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infictionalwonderland · 1 year

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PERIODS — harry lewis

pairing: harry lewis x fem!reader

warnings: periods… NOT REALLY A WARNING BUT YKKK, swearing, suggestive-ness, medication

Whoever said people your age couldn’t have sleepovers, could go and do one—because you absolutely fucking could, you and Talia proving said notion right now; your boys were off again, somewhere abroad for a sidemen shoot and leaving you and your best friend alone. Instead of getting all weepy and mopey (over a boy, never you) you and her decided to make the most out of the lack of testosterone—after you’d dropped your boyfriend off at the airport, all innocent smiles and pretty fluttering lashes, you’d zoomed off (probably breaking several speed limits) to get to your best friends new home.

When you got there, she’d opened the door with an excited screech despite expecting you and you returned it despite knowing she’d been the one to open the door. After of long embrace where she didn’t wanna let you go, you finally convinced her with the promised of pizza and brownies. Hauling your overnight bag in, you’d began your girly night—music booming, comfy clothes on, gossip upon gossip and so many laughs your whole body was in tatters as you made pizzas and brownies (admittedly, hers were better but she was literally Mario’s second cousin, it’s to be expected)

Food in hands and smiles never leaving your faces, you’d taken off into a race into a race for the living room (you won, obviously) and began your evening of movie watching—from 10 things i hate about you to It, then legally blonde and Tangled, and many more, . . .you had quite the night. However both of your highlights was when you discovered you both started your cycles on that particular day—before your boyfriends had left and around basically the same times: it had you both in tear inducing laughter for two minutes. You’d ended up taking a Polaroid of you both grinning while holding up Flow (the period tracker app) and showing you both having the exact same cycles.

Twins.

That was yesterday—now you were both lying in a miserable heap of pain and exhaustion in Talia’s king size bed, hot water bottles on your abdomens and remaining snacks being shovelled into your mouths as you both snuggled and occupied yourselves on your phones.

You smiled slightly when your boyfriends name popped up over TikTok but grimaced afterwards as your stomach turned horribly.

harry🤍

gd mornin xx yu okay luv ?

you’re actually illiterate

harry🤍

and you can’t punctuate, we all have are own flaws. anyway i hope ur good, we’re landing at 3, want me to pick u up anything?

You grinned wider, deciding to piss about.

yeah actually can you get me some jumbo tampons!! thank youuu x

harry🤍

what. they do JUMBO? i mean thats, at least their being inclusive. good on em 👍 wait bloody hell love, you’re on again already? swear i don’t know how you still have blood in ya

yeah it happens to be a monthly thing, harry. 😄😄😄😄😄 also im with my gf so you might have to whisk me away before me elope xxxxx

harry🤍

she’d get you a shitty ring anyway i’ll get in simons lift home then and you can drop us off. … i love you, gotta go, see you soon gorgeous

love you too smelly 😜

You looked over at Talia at, miraculously, the same time she looked up at you and when she wordlessly showed you her phone, showcasing messages of her asking Simon for XXL pads, you gasped laughingly and showed her your messages to Harry. She made a shocked face before meeting your eye and you both burst out laughing, only to groan as you ached all fucking over.

“I hate being a women.”

It was now half two and while Talia was effectively making your day better—you both were still in immense pain. You’d migrated to every living room (you loved it so much, you could cry) and both had a sofa to yourself, Mushu (their adorable dog) was nipping at some toy from where he was sat by the telly. You both were on your phones for the most part, last nights episode of Love Island that you’d absently recorded now playing on the TV as you both munched away on the breakfast Talia got delivered—McDonald’s breakfast for you and she had a spiced cheesy omelette from this little breakfast place.

“When do you think Harrys gonna ask. .?” Talia looked at you from her place on the sofa, wiggling her ringed finger mischievously with a glittering smile, one hand still firmly against her stomach.

“Probably never.”

“Bullshit!” She shot back instantly, sitting up and pointing firmly in your direction as she ignored the pain she was in in favour of reassuring you. “Babe, you have not seen the way that man looks at you when he thinks no one is looking. Like, seriously, he has literal heart eyes for you and don’t even get me started on how he speaks about you. It’s like your the best thing in this entire world to him, really. Like you’re some kinda goddess or somethin’ he always looks so awestruck by you.”

“. .probably cause I cook him dinner.” You offered with a shrug, smiling lopsidedly, and Talia snorted with a head shake.

“Or you are his dinner.”

“I mean, he does—“

“Ah! WAIT, NO. Stop, no more, please.”

You grinned at her, sparing a wink before cooing at Mushu happily and urging him to jump up on you, which he did. Your entire demeanour seemed to soften as you wrapped your arms around the large grey ball of fluff.

“He’ll probably ask you soon.”

“Natalia.” You threw her a mock serious look and she put her hands up in a surrender motion, finding herself all too funny.

“What—have you seen you?” Talia retorted, faking a dreamy sigh as she readjusted herself on the plush material of her sofa. “I’d kiss you, marry you and fuck you. Repeatedly.”

“Miss Mar. . .” You jokingly trailed off.

“Have my babies?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

“We should really do this more often.” Talia pouted at you, friendly love bright in her irises as she pulled her blanket more around her body. “I miss hanging with you, sexy bum.”

“Miss you more, baby cakes.” You winked at her dramatically, mouth falling open just like Fred Weasley and she giggled back at you, snapping a candid photo.

“Speaking of babies—“

“NATALIA HADDOCK.”

Approaching four o’clock was when your boyfriends finally rolled up—you and Talia didn’t actually notice at first, you were both laying down on the living room floor with Mushu next to you and a mediation video on the large screen, giggles slipping past your lips even as you attempted to be quiet. You would’ve sat up but considering your cramps. . .‘twas a no go.

“Keep your fake lips shut, Cruella.”

Talia squawked in offence at your comment but kept her eyes shut for the purpose of mediation, blindly lifting a manicured hand to swat at you.

In that moment, your boyfriends both walked through the door, trading odd looks at the silence in the home (if there was anything you and Talia were together, it was not silent). Simon lead Harry through the house, more confused than anything to where his fiancé was but when they heard whooshing sounds from the living room, they both stopped uncertainly.

Harry quickly picked up a random umbrella from where they were sat, just in case.

However, when you hesitantly stalked into the living room they didn’t expect to see both of their girlfriends laying sprawled across the floor in starfish position with a mediation video playing on the large TV. They both paused, trying to repress their amusement and Harry instantly got out his phone—zooming into you to take some photos.

“Feeling zen, yet?” Simon inquired.

“So zen.” You both confirmed, simultaneously.

There was silence for no more than a second before you and Talia both let out startled exclamations and sat up straight—immediately groaning out in pain after as your stomach cramped and ached (day 2 was your personal worst day for pain/cramps).

“Woah. Woah, woah.” Simon paused at the in sync groans of pain, “listen. . .I know you both have like, interlinked emotions but please don’t tell me you can feel what the other feels?!”

“Boy.” Talia gave him a deadpan stare.

“Help.” You urged your boyfriend, reaching out your hands expectantly and he rolled his eyes fondly as he walked over to you, large hands taking your smaller ones in his own and he tugged you up from the ground, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into him. “Hey stranger.”

“Hey.” Harry mumbled back, grinning widely as he pulled you flush against him, digging his head endearingly into the crook of your neck and leaving two swift kisses, your sweet aroma surrounding him and clouding his thoughts as you hummed, running your fingers through his short hair.

“No PDA in my house!” Simon exclaimed.

“Shush,” Talia tutted—unimpressed with her fiancé, “don’t listen to him. Harry, kiss my girl all you want just. . nothing more, preferably.”

“She’s not your girl.”

“Am I not?” You played clueless, faking a confused look at him before going to step over to your best friend, only for him to tug you back against him, large, muscled arms wrapping around your front to hold you back.

“Disgusting.” Simon blanched. “Do that in your own home, please.”

You and Talia both rolled your eyes in sync: you turned your head to smile up at your boyfriend, pressing a loving peck to his soft lips and then his bicep before gently tugging his arms off you, getting ready to say bye to your friends.

“Bye beautiful.” Talia grinned, her arms coming to wrap around you with a careful tightness. “I love you, let me know if you need anything—also, we should really really do this again soon. I love spending time with you.”

Feeling your heart warm, you smiled back at her genuinely. “I love spending time with you too, Lia. Next time we can make lasagna and cupcakes. . .the Tom and Jerry ones.”

Talia squealed slightly, pulling away from your hug to press kisses to both your cheeks and then your forehead.

“You’re the best. Miss ya’ already.”

“Missing you more.”

A few minutes later, you and Harry were finally out of the mini-mar household. Your boyfriend had finally resigned to carrying you when you had fully stopped walking and hunched over slightly in pain from your cramps—he’d sighed, like the tired boyfriend he was, then gently picked you up bridal style and ignored Talia’s obnoxious awes and how she took several pictures.

(She totally didn’t put them on her story)

“Spoiled princess, ‘s what you are.” Harry shook his head jokingly as he carefully put you down in the passenger side of your own car that he was driving cause you were in pain.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

He grinned at you, looking up through his lashes as he did your seatbelt for you, one of his large arms caging you in and the the other free arm reaching over your lower half to tug the seatbelt tighter. He looked similar to an angel in that moment—sun illuminating his features, those fucking blue eyes you were a sucker for and you felt a trail of sparks on the skin his hand purposefully brushed over.

“That tight enough?” Harry inquired, cheekily.

“So tight.” You responded with a snicker of your own and he rolled his eyes at you, tugging a strand of your hair briefly and you feigned a dramatic wince as he left you, shutting the door to your side and climbing in the drivers side.

You looked over, rolling down your window readily as you knew what was coming—when your car started to take off, Talia opened up the window closest to the driveway, popping out her head with a gorgeous gleaming smile.

“BYE BYE BEAUTIFUL, I HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER SOON!”

“BYE GORGEOUS—SAME GOES FOR YOU, CALL ME!”

As you did the ‘call me’ symbol with your hand and gave her a dramatic wink, she giggled before ducking her head back indoors.

“Might as well date her.”

“Might just, y’know.” You smiled at him sweetly, turning on the radio for background noise like you always did, “Smells a lot than my current partner anyway?”

“He can’t be that bad!”

“No, really, he stinks of piss.”

“I beg you fu—“

He cut himself off, grin faltering as he heard you wince in pain, frowning softly as he looked over at you.

“Hanging in there alright?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, smiling tensely.

“I got you something.” Harry mentioned, peering over at you and when he saw you looking him with that adorably confused look, he nudged his head backwards and your eyes followed—landing on the Tesco bag in the backseat.

“My jumbo tampons?” You cackled to yourself.

“No—I did look though—“ Your laughter increased in volume, ignoring the aching pain overcoming you as best you could, “Oh—Oh. I see now, they aren’t a thing. You played me.”

“What? No, never.”

“I smell deceit.”

“I smell piss. Oh, wait, it’s just you.”

You giggled at yourself and while he tried to playfully glare at you, he couldn’t quite keep his smile at bay as he stared at you.

Curiously, you reach behind you and tug the Tesco bag from its space in the back, lugging it into your lap and opening it up—your mouth immediately pops open in an awww when you take in the two sets of cupcakes, your favourite chocolate bars, the sanitary products and some pain medication.

“Harry. .”

“Don’t mention it, I beg.” A sheepish crimson blush coats his pale cheeks at your tone and your evident heart eyes. Jesus Christ, were you pretty. He was so lucky to be able to call you his, that much he knew for sure.

“Thanks, handsome.”

“Yeah, yeah anytime man.”

You arch a brow.

“Anytime, love.” Harry corrects, flashing you an equal parts amused and sarcastic smile as you nod your approval to the changing pet name.

When you finally arrive back at your apartment complex—Harry’s already out of his side of the car as soon as it stops, and then he goes over to you, opening your door and looking down at you. He lets at a dramatic heaving sigh at your doe eyed look, scolding his skin for flushing and heart for picking up.

Effortlessly, he takes the bag off your hands with one hand and pulls you from the car with the other, once you’re out the car he lifts you up easily with one arm and you wrap your legs around his hips, arms around his neck.

“Hi.” You mumble, grinning mischievously as your acrylics scratch at his beard.

“My pretty troublemaker.” Harry huffs affectionately, squinting down at your bright smile fuelled by mischief. “Don’t you dare bring attention to us, this is embarrassing enough.” He nearly whines.

You merely smile, a kiss to his cheek to tide over his anxieties.

The walk was going pretty smoothly, but as soon as Harry stepped foot into the elevator, another set of footsteps followed and his eyes shut miserably, leaning down and sighing into your neck hopelessly.

“Hi Effie!” You immediately perk up at the sight of the older woman—Effie was this sweetheart fifty six year old who lived on the floor below you and Harry, a vast lover of plants and animals with a hatred for men (you loved her, Harry was scared of her).

Harry barely refrains for niping at the soft skin of your neck in reprimand. Of bloody course.

“Hello dearie.” The older woman, hair a dyed purple shade and silver septum hanging from her button nose, greets you with a calm smile. Effie was evidently unfazed by the scene in front of her—if anything, she was proud that you were putting your man to work. “How are you today?”

“Oh I’m grand, Ef.” You smiled so charmingly that as Harry stared down at you, he almost forgot he was even supposed to be annoyed. “How are you? How’s Tia, I miss her!”

“I’m well, thank you, dearie. Tia misses you too, I assure you. Perhaps you come down tonight, I can bake us some cookies just how you like them.”

Harry paused, bewildered. Did his girlfriend just get hit on by a grandma?!

“I—“

Before you could even get a word out, the elevator dinged open to your floor and Harry wasted now time practically sprinting out with his arms possessively entangled around your frame; you quickly exclaimed a startled ‘bye Effie’ over your boyfriends shoulder before the elevator doors shut.

You quickly distracted yourself with how you could feel your boyfriends muscular biceps as he held you up, your acrylics took to touching and tracing them as he bounced you up further on his hip. You closed your eyes, leaning further into him and humming at the delightful scent of his cologne, the soothing vibrations of his body as he quietly chatted away helping to dull the aches in your own body.

“You alright there, y/n?”

“Never been better.” You smiled up at him and he gives you an amused one back, kissing your forehead softly as he finally opens the door to your shared apartment—once inside, he readily manoeuvres the both of you to the sofa where he carefully places you down, handing you the bag of food and your favourite blanket he spots on the lone armchair. “Thank youuu.”

“Spoiled princess.” He names again, but the smile on his face is enough to melt you despite his words.

Harry then goes into the kitchen as you try and adjust on the sofa more comfortably, face screwing up as a particularly harsh pain washes through you—your abdomen clenching. To distract yourself, you search through the Tesco bag and smile to yourself as you take out the first batch of muffins.

You mindlessly click onto WhatsApp, taking a photo of the bag of goodies and sending it to the girls groupchat with a little ‘make your men do this for you, pretty ladies’ and instantly being met with gushing from them all.

“Showing off my expert shopping skills?”

You startle—gaze flickering to your boyfriend who smiles at you, that smile he saves just for you and it makes you feel so special and warm every time. Your eyes dart over him, noticing the hot water bottle he now clutches (you love that hot water bottle—it’s got this absolutely adorable cover of a lama).

Fucking hormones, you think, as you feel a wave of emotion hit you at how much he’s done for you.

“Hey,” Harry noticed the quivering frown you now adopted and internally panicked, did I do something? Hot water bottle in hand, he hurried towards you, kneeling down on the floor beside where you were laying and twirling a pierce of your hair around his finger. “Hey. What’s wrong, love, hm? You in pain?”

“Yeah.” You answer him shakily, that’s not why your suddenly upset. “I love you.”

If he’s confused—he doesn’t show it, he merely smiles at you comfortingly, leaning in to gently press a kiss to your lips.

“I love you more.”

You smile up at him and his face softens completely at you—he’s so fucking in love. And yes, these thoughts of his are incredibly soppy, but, he couldn’t help it. The girl of his dreams, the love of his life, the prettiest person in the world, was currently staring at him like he hung the moon and the stars. . . he’d never tire of your beautiful face, your radiant smile that flustered him every damn time.

When you move so he can slide in behind you, he eagerly takes the invitation. He slots in behind you on the sofa, pulling you atop him with your back against his chest; he takes the hot water bottle, your favourite one, and carefully moves up your shirt before pressing it against your lower stomach and keeping his hands there to hold it in place, pressing a thoughtless yet meaningful kiss to the side of your head and you snuggle back into him.

“Oi, give me a bite.”

“Fuck off, it’s my scran.”

“Yeah—and who’s card did it make a dent in?”

“Our card, handsome.”

“. . . Spoiled princess.”

And that’s how you spend most of the rest of your day—intertwined limbs, goofy grins, soft kisses and joking insults.

(He’s never been more in love)

1K notes · View notes

its-time-to-write · 11 months

Note

Omg I'm loving your response to my prompts!! thank you

I have a few ideas (You don't have to do them all) just throwing them out there to see what sparks ideas!!

I love secret admirer stories (I know its no where close to valentines day but still) maybe Reader is Rebecca's assistant and keeps getting gifts leading up to valentines day but she is pretty sure its like Sam or Isaac and tells friend Jaime (even though its really him) then the day of the grand finale and she comes to the lovely surprise of it being Jaime!

also if you could include Scarlett red roses in it for me (They are my favorite flower and the only flower I'm not allergic to)

So. I liked this one. Maybe too much? It might be the longest one I’ve written so far, so, uh, sorry about that. But I liked it a lot. It might be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. Hope you enjoy. also the gif isn’t Jamie Tartt but it is Phil Dunster so hopefully that’s ok

honey, i’ll give you all my time

Good god, it’s February all ready. You have a love-hate relationship with the month; love, because Galentine’s Day and hate because Valentine’s Day. You and your friends would go out on February 15th to get discount chocolate from the shops, then return home for an ungodly amount of takeout and a movie. On the whole, you all preferred action movies with a good romance.

You’re dreading Valentine’s Day because it’s when your boyfriend of two years held your hands in his, and told you he wanted to break up.

That was a year ago. You’re mostly angry that he’s a dark stain on one of your favorite holidays. You’re absolutely determined not to let him ruin your enjoyment.

This is also the first year you’re not with your friends. You moved away last March because you realized your ex had been holding you back in far too many ways.

So. To recap.

You’re alone. You love Valentine’s Day, despite it forever being the day of your breakup. Your friends aren’t here. You have new friends. There is no one to go to the shops with on the 15th. But discount chocolate is still discount chocolate.

Your current job is as a personal assistant, something you excel at. You basically anticipate needs, meet them, and just generally make your employer’s life a whole lot easier. The application said the job required a lot of travel, but all expenses (minus some food) were covered.

You were shocked when you got an interview, then a second, then a third, then were hired.

Your boss is a woman named Rebecca Welton, and you’re half in love with her, but who isn’t, really?

You swear you’ve never been in such a healthy work environment. You mention it one day, early on, and she says it’s all thanks to their head coach, someone named Ted.

You meet him for the first time later that day, and you understand.

It’s impossible not to love him, because he has vision. He knows what he wants from his team, and he knows how to get it.

He believes the team extends far beyond the players.

He believes it extends to you, too.

Ted and Coach Beard steal you from Rebecca as often as they can, claiming emergencies such as “a toxic amount of testosterone from all these boys,” “life-threatening boredom,” and last but not least, “there’s a new pun Ted absolutely needs to test right now and he won’t take no for an answer.”

(You like to give Ted honest feedback on his puns.)

You also find yourself in their office when Rebecca is out for lunch, eating your respective sandwiches and swapping life stories.

They remind you a lot of your parents.

It’s mid-June when you mention the Valentine’s Day story.

It doesn’t hurt as much when it’s punctuated by Ted’s “he didn’ts” and Beard’s perfectly-timed gasps.

You find yourself laughing halfway through, unable to stop.

“And anyway,” you finish, cheeks painful from smiling so hard, “that’s why romantic love is a joke and I am drowning myself in platonic love forever.”

Ted and Beard share a look. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Beard says.

You shoot him a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“Well sweetheart,” Ted says, “between the two of us collectively,” here points between him and Beard, “we know of at least three of the boys on the team who are madly in love with you.”

“What?” you gasp, “How did you- where did you- who??”

Ted zips his lips and Beard tips a finger to him. “We know of five if we count Rebecca’s intel.”

You’re sitting cross-legged on the edge of Beard’s desk, in shock. “Rebecca knows about this??”

Ted and Beard shrug in unison. “We all have our opinions on which one should shoot their shot, but that’s neither here nor there,” Ted says.

“Coincidentally, it’s the one thing we unanimously agree on,” Beard nods.

You’re cut off from saying anything by the door opening. One of the players stands in the doorway.

“Excuse me, coach,” he says, accent thick.

Ted motions in a you have the floor type of way, and the footballer turns to address you of all people. “We’re all goin’ out tonight, and Keeley sent me to invite the new girl. None of the lads have really met you yet, just seen you ‘round. Thought it might be good for team bonding, or something. I’m Jamie, by the way.”

“Oh,” you say, taken aback. “I guess- yeah, I guess I haven’t really met them. I mean, I see you guys around and stuff and I’m at your games, but I don’t really know you. Are you sure you want me to come?”

Jamie shrugs. “Coach is always on us about bein’ a team or some shit. And, havin’ a girl around makes the lads look good.”

You think that makes sense, and then find yourself agreeing to go out that night with a group of footballers you don’t know, and (thank god) Keeley Jones.

You’re going to figure out which five before the summer’s over.

—

You have nice time out with the lads. They go to a bar and cram into separate booths. You’re wedged in between two who have introduced themselves as Isaac and Dani, and across from Sam, Bumbercatch, and Jan Maas. Roy, Richard, and a few others you don’t know are milling about, and you see Jamie and Keeley at a table, surrounding by giggling girls. The sight is so absurd that you catch yourself smiling and turning back to whatever conspiracy Bumbercatch is telling you about now.

—

You put Sam at the top of your list as soon as you get home. The man wears his heart on his sleeve, or maybe in his eyes, but you’re positive that he’s one of the five Ted and Beard referred to. One down, four to go.

—

It’s the end of July, and you begin to become friends with the team. You know for an absolute fact who is not interested in you, Jamie being one of them. Coincidentally, he’s the one you become closest to. You think it’s because you’re not worrying about sending mixed signals or leading him on. You dropped public hints about not really looking for anything romantic, just to be sure you wouldn’t hurt anyone.

As it is, Jan Maas and Dani have made the list. Jan Maas, because he stifled his Dutch bluntness for you and Dani, because he openly declared he was madly in love with you in front of the whole team.

—

Isaac makes the list in December. It had been in between him and Bumbercatch, but Isaac was the one who walked you to your car every night and the first one to say hello to you every morning.

You’re not gonna lie, it was cute.

You shared some of this with Ted and Beard, who remained impressively stone-faced. Rebecca proved to be equally impervious.

You shared all of it with your lunch-buddy-turned-work-bestie, Jamie.

You ate with him because Rebecca was constantly in lunch meetings these days, and Ted, Beard, and Roy were always revamping their football strategies.

Jamie would plop down at your table and say, “What’s the news, Amy Hughes?” in his perfect Mancunian accent, and then listen/add commentary to whatever you had to say.

You explained to him that the reason you wanted to know who liked you was so that you could be extra careful with their hearts. You knew what it was like to be led on, and you did NOT want to do that to someone else.

Jamie nodded thoughtfully at that and then said, “We’re all footballers though, ain’t we? We get the shit end of the stick all the time, hearts broke by models and whatever. Even ends up in the fucking press. Everyone here’s has their heart broken before, and we all know you aren’t doing it on purpose.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “I’m pretty sure it’s short end of the stick, Jamie.”

And thus begins your lunch hour of bickering.

—

No one has made a move on you yet, and you don’t have a read on number five. You still think it may be Bumbercatch, but in reality, it slips from your mind. Sam’s moved on, Jan Maas has accepted defeat, Dani swears he will love you until the day he dies, and Isaac stays, well, Isaac. Still sweet. Still walking you to your car, coming round extra early in the morning with a coffee or a water, depending on which “looked less like shit.”

Really though, you don’t think about it until February first, when you walk into your office to a small box on your desk.

At first, you think it’s a box of Ted’s biscuits.

Then, you notice a small, scarlet-red rose taped to the top. There’s no note, and all that’s inside is a tiny paper heart.

It’s folded with extreme care, and you place it on your shelf, smelling the rose. It smells amazing and you make a mental note to figure out where the heck it came from. But for now, it’s time to work.

—

You don’t mention the gifts until February third, because now there’s been one a day. Each one with a scarlet red rose, and a different gift. Yesterday was an incredibly expensive bar of chocolate (it was life-changing) and today is a tiny gold bracelet.

It’s a simple enough chain, but it is absolutely breathtaking. There is no mistaking the fact that it is not cheap, so you take it and march straight to Rebecca’s office.

“Rebecca,” you say, hands outstretched, “look.”

She does, smiles, then says, “It appears you have a secret admirer.”

“But I don’t want that!” you cry. “I don’t even have time for that! I don’t even like anybody right now!”

She peers at you over her glasses. “Don’t you?”

The sheer weight of those words is enough to physically knock you back two steps.

You don’t, you swear you don’t, you’re absolutely sure.

What about Vienna? a voice in the very back of your head nags.

You reply, out loud, “We don’t talk about Vienna,” and Rebecca just shrugs.

“Have it your way,” she replies in a tone that means this conversation is over, but you’re the one ending it.

You turn on your heel and find yourself taking the route to Ted and Beard.

You burst into their office in such a flurry that the entire room turns to look at you. “Close the door,” you say with such urgency, that Trent hurries to comply. Beard even shuts the blinds.

“What’s on your mind, Ollie Cline?” Ted asks.

“Wait,” you say, holding up a hand. You point to Roy. “Do you want to be here? It involves feelings.”

“Fuck no,” says Roy, “thanks for being fucking considerate.” He follows it up with a pointed glare at Ted, then goes into his office and firmly shuts the door.

“Can he be here?” Ted asks, tilting his head toward Trent.

“I don’t care, he’s probably a good one to have around for this because look!” You present the three collected roses and the bracelet.

“Someone’s started leaving me gifts, and I’m pretty sure it’s a Valentine’s thing because of the roses, and it was fine for the first two days but this is expensive, and I can’t accept this!”

Ted and Beard share a look. You hate it when they do that and leave you out.

Ted sighs. “Listen, do you think this about Vienna?”

You fix him with a glare. “No. We are not talking about Vienna ever again.”

Trent pipes up, “What’s Vienna?” and you wheel around on him, taking your glare with you.

“Vienna," you spit, like it’s poisonous, “is a terrible, awful place where people think terrible, awful things. I never want to talk about it again and I never will.”

Trent nods. “Noted.”

You turn back to Ted and Beard, pleadingly. “What do I do? Tell me what to do.”

Beard gets up and puts his hand on your shoulder. “Kid, if you want my advice, take the damn roses and wear the damn bracelet. These boys make more money than they know how to spend, so just let it go. They all know how you feel about dating, so if someone’s shooting their shot, they know the stakes.”

You shake your head. “Fine. Fine. I’ll let it go.”

—

You decide to tell Jamie on day five, because it’s a Friday and you’re dying to get his take. You tell him everything, show him the roses in your office (hanging upside down to dry), and then hand him the notebook that was in today’s box.

“Jamie,” you say, “this is an expensive notebook. There was a typed note inside that said, ‘for your drawings.’ How did this person even know I like drawing? I never talk about it!”

Jamie looks at you and laughs a little. You’re very flustered for something most people would enjoy. “Dunno, love, but we’ve all seen the sticky notes you leave Coach. That might be it.”

You groan and flop down into your chair.

“At least tomorrow’s the weekend,” you say.

—

Jamie’s phone dings at 9:00am on Saturday with a text from you that says, what the actual heck and a picture of a brown bag at your doorstep. Inside is a plastic box of your favorite lemon muffin from a local bakery. He emphasized the image, then waits for your response.

It was still warm, you write. It was someone who knows where I live and knows what time I leave to get breakfast.

Jamie grins and sends you a shrugging emoji, and you respond with an eye roll and a you’re no fun.

Jamie reads that and privately disagrees. He thinks he’s lots of fun

—

You’re pretty sure it’s Isaac. After all, he’s the only likely candidate. He’s one of the few who knows where you live and knows your routine. Not in a creepy way, in a we’re-good-friends type of way. You bring this up to Jamie, after personally banning all talk of this with Ted, Beard, and Rebecca. Stupid Vienna. You should never have told them.

Jamie shrugs for the millionth, infuriating time. He’s been noncommittal this whole time. You’re over here pouring out your heart and soul, considering whether you like Isaac romantically or not, and all he can say is, “I dunno?”

This is not the Jamie Tartt you’ve become best friends with.

That Jamie would be down to hunt this secret admirer with you. That Jamie would be helping you figure out if Isaac had a chance with you. That Jamie would be way more engaged than the one sitting in front of you right now.

But, you suppose maybe that Jamie died in Vienna, so you stop bringing it up.

—

It’s day ten. Valentine’s Day is in four day, and you’re nervous.

You’ve decided you don’t like Isaac like that, mainly because it shouldn’t take you that long to decide if you like anyone. There has to be an initial spark, and you shouldn’t try to manufacture it.

Still, you’re not sure it is Isaac, so you’re not going to say anything about it. The scarlet red roses hang on your office wall, permeating the room with their scent.

You feel like you’re dying.

This is a cruel joke and you’re dying.

The building is basically empty right now. Rebecca and Higgins have some meeting, the team is on the pitch (including Will) and various other staff are somewhere far away from you. So, you jump a little when Trent Crimm comes tripping into your office.

“Vienna,” he says, no greeting. “If you didn’t want to talk about it, you wouldn’t have told anyone. I’m assuming you do want to talk about it, but you don’t want judgement from the people you love. I’m here to offer my services as a neutral party.”

You look at him. “Trent. You are a journalist. Your whole job is writing down people’s secrets. Why on earth would I talk to you about the worst day of my life?”

Trent shrugs. “I’m good at keeping secrets. This would be off the record. I’ve never lied to people about off the record, also. I consider it bad journalism.”

You consider this for a moment, then sigh.

“Alright,” you concede. “At least if this gets out, I know whose head I’m shaving in retaliation.”

Trent looks at you in surprise, seeing you in a whole new, slightly threatening light.

“It happened two months ago. It was around Christmas, and I didn’t have anywhere to go…”

—

Your family all had their own separate plans that Christmas. Plans that didn’t really involve you. Same with your friends. You said something casually to Rebecca, and the next day she told you she had booked you a trip to Vienna. Call it an early Christmas present, she said. It was at the Aumaris Vienna, and it was gorgeous and ridiculously out of your budget, but she said you worked hard and gave her peace-of-mind, and you can’t really put a price on that, can you?

So you went.

But here’s the thing.

Someone else didn’t have Christmas plans.

So when you brought up your trip at your daily lunch, said someone else casually asked, can I come?

You almost choked on your sandwich.

Because here’s the other thing.

You were, maybe, kind of, possibly just a little bit head over heels in love with this someone else.

You’re not sure when it happened, really, just that it was probably in August and that it was soul-crushing because you knew for an absolute fact that he did not, and never would, feel the same way.

You didn’t tell anyone except Keeley, but under the condition that she just let you say it and that she never, ever give you a response to it. Just listen.

She did, but you were pretty sure she almost combusted.

But who are you to say no when Jamie Tartt invited himself on your luxurious Christmas vacation saying, I’ll pay extra to get a plane ticket next to you?

You were doomed from the start.

To make matters totally and impossibly worse, he couldn’t find another room.

He had his tickets, but the hotels, he said, were packed.

It was Christmas, after all.

So that’s how you ended up in a luxury hotel with Jamie Tartt for a week and a half, one day of which was Christmas.

You know the, “there was only one bed” trope that everyone thinks is so cute?

It was that, but only if you add deep, shattering heartbreak to it.

Because every night, you had to listen to Jamie say, “goodnight, love,” and then get into that giant, soft bed as far away from him as you could manage.

Every morning you woke up to the pillow barricade long gone, one of his arms thrown around you. Or one of your legs on top of his. Or a million different scenarios where you end up literally asleep together, some weird gravity pulling you to each other.

You were falling so hard and so fast, that you felt like the air was knocked from your lungs when Jamie started talking about the girl he liked.

“She’s just so fucking beautiful,” he’d say, staring at an Alpine mountain. Or, “Swear she’s the smartest fucking person I’ve ever met,” while traipsing through the city. Or, “Pretty sure she’s ruined me for everyone else,” while getting facials at the hotel spa.

To be fair, you were the one who teased him into admitting he liked someone.

You just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

The entire trip felt like heaven and hell had simultaneously converged on you, and you never wanted to leave but also desperately counted the days till it was over.

You came back and broke down in Rebecca’s office. Ted and Beard were there. The whole thing came spilling out, about how you loved the trip so much it felt like your heart would explode but that Jamie loved someone else.

They all exchanged looks amongst themselves and did their best to comfort you.

You pulled yourself together and they promised never to say anything to anyone.

—

“So that’s Vienna,” you finish.

Trent is just staring at you, mouth slightly agape.

He finally says, “My god, that’s fucked,” with such emotion that you decide right then and there that you like Trent Crimm and his rainbow mug.

Now, you just shrug. “I did it to myself, honestly. That’s why I’m tripping out about this secret admirer thing. And god, Trent, the roses. They’re so beautiful and it’s so romantic, and whoever it is obviously knows me well so there’s a part of me that wants to like this person, but…” you trail off.

“But there’s a part of you that’s hoping against hope that Jamie’s behind it all,” Trent finishes.

You let out a little laugh. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

Trent looks at the roses, then at you. “Maybe you should talk to Jamie,” he says, gently.

You reply with a forceful, “No,” and then follow up with a small, “That’s what Ted and Rebecca say, too.”

Trent stands up, shrugs, says with a small smile, “Just a thought,” then he’s out the way he came.

—

It is Valentine’s Day. And it’s a Sunday, which means you are legally required to stay in bed until 10, at which point you will get out only to make yourself decent enough to go buy a good cup of coffee and maybe (definitely) something to eat.

You’ve just finished putting on your shoes, when there’s a knock at the door.

You take a breath, and get ready to let down your secret admirer as gently as possible.

You swing open the door to reveal-

“Jamie! What are you doing here?”

Jamie Tartt is on your doorstep, hands behind his back, looking shyer than the day you first met.

He opens his mouth and says the last thing you’d ever expect:

“D’you remember Vienna?”

Your heart, which had already been going fast because his dumb floppy hair was all dumb and floppy in his stupid, cute headband, is now working double time. You manage a nod.

Jamie takes this as permission to continue. “D’you remember how I couldn’t get another room, no matter how hard I tried? That wasn’t true. I could’ve.” He pauses, and you wait for him to continue.

“And d’you remember when we met, when I told you Keeley told me to invite you out? That was a lie too.”

You tilt your head, confused. He keeps going.

“Look- I fucked it. I fucked it a million times and I told Ted and I told Beard, but they kept helping me un-fuck it and giving me chances, and then Rebecca bought two tickets to Vienna and slipped me the other one, and they all told me I had a perfect shot.”

You’re still not understanding what he’s saying. He might as well be speaking another language. Jamie sees the confusion in your eyes, takes a breath, and tries again.

“Keeley told me to invite you out, but only because I’d seen you around and thought you were fit. Then Isaac and all the lads thought the same thing, so I didn’t even get to fuckin’ sit with you. And then you started sayin’ things about not bein’ ready for a relationship, so I tried to let it go. I really fucking tried. But I just couldn’t. Your eyes are too sparkly and your laugh is too fucking cute and I couldn’t let it go, so I started eating lunch with you and you fucking let me. I knew the moment I said anything about liking you, it was over.”

Comprehension has started to dawn, but you push down hope until Jamie’s done speaking.

“Everyone told me to shoot my shot in Vienna. We shared a bed, for fuck’s sake.” Here, Jamie looks bewildered. “But I dunno, I didn’t want to make shit weird. So when you asked if I liked anyone I said yeah, and started fuckin describing you, but you never fucking picked up on it. That’s when I got the idea to try one more time. All by meself, no help from anyone else. So…yeah.”

Jamie Tartt is standing on your porch confessing his love for you on Valentine’s Day and it is not a dream, because if it were your teeth would be falling out and his hair would probably be neon pink.

“I’m an idiot,” you breathe. “You like me? Like, like-like me?”

Jamie quirks a smile at that. “Not quite, darling. Pretty fucking sure I love you.” He pulls his hand from behind his back to reveal a bunch of scarlet red roses. The same from each gift.

“Got these for you,” he says. “D’you know how hard it is to get red roses in February?”

You don’t answer him because you’re leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve thought about doing every day for what feels like forever. He’s kissing you back, hand with the flowers pressed against your back, other hand in your hair.

“I love you too, Jamie,” you whisper against his mouth. He smiles and pulls you in again.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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