink does tend to bleed and feather more if used with wider nib so I would suggest it to be paired with a medium to extra-fine nib fountain pen.

So, what are your thoughts? Since this is the first month of me doing this, I will be posting about 3 reviews per week and slow down on the posting rate later on to once a week or something.

#ink review #Birmingham Pen Company #Birmingham ink #fountain pen ink #fountain pen ink review #blue black #blue black ink #blue ink #black ink #ink

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whythehandbasket · 6 years

Text

Of Tattoos and Flowers

This is my KuraRyou exchange gift for @alwaysdrowninginfeels

I hope you like it!!!

Ryousuke needs inspiration.

Can he find it in the green haired biker who owns the local flower shop?

“Think, Ryou…,” Ryousuke murmured, tapping his pencil on the pad of paper in front of himself, the lack of well, anything, mocking him. Sighing, he closed his sketchbook and leaned on his elbow, chin on his hand as he looked out the window of his shop.

Second Base tattoo parlor was his baby, his income and his life. He’d built a reputation for quality, personalized tattoos that were guaranteed not to fade with time, each one carefully drawn and colored by himself. The actual tattooing part was just an afterthought for him, his real joy was the before—the art he composed and presented to the client, original and inked to their specifications. He didn’t do skulls or words in foreign languages that meant something much different than intended, he considered those things not worth his time and effort and made no attempts to hide it. His work was personalized and well executed, and his prices and reputation reflected that. This time, though, he was stuck.

Knowing he wasn’t going to get anything done until he found some inspiration, he flipped of his lights and left, locking the door behind himself, heading to somewhere he was sure to find amusement, even if the inspiration wasn’t forthcoming.

Pulling into the parking lot of the Battery Bakery and Coffee Shop, Ryousuke peered through the glass, verifying who was working behind the counter. Yep, there was Haruichi, his little brother, who was working part time while he was in college. Beside him was the resident smartass and coffee expert, Miyuki. Well. He knew he’d at least get a decent cup of coffee and maybe some advice. Climbing out of the car, he strolled through the door, inhaling the familiar smell of coffee and cinnamon.

“Welcome to the…” Haruichi started, cutting off when he looked at the door. “Hi, Aniki! I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.”

Miyuki looked up from his clipboard when he heard Haruichi’s greeting. “Ahh, it’s the elder Kominato! What can I get for you this afternoon?” Leaning on the counter he spoke softly, motioning Ryousuke near. “I got a shipment of Kona beans in today, was just going to try them out. You in?”

Ryousuke nodded, stepping up to the counter. “I’d love a cup.” He was always happy to drink any of Miyuki’s varied coffee bean acquisitions, knowing how much attention he paid to the origin and roasting. He was a bit of a snob about them and Ryousuke was willing to take advantage of that whenever the opportunity arose.

“What else can we get you?” Haruichi asked as someone popped out of the back of the store.

“Onii-san!” Eijun, the ‘baker’ part of the Battery waved as he bounded forward. “I haven’t seen you in a while, how are you?”

“About to be so much better with this coffee,” Ryousuke said, greeting the enthusiastic man with a small smile.

“Ohhhh! I’ve got the perfect thing,” Eijun said. “Give me a second.” He ducked back into the kitchen, returning just as Miyuki set the freshly brewed coffee on the counter. “Here, my newest creation. It should go well with that coffee.”

“What are you even saying?” Miyuki glared at him. “Nobody wants to dilute the taste of good coffee with baked goods; you can’t appreciate the subtle flavors. Save it for the morning traffic who doctor it up with cream and sugar and don’t understand real flavor.”

“Miyuki Kazuya!” Eijun started, laying the plate he’d brought out onto the counter. Ryousuke was intrigued by the cupcake sitting on it. “This is a pineapple cupcake with coconut frosting, all things that are sourced from the same place that coffee is. They’ll go together because they grow together.”

“How does that even make sense?” Miyuki snarked, turning away from his seething boyfriend to take a sip of his coffee. “This is...I’ll have to remember this supplier, I’m impressed.”

“Won’t you even try it?” Eijun asked plaintively after Ryousuke saw Haruichi making a sad face, coaching him.

Miyuki looked at the sad eyes and pout and sighed, surrendering. “I guess I can try a bite. But if it doesn’t—” He stopped in mid-sentence when Eijun let out a whoop and grabbed a knife off the back bar to slice the cake into quarters.

“If this is good, I’m adding it to our regular rotation,” Eijun said, handing a quarter to each of the people there.

Miyuki looked at the cake warily before turning his attention back to his coffee. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I gotta keep the idiot happy.” He popped his cake into his mouth and chewed, swallowing.

“Now try your coffee,” Eijun said.

Miyuki sipped, eyes widening. “You’re...not wrong,” he admitted reluctantly. “That is a good pairing.”

“Toldja,” Eijun crowed. “It’s on the menu tomorrow.”

“That’s really good, Eijun-kun,” Haruichi said after eating his slice.

“Thank you, Harucchi!” Eijun beamed at him.

Ryousuke nodded his agreement. “Very good,” he said. “As is the coffee.”

“Thank you, Onii-san!” Eijun was practically quivering with happiness.

Miyuki poured more coffee in their cups. “I’m sure you didn’t come by just to be a guinea pig for Eijun’s baking experiments,” he said. “Is there anything we can help you with?”

“Actually, yes,” Ryousuke said. “I find myself in a bit of a quandary with a client of mine, who wants a very specific group of flowers as a tattoo.”

“I didn’t think you did flowers,” Eijun said with a frown.

“I don’t generally...I won’t do sakura or red roses or any of the other clichéd things,” Ryou agreed. “But these are unusual and I was...intrigued when she asked for them.”

“Can’t you just look them up online?” Haruichi asked.

“I’ve done that, but it’s hard to imagine them together,” Ryousuke said.

Eijun’s eyes widened. “Mochi!”

Ryousuke shook his head. “Are you getting another baking inspiration?”

Miyuki laughed, elbowing Eijun. “No, no. We have a friend, Kuramochi, who owns a flower shop. What I think Eijun meant is that you should go there and get a bouquet, that way you can see how the flowers work together.”

Eijun nodded furiously.

“Buy a bouquet?” Ryousuke said, thinking. “That’s not a bad idea, I think that would work.” He smirked at Eijun. “Where would I find this Kuramochi?”

Pulling up to the curb in front of the Shortstop flower shop, Ryousuke eyed the black Harley Davidson parked outside warily. He’d never heard of a biker gang hanging out in a flower shop, but there were stranger things in this world. He climbed out of his car and made his way through the front door. Haruichi seemed to know this Kuramochi person as well and all three of them vouched for him and his flowers.

Stepping through the door, he was assaulted by the smell of fresh flowers, the green of growing plants, and the undertone of decay that comes with anything that’s alive. He looked around curiously, noticing the neat plants in their rows, the buckets of brightly colored flowers in the coolers, a few pre-made bouquets waiting for those in a hurry or who don’t know quite what to choose. He wove his way to the back of the store where a man who was clearly the owner of the bike he’d seen outside was sitting behind a counter, reading the newspaper.

Green hair, black t-shirt and jeans, silver earrings...the last thing he’d expect to see in a flower shop. Maybe this was a biker’s hideout?

The man behind the counter looked up when he stopped, eyes widening in surprise when he sees Ryousuke, who smirked at him.

“With that hair, you’ve got to be Haruichi’s big brother,” the man—Kuramochi, Ryousuke thinks, Kuramochi Youichi—said.

“And if I am?”

“Nothing,” Kuramochi said, shaking his head. “Just finding your place in the world.”

“Kominato Ryousuke,” he introduced himself.

“Kuramochi Youichi,” the other replied. “How can I help you?”

“I need some flowers,” Ryousuke started.

“You came to the right place, then.”

“Good to know,” Ryousuke deadpanned. “I was worried I was in a biker’s hideout.”

“Wait, what?” Kuramochi looked confused, until he noticed Ryousuke staring pointedly at his leather jacket hanging on the wall with his helmet. “Oh! No, I just like to ride. Have you ever been on one?”

“I value my life too much.”

“You should try it, you may like it.”

“I may,” Ryousuke shrugged. “But for now, flowers?”

Kuramochi jumped to his feet, cheeks reddening. “Yes! Of course! What can I get for you?”

“I need orange lilies, yellow carnations and butterfly weed. A black rose if you have it,” Ryousuke recited, not noticing Kuramochi’s ever widening eyes.

“Wow, who pissed you off?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Those flowers. Together, they basically say ‘Fuck You’,” Kuramochi explained.

Ryousuke laughed harder than he had in recent memory. “That’s perfect. But no, it’s not for me.” He slanted Kuramochi a smirk. “I’m a little more...straightforward in my dealings with those who upset me.”

Kuramochi chuckled as he stuck his head in a cooler, retrieving the flowers he needed. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” he said. “I’ve heard much about you from Haruichi and the idiot.”

“The idiot?” Ryousuke said. “You mean Eijun? That’s hardly fair, is it? He’s not the brightest thing, but what he does, what he cares about, he shines at.”

“You’re right,” Kuramochi agreed. “He does.” He shut the door of the cooler he was digging in and headed back to the counter. “So if you’re not pissed at someone, what do you need these for?”

“I have a customer who is apparently pissed at someone. Or the whole world, I don’t know which. Either way, she’s requested a tattoo with these flowers and I wanted to get some so I can draw them correctly.”

“That’s right!” Kuramochi said. “You own Second Base, right?”

“That’s my shop.”

“I’ve heard great things about it,” he said, wrapping the flowers in protective paper and adding a flower preservative packet to the bouquet. “I’ve been meaning to stop in; I just haven’t had the time. The shop keeps me jumping most of the time.”

“I’m sure,” Ryousuke said. “They have a habit of doing that.” He fished out his wallet and handed over a credit card to pay for the flowers. While Kuramochi ran the card, he wandered around a bit, looking at his various offerings.

“Here you go,” Kuramochi said, handing him back his card. “I hope to see you soon.”

“You just might,” Ryousuke said. “Have a good night, Kuramochi.”

“Good night, Kominato-san,” Kuramochi answered as Ryousuke walked out the door.

Looking at the counter, Kuramochi saw a lone white violet and picked it up, intending to put it back in its place when he noticed the paper wrapped around it.

Opening it, he saw a phone number.

On a white violet.

He smiled.

Let’s take a chance.

#kuraryouexchange #drowninginfeels

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megabadbunny · 7 years

Text

if we let go (4/?)

I.e., Rose gets a choice, even if she has to carve it out for herself. In this chapter, she and the metacrisis Doctor choose just how vulnerable they’re willing to be with each other.

***

rose x ten, rose x tentoo; a journey’s end fixit (of sorts), dedicated to @travelingrose , whose very good questions reignited my love/hate relationship with this episode/storyline, and to @goingtothetardis, who kept me encouraged while writing (thank you dahling!!! <3). (i believe this also fills some rose x tentoo / tentoo day / tenth doctor month prompts from @timepetalsprompts and @doctorroseprompts .) heavy angst, but also lots of flirting, fluff, romance, some adventure, and some smut; sfw versions on tumblr & ff.net, nsfw versions on ao3 and teaspoon. this chapter is where the nsfw stuff officially kicks in.

***

chapter four: what it is and where it stops, nobody knows

He isn’t surprised by the shrieks that pierce the night air. If anything, he’s surprised it took so long. He is, however, shocked at the sight of Rose, stumbling bleary-eyed into the galley, jacketless and bare-footed.

(Was she sleeping? Where? Just how tired is she?)

It’s not like he forgot she was here—how could he?—but the fact that she’s back onboard the TARDIS still gives him a jolt somehow, like plucking bacon straight out of the sizzling-hot frying-pan and managing to be astonished when it burns your hand.

“Can I help you?” the Doctor asks.

“Can’t sleep. You?”

“Can’t say I’ve tried.”

Rose blinks at him, confused, eyes narrowed against the bright galley light. “Oh,” she says, realizing. “You’re—the other you.”

The Doctor bites back the sarcastic response hiding behind his teeth. “That’s right,” he says instead, downing a gulp of his coffee. It’s black, bitter, and it might as well be jet fuel. He grimaces. “The other me.”

Another cry rings out, and Rose shivers, hugging herself against an invisible chill. “Actually, I wanted to ask—that isn’t Donna, is it? Making that noise? She’s…she’s not in pain?”

The Doctor softens a bit at that despite himself. For all her claims of change, beneath that tough new battle-hardened exterior, Rose is still Rose—tender-hearted and compassionate, sometimes to a fault. Gods, he’s missed that. She and Donna would have got on splendidly.

“No,” he replies. “She’s still in stasis. Can’t feel a thing.” He holds up his medscreen for Rose to see, the stats and figures from Donna’s wrist transceiver blinking across the tablet surface. “I’ll know the instant that changes, if it changes.”

Rose pales in horror at the sound of the next gut-wrenching shout. “Oh my god,” she says, instantly alert, all traces of sleepiness evaporated in a millisecond. “The other Doctor—what’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s all to be expected.” He swallows another mouthful of the tar in his mug and frowns in distaste. Dreadful stuff, coffee, but tea seems just a little too indulgent at the moment. “Time Lord memories in a human brain, remember? Or human enough, anyway.”

“Is he gonna have the same trouble as Donna?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Got enough of my original genetic material to keep all his grey matter from leaking out.” He drinks in a deep breath. “Now, the nightmares, on the other hand…”

He trails off, because Rose has got that look on her face, and maybe it’s been a few years (or a few centuries, feels about the same), but he still knows that look, still knows it exactly, the someone-is-hurting-and-I’ve-gotta-do-something-about-it look. Which is a problem, because if he knows himself like he thinks he does—and unfortunately, a millennia is more than enough time to get to know yourself, your few good qualities and many, many flaws alike—this will not end well, not for anyone.

“Rose,” the Doctor says warningly, but already she’s padding out of the gallery, her footfalls echoing softly in the corridor.

The Doctor swears under his breath. “Wait,” he says, louder, pushing up from the table so hard his chair slams to the tiles with a thwack. He sprints after her, but by the time he reaches the hall, Rose is already meters and meters off—she’s faster than he remembers somehow, or is that just one more way that she’s different from before?—and he shouts, “Just leave it alone, Rose. Trust me!”

Not the most brilliant choice of words at the end there, he thinks when she doesn’t stop.

***

Fire, fire everywhere and—

burning

(red-hot white-hot iron and copper and pennies, steel, metallic and cold-boiling in his mouth)

Skin, bonding in nano-increments, cells knitting together over bones grown solid and if he could, he would double over with the pain of it, the unbearable hurt of becoming real

“What are you whinging about?” Harriet Jones asks, arms crossed over a gaping black hole in her chest. “At least you got a new heart out of all this.”

(real isn’t how you are made, said the skin horse, it’s a thing that happens to you)

I’m sorry, he says, or tries to say, but he hasn’t got a tongue yet, just rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth tearing the insides of newborn cheeks

Laughter, and when he looks up again, past the blood-red haze clouding his fetal eyes, the Harriet-thing is grinning, skin stretched too-tight over a Halloween-store-parody of a skull. “Absolutely the same man,” she says, words dripping with disgust

and the faintest hint of something ruby-red—

“I never asked for it,” he spits out as soon as words can take form in his mouth. “I can’t count you amongst my many sins.”

Curling in on himself, a ribbon that twists and cramps and contracts, muscles rippling under the skin; raw fingers scratch themselves bloody and reach stretch break into the

(does it hurt? asked the rabbit)

(she opens her maw and entire galaxies float inside, suspended in midnight-black ink, rainbow-swirling like an oil slick)

“No, no,” he begs (wheezes; throat is parched and cracked and dry; xtonic radiation is a cruel and cowardly bitch)

(Please Susan please please please help)

“What do you expect her to do?” asks Rose, circling a protective arm around his granddaughter (what’s left of her, anyway, blurred and wet and staining Rose’s shirt). “She’s just as dead as the rest of them.”

Tear ducts form just in time for salt to well up in his eyes, burning his cheeks, holy water scorching clean in blistering trenches

(galaxies dissolve one-by-one and he can hear feel smell taste every one of them dying, rotting-sweet dead flowers dirty crumpled five-pound notes ash in his mouth)

Hand new and complete and he reaches out but Donna is there instead, and he watches, helpless, as she falls in agonizing slow-motion; it would almost be funny except wait it is funny he is laughing he is laughing he is laughing so hard he cries why can’t he stop

crawls over to her prone body, crumpled on the grating, dying over scattered galaxy crumbs and sputtering embers and he turns her onto her back, and something black is where her eyes should be, overflowing and staining fire-red hair

“I didn’t mean to,” he chokes out, but she can’t hear, the black stuff swells up in her nose and her mouth and her ears and it burns everywhere it touches, eating away at her skin and her hair and her cut-up leather jacket (and oh, the fit she would throw if she knew)

(it doesn’t happen all at once, said the skin horse, you become. it takes a long time)

(Doctor, she says, and her voice sounds funny and far-away)

“No, no, not that,” he pleads. “Anything else—”

She turns what’s left of her skeleton-face toward him and she screams

“Doctor!”

Air sharp in his lungs like a knife and the Doctor can’t get enough of it, gulping and choking until he thinks it might gash his throat.

“Shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay, it’s just a nightmare, it isn’t real—”

Hands on his chest, smaller than his but familiar, but they’re gone, she’s gone, all of her, and she’s never—

Frantic knocking against his ribs and he wonders if he’s ever been in a place so dark before, ever witnessed anything that ate the light like this. One of his hands slides beneath those on his chest, checking, and—yes, there it is. One heart, just the one. Damn.

“Doctor?” says the voice again, quieter this time. “Are you awake? Are you all right?”

Oh, god.

Impressions of the nightmare slowly fade, blinked away like the remnants of too-bright lights splashed across the backs of his eyelids, and the darkness in his room dissolves bit by aching bit. He can just make out the shape of someone else in his bed, silhouetted by the dim light leaking beneath his bedroom door. Too murky to make out any details, but she’s haunted his subconscious long enough that he would know her anywhere, unmistakable in any form.

“Rose?” rasps the Doctor, his voice rough from shouting (crying?).

“Yeah,” she says, fingers curling in his tee-shirt. “I’m here, with you. Remember? And everything’s gonna be…”

The Doctor doesn’t hear what she says next—blood rushes in his ears, pins-and-needles and a high-pitched whine and a thick thump-thump-thumping; cold sweat beads on his brow, and he fights the nausea threatening to wash over him. Forcing his breathing to slow, he pushes up in the bed. He can feel her staring at him, feel her concern. Relief and embarrassment rise up in equal measure, searing-hot fluid in a thin-skinned blister.

“Please get out,” he pants.

Her hands stall on his chest. “Doctor?”

“Please,” he says, brokenly, knuckles scraping the tears from his cheeks. He curses himself for ever letting anyone see him like this, for ever allowing himself to be so shamefully pathetic. “You never should have—I don’t need you here. Get out.”

The Doctor can practically hear Rose’s heart hardening at that.

Her next breath is tremulous, watery. “Fine.”

The bed jostles with the force of her movement, bedclothes twisting as she crawls over them and gropes semi-blindly for the edge of the mattress, and the Doctor realizes she actually listened to him this time. Really, properly listened—and she’s really, properly going. Now the panic rushes in, and the guilt, settling heavily at the pit of his stomach. Please no please don’t go please don’t leave please…

“Wait,” he calls hoarsely after her, but her feet have already reached the floor. “Rose—”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it. Tell a girl Get out enough times, eventually it gets through her thick skull.”

He springs out of bed just in time to grab her hand before it can twist the doorknob. “Rose, stop. Please.”

“Why? Planning to call up any other regenerations to come spit in my face?” she snaps, her back turned to him. “How about my first Doctor, the one who died on the Gamestation? Want to bring him on over so he can have a go at me, too?”

Her shoulders are tense, hard as flint as the Doctor places his hands on them, gently nudging her until she turns around to face him. Her entire body quakes beneath his touch and he suspects that, just like him, her shivering has got nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

“I fought so hard,” she says plaintively, and the Doctor doesn’t need to see or touch her face to know she’s crying now. He can hear the tears thick in her voice, feel the sobs wracking her frame. “It’s been years, Doctor, and I tried—I thought about trying, settling into a life over there, and I could’ve, there were times I wanted to, I had friends and my family and a good job and there were blokes and a girl and I could’ve—but I couldn’t—not after all the things I did, and if you ever knew—and I just missed you so much, god, I missed you, and I thought—if I tried hard enough—”

Laughing through her tears, Rose shivers even more violently. “God, I’m stupid.”

“Not true,” says the Doctor firmly.

“I am, though,” she says with a sniffle. “I don’t know what else I expected. I mean, it’s not like I thought I’d come back and you’d scoop me up in your arms, or, I don’t know, profess your eternal love for me, or whatever. I just thought, I hoped we could pick up where we’d left off, just the two of us, and Donna too if she wanted, back out in the stars, and I thought, maybe, one day, if I was really, really lucky, maybe you would—”

He cuts her off with a kiss.

She stiffens against him, body going rigid under his hands, and he knows he’s being rude, or unfair, or possibly terribly unchivalrous; definitely something Donna would smack him for, and he wouldn’t blame her. And it’s messy, salty, wet, her tears viscous and sticky on Rose’s cheeks and her lips and now on his as well. But it’s warm, too, in a way that makes him dizzy, his chest expanding, his blood thrilling in his veins. And hopefully Rose can find it in herself to forgive him, because right now he just doesn’t have the words. He can only hope, desperately, that his actions will speak loudly enough in their stead.

(And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about this since these eyes first saw her.)

Eventually Rose relaxes in his grip, pulling back with a soft gasp. “You don’t have to do that,” she mumbles.

“Do what?”

She thumbs the tears off her face. “Give me anything out of guilt. Just because you think I want it.”

He nods. “All right.”

He kisses her again.

A strained little whimper rises in Rose’s throat and she snakes her arms around his neck and before he knows it, his arms are responding in kind, wrapping around her and pulling her body flush with his. She’s still shaking but it’s more of a buzz now, something he can sense in his skin, creeping into his skull like a rush of alcohol. His body floods with warmth as her tongue tentatively brushes his lower lip and a flash-vision pops into his mind, detailing how he could push her up against the door—

Suddenly he’s gone a bit jellylike in the knees and the Doctor breaks the kiss with a shudder. The room feels like it’s spinning around him.

(He’s relieved to hear he’s not the only one struggling to hide breaths gone ragged.)

“You…” Rose says, and swallows. “That’s cheating.”

“Never said I’d play fair,” the Doctor replies, step-stumbling back until his legs hit the bed. He sits down, grateful for the support.

Rose doesn’t budge from the door, so the Doctor holds out a hand—can she see it in the almost-black, can she tell he’s reaching out for her?—and after a few horrible moments of nothing, her warm little palm slides along his. She lets him draw her in, and he has every intention of wrapping his arms around her again, comforting them both with a solid, lung-squeezing hug, so he’s surprised when her hands reach out and cup his jaw, tilting his face upward. He wonders if, perhaps, her night-vision is better than his now, if she can see the nervousness and hope written across his features, but soon it’s apparent she’s seeing with her hands; her thumbs stroke the apples of his cheeks, tracing the edges of his sideburns and working up to his temples. His eyes flutter shut at her touch and he fights not to lean into it, like a cat. Fingers tangle in his hair and nails scratch lightly against his scalp and he can’t stop the hum that escapes in response.

He pulls her down for another kiss and he doesn’t mean it to be such a needy thing, so desperate and harsh and hungry, but the way her lips part almost immediately makes him suspect she’s every bit as starved as he is. She deepens the kiss and his tongue chases after hers. Dizzy with want, he clutches at her hips, he’s just got to touch her somewhere, anywhere she’ll let him, he needs to feel her, soft and solid and safe, but she’s still so far away, still oceans and oceans between them—

The Doctor doesn’t even try to hold back a sigh of relief when Rose clambers into his lap, pressing herself against him. The weight of her is warm and reassuring, the frantic pit-pat-patter of her heart against his a welcome rhythm.

“I don’t play fair either,” says Rose, and she kisses him fiercely before he has a chance to reply.

Afterward, she slumps against him, panting. Eyes shuttering closed, he wraps his arms around her, losing himself in the gentle rise and fall of their chests as their breaths slowly calm. But eventually Rose stirs in his arms, sitting back on his lap; the Doctor imagines if he could see her face in better detail right now, her eyes would be glazed, blinking heavily. He suspects his are doing much the same.

He feels like he should say something, but his breathing is too thick to allow any words out of his mouth. At least, that’s what he tells himself; the truth is, he’s still too stunned by the idea of Rose sitting in his lap to really register anything that’s happening right now, or anything that’s happened in the last few minutes, for that matter. A not-unpleasant buzzing sound has filled his head, pairing nicely with the numb feeling suffusing him below the waist, and it’s just a bit difficult to think past it all.

Rose wriggles off his lap, both of them wincing, and she walks off toward his en suite, fumbling for the light-switch in the dark. Soon she finds it (impressive, considering she’s never been in here before) and searing yellow-white light lances the Doctor’s vision, blinding him with its brightness. Moments later, the Doctor is surprised by the sensation of something soft hitting him in the face. He blinks out the light, confused, pulling a flannel from where it fell in his lap.

“Figured you might want to clean up,” Rose says from the doorway to the en suite. She’s not wrong, and oddly considerate—but something about her sudden frankness and neutral tone sets panic thrumming in the Doctor’s system all over again.

She’s not just going to up and leave after all that, right? Surely she wouldn’t?

The door to the en suite closes, leaving the Doctor alone in the darkness once again, frozen. Slowly, amidst the sounds of flushing and washing-up, he tidies up. The fresh, clean flannel is a blessing on his skin, but it isn’t enough to soothe the anxiety roiling in his skull, especially when the light turns back off and Rose comes out and, quietly, heads straight for the bedroom door. The Doctor wants to ask her to stay, but the words seem wrong, somehow, almost childish, and at any rate, they’re stuck in his throat.

Hand on the doorknob, Rose hesitates. “Did I push you?” she asks, her voice small.

“No,” he answers quickly, thankful that his tongue finally works again. “No, not at all.”

She sighs in relief. “And you, erm. Would you rather I left you al—”

“No.”

Another sigh. “Good.”

The mattress dips beneath her weight as Rose crawls back into the bed, and, his weary brain just a bit slow on the uptake, the Doctor follows after, sure to leave a respectable amount of space between them, just in case Rose wants it. But he soon learns he needn’t have worried; the second his head hits the pillow, Rose snuggles up against him, tucking her head beneath his chin and insinuating one leg between his. Surprised, but nonetheless pleased, the Doctor pulls her into his embrace, wondering how in the universe he managed to be the lucky sod she’s curled up against tonight.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Rose mutters sleepily into his chest.

The Doctor startles out of his thoughts. “Hm?”

“What happened to Donna. It’s not your fault.”

It’s stupid, really, how quickly the tears spring up behind his eyes. He grits his teeth until the pressure fades, his fists clenching tightly in Rose’s tee-shirt. He has half a mind to untangle himself from her, to get up out of the bed and throw open the doors of the TARDIS and scream at the universe until his voice grows hoarse and his throat bloody, but the other half of his mind gently points out how Rose’s breathing has already evened out, how relaxed her entire body is next to his, how warm and soft she is in his arms. How she’s here, with him, now, despite everything.

With a tired exhale, he nuzzles into Rose’s hair. Fruity shampoo, expensive perfume, the faintest tinge of chemicals from her hair dye all greet him; marveling at how natural it all feels, the two of them close and quiet like this, he breathes it in, committing it to memory, just in case. He closes his eyes and, inch by inch, lets himself loosen.

She’s wrong about Donna, of course. But it was still nice of her to say.

***

Previous: Chapter Three | Next: Chapter Five

#timepetalsprompts #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #tentoorose #tenrose #travelingrose #goingtothetardis #so for anyone who is concerned and doesn't mind mild and vague spoilers #i swear the tenrose stuff is coming on down the line #definitely some angsty setup to get through first but there will be payoff #rose loves all of the doctor and he loves her with everything he has #even if things are complicated between them right now #and even if there are two of him #lolol #but i wanted the story to be about choice--for everyone involved--and i wanted to show the events leading up to those choices #i promise this isn't going the route of 'ooh ten's such a meanie no wonder rose will choose tentoo'#everyone just needs time to adjust and ten in particular needs to pull his head out of his arse #also #like wow i just got so eager to start posting this that i did not plan things super well #apparently i repeated chapter titles?#so that's been fixed #and also i had a thought that i would split this up into two parts #it seemed to make sense at the time #but now i'm like #why?#so anyhoo thank you for your patience to everyone who's sticking with me and my weird edits and odd decisions and terrible update schedule #i love you all passionately!#<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 #mbb fic

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