#it was fun to write
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Dos and Don’ts of H Styles
A/N: this story was literally born out of the wifi incident happening to me. It was a weird experience lol but of course it inspired me to write a story around it. Basically you used to work for Harry as a PA and your life was hell. You bump into him in the present but before it unfolds we need to know what happened in the past.
Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4
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I watch as Winnie types into her phone the number of the guy who’d just hit on her.
“And that’s with a y?” She looks up at him with doe eyes.
“Yea,” he falls for it. He was cute, and she worked a lot I didn’t blame her for taking who she could get. His accent also helped. “What’re you doin’ now?”
“Well,” her eyes slide to me. “Hanging with my girlfriend here.”
He nods at me and I smile, holding up the almost empty glass. “We were just about done for the night though.”
“We were?” Winnie checks in with me.
“Mhm,” I give her an encouraging nod.
Both Winnie and I were employed by musician-turned-actor Oretta Smith. Winnie was her nanny—or childcare companion as she called it, and I worked as Oretta’s executive assistant. It was full-time and demanding as hell but ever since Oretta had her first child a couple months back I’d gotten a lot more breathing room as she minimized her public life and stayed close to home.
This long weekend Oretta was staying with her in-laws and asked us to take it off. I’d already requested the weekend off knowing we were in London but being off at the same time as Winnie was impossible so we’d gone out to celebrate and let loose—9pm and only 2 drinks in, both of us had already started talking about the comfort of our beds. Until flirty dude came up to Winnie.
“What do you say?” Winnie’s new date asks her.
“Aw shucks alright,” Winnie flashes her beautiful smile and hops off the stool. I don’t even see her drop the bills onto the table as she hugs me goodbye and leaves until it’s too late. She’d covered for both of us. Well I’d get her back next time.
I finish the rest of my drink, eyes flicking to the reruns of tonight’s soccer game. This wasn’t the fanciest bar—it was quite homely compared to the ones Winnie and I often found ourselves at. But it was one I used to go to when I worked in London just over a year ago. Being back in the city, despite all the awful memories, pulled me towards the nostalgic comfort of it.
I remember the many dates with my now-ex, the random nights I’d actually get off, and drown myself in drink to forget about my awful employer. Or the birthday and milestone celebrations—especially the ones I started to miss near the end.
I consider walking the few streets over to my old flat. Coincidentally the job I’d gotten wasn’t far from home. The upside was that it made dealing with “emergency” texts from my employer a lot quicker but the downside was it grouped all the traumas I experienced in this beautiful city to a few blocks. I didn’t miss it.
I cut my memory lane rabbit-hole short and decide it was time to order an Uber and get out of here; I had an early train to catch tomorrow.
The bars on my phone flicker up and down as I open the app and continue to refresh it over and over. But my signal remains unstable.
“Stupid phone,” I mutter. I had to update my provider while I was here asap.
“‘Scuse me?” I wave down someone serving drinks. “Have you got wifi here?”
“Yep we do!” She smiles. “Name’s The Violinist and the password’s capital p….”
Her voice grows far away as my blood runs cold and I stare at the list of available wifi networks. I feel myself nod a thank you when she stops talking and she leaves taking the password with her while I’m stuck staring.
My networks:
🔗H’s iPhone
I want to duck down and run away, not spend another second around anything to do with that era of my life. But I also want to hunt him down and show him how much better I was doing after him, despite.
The second instinct wins. Kind of.
I don’t hide away. I scan the dimly lit room and try to spot the familiar head of hair but it’s on the third try that I spot him. And it’s probably because his hair is barely an inch long.
He must’ve cut it recently, I’m surprised. Him without his hair was like Harry Potter without his scar.
The feelings are instantaneous though. The loathing and the need to cry. My heart continues to race as I burn a hole into the side of his head.
He was the devil incarnate and I had thought about him for a second too long just now. And now here he was. What the fuck was a guy like him doing here?
I remember the awful times; the casually cruelty and the late nights he would make me work. His constant criticism. The way my life fell apart because of him. The way I could wring his neck with very little incentive at any given moment.
He had turned my whole life upside down. He ruined me.
Harry Styles wasn’t the sweetheart everyone painted him out to be.
And yet, a flash of a feeling, a fleeting memory I try to keep locked away pushes to the front of my mind.
“Fuck no,” I tell myself. There was no room for fondness when it came to the devil.
About 2 years ago:
I straighten out the blazer, wondering if I should be chic and roll the sleeves up a bit or just keep them down. My reflection shows a nervous mousy girl that’s trying too hard. I throw my hair into a ponytail instead and feel a more like myself. Just as the elevator doors ding open.
I’m in the penthouse suite I would be working out of for the next however long; it was my first day on the job and I was still sorting out my nervous to excited ratio.
After looking for months, I’d landed a PA gig for up-and-coming rockstar Harry Styles. It was a dream come true and everyone was ecstatic for me, most of all my boyfriend who’d helped me land the role.
My boyfriend, Grayson, was a personal trainer to a lot of big names and he’d been keeping his ear to the ground for me. We met a few years ago at the gym of course, I’d still been a student and he worked part-time at the student gym. Back then he was still working to get a better client list.
We’d clicked pretty quickly and Grayson, who was anything but shy, asked me out. Soon after he was telling me he had feelings for me and I’d felt them echo back the same. He was my biggest supporter and when I told him I wanted to take this career path seriously he’d been the first to show me what steps to take to get there.
My true dream was to become a publicist and work with celebrities, but fresh out of post-grad everyone told me I’d need to dive head first and get my hands dirty. And I’d have to do that by finding a PA role for a publicist or an industry person.
“Y/n?” My name interrupts my thoughts. It comes from a disembodied head peeking out from a doorway. “You are y/n right?”
“Yes!” I hurry over. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yes. I’m Mr. Styles’ exec assistant, I’m only here for the next,” he looks down at his watch. “Half hour perhaps? So let’s get you sorted before I head out.”
“Oh okay. Sure,” my ears ring, I was going to be alone on my first day. I didn’t even know he had an executive assistant. What was the difference between him and me? What if I screw up and this guy was part of the fallout plan? Shit. “Is Mr. Styles in?”
“Not at the moment, he’ll be in before noon. He has a few appointments this morning. Typically you’d be going with him but he left before you arrived so…next time. Make sure you get any paperwork he received from the appointments and file them in here-“ he points to a room with a filing cabinet. Like an actual cabinet. This was a tight ship. “You sound American. Are you American?”
“Yep,” I debate whether to tell him I stayed after doing my degree here but decide to keep the yapping to a minimum.
I continue following the EA—who I should get the name of, as he points out rooms and overlaps it with info about Mr. Styles’ schedule and routines. A lot of info. My brain felt like it was barely holding on.
I think about the man I was now working for, the one who came into the interview for a brief 10 minutes. Surely that laid-back guy wasn’t the anal mystery man I was getting all these instructions for.
The interview itself had gone pretty smoothly apart from the fact that I nervous-laughed a few times too many. I had gone silent when The Harry Styles had walked into the office. He’d sat beside me at the round table, slouching slightly and flashing me a reassuring smile—I had felt my shoulders dip down immediately.
“So it’s y/n right? I’m pronouncing that correctly?” He’d said in his perfectly charming accent.
“Yes, it’s so nice to meet you officially.” I had to tamp down every urge to gush over him. I was a professional. I was zen.
“So y/n,” he says my name so casually and yet I feel myself lean closer to hear him say it again. “I’ve seen a couple of you come in here for the PA role. What makes you different then?”
Think think, just be calm and think!
“Well I’m a very passionate person so I put my all into everything I do. That would include this job, and in turn you’d benefit by getting peace of mind knowing I’m tackling whatever behind the scenes items that need to get done to get you where you need to go.”
“Well said,” he says with a smile that says he knew he was very good looking. “Now trust is a big factor in this relationship.”
As he talks I forget his manager is even in this room. I’m swept up in the hazy green of his eyes.
“We’ve done the background checks and all that—right?” He looks to his manager who was interviewing me and gets a nod. “But how can you reassure me. My staff gets approached by the media daily for any info on me. What’s to say you don’t sell out.”
“I would never,” I didn’t even think of that being an option. “Confidentiality and trust is the biggest pillar of this role and I take it very seriously. You’re like, the biggest celeb of the last year but I know you’re also a person and I wouldn’t betray that. On a person level.”
“So even if you had a really bad day, say I had gotten you to do some impossible tasks. And you’re heading out head full of steam and you get approached by a reporter. £5k for an exclusive.”
I shake my head. “As tempting as it would be, professional ethics reign over any of that.”
“I believe you y/n,” his eyes flicker down to my file. “Good references. We’ll be in touch.”
Now my eyes roam around the small room I’m meant to work out of. It’s the size of 1.5 supply closets with half the walls filled with shelves and cabinets. There’s a small desk but I wasn’t sure how often I’d be sitting at it. All the PAs I’d ever connected with always complained about the amount of time you spend on your feet. That’s why I’d opted to buy myself runners when I got the job.
“Any questions—mind you I have 1 minute for them before I’m off? There’s a suit I have to sort out.” The EA turns to me when we circle back to my office/supply closet.
“Oh,” a million race through my mind. Nothing that would fit in a minute. “I um, I guess I didn’t catch your name?”
He seems surprised at that, and then he laughs. “Oh you’re a doll. This place is gonna eat you alive. I’m Riley and tip for you—don’t be so eager to please. Do your job. Do it well. But you’re not here to be liked or make friends alright?”
He laughs again when he looks at my face. He hands me an iphone and tells me it’s programmed with everything and everyone I needed, then waves goodbye leaving me in a confused spot.
I wasn’t naïve, I knew what working in this industry was like but I was could swear I’d landed a good gig with Harry Styles. And meeting the man himself in the interview had confirmed it.
Maybe Riley was just jaded by too many long hours.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. A text from Grayson: good luck on your first day babe. let me know how it goes.
I only have time to heart it when I hear the elevator open in the foyer. I rush out just for Harry to brush past me and his manager following, chattering away about something.
I follow from behind and watch as he heads to the kitchen. Riley had shown me what he laid out on the island and how I should do it going forward. And like two magnets Harry reaches for the exact bottle Riley mentioned. He downs the smoothie and then collapses onto the barstool.
“But don’t forget what she was saying about the single needing to be global. Sure your fanbase would love it but would the people who hate you have to admit it’s good.”
“I make it for my fans not for the wankers that hate me,” Harry says and his voice is rich like caramel.
“You know what we mean.” His manager suddenly turns directly to me. “Can you contact the studio and let them know to push Harry’s 1pm to 3?”
“Oh,” I didn’t even know they knew I was here. They gave no acknowledgement until now. “Of course. Um, could I just get the paperwork from this morning too? The appoint-“
“Yep,” his manager unhauls the items in his hands. The whole time Harry stares out the window. I’m handed a stack of papers and I carry them to the office.
My hands are shaking when I put them down and I feel a lump in my throat. What was wrong with me? Why was I reacting this way?
I find the studio contact in the phone Riley gave me and let them know. They’re suspicious at first but accept the reschedule. I leave the paperwork for later, figuring I might be needed now.
But the rest of the morning I’m unacknowledged save by a few requests from Harry’s manager. I spend some time looking through the calender in the phone that’s pre-programmed with Harry’s entire life. It’s packed except for this Sunday. I wonder if it was actually free or just hidden from me since it was my one day off.
“You’ve got a passport haven’t you…?” It’s the first time Harry’s spoken to me. He’s changed into a hoodie and shorts, his manager is nowhere to be seen, and I’ve just bitten into a granola bar—the first thing I’d had since my morning coffee.
“Y/n.” I try to swallow the bite whole but at the last minute push it to the side to try to answer. “Erm yeah. I haven’t got it on me though.”
“Right. Y/n. Start carrying it. I’ll need you with me on Thursday I have a morning meeting in Léon and since Riley’s going to be sorting out something for my New York trip in a couple weeks he can’t make it.”
“Yes. I will. Do you need me to prepare anything else for the trip? I’m not sure if you’ve packed or-“
“It’s just a meeting.” He cuts me off. He pulls out his phone, dismissing me.
I swallow the knot in my throat once more.
I go with Harry to the studio since his manager is meeting us there. Alone in the car with him, the silence feels stuffy.
“I never got the opportunity to say thank you by the way,” I try to open up a conversation. All he was doing was looking out the window surely I wasn’t interrupting anything.
“What?” He stares right through me.
“Um, I’m just saying thank you. For the job.”
He nods.
I stay silent for the rest of the ride.
The studio is quiet, which makes sense when I think about it but upon entering an actual room I change my mind. The noise assaults my ears and I nearly jump at the volume but my hand gripping the doorknob keeps me in place.
People swarm around Harry.
“I need my tablet and my notebook,” Harry says amidst the small chaos.
What the fucks was he talking about. “Sorry?”
“My tablet and notebook,” His face darkens and so does my mood. Nobody told me! But maybe I should’ve asked oh my god.
“I don’t have it,” I say lamely.
“Any time I’m in the studio I need those two things. You need to get me my tablet and my notebook.” He speaks like a robot.
“I-I’ll head back,” I get my bag again. “Tablet and notebook, is there anything else?”
He looks angrier than I thought. He sticks his hands in his pocket, shuffles something in his hand before handing it over. “You may as well get lunch. Keep that card on you for business costs.”
I open my mouth to ask what he might want but he turns away as soon as I take the card and I’ve already fucked up royally so I decide to wing it.
In the car I consider googling what Harry Styles ate for lunch and instead will the ever living shit out of myself not to cry.
I scroll through the phone, debating if calling Riley for help would be a mistake. Going through every app for help I realize the countless notes in the app.
Morning Routines, says one. It lists things I should do when the mornings were spent at home, in studio, abroad, in a hotel, or if I walk into a “morning-after” morning. Jeez.
Another has checklists for what to do when travelling, how-to for routine appointments I should be booking, routine people I should be calling.
Why didn’t I look at this before. Right there is one called Studio Days and in bold it says what to bring.
I was an idiot. A big fat idiot.
I try my luck and search lunch. Sure enough a note with possible lunch places in cities across the world pops up.
It was a How-to guide for Mr. Styles.
Whoever put this shit together was an angel. I owed them my life.
I decide to be proactive, sorting lunch out to be delivered to the studio while the car drops me off. I run to the room Riley had said was the home studio. Sure enough I spot the tablet and a few notebooks, I grab all 3. I also grab the charger and ignore the bag of weed chilling on the arm of the chair.
What to do when he’s too drunk / What to do for Interview Days / What to do when he won’t answer the door or the phone / Day-off checklist / Social media checklist.
The dos and don’ts go on and on as I scroll through on the ride back. This was going to be my homework and by the end of the week I was gonna be a genius.
I swipe away and check if I had missed any folders containing precious info. Just the trash.
Out of curiosity I open it and there’s only 1 sitting inside: the donts of working for Harry Styles
I open it:
-don’t let one nice day fool you into forgetting he’s an arse and your employer
-don’t expect any gratitude from a narcissist
-don’t fall for his charm
-don’t shit where you sleep. no matter how tempting
-when he pisses you off which he will, don’t mouth off. what happens next is worse than being fired. which he won’t do because he’s the devil and he will want to keep you around after treating you like shite
-don’t think he’s chill. he’s anything but. follow the checklists and the rules.
-don’t have a life. actually this is a CAN’T. YOU CAN’T HAVE A LIFE WORKING FOR THE DEVIL. LEAVE AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN UNLESS YOU HATE YOURSELF
I close the phone immediately, my heart thumping in my chest like a steady bass in the background of a song. What the hell did I get myself into.
***
It’s 8pm by the time I head back with Harry. The car is once again silent.
I had spent the day reviewing emails and the checklists, fielding calls and texts. His personal chef had texted to tell me dinner was prepared and in the oven to be re-heated so I figure that’s the last thing I’d do before I head home.
I’d eaten lunch standing while watching Harry sing background vocals to the album he was working on. It was hard to deny how intoxicating it was to see such a talented man work his magic. And it really was magical seeing how a song got put together.
That is until he’d sent me to get tea for the room and I’d nearly spilled half of it on myself getting enough back to the room. I was getting an electric kettle next.
I made a new note then: Reminders to do so you don’t get fired
The notes were my saving grace.
“My head is killing me,” Harry groans.
What to carry at all times: #4 paracetamol and #2 water
Checkmarked after going to the pharmacy while he was in the studio. I’d created an emergency makeup bag with essentials I could throw in my tote. I considered it a win today.
I hand the painkillers to him and he seems surprised. He replaces them with his phone.
“I don’t want to look at a screen for the rest of the night.”
“Okay.” I leave his phone beside me and try not to think of everything on it.
It vibrates a few minutes later and I leave it, not wanting to invade his privacy but he glances at me.
“Well?”
“Oh!” I lift it but it’s locked.
“1021.”
I type it in. “Um, Jeff wants to know if you’re still at the studio-“
“Reply to him.”
I do as I’m told.
“Um Mitch wants to know if you’re-“
“If it’s scheduling questions you can probably answer them without bothering me about it.”
I look up and he’s tipped his head back, eyes closed. Right. Of course I could.
I go through his schedule and find his studio time on Friday and relay it to Mitch. I respond to another text from someone asking if he was going to a gala in a couple months—his schedule said he was in LA so no. I wondered if I would also be in LA in a couple months. I wonder what Grayson would think.
Grayson, I’d had a short call with him a few hours ago and tried not to cry hearing his voice. It felt like home when the whole day felt so foreign.
I stare at the final text. The contact photo is the side profile of a gorgeous woman.
“Kimberly wants to know if you want um,” I feel my cheeks burn. “If you’re inviting her in tonight because she has a party she really wants you to go to.”
“I can’t be arsed for a party I feel like shite.” Harry says, eyes still closed. “Tell her to be at mine after 10.”
“Ok.” I type the words with a racing heart. I remember the morning-after checklist for this exact scenario. It wasn’t going to be weird soon I guess.
I heat up dinner for Harry while he showers and leave letting him know what time I’d be in tomorrow. He doesn’t even say goodbye.
I get home around the time I reckon Kimberly gets to Harry’s. The first thing I do when I see Grayson is shed a waterfall and he holds my exhausted body tight against him.
“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” He whispers to me in bed after a shower and sandwich—I couldn’t stomach anything more.
“I need this job Gray. It’s gotta get better.”
“I reckon but it’s a steep learning curve,” he says as he traces the curve of my nose.
“I know,” I snuggle closer to him and yawn. I don’t know what he says next as I tip into sleep.
***
If the notes app manual with the dos and donts of being Harry Styles’ PA was a physical thing, imagine me swallowing it.
Every spare second I had—which I didn’t get a lot of, I was reading that thing. My fingers searched tirelessly before every scheduled and unscheduled event. And yet, I’d fucked up so many times.
It was Saturday and I was looking forward to my day off.
He had been hot and cold all week but ever since getting back from Léon he’d been nicer and I’d actually been getting home before 8.
Maybe things were going well, despite the fact that the learning curve was like climbing mount everest.
“What’s my morning look like?” Harry asks. I was sitting at his kitchen table trying to book a dinner for him next week with a friend that was in town. A friend who also happened to be big back where I was from—I hoped to catch a glimpse of her myself.
I glance up and look back down just as quickly. After a week of seeing Harry in all sorts of undress I should be used to it, but my face still flushes. Today he stands at the table in running shorts.
“Pulling it up,” I say and scan his schedule even though I had it memorized. “You’ve got a meeting at the bank in about 40 minutes and lunch with Michael.”
“Can’t my accountant take the bank meeting?”
“She’ll be there. She’s meeting you downstairs to discuss the meeting on the ride over. You need to sign off on some stuff.”
“Stuff,” Harry repeats.
I look at him, careful to train my eyes on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at my lack of elaboration or just teasing me.
“Documents.” I correct, still unable to tell.
He look amused. “Great. Documents. I thought I’d be signing body parts.”
Was he joking? He was joking…I think.
“Right. No, we’re saving that for the tattoo shop booked for 6.”
He raises his brows, a slow smile spreading across his face and like the sun coasting over the horizon he looks brighter and prettier.
“That’s mad, that people would get a random man’s signature tattooed on them isn’t it?”
It’s inevitable really, my eyes skim over his torso brimming with tattoos. He notices and laughs. It’s a wonderful laugh.
“I meant they don’t really know me.”
“They admire you and it’s a piece of you,” I shrug. “At least it’s not a portrait of your face.”
“I’ve seen that floating around the internet actually.”
“Really?!” Now that was mad. I pull it up on the laptop and cover my mouth.
“I know.” He hangs his head and we laugh. God, things were finally getting better. This was the kind of relationship I thought Harry would have with his PA.
I scroll through comments and it’s impossible to wipe the smile off my face. I’ve considered myself a fan for a lot of artists but tattooing their face…that was another level of commitment I couldn’t do.
I look back to Harry who has grown quiet. His eyes are on me.
“What happened to your blazers?”
I’d decided to wear a skirt today, it was my lucky skirt—the one I had been wearing when I got the call that the job was mine. It being the last work day of the week I thought it might make me feel good.
I’d paired it with a tank top and a comfy cardigan. I’d finally felt like myself compared to all the button ups and blazers I’d been parading in. But apparently Harry had noticed the wardrobe difference. Shocker because he barely acknowledged me this week.
“I thought I’d dress for a Saturday?” It comes out meeker than I’d hoped. Ugh. “I hope that’s alright. If you want me more professional-“
“That’s alright,” his eyes roam down my body and I feel hot all over. Oh god, I shouldn’t have worn this. “It looks good.”
“Thanks,” I cross my cardigan over my body and try to get back to work but he doesn’t let it end there.
“Did you make that yourself?”
He continues to surprise me, “I did actually, is it obvious?”
“Yeah there’s a big hole down the back,” he teases. I know he is because his eyes are smiling, light.
“Damnit,” I relax a little. He was only interested in the sweater. “I’d finished it late it looked okay in the dark.”
“I have a friend, she made one of those for me. With the patches. Very comfortable.” He’s weirdly intense while looking at me and I feel like squirming again.
“It is. Very stretchy.” My vocabulary seems to shrink.
He leans over to touch the fabric and I feel like a cactus has been stabbed into my neck, I feel hot and prickly. Jeez, I had to chill out. My employer was just interested in my sweater. Super interested. Maybe I should just give him the damn thing. It would definitely fit him.
“Wool,” he smiles. He’s basically perched above me and I think I’m going to have a heart attack. I went from complaining about the fact that he acted like I wasn’t in any room he was in to not even being able to hold a conversation when he did.
I’m caught looking up into his unfairly gorgeous eyes and he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room. Which I was in this instance, but still.
I’m saved by a loud voice coming out of the elevator.
“Harry you car is waiting downstairs.”
Like a book slammed shut, his expression retreats until all that’s left is the cover page with no summary. The friendly Harry from before is gone.
“Oi Harry! I had to come all the way upstairs because I’ve been sitting in that stupid car waiting! Do you not pick up your phone?”
“Lee,” Harry says as he walks across his living room. “If you can’t reach me you call my PA I’ve told you a million times.”
“And I’ve told you a million times not to keep me waiting. We have a lot to cover before we get to this meeting and I need every minute. God why are you shirtless go put on something appropriate!”
Harry miraculously does as he’s told—given I had already laid out an outfit for him. He’s ready in no time. His accountant, Lee? Simply smiles at me and goes back to typing on her phone while we wait.
“Why is that so wrinkled?” Lee judges Harry who walks out in a completely different outfit.
“I don’t have time to change again do I?” Harry bristles.
Lee looks over at me and I’m not sure if she’s accusing me of something or looking for support.
“Mr. Styles I did leave an outfit out for the m-“
“I don’t wear silk.” He cuts me off and walks out ahead. Lee shrugs my way and follows him. I trail behind, feeling worse than ever.
For a miserable hour and a half I sit in one of the most uncomfortable chairs of my life, organizing Harry’s life while I wait for his meeting to end. As hard as I try to concentrate, I keep agonizing over what I might have done wrong to flick his switch. I swear things were going better. And I know I’ve seen him in silk before. Why the hell else would it be in his closet? Why couldn’t I go a single day without screwing up?
I finally spot Harry walking out of the office and gather my things quickly to meet him. I trail behind as we walk down the hall into the lobby, Lee is nowhere to be seen.
A gasp catches my attention and suddenly a girl younger than me rushes up to Harry.
“Oh my…Harry Styles?”
Harry’s face morphs briefly into annoyance, his gaze flicking my way, before pasting on a smile for the girl.
What to do when a fan approaches H (in the wrong moment): be the bad guy, divert, get Harry to wherever he needs to go to and do it quick.
“Hi,” Harry smiles sweetly at her and the friendliness throws me off guard. But this was unexpected and I should get him away…I think.
“Oh my god could I get a picture? My mate is never going to believe this. She loves you so much, so do I-“
“We really have to be going.” I say and the girl looks at me, surprised to find me there. I look around and spot and older woman watching us. Must be her mum.
“Could I just get a picture?” She glances between us.
“I don’t think Mr-“
“It’s fine,” Harry hands me her phone. “Get a photo of us.”
Just another layer of humiliation to add to the rest of the day. The rest of the week. God was I just awful at reading cues?
I snap a couple and then we’re walking free.
He doesn’t say anything. The car ride to his lunch date is spent in awkward fucking silence and I hate myself more with every second I spend in it.
When the car stops at his destination he holds his hand up when I go to open the door for him.
“Listen -what's your name again?" He asks.
Shame and humiliation drip over me like blood on Carrie’s prom night. I repeat it for him. Just like I had daily since I was hired.
“Right. Y/n. You came highly recommended from a friend so I trust you know how to do this job. This job, is to keep my life organized and keep me on track. Make sure I'm not distracted or side tracked by anyone. Including you. It’s not to be my publicist or my fashion advisor or my personal security. Let's stick to the job description okay?"
His words land bitterly to my ears. Not personal. Just a job. Just a job. Just a fucking job. And yet it was starting to feel like my whole life.
“Yes of course.” I hear myself mumble. And like the big clown I had to be, I push open the door and get out so he can too. He walks to the restaurant without a goodbye and I crawl into the car, heading back to his place. Tears burn my eyes but I refuse to let them out. Refuse to admit just how badly this job hurt.
***
“I’m not doing this on purpose,” I hiss into the phone. “You know I’d be there right now if I could!”
“Babe I get it’s your job but you haven’t come to anything in over a month since you started your job!”
“That’s unfair,” I cup my hand over my mouth. “Gray c’mon I’m going to be there just late.”
“That’s what you said last weekend.”
Last weekend, one of our good friends invited a few friends for dinner in their new place and Greyson had had to go alone. Everyone had messaged me to say I was missed but Gray had been stony, pretended to be asleep when I got home and then given me the silent treatment until I wore him down the next day. It was exhausting begging for affection.
“It’s my job Grey I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Me neither, you know my parents want us over for weekend roast some time but I’ve been avoiding giving them a date because I don’t want you to stand them up.”
“I-“ a shadow shifts in the corner of my eyes and I look up. Harry stands in the doorway. “I have to go we’ll talk later.”
“Whatever y/n,” Grey hangs up and my chest squeezes with all the hurt I was causing. But he saw the state I’d been in since I started this job a month ago and he knows this is just my life right now. Why was he suddenly acting like it was brand new information?
“Are you done your personal call?” Harry asks. He hovers in the doorway, I’d never actually seen him in this little office space. Then again, if he did step in there wouldn’t be much room for either of us to walk around each other.
“Sorry,” I hate myself for apologizing. Here and everywhere else in my life. But I have no other choice. “Can I do anything for you?”
“When are you heading out tonight?” He asks. His eyes glued to my face. I know my eyes are teary and I try to blink it away.
“Um, soon. In an hour or so,” blink blink blink. “Did you need anything from me before then?”
“Yes, I have a friend coming over tonight. Can you order us something for dinner. Something light. And get a bottle to chill for us—champagne. And can you push Monday’s cleaning service to tomorrow afternoon?”
“Consider it done.” I tell him, hoping he would just leave me alone in the dark here.
“Do you have evening plans?” He continues. Why did he never ignore me when I wanted him to!?
“Kind of yeah,” I try to keep it short. “A birthday.”
It was Grayson’s sister’s birthday. She had invited us to a local fave called The Violinist and of course I would only make it to the dessert course if I was lucky. These days, making it to dinner at all was a luxury. I lived off of sparkling water, leftovers, and coffee.
“Well best to finish up what you’re doing so you can head out.”
He leaves and I’m annoyed. Why couldn’t he be nice and just tell me to leave after doing what he asked. But here I sit folding fucking pamphlets for some idiotic pledge he had signed on for. Fuck me.
I’m miserable by the time I leave. I’d managed to finish everything in a half hour so I’d touched up my makeup and changed into a simple dress I had kept in the office closet on Riley’s suggestion.
“A simple black number that could be used for any last minute event.” He’d said. Unfortunately that now counted for personal events too.
“G’night Mr. Styles.” I call out as I walk to the foyer, just so he knows I was going out earlier than I said.
“G’night,” he answers surprisingly. He always ignored me but tonight he sits on the couch. He rises to see me off but I notice him pause and take in my outfit. “Fun night?”
“I hope so.” I unfold the blazer in my hand, suddenly wanting to disappear with his gaze on me.
His long legs walk to me and he takes the blazer I’m fidgeting with from my hands. He actually holds it open and if I wasn’t this exhausted my jaw would definitely be on the floor.
“Oh. Thank you,” I slip it on and turn to face him. As if helping me put it on wasn’t surprising enough, he proceeds to untuck my hair from the blazer.
“That’s alright,” he says in a low seductive tone. “You look nice. Are you dressed up for someone?”
The question is dangerous, toeing a line I’m not sure I want to erase. I try to ease things with a joke. “The birthday girl I guess.”
“A friend?”
“My fiancé’s younger sister.”
Was it just me, or does he bristle when I mentioned my fiancé?
“I didn’t know you were engaged,” he mumbles, glancing down at my hand. I wore a number of rings and I guess the small diamond Grayson had proposed with back when it was the most he could afford, blended in.
“Yeah, nearly a year now.”
“Wow,” he crosses his arms. “Have a date set?”
“Not exactly,” I smooth my hair behind my ears. “We’re thinking next year but we’ve just been so busy with out schedules-“
“What does he do?”
“He’s a personal trainer,” I say proudly.
“Oh,” Harry tilts his head back. “Oh. Now I understand. Now I get the connection. My mate Liam put in a good word for you when I needed a new PA, he said he knew you through his personal trainer. He never mentioned how.”
“I see,” I’d have to thank Liam next time I saw him. He’d been one of Grayson’s first big clients and had become a close friend to us. I’d have to thank him with dinner. If I got any nights off, that is.
“That’s who you were talking to on your personal call?” He asks, his hand tracing my shoulder seam down to my elbow. My heart races from the ghost of his touch.
“Erm yeah, sorry again. I had to take it since it was time sensitive.”
“Best to get going then.”
I take a step backwards and then rush to the elevator all at once. Once I’m on and the doors start to close I turn and catch a glimpse of his handsome face watching me go.
I let out a breath. That was weirdly heavy. And kind of intimate. But weird. That was weird.
I wonder briefly who he was having over tonight. If it was Kimberly, who I’d had the misfortune of meeting in her panties one morning. Or his other “friend” some brunette named Maya or Amaya something. I’d had the misfortune of meeting her when I dropped off a late package to Harry one evening. All were awkward encounters.
I shake away the thoughts and am grateful when Harry’s driver waves me down on the sidewalk. I guess Harry had told him to take me to where I needed to go. My heart is warmed ever so slightly, although I do accidentally nap on the 15 minute drive over.
I make it for the end of dinner and Gray looks relieved to see me even though his eyes hold a hint of something unspoken. I try to ignore it tonight.
“Oh you look beautiful!” I hug the birthday girl, and we sway from side to side. I used to see her a lot before she moved away for uni. “When did you stop being a baby, Josie Duran let me get a look at you.”
“Josefina tell her what you did for your 21st.” Gray says.
“Can you let it go!?” Josie scowls.
“What?” I whisper.
“Mom will kill you,” Gray warns.
“That’s why she doesn’t have to know,” Josie bites.
“Hey,” I put my hands up between the two. “No fighting with the birthday girl. Anyway. Josie, you look beautiful, I’m so sorry I’m late but it’s so good to be here.”
“Aw no don’t worry about it,” she goes in for another quick hug. “I’m just happy you got to come. Gray said the bloke you work for is a nightmare. Tell us do we know him?”
“Ah,” I wasn’t really supposed to talk about him according to my nda. “I dunno if you would. Anyway I’m going to try to steal some of Gray’s leftovers until dessert comes.”
I sit beside Gray where the seat had been left empty and smile up at him, hoping for forgiveness. He sighs and kisses my forehead, pushing his plate towards me.
“Go ahead, have you eaten?”
I had a banana and a yoghurt for lunch but I don’t tell him, just making a vague answer for yes and scarfing down what’s left.
“She got a tattoo,” he says in my ear later as the restaurant finishes singing happy birthday and a cake with sparklers is set down. He’d gotten tipsy and I can tell because he wants to talk about his upsets.
“She’s a grown woman Gray,” I know he was protective and a little traditional—that’s where half of their sibling fights originated, but I always told him he had to let loose a little. “She’s allowed to get it. If I remember you have some tattoos of your own.”
“It’s different y/n.”
“She’s getting older faster than we can keep up with huh?” I lean my head against Gray’s shoulder and let out a big sigh. It feels good, sitting with him here surrounded by friends. It had been a while.
Gray leans his head against mine and doesn’t answer. We watch her friends take pictures like proud parents, watching her cut and then distribute the cake. I should help, but I just could not lift a finger.
“Hey y/n, is that your phone going off?” Josie’s friend beside me points to my facedown phone.
“Is it?” I sit up, my heart doing a number in my chest.
I pick it up, 2 missed calls from Harry and 3 texts. Fuck.
“Leave it,” Gray must be looking over my shoulder. “You’ve gone home now just screw him.”
“I can’t,” I didn’t want Gray getting mad—I know he was kinda drunk and he could make a scene like this. I didn’t want to ruin Josie’s celebration. But I couldn’t ignore this. This is the first time Harry’s messaged me after I’ve gone home. “I’ll take it outside.”
On my way to the door I open the messages. A picture of a bucket filled with ice. A row of question marks. And then: call me
What? What was so urgent about a bucket of-
Oh.
Fuck.
I thought I did everything but I hadn’t. I’d filled the bucket with ice and meant to ask the Italian restaurant around the corner to deliver a bottle like they usually did for Harry but I hadn’t gotten to that part.
I feel like I’m going to vomit any dinner I just had.
I crouch down. Do I call him? Do I pretend I didn’t see this until too late? No. I had to face up. I fucked up.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
I call with shaking hands but it rings and rings and goes straight to voicemail. I try again.
I had to get back, get him the champagne. Fix my mistake.
“Y/N,” Grayson’s suddenly outside. “Aren’t you coming back in?”
“I can’t. I…” how do I explain this to my fiancé without it sounding minor as hell. “I forgot to mail some important documents and I need to get back-“
“It’s Saturday fucking night.”
“Yeah but-“
“And guess what?! Tomorrow’s Sunday! The mail’s going nowhere! Fuck that wanker and come back in.”
Gray holds out his arms and I want to go back in but I need to fix this mistake.
I grasp his hand and he smiles, misunderstanding why I held it, “Gray I have to go-“
He pulls his hand away, a sneer on his face. It hurts when he looks at me that way, like I betrayed him.
“I showed up! I celebrated, I got here Gray I just have to-“
“You were barely here! Do you know how upset she was when I said you couldn’t make it?”
“Well why did you say that!?” I demand. “I told you I was only going to be late!”
“I can’t trust that!” He shouts and I try to pull his arm so he quiets but he doesn’t seem to care there are people around. “Your time is all his, every single fucking second! And when you’re not there your brain is going a million bajillion times over about him and his life. Even when you’re with me! What the fuck! What’s up with that!?”
“Gray I’m sorry look I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. I swear. I’ll make it up to your sister I-“
“I don’t care y/n,” Gray slips his arm out of my grasp. “Do whatever you want. Nothing I say matters anymore anyway right?”
“Gray,” tears streak my face as I watch the man I love go back inside without another look my way.
Fuck Harry.
I try to call him again but voicemail. Again. Fuck!
What to do when you make a mistake: admit to it—Harry appreciates accountability. FIX IT! As much as you can. FIX YOUR MISTAKES OR FACE CONSEQUENCES.
An alert that my uber was here pings my phone—I take the ride to the restaurant and grab an already chilled bottle. I book it to Harry’s building and ride the elevator up, every floor causing a further dip in my stomach.
The doors open to a dimly lit space. There’s music playing, something jazzy, and it smells like…vanilla? Vanilla roses?
“Hol-hold on,” I hear Harry chuckle. A head pops up from the other side of the sofa.
“Y/n?” He looks as confused as I am.
Oh my god, I realize as a giggle comes from the floor. They were on the fucking floor of the living room? They were on the floor of the living room f…what the fuck did I walk into?
“Just back with this,” I squeak, holding up the bottle.
“Harry did you invite someone else?” The voice asks from below with another laugh. He sighs, disappearing again. I hear a very distinct wet noise before he pops back up again, I look at the doors of the elevator trying even harder not to give in to the panic attack that was looking more and more tempting.
“What are you doing here?” Harry approaches me with a softened voice. Wearing a robe. A silk robe. I knew he wore silk.
“You called—the bottle I’m sorry it totally slipped my mind I-“
“I told you to call me?”
“I did, you didn’t pick up! I thought I should swing by-“
“I thought you had a party?” His forehead scrunches.
“I…” the pieces come together. Did I take this too seriously because Harry didn’t even look angry? Great. I was an idiot and proving to Harry I had no life. “It ended. Early. I…I wanted to fix my mistake and bring the bottle.”
He takes it from my hand, still confused. “Y/N.”
I wait for him to continue but he doesn’t. And lord, in this climate with him in just a robe hearing my name on his lips is not okay. I was going to pass out.
“I’ll leave.” I go back to the elevator but he starts talking again.
“I asked you to call me so I could ask-“ he stops when I turn back around to listen. He closes the gap between us again with a sigh, and I don’t realize my face was still streaked with tears. It was probably more noticeable in the elevator light. He takes his finger and swipes across my cheek, his brows furrowing.
“Sorry,” I swipe my cheek to remove the remaining evidence. “I’ll leave you to it.”
He clears his throat and takes a step back. “Thank you for coming back.”
I nod.
“If you’re going to leave early next time, make sure you finish everything I’ve asked you to do. Don’t skip out like this again.”
“Yes yeah of course,” I stutter, relieved to fit back into our usual roles. For a second there, I thought Harry was going to be kind. And that would have been way worse.
“Good night Y/N. See you Monday.”
“Good night Mr. Styles.”
Gray’s not home by the time I get back. I wake the next morning to his side untouched.
So I do the only thing that felt good these days, I curl up into a ball and cry.
***
Taglist - leave me a message if you’d like to join it :)
#harry styles fic#writingsfromhome#harry styles x reader#harry styles#harry styles fanfic#harry styles imagine#asks#harry styles angst#harry styles series#musician!harry#dos and donts#ahhh#i didn’t edit this too much it all kind of came out at once#so ignore any errors#hope this is fun to read#it was fun to write
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forbidden fruit (g.suguru)
suguru used to share grapefruit with you after class.
it was a simple thing. you both would wait for at the same bus stop, him catching the first and you catching the second. one day your stomach happened to growl especially loudly and the rest was history.
he was popular enough to get at least a few gifted to him during the months where they were ripest, maybe from different people or maybe not. the details never mattered all that much to you whenever he offered you half of one.
the smell of april showers always mixed in with the aroma of the peels, zesting the air with citrus.
he always peeled them so delicately, even targeting the patchy white pith that latched itself to the meat of the fatty fruit. he said he wasn’t a fan of the texture. that the extra time it took to scratch and strip the extra skin off was worth it.
you never had the patience for it. it might have been why he offered to peel them so often. he made them look and feel like such a gentle fruit.
“i used to be able to eat these whole all on my own as a kid,” he said one afternoon. “now, if i eat more than half my stomach gets upset.”
he splits the fruit in two, his thumbs digging, forcing juice to pool into the crevices of his fingers and lines of his palms. a pool of it stains the laps of your uniforms by the time suguru’s bus arrives. he leaves you with the corners of your lips tangy and licked wet.
"i used to mistake them for oranges," you included internally.
it felt embarrassing to say aloud. the words would have left your mouth stupidly as each memory of him expertly dodging your friendly questions tainted the skin of your fingertips. keeping you at an arm's length, stretching just close enough to offer you something.
he would have laughed. you might have smiled naively, glancing down to the remaining slice pinched between your stained pointer and thumb before popping it into your mouth.
you huffed a breath out of your nose sharply, cheeks sapped by his contagious inclusivity. he had a way of making you feel part of something greater, even if it were for just a few moments at a time.
for weeks you watched him: the way he licked juice off his plump lips, the way he styled his hair, the way his legs spread whenever he sat down, and how he always perched his backpack on his lap; you felt included to view all these little antics.
you wondered if—during all that time—he noticed things about you too.
the last time the two of you share fruit is anticlimactic. your guard is down. you don't even find out that he'll be gone until the new school year starts and a week of you alone at that bench passes.
you suck at the nectar on your hands messily, turning your head towards the road after hearing the sound of tires rolling through gravel.
the last thing you remember is seeing the back of his head. your eyes drifting to the closed fist at his side, a grapefruit peel peeking out of the crevice of his palm.
#this was supposed to be a little bday drabble for him but then i completely forgot about it! :'0#so here it is now! pls enjoy#i ahve second part to this in the depths of my mind that gets slightly angstier (from the pov of getou obvs)#maybe ill write it up one day:)) but i hope this one still makes sense on its own#it was fun to write#moss writes#jjk x reader#getou x reader#suguru x reader#getou suguru x reader#suguru getou x reader
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“What do you want, Neil? Spit it out,” Andrew replied. He wasn’t known for his patience.
“I want you to tie me up,” Neil said.
Andrew didn’t have to even think about his answer. “Okay.”
“Not sexually,” Neil clarified. Andrew nodded. “I just…I want to get over—get better at—dealing with whatever the fuck is going on up here.”
It made sense. After all, exposure therapy was a real thing. Bee had talked about it once as a treatment for PTSD: slowly exposing someone to their triggers in a safe environment to lessen their fear. However, for most people, that normally consisted of going to the supermarket rather than trying to overcome a kidnapping, near-death experience, and two weeks of back-to-back torture.
“Most people go to therapy,” Andrew argued.
“I’m not most people,” Neil retorted. “I don’t trust them, but I do trust you.”
-
Or very asexual bondage where Neil asks Andrew to tie him up as exposure therapy.
Read it here!
#proud of this one#it was fun to write#i hope you enjoy it !#aftg#all for the game#neil josten#andrew minyard#andreil#the foxhole court#aftg fic#andrew x neil#all for the gay#the foxes#request fulfilled
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Do you have any dick headcannons for the boys in bnha ?…
i do! actually on ihb LOL from... two? summers ago. isn't that crazy?????? TWO!!!
but let's do a little vampin' (oh oh ohhhh) and add some missing pieces, shall we? sorry if i'm a bit rusty (for more, check my links for iida , shinso + hawks)!
-
- deku — Honestly? This man has a perfect dick. Just the right length and thickness to spark a little fear in your heart, but not to actually scare you away. Just like his hands, he's thick and real veiny, but also kinda pretty, too. Pornstar-esque, which is funny cuz you NEVER would've thought.
He's also a bit on the paler side. Darkening towards the tip but staying light at the base, probably because he's almost always in his hero suit and doesn't get enough sun. Uncut with a perfectly rounded tip, he has tight balls which he tries to trim but never shaves. Excellent happy trail to go with.
- todoroki — Another pretty dick, of course, with balls to match. On the longer side with a slight slant to it that's only noticeable when he's hard. He's pale, really only the pointed tip flushing red when he's horny, though he happens to be uncut with a good amount of foreskin to play with.
He's always able to hit your cervix without even trying, and the second he wants to fuck, he's touching himself and leaking pre like no tomorrow (one of those dudes they warn you about wearing a condom with even during foreplay LOL). Stands straight up with no problem, even his cock is a model, and is very bouncy.
Doesn't trim or shave, but his pubes aren't overwhelming so it's really not a problem.
- bakugo (links are older versions!) — We already know wtf I'm gonna say: on the shorter side but makes up for it in GIRTH. A real FATTY. Concerningly thick. It's scary. AND with heavy balls, too...
And the funny part is, Bakugo is always surprised when someone brings it up. No, he's not exactly insecure, but we know how he is about praise... and wide eyes + gagging do just about the same thing in this case.
His dick is a shade darker than his normal skin tone, and has a few prominent veins which almost always show. He's also really dense, so when he's hard, it's difficult to get it warmed up and moving to fit inside you without a little help. Leaves his pubic hair alone unless otherwise told to.
- kiri — LONG and THICK, I know you know this guy has a massive dong. But it's actually not unrealistic looking, if you know what I mean: he balls are soft and gooey, while the base begins tapering into a reasonably sized head. His tip is probably the least scary part about him... and even though he's uncut, you can hardly really tell with how how the slit is always peeking through.
Surprisingly pink and flushed for such a tan guy, it hardly ever stands completely straight just due to the natural weight of it, either poking at his belly (meaning you often need to be the one positioning it) or tilting downward when he's standing up straight. Kiri almost always wears a jockstrap when he leaves the house.
#kiri#bakugo#todoroki#deku#i hate when ppl say mushroom tip and i also feel like its strange to add inches#bc i dont know enough abt the science of peenie weenies to make that part of this accurate#but i hope this is alright!#it was fun to write#thank you anon<3#caitie things#gen#caitie answers
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Apparently my brain keeps coming up with cursed things so, SDV townies or SVE/RSV really reacting to farmer calling them babygirl???
And now I am starting to imagine all of them in THAT babygirl pose I'm so sorry if it's stuck in your brain too
Omg babygirl everywhere. This is gonna be one of the most cursed headcanons I've ever write (or not? depends on what people say)
By the way, I found myself in such a situation that I do not fully know the term "babygirl". That is, I knew that women were usually affectionately called that from English, and babygirl as a meme on Twitter and Tumblr referred only to men (I'm not kidding, I was looking for the meaning of babygirl and this is what Google gave me):
"Submissive and breedable", huh.
Sorry anon, but with mods you get a lot of NPCs, so I'll write about some SDVs and SVE/RSVs. I hope you still like it. Enjoy!
--------------------------------------------------
Despite the fact that he blushed a little, Alex believes that he is not just a babygirl, but the best babygirl. Look at his muscles, look at those biceps, he's just made for the perfect babygirl pose! Seriously, he praises it like he won a gridball championship.
Depending on the mood, Magnus will either give the Farmer a suspicious look and inquire about their mental health, or simply teleport them away from his tower. In any case, the wizard has too much to do to waste time on nonsense.
Immediately to the clinic! No, Harvey doesn't want to listen to any protests! Get on the bed right now, and he will bring all the necessary medicines. The Farmer does have sunstroke or a high fever if they're delusional and call Harvey "babygirl". Maru, we have an emergency!
"Perhaps there are new ways of courting among young people in the world, or maybe it was an unusual way to insult my person," Lance thought, not understanding exactly how he should react to this word addressed to him from his farmer friend.
Wh-what? No, Victor is not a babygirl! Yes, he knows what that means, but refuses to believe it. But still at home, in front of the mirror, he stood in one of the babygirl poses from social networks... And blushed because he really looks cute, he is a perfect babygirl. Victor prays that his mom doesn't catch him in this position...
Morris is in a small stupor, trying to understand if they just insulted him or said a compliment. Hm, maybe he'll rethink about that "babygirl" as the new slogan for Joja cola, since the word is so popular with young people!
Please, Farmer, don't. Gus doesn't know the meaning of the word and doesn't want to know. It also worries visitors to the Saloon. They are his friend, but there must be limits to what is permitted!
Well, all people have their quirks. And as long as it's not an insulting and vulgar word to anyone, Gunther doesn't mind. Well, he hopes it's not an insult or vulgarity.
It's because Elliott's long hair makes him look like a girl? Does this word have another meaning as well? Ah, compliment? Why, thank you kindly, Farmer. He's a little confused, but flattered anyway.
Poor Shane will choke on his beer when he hears this word from the Farmer. Now all people in the Saloon is looking at both of them. He just wanted a drink in peace, why....
...Farmer, you know that Kent is married, right?... No, he does NOT want to know the meaning of this word, he already has a headache after Sam's talk about Fortnite and TikTok trending. Give this poor man break.
Yes, he is a baby girl, baby baby baby girl. He is a small child. Come on, insult him again, why not! He's a fucking joke for young assholes like Farmer apparently! (Andy took this word too seriously, like the phrase "confuse your enemy by yelling at them")
Ahh, thanks Farmer. Yes, Sam has seen on social media that some characters in babygirl poses look quite cursed, but he is pleased that the Farmer called him cute, albeit with that word. Hey, take a picture of Sam, he wants send this pic to Sebastian and Abigail and laugh about it!
Still, Jio's instinct didn't let him down. Despite the friendship with the Farmer, the victory over Gabriela's corruption and all other merits, the Farmer is still an idiot. How else to explain the word that they said to the ninja elf?
Erm, thanks? Poor June, he had strange admirers before, but at least the Farmer with "babygirl" turned out to be harmless to him. Right? Isn't that an insult?
It looks like the young adventurer hit their head in the mine a lot harder than Marlon thought. No matter how the Farmer resists, no matter how the old bones of the one-eyed adventurer hurt from the heavy and kicking burden, Marlon is determined to take the Farmer to the clinic for an examination. No, he doesn't know anything about their "Tweeters and smartphones", he'll get them to Dr. Harvey right now.
#it's already too many people to tag#stardew valley#sdv#sve#Stardew valley expanded#rsv#sdv headcanons#sve headcanons#rsv headcanons#thanks for asking!#it was fun to write#sdv marlon#sdv harvey#sdv alex#sdv morris#sdv elliott#sve lance#sdv shane#sdv kent#sdv gus#sdv gunther#sdv sam#sve victor#sdv wizard#sdv rasmodius#sve magnus#sve andy#rsv jio#rsv june#ridgeside village
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finally drew them digitally just as I also finally wrote the fic!
#Thing on your swing#fnaf sun#sundrop#moondrop#fnaf moon#fnaf sb#go read the fic please#it was fun to write#yellow roses#fairy circle#this took so long to draw#art#my art#dark fae au#dark fae
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someone else's life | g, 1.4k, carson / rodney / john
Even if everyone insists they’re the same thing, he can’t help but look for the differences.
or, After a few months on Earth, John and Rodney have a surprise for Carson.
a gift for @carsonsweebabyturtles for the leftovers event <3 happy holidays! 💜
read it on ao3
#stargate atlantis#fic#my fic#got me deep in my clone carson feels with this one#it was fun to write#!!!#<3
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“it’s okay. i promise you, i will be here when you wake up.” with spyscrapper for the drabble prompt?
OHHHHHH YES (thank you!)
There's- something noticeably different about being hurt by the Golden Skriton, as compared to it's lesser counterparts. And as Cal stumbles yet again, holding his side where the beast's stinger had pierced him through and limping, his calf still pouring blood - he tries to puzzle out what. But it's hard to put a name to with the chill of Jedha's cool deserts leeching warmth from his shivering limbs and sapping clarity from his stream of conscious thought. It's hard to figure out with the gash in his back still seeping warmth down his clothes despite the bacta dressings.
He blinks again, and Jedha's deserts burst with kaleidoscopic color before fading back to tans and browns and the oncoming violet of dusk. He's...a bit too far from the base to make it back before nightfall, he thinks fuzzily.
It's a shame BD had stayed with Cordova. The little droid always had been good at making sure the stim capsules didn't get smashed to pieces. And Cal...Cal hadn't been so lucky this go around.
The desert sways back into vibrant colors again, the pain fluttering into strange pulses of neon for a moment, and Cal staggers to a halt, staring absently at the landscape as it flashes green and gold and bright blue around him. He....doesn't think this is precisely normal. Maybe that's what's different about the Golden Skriton sting...?
He doesn't notice he's keeled over on the sand until the grit is cool beneath his cheek and there's spreading warmth sticky and wet beneath his side and- it's a little silly, really, how everything keeps flickering into pretty colors...and the sounds are starting to get weird too, there's a humming buzz that keeps getting louder and louder-
"Cal! Holy shit, scrapper-"
Bode's face is a miasmas of blinding orange and purple above him, and spinning wildly, and Cal giggles weakly up at him. He looks weird. Maybe Cal's just tired.
"Heyyy...jetpack..." he tries to get out- but the words slur on his tongue and garble, and there's a flash of fear on the mercenary's face that seems wrong, very wrong when the pain is drifting away and Cal doesn't really feel all that cold anymore. Dark eyes blink down at him, cutting sharply through the drifting colors and glowing traces of weird lights starting to curdle his vision at the edges. It feels like he's on the edge of a dream, a little. Carefully, Bode's hands trace around the curve of his throat, pressing against his pulse. Cal stares up at him, watching.
He's so pretty. Bode's so pretty it hurts.
There's a strangled sob then, and before he realizes what's happening Bode's sliding his hands underneath Cal's shoulders and knees and lifting. It's comfortable, and Cal's very convinced he's about to have a nice nap listening to Bode's pattering heart. Everything's pleasantly fuzzy now. And Bode is still so-
He sighs, closing his eyes against the bright colors beyond. Bode's handsome. Kissable. He wants to do that, later, maybe.
"You're the pretty one, scrapper," Bode says then, and his voice is choked with fear. "You hang in there, you hear me? Kiss me later, you hear me?"
Cal hums.
"...promise?" he garbles. "promise you'll...be here...?"
Bode chokes again, and his heart's a horrid drumbeat, loud and terrified in his chest. Cal thinks they might be flying.
"I swear to you, Cal. I'll be here when you wake up," he whispers. He sounds so scared.
Cal barely has time to wonder why before the kaleidoscope swallows him.
-
(He wakes up three days later, antidote like fire in his bloodstream and bacta plastered over his injuries. Bode is no longer orange and purple, but he is there. Cal thinks that he promised to be.)
(Bode still looks kissable. He always has.)
(Cal kisses him.)
(He's kissed back.)
#bode akuna#cal kestis#spyscrapper#jedi survivor#jedi survivor fic#cal x bode#bode/cal#davi writes things#star wars#trauma ask game#thank you for the ask!!!#i hope you like this#it was fun to write#hahahaha#i figured a giant scorpion-lookin thing might have some Funky Venom lmao#and poor Bode he's so terrified but like. Cal's in hysterics and bleeding out that's SCARY#they kiss tho it's a happy ending! for once
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Got Twi and Wars on the docket for today’s whumptober. And I uh went a little crazy with it XD Let’s just say neither is having a good time
#I’m excited though#it was fun to write#also#I realized first thing this morning that next Monday is the ninth#and had a minor freak out lol#I’ve only written fics out to the tenth#after that they’ve hardly got a plot planned much less any actual writing done#but it’s fiiine#I’ll manage#they just might be shorter and lower quality lol#trin rambles
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Whumptober Day 5: Kidnapping, held at gunpoint
tw: guns, kidnapping, death threats, conditioned whumpee
Caretaker and Whumpee were walking home side-by-side, both looking out for each other as twilight faded into night. This was the kind of city where you didn't want to be alone, and Caretaker wanted to move the both of them as far away from the city and Whumper as soon as possible over the next month.
Heading towards them farther along the sidewalk was a tall man in a large, dark coat. He was walking with purpose, someone who knew exactly where they were going and what they had to do.
Whumpee was walking on the inside of the sidewalk, closer to the buildings and alleyways; Caretaker nearer to the road. As the tall man passed Whumpee's side, he grabbed Whumpee's arm and pulled them into the nearest alley.
Whumpee and Caretaker yelled out for each other, and Caretaker ran after them. In the dim alley the man had thrown Whumpee to the ground in front of a parked car.
The man heard Caretaker run in, so he spun around and greeted them by pulling out his gun and aiming it at Caretaker's head.
Caretaker skidded to a stop. Even in the dark, as they got a closer look at the man they recognized him as Whumper.
Whumper spoke without turning around. "Whumpee, get in the car." It was an order, not a request. "And you," he said, addressing Caretaker, "if you make a move against me, I won't hesitate to shoot."
Behind Whumper, Whumpee slowly stood up. They were frozen watching the scene in front of them, and didn't process Whumper's order. "P-Please, don't shoot them, I-I-"
"I thought I taught you to obey without talking back," Whumper stated, cutting them off. He was unnaturally put together for someone in his situation. "Get in the passenger side, or you'll join your friend six feet under."
"Yes, sir." Whumpee felt defeated. Caretaker watched with wide eyes as Whumpee looked at them one last time, then turned around and got into the passenger seat.
Whumper had a satisfied grin on his face as Whumpee's door closed. "And for you, I would go home and forget this ever happened. If you try to tell anyone, I will know, and this will not be the last time we meet. Now go."
Caretaker walked backwards out of the alley, their eyes locked on the gun still pointed at them. They turned once their feet hit the sidewalk and started heading towards their initial destination.
Whumper got in the driver's seat, where Whumpee was breathing heavily next to him. "Good to see you again, old friend."
"Good to see you, sir." Whumpee didn't mean it, and Whumper knew that, but Whumpee's old habits were coming back to them.
"Let's blow this pop stand, shall we?" Whumper put the car into gear and drove out of the alley and onto the road.
In the rearview mirror, Whumpee saw Caretaker grow smaller and smaller; Caretaker watched as the distance between them grew farther, and both of their hopes sank lower.
There was nothing they could do.
#mine#ailesswhumptober2023#whumptober#whump#kidnapping#held at gunpoint#guns tw#kidnapping tw#death threats tw#conditioned whumpee#I'm actually super proud of this one#it was fun to write
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haha that actually helps because i was so torn between that prompt and 85. “i’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to forget that guys name” - what do you think about that one for mikey? ❤️
Oh fuck, Mindi. I'm 🥴 Hopefully I do this justice.
Warnings: lead up to smut
It was always the same with your ex.
"Sorry, babe, I'm busy." "Sorry, babe, I've got work." "Sorry, babe, something came up."
And for the longest time you'd believed him. That was until you'd found him balls deep in some bitch. In your shared bed. To say you'd been pissed had been an understatement. He'd tried to apologize, a pillow shoved over his dick as the girl had hid in the sheets, but you'd been too livid to even consider listening to him. And rightly so.
Instead, you'd packed a bag and called up one of the closest friends you had. Michael Kinsella. He hadn't even asked what had happened when you first called, just heard the tone of your voice and came straight to get you. Once he'd gotten you in his home, you had broken down and told him everything.
You're pretty sure the only reason that your ex wasn't eating his food through a straw was because you had needed Michael more than he needed to go out and beat some sense into your ex.
That was a few weeks ago. You were staying with Michael while you worked on saving up the money for a new place. Something Michael had been sure to tell you to take your time on. He didn't mind having you stay with him and he didn't want you to feel pressured to leave. You were eternally grateful.
But things had shifted between the two of you. Sharing a living space with someone who was used to living alone meant you occasionally had some... interesting encounters.
The first time Michael had walked out of his bathroom in only a towel, you had nearly dropped the cup of coffee you were bringing up to him. The both of you had apologized profusely to the other and Michael had turned such an alarming shade of red, you were almost worried he'd pass out from all the blood rushing to his cheeks.
Things had shifted since then. You couldn't get the image out of your head. Michael was already pleasant to look at but seeing him like that?
Well.
You suspect that glimpse is what led to your current situation. Michael has your back pressed to the wall, one of his hands settled on the side of your neck while the other holds your leg around his waist by your knee. He grinds into you and pulls a moan from both of your mouths. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, digging your nails in, and he nips your bottom lip in retaliation.
“Are ya sure about this, pet? We can stop. No harm, no foul. I don’t want ya thinkin’ I’m takin’ advantage of ya.” His dark eyes search yours for anything like hesitation but you know he won’t find any.
“I’m sure, Michael. Please. I want this so bad. Want you." Michael growls and lifts you, walking the two of you to his couch and sitting down on it. His thumb caresses your jaw and he begins to place kisses to your neck.
"I've wanted ya for so long, love. Hated watching ya with that asshole, he was never good enough for ya." He scrapes his teeth over your pulse and smirks when you whine. "I'm goin' to fuck ya so hard, yer going to forget that guys name."
"Fuck, Michael. Yes, please."
He spends the entire night fucking you better than anyone had in your entire life and he was damn right.
Come morning, your ex's name was the farthest thing from your mind.
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Find me in the fallen leaves,
The gentle stream that barely moves.
My body fell, great trees collapsed-
But on and on my soul still strays.
(My bones have turned to peat and moss,
My skin has turned to dust.
My lungs collapsed and filled with water-
My veins have swelled with flowers.)
I breathe the taste of sunlight,
Bleed ponds of fallen rain–
(Once a crashing ocean wave,
Or maybe once a storm.)
I dip my toes in holy grounds,
Just whisper-blessed by gods
That no one knows the faces of,
And no one knows the names-
Gods of salamander bellies
Crawling over leaves
And dappled sunshine on the ground,
Psithurism in the trees.
Overgrown with ivy,
I live in pale dawn mornings.
(Be gentle with my corpse,
For I am softly growing.)
Find me in the fallen leaves,
The gentle breeze that carries on.
My body fell, great trees collapsed-
But in your mind I still hold root.
(Artwork is Fallen Monarchs by William Bliss Baker)
#original poem#original writing#random#not in love with the ending#but oh well#it was fun to write#nature#writing#poetry
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⏪ Reshi
“What are you doing?” A stern voice reached her ears. Heavy footsteps crunched the dirt beneath his feet, the slight jingle of armor following.
“Practicing.” she hummed, continuing her busy work. A huff came from the man before he sat down beaides her. “Practicing what?”
“My fire.” His confused expression almost made her laugh. “I see no fire. All I see are silly flower chains and rings.”
“Ah, but how is it they are holding their shape so well? What about this one woven with a mere ribbon?” She asked, showing him one with a blue shimmer running through the bent stems. “In order to learn control, you start small, right?” A nod came from him, and he watched as the top of her finger conjured a small, yet potent flame. In a matter of seconds, she melted the ribbon together, forming one single ring with daisies woven through it.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” “See, I’m still learning, just in my own time.” “The more you grow with it, the stronger you’ll be. In due time we should test our might against one another.”
“Perhaps.” She stared off into the distance, before leaning down and taking his hand. “Here, have this one.” “I don’t want that-“ “Oh hush. A little grass never hurt anyone, now did it?”
#reshi#pokemon#munday#reshiram#reshi reshiram#dl#lil lore blurb#its fun trying to come up with past moments for these#since alot of it can be pretty open ended#you think alot about certain story beats that sometimes mundane every day moments arent speant time on#ty for the ask!#it was fun to write
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💙 drunken kiss / tipsy for Aisling & Hancock maybe? 👀 or mayhap 💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss if she doesn't drink or you're not comfortable w the drunken prompt!
It is done. Sorry, that took a little longer than expected. The word count is 1,056(!) and it begins under the cut.
“Drinking your sorrows away isn’t healthy, my friend.”
Aisling’s ears sprang up at the sound of Hancock’s voice and she gazed over her shoulder at him.
“What the hells are y’doing here?”
“Ah, Tataru sent word that you may be in a delicate mood following Thancred’s visit and bade me to check on you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, I beg to differ, seeing as your speech is slurred. Just how much saké have you had?”
“Not ‘nough to put up with your badgering.”
Hancock released a heavy sigh and pushed a hand through his hair.
“I’m not badgering you, Aisling. I am simply worried about you. I can tell when someone’s had too much to drink and you clearly have.”
She glared at him and opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, he snatched the ochoko from her hand and gulped the saké down himself.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“As I told you,” Hancock replied, taking a seat next to her, “you’ve had too much already.”
“Yer an asshole,” she grumbled.
“If I'm an asshole for worrying about your liver, so be it.”
Aisling glared at him for several more moments before finally huffing in indignation and turning her attention away from him, folding her arms across the table and resting her chin against them. Hancock watched her silently, choosing his next works carefully as to not aggravate her any further.
“So, do you want to talk about what’s bothering you? There’s a chance that it may help you clear your head and ultimately feel better.”
“What’s it to you?”
A small frown crossed Hancock’s face and he slid his glasses off, resting them on the table.
“You being my bodyguard on our expeditions to Mount Rokkon aside, I would like to think that if we aren’t friends at this point, that we’re at least acquaintances. And, like I said before, I happen to be worried about you. I didn’t take you for the type to drink until you passed out when upset. I took you more for the punching walls type.”
His attempt at humor caused Aisling to face him, the tiniest traces of a smile on her lips. “I’ll have to remember that the next time you piss me off.”
Hancock chuckled quietly. “Considering that I happen to like my handsome visage, mayhaps I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said jokingly before lightly resting a hand on her shoulder. “But in all seriousness, mind telling me what’s wrong?”
Aisling gave a defeated sigh before lifting her head off her arms and resting it on his shoulder, causing his heart to leap into his throat. Oh. He had been expecting her to tell him off, not this. He gulped quietly and somewhat awkwardly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, giving her a small squeeze. He could only hope that she was too intoxicated to notice his bright red cheeks or the fact that his arm was trembling.
“Thancred came by earlier and said that we had to talk,” she mumbled, nestling into Hancock’s shoulder.
“Go on,” he urged her gently, barely able to hear his own voice over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.
“He told me that he had fallen in love and started a relationship with somebody else,” she whispered, her voice wavering.
“Would I be correct in assuming that you had feelings for him?”
“Yeah, I have. For quite a while now.”
“I see,” Hancock said quietly, trying to ignore the jealousy gnawing at his insides. “If you don’t mind me asking, what stopped you from telling him sooner?”
“We had a falling out after the death of a good friend. It was exacerbated when I developed feelings for Tsuyu.”
“If you can forgive my bluntness, then why would you expect a relationship with him now? Expecting him to wait for you while you tried pursuing somebody else is frankly selfish and a bit naive.”
Aisling was silent for a long moment before sighing.
“I ‘spose you have a point,” she mumbled.
“Don’t I usually?”
“Your cockiness is both undeniably frustrating and extremely attractive.”
Hancock blinked in surprise, caught off guard by her comment. Before he could think of a retort, Aisling had leaned up to press her lips against his. His heart skipped a beat at the sensation of her lips and a shudder went down his spine. How long had he been wanting this? Far longer than he was willing to admit, that was for sure. However, it was only the briefest moment before his logic reminded him that she was drunk and that this was wrong.
So Hancock therefore placed a hand against Aisling’s shoulder and gently pushed her away, causing her to pout at him.
“What’s wrong? Isn’t this something that you want?”
“Just because I want it doesn’t change the fact that it’s wrong, Aisling. I would much prefer it if you were kissing me because you wanted a relationship with me, not simply because you happen to be drunk and I happen to be here. Because as much as the Lover knows that I want to be with you, I would very much not like to be a second choice because you can’t have the one you want.”
Aisling looked surprised at Hancock’s words before burying her head into her hands, her ear pressed against her head.
“I’m sorry! You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Her incessant babbling coaxed a light chuckle from Hancock and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
“Of course you weren’t thinking, Ais. You’re drunk. So there are no hard feelings, I promise you. How about we get back to the inn, so you can get some rest?”
Aisling nodded her head and gave him a wobbly smile. “As long as you stay.”
Hancock looked surprised for a moment before smiling. “That can be arranged,” he told her, reaching for his glasses and sliding them on.
“Thank you, Hancock,” Aisling said as he helped her stand up. “You’re a good friend.”
A loud laugh escaped his throat in response as he wrapped an arm securely around her shoulders. “I would remind you to tell me that when you’re sober, but I nonetheless appreciate the sentiment. Though, do try not to puke on my kimono. I am quite partial to it.”
#ffxiv#ffxivwriting#writing prompt#hancock fitzgerald#aisling epocan#hancock x wol#my writing#i hope this is okay!#it was fun to write
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glad to see people liked vampire gojo hehehe
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Seven forms of love OC questions ❤️ – Storge 1 and Pragma 2 for Tishlia?
For the Love Promts
Storge 1 - Did your OC's parents love them unconditionally? If so then has this helped them feel confident as an adult? If not then how has this affected them? What were the conditions their family attached to their relationship?
Tishlia's parents loved her unconditionally. But they also placed great responsibility in her hands. Her mother tried to prepare her daughter for the responsibility of ruling a kingdom better than she had been prepared for her own coronation. That Tihslia never had her mother's ambition to achieve greater things, she had not considered.
The two were like fire and ice in Tihslia's late teens. Tristian on the one hand and Midnight on the other always managed to calm down the heated tempers and so it always came to a reconciliation after a dispute. In between these fights, their relationship was always loving and friendly.
Tishlia's relationship with her mother improved considerably as she grew up. Especially right before her wedding to Daeran, when they talked a long time and a lot of problems and secrets were solved.
Pragma 2 - What is the biggest challenge that your OC has had to overcome in a long-term relationship or friendship? What helped them get through this?
The biggest blow to a friendship was the day Midnight disappeared after an argument with Jax and didn't return for almost a year. She was still in touch with him, but the fact that he didn't want to see her either and wouldn't tell her where he was was a hard test for her and hurt her more than she admitted.
The first 12 years of their relationship were not very challenging for Tisha and Dae. When they weren't providing for their own amusement, there were enough outside problems to deal with that they sometimes wished for a little boredom.
After that time, they ascended.
All the more they turned to each other and deepened their relationship.
It was many years later that the question sometimes arose as to whether their relationship would still be able to develop after so many years, or whether it might come to a dead end at some point. This was an unbearable and frightening thought for both of them. But it would come to pass that someone else would answer that question for them, and a dead end was never in sight.
-Very Little piece of post Ascencion WIP 👀
… " He plays around us…"
"… like a spring breeze. I think we agree?"
The look he gave her was open and completely honest. No fear, no doubt, no suspicion, he wanted it as much as she did.
"We are. He's going to stay with us." …
"… like a spring breeze. We're on the same side, I guess?"
The look he gave her was open and completely honest. No fear, no doubt, no suspicion, he wanted it as much as she did.
"We are. He's going to stay with us." …
#thanks for the ask!#these prompts have challenged me#so much to think about#many things I wrote down for the first time#it was fun to write
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