heat on feet

Say that again; H.S.

“So how did your date turn out the other night?” Harry appears into my side view, still buttoning up his crisp, ironed-by-me chemise as he walks to stop beside me. I turn on my heel, bumping my hip into the marble countertop as I let a humourless chuckle flow past my lips.

“Disastrous. Catastrophic. I-never-ran-so-fast-in-my-life-short.” I laugh loudly, handing Harry the utensils for his dinner in a few hours. I pull on his shirt near his shoulder to straighten it before I lightly push at Harry’s chest to get him up and going – there wasn’t much time left.

“Couldn’t be that bad,” Harry starts off but pauses ever-so-subtle, “or can it?” he disappears from my view – hopefully to his large dinner table in his living room – elevating his voice so we could continue our conversation.

“Believe me. It really can be. Not that you ever experienced a hell like that.” Again, a chuckle passes my lips while I shake my head. A friend of Harry’s had set me up on this date and the male in question wasn’t that horrible, but our mind sets were so different I don’t think that could have ever worked out. I cut the date short after a comment that resembled ‘all women belong in the kitchen’ and sent the lad on his way.

“As if girls throwing them at my feet is something that’s so thrilling. Can’t even have a proper conversation like that. They only have one thing on their mind.” Harry appears back into my view to grab a few napkins on the edge of the table, already turning on his heel again.

“Not to start anything – but uh – you sound like a woman. All men are the same kinda shit? But reversed.” I stop my motions as an amused grin crawls onto my features, dropping the dessert spoons back on the marble and discarding them all together.

“I’m offended. You’re implying that I whine. I don’t whine, I complain that I can’t get laid.” Harry’s voice is still humorous as he ducks beside me to grab the dessert spoons off of the table, bumping his hip with mine to get me out of the way. “I still need glasses.”

“Harry come on, if you wanted loose sex, you’d have it in an instant.” I ignore his comment about the glasses but turn for the cabinet either way. Harry wasn’t someone you could just approach like you’d do while out clubbing, but that didn’t mean the boy couldn’t get lucky from time to time.

“I couldn’t even fix myself a proper date? Let alone find myself a one night stand. They don’t see me like that.” Harry mopes somewhere on the premises of his loft, but nowhere in my line of sight. I visibly roll my eyes – although he obviously can’t see that – all the while a scoff leaves my lips.

“Ah come on, Styles. You’re fuckable. Don’t complain.” I discard his nonsense almost directly. Sometimes I wonder if Harry realized how attractive he even was. He could come off as strong and confident but he was just as insecure as the rest of us – maybe even more than the rest of us.

“What did you just say?” Harry’s voice lowered, his movements stilling as his whole body turned in my direction. “I – never mind.” I mumble, feeling a blush creep onto my features from Harry’s intense stare. The confidence I had once possessed around had completely drained because of his whole aura, the demanding stare accompanied by that lopsided smirk of his.

“Say it again,” Harry demanded quietly, already making his way back up to me, a smile beginning to grow on his lips.

“You’re – well. Desirable. You damn well know that H.” I groan, not quite sure why he suddenly desired a confirmation of his good looks – let alone from me. I’m not sure how long it takes for any sound to pass between us. Harry had always been someone for a dramatic pause now and then.

“I didn’t know you thought about me that way, Y/n.” Harry’s smirk continues to grow as he discards the cutlery completely, slowly trailing towards his open kitchen, where I’m still gathering other utensils needed for Harry’s family dinner.

“I didn’t say I did. I was stating a well-known fact.” I awkwardly throw back at him, trying to maintain a grin of my own as I feel the ground underneath my feet heating rapidly.

“You sure?” He toys with me, his eyes twinkling underneath the dim lighting of his kitchen. He twirls around me, collecting the glasses I had gotten out of the cabinet one by one.

“Yeah…” I trail off, wondering to myself if I was indeed sure of my words. I keep my gaze trained on the expensive crystal instead of my best mate fluttering around me as if this wasn’t a conversation we weren’t supposed to have.

“Too bad.” I still in my movements, one of my hands curled around the stem of a wine glass as I balance my whole weight on my tippy toes. I try to speed-rake my mind about what intentions could have been behind those two simple, plain words, but come up rather empty-handed. Well, I was never someone who could rapidly come up with solutions anyway.

“Too – what? Why?” I come out of my trance, landing back onto my feet as I turn around, glass dangling in my hand which Harry happily plucks from between my fingers.

“I’d – I wouldn’t mind.” He winks and within a split second my cheeks are a fire-blazing red and my eyes are as wide as they can possibly get without popping.  

I’m taking one step forward, towards Harry, but refrain from moving any further. I’m not sure if I’m reading his words as I’m supposed to, and I’m not ready to give into my urges if they are misplaced. Harry is a bit more confident than I am and closes the gap between us in just a matter of a few split seconds.

I’m pressed against the counter, my hands covering over Harry’s biceps as his own hands cup my face, keeping me in place. A little noise – what it was supposed to sound as, even I am not completely certain – leaves my lips and causes Harry to push himself even impossibly closer.

His hands wander, his lips staying locked with mine as my own mind seems to click. My hands rest on his firm biceps first, a few moments later letting them flow over his exposed arm towards his toned chest. I’m letting my fingers ghost up on his chest towards his neck when Harry’s hands cup my bum firmly, drawing a moan from my already parted lips.

“How much time do we still have?” Harry breathes against the skin of my neck. He technically forces me to open my eyes, which are immediately cast towards the clock on the far kitchen wall. “If we’re lucky, about forty-five minutes.”

“That’s all I need.” Harry chuckles as his arms snake around my body, hoisting me up into his arms. I just hope we’re not getting an unexpected visit.

funnyfoxes55  asked:

Caffine i sometimes have problems with making a plot. I know Point A and Point B and the path to those points. But i have no idea how to 'pad' it so its not just this super short plotline thing. Any ideas on how to make it long but keep it interesting enough? I realize that tpo much of violence or happiness can make things boring

I understand! Sometimes I end up putting too many “plot points” in a story because I move to them too fast! Here are some ideas to pad your work:

1) Dialogue. All of the dialogue. It’s really easy to tell your readers that the heroes took a road all the way to the castle to liberate their friend. That’s a sentence or maybe a few paragraphs if you’re particularly good at scene description! Instead, try putting some second thoughts or introspections in! For example, instead of:

The heroes took to the eastern road at sunrise. The dirt quickly heated under their feet as they walked, but they did not let it deter them. On and on they walked, well into nightfall. By dawn the next day, the castle was in sight.

try:

“Are we there yet?”

“Jesus, my sandals are way too thin.”

“How are we supposed to kick the King’s ass if we have blisters on our feet?”

“Aren’t you a healer? Shouldn’t you have aloe?”

“Aloe soothes, it doesn’t heal, you complete–”

“You know, I probably should have mentioned sooner, but I’m having second thought about taking the East Road.”

“Well, that’s too late. We’re on it.”

“We all agreed on it at the tavern.”

“Yes, but the threat of trolls wasn’t quite so imminent then.”

“Trolls?!”

They’re still going from A to B, but they’re exploring the world a bit more as they go!

2) Flashback. Flashback the hell out of it. No matter how much detail you put into your work, no matter how early you start in your character’s life, there’s always a defining moment you haven’t touched on. It adds depth to their interactions with others and also gives them more character development.

Narion walks silently behind his bickering traveling companions. His own footwear seems to be holding up to the heat of the road just fine, but the strap of his pack is fraying and will need to be fixed soon. The others’ have new packs, leather with metal hardware and he’s envious. He shoves the emotion away. Envy doesn’t help him do what he must.

He remembers being a little boy, sweat dotting his brow and shoulder aching (much as they are now) from the weight of the sickle he’d been using to cut wheat. He remembers watching as the King’s men arrived and kicked his family’s door down.

He’d been small then, too small to be working in the fields as he was, but he was fast. He’d darted over the cut wheat so fast that the wind whistled in his ears.

He was still too late.

Now, Narion hopes that they won’t be too late. He wants to move faster, wants to tell them to stop arguing, to save their breath, but he knows better. Move faster and they run the risk of burning out. All he can do is keep up as his pack falls apart and pray.

3) Touch base with the rest of the world. Sometimes in our big adventure stories we forget that a whole other world exists. And sometimes that whole other world has people who don’t necessarily approve of the heroes’ way of doing things.

They stop at an inn for the night. Despite earlier fears, none of their feet are burned, and it’s with lighter hearts that they head for the bar.

Their hearts aren’t light for long.

“Try our ale,” the barkeep says, already filling three glasses. “Best ale in the kingdom, King said so himself.”

“Does he,” Syanaes says lightly. She pushes the glass away from her. “I don’t drink.”

The barkeep swells. “If it’s good enough for the King, it’s good enough for the likes of you!”

Narion feels his skin crawl. “Does he come here often?”

“I’m blessed to say that he’s been here twice,” the barkeep says. “Always with a full purse though he doesn’t leave that way!”

The barkeep laughs but Narion feels sick. If the barkeep is telling the truth, this might be the only town in the kingdom that’s made prosperous rather than made poorer.

“They’ll hate us here,” Eadran hisses in his ear. 


Those are the three main ways that I pad my stories! Hope this helps :)

Jeopardy Question:

On Jeopardy the other night, the final question was “How many steps does the guard take during his walk across the tomb of the Unknowns?” All three contestants missed it!

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

1. How many steps does the guard take during his walk across the tomb of the Unknowns
and why?

21 steps:
It alludes to the twenty-one gun salute which
is the highest honor given any military or foreign
dignitary.

2. How long does he hesitate after his about face to begin his return walk and why?

21 seconds for the same reason as answer number 1

3. Why are his gloves wet?

His gloves are moistened to prevent his losing his grip on the rifle.

4. Does he carry his rifle on the same shoulder all the time and, if not, why not?

He carries the rifle on the shoulder away from the tomb. After his march across the path, he executes an about face and moves the rifle to the outside shoulder.

5. How often are the guards changed?

Guards are changed every thirty minutes, twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year.

6. What are the physical traits of the guard limited to?

For a person to apply for guard duty at the tomb, he must be between 5’ 10’ and 6’ 2’ tall and his waist size cannot exceed 30.
They must commit 2 years of life to guard the tomb, live in a barracks under the tomb, and cannot drink any alcohol on or off duty for the rest of their lives. They cannot swear in public for the rest of their lives and cannot disgrace the uniform or the tomb in any way.

After two years, the guard is given a wreath pin that is worn on their lapel signifying they served as guard of the tomb. There are only 400 presently worn. The guard must obey these rules for the rest of their lives or give up the wreath pin.

The shoes are specially made with very thick soles to keep the heat and cold from their feet. There are metal heel plates that extend to the top of the shoe in order to make the loud click as they come to a halt.

There are no wrinkles, folds or lint on the uniform. Guards dress for duty in front of a full-length mirror.

The first six months of duty a guard cannot talk to anyone nor watch TV. All off duty time is spent studying the 175 notable people laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery .A guard must memorize who they are and where they are interred. Among the notables are:

President Taft,
Joe Lewis {the boxer}
Medal of Honor winner Audie L. Murphy, the most decorated soldier of WWII and of Hollywood fame.

Every guard spends five hours a day getting his uniforms ready for guard duty..

ETERNAL REST GRANT THEM O LORD AND LET PERPETUAL LIGHT SHINE UPON THEM.

In 2003 as Hurricane Isabelle was approaching Washington , DC , our US Senate/House took 2 days off with anticipation of the storm. On the ABC evening news, it was reported that because of the dangers from the hurricane, the military members assigned the duty of guarding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier were given permission to suspend the assignment. They respectfully declined the offer, “No way, Sir!” Soaked to the skin, marching in the pelting rain of a tropical storm, they said that guarding the Tomb was not just an assignment, it was the highest honor that can be afforded
to a service person. The tomb has been patrolled continuously, 24/7, since 1930.

God Bless and keep them. We can be very proud of our men and women in the service no matter where they serve.

On Jeopardy the other night, the final question was “How many steps does the guard take during his walk across the Tomb of the Unknowns?" 

All three got it wrong. 

This is really an awesome sight to watch if you’ve never had the chance. 

Tomb of the Unknown Soldier 

1. How many steps does the guard take during his walk across the tomb of the Unknowns and why? 

Twenty-one steps. It alludes to the twenty-one gun salute, which is the highest honor given any military or foreign dignitary. 

2. How long does he hesitate after his about-face to begin his returning walk and why? 

Twenty-one seconds for the same reason as the answer of #1.

3. Why are his gloves wet? 

His gloves are moistened to prevent him from losing his grip on the rifle. 

4. Does he carry his rifle on the same shoulder all the time and if not, why not?

He carries the rifle on the shoulder away from the tomb. After his march across the path, he executes an about-face and moves the rifle to the outside shoulder. 

5. How often are the guards changed? 

Guards are changed every thirty minutes, twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year. 

6. What are the physical traits of the guard limited to? 

For a person to apply for guard duty at the tomb, he must be between 5’ 10″ and 6’ 2″ tall and his waist size cannot exceed 30″. 

Other requirements of the Guard: 

They must commit two years of life to guard the tomb, live in a barracks under the tomb, and cannot drink any alcohol on or off duty for the rest of their lives. They cannot swear in public for the rest of their lives and cannot disgrace the uniform or the tomb in any way. After two years, the guard is given a wreath pin that is worn on their lapel signifying they served as guard of the tomb. There are only 400 presently worn. The guard must obey these rules for the rest of their lives or give up the wreath pin. The shoes are specially made with very thick soles to keep the heat and cold from their feet. There are metal heel plates that extend to the top of the shoe in order to make the loud click as they come to a halt. There are no wrinkles, folds or lint on the uniform. Guards dress for duty in front of a full-length mirror. The first six months of duty a guard cannot talk to anyone, nor watch TV. All off duty time is spent studying the 175 notable people laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery. A guard must memorize who they are and where they are interred. Among the notables are: President Taft, Joe E. Lewis (the boxer) and Medal of Honor winner Audie Murphy, (the most decorated soldier of WWII.) Every guard spends five hours a day getting his uniform ready for guard duty. 

In 2003 as Hurricane Isabelle was approaching Washington, DC, our US Senate/House took two days off with anticipation of the storm. On the ABC evening news, it was reported that because of the dangers from the hurricane, the military members assigned the duty of guarding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier were given permission to suspend the assignment. They respectfully declined the offer. Soaked to the skin, marching in the pelting rain of a tropical storm, they said that guarding the Tomb was not just an assignment, it was the highest honor that can be awarded to a service-person. 

The tomb has been patrolled continuously, 24/7, since 1930.

What You Are According to Your MBTI Type

INTJ: You are the coldest shard of ice, but also the hottest flash of lightning. You are the sofest velvet in a rose petal, and also the sharpest thorns underneath. You’re the terrifying depth to the ocean, and yet you are also the sun twinkling on the waves. You may be the sultriest summer day, but often you choose to be the quiet coldness of a winter morning. You are the calmest logic and also the roil of blood boiling under your skin. Of all these things, INTJ, you are a Paradox.

ENTJ: You are a screaming crowd, the rush of adrenaline pushing you further. The words I will not give up, a business contract with all signatures in place. You are droplets of blood-red ink, and the glint of sunlight off a reflective glass building. You are the gory beauty of a sunset before a storm, the soft certainty of a plant blooming each year. You are a mountain threatening to crumble, and a young tree that refuses to snap in the wind. You, ENTJ, are the confounding fluidity of Strength.

INTP: You are the rapid clicking of a rubix cube under clever fingers, the glint of dark steel, the soft sigh of rain on concrete. You are the flash of unexpected rage, the sound of a chair scraping against the floor as it is pushed hastily back. You are the flipping pages of a textbook, and the squint of eyebrows while reading scrawled writing. It is no wonder that you love asking questions so much, INTP, for you yourself are a Question.

ENTP: You are the flash of an old camera as a photograph is taken. You are the tinest licks of flame in a fireplace, and also the devastating blaze in a forest at the tops of the trees. You are a bright red canvas, washed over with every shade imaginable. You are the blackness of a pupil, going ever deeper in. You are the grafitti I see on street walls as I walk home at night, and the glimmer of icicles on a cold morning. You are the snapping of scissors being suddenly closed, and the sound of ripping fabric as it is pulled apart. You are the irregular motion of fingers tapping against the wooden table. You are both pleasantly warm and dangerously hot, ENTP, because you are Flame incarnate.

INFJ: I see the quiet strength in a mountain side in you, and yet I also see the dangerous temptation of a cliff face. You are the smooth rustling of a stream past rocks, but somewhere you become the roaring power of a waterfall. You are pure white sand and the burning heat on your feet from the sun; I see the softness of vanilla and also the sharpness of peppercorn in you. You are the warmth of the sun on one’s back, and the burning blaze of a desert’s surface. You are power in reserve and power in extremes, you are a dam holding back an entire lake and also the cracks threatening the stone deep beneath the surface. You are mocked as the ‘unicorn’, INFJ, but you prove yourself as something much deeper as the Moment Before a Wave Breaks.

INFP: You are the silken tinkling of water in a cave, and you are the echo of a terrified voice lost somewhere far beyond. You are gentle like a sheet of new paper, yes, but you are the stinging pain of a thousand inflicted papercuts. You are the burst of a flower blooming fast-motion on a camera, and you are the wilted petals underneath. I see the blur of water colours on the white of a desk, and also a room with no visible end or beginning. You are the sudden smile that appears for no reason, and the ugliest frown appearing like a storm. You are early mornings and quiet whispers, but most of all, you are Changes.

ENFJ: You are a mirage; the image of a shallow pool with a thousand feet of water underneath. You are dirt lining the cracks in one’s hands, and the threatening pull of mud under one’s feet. You are the purest feeling of happiness, and you are a maze with level after level. You are a bright blue shirt flipping on a clothesline in the breeze, and you are the flick of a light illuminating a dark room. You go many places and love to see new things, and that is well, for you are an Adventure.

ENFP: You of all others are a perennial favourite. You are the favourite younger sibling in a family, you are the warmth of protection glowing in one’s chest. You are waking up late on a slow day, and you are the beat of a song that plays during work. You are a child skipping rope on the sidewalk, and the wonder of a scientist testing an Element. You are pens scattered on a table in every shade of the rainbow, and the hopeless scrubbing of an eraser over paper. You are notebooks sitting in a shelf unused and half-finished art projects left for a soon-due essay. You, ENFP, are the Glow of Praise.

ISTJ: You are the crisp of white sheets being put on a bed. You are pancakes on a china plate, and black shoes polished to a shine. You are hair in graceful waves, and the graciousness of a smile. You are the furrowing brow of brewing anger, and the sudden splash of cool water on overheated skin. You are the beep of a heart monitor, and the prick of a needle on your finger. I see the quiet, far reaches of the ocean’s surface in you, and the grey shadow of sharks swimming somewhere below. You are not so easily stereotyped as boring, ISTJ; for you are Deep Water, slow to move and full of changes underneath unseen by those on the shore.

ISFJ: You are the glint of a sword being drawn free, and the warm smell of leather. You are the glossiness of a horse’s back, but also the sudden kick of fear. You are tiny smiles and curling fingers; a garden full of colourful flowers. You are the unexpected sting of poison ivy under one’s feet, and the soothing balm of chapstick over cracked, bleeding lips. You are a train rushing forwards, carrying thousands of pounds of cargo. You are the steady thrum of a heartbeat, a yellow ribbon wrapped around a present. You are still water in a vase, and the sudden frustration of broken glass and spilled liquid on the floor. Well are you called a defendor, ISFJ, because you are a Strong Wall, full of the tiny cracks that come with humanity and yet standing strong for all those who need you.

ESTJ: You are the click of an old typewriter’s keys, the soothing hum of a printer completing its task. You are a smile showing teeth, and the biting nip of the cold outside. You are the comfortable feeling of coming home, and a suitcase lying, half-packed, on the floor. You are the beautiful sound of a violin playing, and you are the sobs it so often draws out. You are an army of baked goods resting on a kitchen counter, and the smile on a child’s face. You are the secret desire for untested things, and you are a kind email directed at someone who needs it most. You are always accomplishing things, ESTJ, for you are an accomplishment yourself. Finally, you are spinning in a desk chair unobserved, for you are the Sense of Satisfaction.  

ESFJ: You are the flick of long hair over shoulders. You are gift bags resting on the floor at a party, and the sparkling bubbles of champagne. You are the terrifying shriek of a hurricane and hands wrapped around a warm mug. You are striped colours on a wall and the ticking beat of a watch on one’s wrist. A lively tune on the piano, the blur of 3D movies without glasses. You are the feeling of wandering across a busy city at night, and shaking hands gripping each other. You are as delightful to some as you are strange to others, ESFJ: you are an Unexpected Surprise.

ISTP: You are bubbles rising in a beaker, a baseball slamming into a glove. You are the curl of lazy smoke, and the sheen of sunglasses in the daytime. You are the age-old familiarity of denim, and the crisp cleanness of a white t-shirt. You are a smooth voice making love to the microphone in your hand, and the faint rasp of a speaking voice afterwards. You are a comb moving through hair over and over again, and the yawn unrestricted by a covering hand in a classroom. You are narrowed eyes moments before a game, and the passionate sting of a sudden kiss to the mouth. You and your eagerness, ISTP, are the easy impatience of a Rumbling Engine, desperate to move.

ISFP: You are paint rubbed smudged on a nose, and freckles washed over cheeks. A whisper louder than any scream could be, steam rising from a cup of hot chocolate. You are the bright green of grass in the summertime, and the wilting curl as it shies away in the Autumn. You are a picture of two lovers hugging, their faces absolutely at peace. You are the tossing of a ship in a storm, and the glint of a seashell on damp sand. You are the trusting curl of a child’s hand in your own, and the flash of pain when one bites their tongue. You are Rafflesia arnoldii and Wolffia growing together in a field, some strange combination that manages to be beautiful. You, ISFP, are the Beat of a Dragonfly’s Wings, beautiful and fragile and quick to escape.

ESTP: You are a thousand screaming voices in a stadium, and also the shaking earth underneath. You are a building standing proud and tall, full of life and energy and bustling movement. You are a fist holding the ribbon attached to a medal, and the rumbling growl of a motorcycle’s engine. You are the sting of cold air in the lungs on an early morning, and sparks crackling off a bonfire. You are a tree in the woods, being hacked to the ground, and you are a weed growing rampant in an abandoned garden. You are a force to be reckoned with, ESTP, and a formidable one at that, for you are Determination.

ESFP: You are the twirl of a new dress in the mirror, and the shredding of fabric under a foot. You are a newly polished mirror and shards of a broken glass on the floor. You are the pettiness of envy and also the beauty of magnitude, the gloss over pictures in a magazine and the sound of feet moving on a dance floor. You are the excited shout of a new discovery, and the shattering loss of a loved one. I see the allure of a late night, and the glow of string lights in you, and the rapid beat of a lunar moth’s wings. It is easy to see why you have such quickness in everything, ESFP, for you are Movement.

For The Love Of Harry, Part Two

Winter was definitely in full swing in London. The cold winds cut straight through a person with no apologies. You are not a winter person at all, and often wonder why you continue living in London when you would fit more appropriately in a year-round, warm-weathered climate. But you had to admit, you had fallen deeply in love with England since moving here a couple of years before. The architecture, the romance, your job, the people you worked with and had become friends with, the lifestyle. You love being surrounded by people who are so unlike those you grew up with in the US. And if you are being honest, you kind of enjoy being the only American among all of your friends. You like for your friends and acquaintances to ask you what something was like for you when you were growing up, and discover the similarities and differences between the two lifestyles.

As you came off the tube and walked toward your office, you were suddenly wondering why you had chosen to wear a dress and heels today The cold wind shot straight up your skirt, making you cringe and cuss as you eventually find your way through the front door of your office building. You swear it wasn’t that cold when you left your house this morning, that the temperature must have dropped 20 degrees since then. As the elevator door opens on your floor, you step out and smile and greet your co-workers as you pass them, exchanging pleasantries with each, then finally plopping down in your desk chair. You were grateful at that very moment for the heating vent that was directly under your desk. You kicked off your heels and placed your feet atop the vent, removing your coat but draping it around your bare legs and tucking it around, so that the heat from the vent traveled delicately up under your coat.

“Ooooh, that’s goooood,” you moan to yourself, with your eyes closed.

“Should I leave you two alone? Give you a moment?” you hear your best friend, Kari, say.

“Yes!” you tease. “How are you today?”

“Oh, can’t complain,” she replied. “Well, I could, but who the fuck really cares, right? Why in hell did you wear a dress today? Do you not watch the forecast, love?”

“No tv, remember?” you remind her.

Kari rolls her eyes at you. “Never did understand that. What do you do in your free time if you aren’t watching the telly?”

“Not everyone likes tv watching, Kar,” you say.

“Nonsense,” she replies. “It’s a conspiracy to say such things. Shame on you for spreading false gossip.” You smile at her. “By the way, TJ wants your piece by the time you leave tonight. I hope you’ve got most of it done.”

You look at her surprised. “What? I was supposed to have until Friday!” you complain.

“Chance of bad weather by end of week,” she explains. “He wants everything ready just in case.”

“Fine,” you spew like a 4 year old conceding. “Go away, then. I’ll never finish it with you distracting me.”

“It’s a curse, this beauty,” she says teasingly as she leaves your desk and walks back to her own.

For the rest of the day you work diligently on your article. You have never in your life missed a deadline, and you weren’t about to begin now. By mid-afternoon you had barely taken a break from your work to even use the restroom, and had munched on only an apple and some almonds at your desk as your lunch. As you work on citing your sources and polishing what you have written, you have a cold chill that you think must have a life of its own as someone somewhere in the office has apparently opened a door that allowed a freezing breeze to flow through the room. You blow hot air into your cold hands and bend at the waist in your chair, trying to be as close to the heating vent at your feet as you possibly can, your forehead pressing against the edge of the desk top. As you groan at the amazing feel of the warm heat, you hear a familiar voice.

“You alright there, love?” Harry asks, giggling. You immediately sit straight up, nearly knocking your wheeled chair backward and catching yourself before you can fall in the floor. Harry’s eyebrows lift as he laughs from surprising you. “Sorry!”

You grin, shaking your head. “No worries,” you reply. “What are you doing here, Harry?”

“I was in the neighborhood visiting with a friend and realized this is your office building,” he answers, still smiling. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in without calling you first. Hadn’t seen you in awhile and thought I’d see how you are.”

“Oh!” you smile back at him. “I’m doing fine, thanks. How are you? Staying busy?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Staying quite busy, actually,” he answers. “Hey, what time do you get off work?”

“I just have to finish this article then I’m free,” you reply. “Maybe 10 more minutes?”

“Great! I thought since I was in the neighborhood anyway, I’d see if you could use a lift home,” he grins. “You mentioned awhile back you haven’t a car now. Can’t imagine the walk to the station is a fun one in that wind…and in a dress.”

Looking like you must have been an idiot for wearing it today. “Yeah. Didn’t realize it was so cold out when I left, and I was running late. Here, sit in that chair and I’ll finish this, then we can go. Thanks!”

In a few more minutes, someone walks to your desk. “You never told us you know Harry Styles!” the co-worker beamed.

Another employee steps forward to talk, too. “If I’d known you knew Harry, I’d have asked you to get me an interview a long time ago! How ‘bout it, Harry?”

“Back, you vultures!” you yell at them. “Shoo! Shoo! He didn’t come here to get harassed by you. He gets that enough. Why do you think I never told you I know him? Now, go away, all of you!” You smile as they all say something to Harry then walk away, but continue looking at him off and on. He’s used to it, but you deliberately didn’t tell people you knew him for that very reason.

After another moment, you save and send your completed article and slide your feet back into your heels. “Done!” you announce to him. “Sorry about earlier, Harry.”

“Not a problem, love, I assure you. I’m used to it, but thanks for that,” he smiles and stands. He helps you put your coat on then you pop your head into your supervisor’s office. “Goodnight.”

“I need your article before…” he starts.

“Check your inbox,” you smile. “See you tomorrow!”

You turn and smile at Harry as he follows you out of the office. You walk outside and, after getting into his car, he starts it and turns up the heat. “Won’t take long for the heat to kick back up,” he grins.

You chit chat during the once-familiar drive to your home. Your car was one that Alex had leased in his name, so you weren’t terribly surprised the day the towing company showed up and drove away with it. You realized you didn’t really miss having a car, and decided public transit would work fine for you. As Harry parks his car, you invite him for dinner.

“Harry,” you look at him, “I seem to recall that I owe you dinner. Are you free this evening?”

“I am, actually,” he smiles. “Are you sure? Kind of last minute, if that’s a problem.”

“No problem,” you shake your head. “I put a pot of stew in the slow cooker before I left this morning. Should be ready now.”

“I would love to then!” he agrees. You both go inside and you change out of your work clothes and into something warmer and more comfortable. As you come back downstairs, you see Harry in the kitchen, ladling soup into two bowls and searching for the correct drawer to find spoons.”

“One more over,” you instruct him. “I hope you’re hungry. I made enough for a few meals with this cold weather.”

“Starving,” he said honestly. “Didn’t get lunch today, had a meeting. It looks and smells delicious!”

“Thanks,” you answer. “My mom used to make it every winter. Has a way of really warming your insides.”

You both sit at the table after you fix both of you a glass of wine, and enjoy the food. “It’s really good!” Harry says with a smile. “I’ve missed your cooking. Especially your grilling. Gonna have to do that again sometime. When the weather isn’t so bad, of course.”

“We absolutely will” you say. “So, tell me how you’ve been? Work and whatever else you’ve been doing that’s kept you so busy.”

“Loads of work,” he sighs. “Doing a lot of writing and some studio work. Spent some time in LA for awhile, tying up some loose ends and seeing friends.

“That sounds nice,” you grin.

“Do you ever get back to the states to see family and friends?” he asks.

“Don’t have any family anymore,” you answer. “And I’ve not seen my friends, but we video chat every now and then. Can’t really leave my job for that long, and neither can they.”

“No family?” he asks, surprised. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be,” you grin again. “My parents passed several years ago. They had no siblings and neither did I.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” he says, genuinely feeling sad about it. He can’t imagine not having his family in his life.

“Long time ago,” you assure him. “More stew?” you ask, seeing he’s finished.

“Not sure where I’d put it,” he laughs, rubbing his belly. “That was really filling!”

“My dad used to call it a “stick-to-your-ribs” meal. Filling and nourishing, get someone through a cold winter kind of meal,” you explain.

“Exactly,” he says. “Wouldn’t mind taking a bowl of it home, though, if that’s alright?” he asks, giving you a puppy dog look.

“Absolutely!” You’re happy he asked. “Except for the nights that Kari comes begging for something to eat, I don’t get to cook for anyone anymore. Kind of miss it sometimes.”

Harry laughs. “Sweetheart, anytime you want someone to cook for, please call me!” You both laugh as you ladle soup into a container and seal it with a lid, then put the remaining soup into a container for the fridge. You quickly wash the dishes and Harry insists on helping. As you finish, you both dry your hands on opposite ends of a kitchen towel as you smile at each other.

“Harry, I don’t know what you need to do now, but I was thinking about watching a movie,” you announce. “Interested? I don’t have a tv, but I watch on my computer. I’m a sucker for a good romantic comedy.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised that she asked. “I’d love to!”

“Great!” you say, walking into the living room. You start a fire in the fireplace for some added warmth and ambiance, then grab your computer and together you choose a movie to watch, setting it on the coffee table in front of you both. Harry pours you both another glass of wine, setting the near empty bottle on the table. You both enjoy the movie, laughing and feeling sappy. When it finishes, you close the laptop and look at Harry. “Have another bottle of wine if you want more?”

“As much as I would love that, babe, I should be going,” he says, looking out the darkened window at the night sky. “Seems to be coming down again. Think the snow is never going to end, I swear.”

“Pretty to look at, but not so fun when you have to get out in it,” you say.

You both stand, Harry grabs his leftovers, and you walk with him to the front door. “Thank you for dinner. Always delicious,” he smiles.

“You’re welcome,” you nod. “Thank you for the ride home, and for keeping me company on a cold wintery night.”

“Anytime,” he says, then leans to you and gives you a hug for a long moment. “I love spending time with you.” He pulls back a bit, looking into your eyes. “I’d love to do it again sometime real soon.”

“I’d love that, too,” you slow-blink at him flirtingly. As you both look at each other longingly, you secretly hope he kisses you. He looks at your lips, then back at your eyes, then grins slightly as he pulls away, releasing your hug. You’re disappointed, but you never expected Harry Styles to be interested in you that way. He was your friend, and up until a few months ago, he was the best friend of your ex-boyfriend. You didn’t think they were friends anymore after what happened, but you honestly had no way of knowing. You had cut off all ties to Alex after you kicked him out, only seeing him once since then when he came to pick up the rest of his things.

“Stay warm, love,” Harry smiled, grabbing your hand and squeezing it, then kissing you quickly on your cheek.

“You too, Harry,” you say. “Let me know next time you need to be cooked for,” you smile and he laughs.

“I will, I promise,” he says, then opens the door and quickly walks out to his car and jumping inside. He waves to you through the front glass as the wipers brush off the fresh layer of snow, then backs out and drives away. You close the door, thinking about the evening. If all Harry wanted was to be your friend, you would accept that. You liked being friends with him. You may have to learn how to squash down the butterflies that seem to flutter inside of you when he looks at you a certain way, or when he laughs at something you say, but you wouldn’t pursue more if you thought he didn’t want it, too. Or at least you would try.

*

Finally a bit of a break in the cold weather! You were only half-way through winter, so a nice warm interruption was just what you needed. You loved when you had a beautiful spring-like day when technically it should be blustery and…well, winter.

It was the weekend and you had already decided to be productive over your warm weekend by painting the spare room of your home that has needed a new, fresh look since you bought the house two years before. You could never get Alex to do it, even when he would say, “No, don’t do it. I’ll get to it eventually!” So today you were taking matters into your own hands.

As you prepare the room by taping the windows and trim, making sure you have all the supplies you need, you realize you forgot the ladder in the garage. One of the purchases that Alex absolutely had to have for all the things he wanted to do to your house. You walk into the garage and see it still hanging on the hooks on the wall, where it’s been since the day he bought it. You shake your head and chuckle slightly, then start to grab it from the wall when you hear your doorbell. You leave it and jog back through the door, into the house, and quickly to the front door and open it.

“Hey!” Harry says, cheerfully. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?

“It is!” you smile at how happy he is. “How are you, Harry?”

“I’m doing great. How are you?” he asks, as he kisses your cheek, his hand on your waist.

“Doing fine, thanks,” you say. “Want to come in?”

“Thanks!” He does and closes the door behind him. “You busy?” he says as he notices the rag on your shoulder and your hair pulled up into a messy bun, old comfy clothes adorning your body.

“Um, sort of…” you say, biting your bottom lip. “I’m painting my spare room today. Taking advantage of the beautiful day so I can open the windows.”

“Really?” he raises his brow. “Care for some help?”

“You want to spend this beautiful, sunny, non-snowy, non-cold day, inside my spare room doing manual labor?” you ask, teasingly.

“I do!” he laughs. “Got nothing better to do. And I’m already here, aren’t I?”

“Well, as long as you don’t mind, I welcome the help,” you thank him. “Come on!”

He follows you to the garage and grabs the ladder off the wall and carries it up the steps for you. It’s a bit comical watching Harry try to not bust holes in the walls along the way as he bumps this one then that one. You gasp and put your hands over your mouth a couple of times, trying to help guide him, until finally he makes it through the door of the spare room.

“Success!” he laughs, setting the ladder up in the middle of the room. “Was easy,” he jests, as he sees the look on your face and you chuckle.

“Ooook!” you say, changing the subject and he laughs. “So, this is the wall color, and this is the trim color.”

“Like that!” he nods. “Will look good in here, too. What is this room going to be?”

“I’m going to set up my music stuff over here on this side, and my workout stuff on this side,” you explain. “It’s been too cold to go all the way in to my gym, or to go for a run, so I’m going to make it so I can have a good workout here.”

“And what music things do you have?” he asks, curious.

“My keyboard and guitar stand, my turntable and vinyls, and….” you think, trying to remember, “Oh, and since it’s a large room, I want to put maybe a little sofa or something in here for when I’m reading or writing. Bit of a hobby room, I guess.”

He looks at you curiously. “A side of you I did not know. How does that happen?”

“Don’t know,” you shake your head and smile. “Embrace the mystery. I guess most of the time when we were around each other, you were probably hanging around Alex and the boys more than around us girls.” You shake the paint cans well and open them, pouring paint into a tray for the rolling, and into a smaller container for painting around the trim. “Roll, or cut-in around the trim?” you ask him.

He is still looking at you, not realizing he didn’t even know you were musically-inclined. He finally snaps out of it, “What?”

“Do you want to roll onto the walls? Or would you rather do the cutting-in around the edges?” you ask.

“Oh,” he says, “Um, I’ll roll.” He grabs the roller pole and gets it covered well, then starts painting the walls while you start the rest. As you both paint, you have music playing from another room and you both sing along as you work.

“So, love,” he says, “I don’t mean to bring up a sore subject, but have you seen Alex since you broke up with him?”

“Um,” you dip your brush into your cup of paint, “Yeah.”

“Really?” he is surprised. You were so angry with him that night. He still remember the punches you landed on your ex, and smirks thinking about them.

“Yeah, only once,” you say. “I texted him to come get the rest of his things, a couple of weeks later.”

“How’d that go?” he asks as he paints.

“How do you think it went?” you look at him as he looks at you, knowing. “I had all of his things setting out in front of the garage doors, so he was none too happy about that. I didn’t want to see him or talk to him, but he used his key to get into the house. I hadn’t thought about changing the locks yet, so it freaked me out a bit when he unlocked the door and came in before I could put the latch on the door.”

“Did he?” he looks at you, concerned. “He didn’t, like, cause any trouble, did he?”

You sigh a deep sigh. “Not really.”

“Not really?” he asks, stopping what he was doing and looking at you. You look at him and frown a bit.

“He begged me to take him back,” you admit. “Tried to…cozy up to me.”

“Tried to seduce you,” he states, more to the point.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I guess so. But, that wasn’t going to happen, and I let him know that, in so many words, pissed him off once again, and he stomped around the house, looking to see what I had no doubt kept of his that I apparently wanted.” You roll your eyes. “Like I need or want his crap. Yeah, I really want your porn magazine collection, you big perv.” Harry giggles, but doesn’t like you having to deal with Alex. “When he couldn’t find anything of his in the house, I waited until he was outside the door, then slammed the door in his face when he turned to talk to me, and I locked all the locks and put the latch on. When he started beating on the door, I threatened to call the police if he didn’t take his things and go.”

“What an ass,” Harry says. “He used to be a fun guy, but he’s changed a lot, I think.” You nod and keep painting.

“You’ve not seen him or talked to him then?” you ask him.

“No, and I’m glad,” he admits. “He texted me later that night, and for a couple of days after, wanting to try and talk and still be friends or whatever, but I didn’t answer and haven’t heard from him since.”

“Like Kari said, good riddance,” you say without looking at him as you continue to paint.

You both continue to paint for hours until finally, the room is completely finished, and you are both tired and paint-splattered. You finish what you are doing and turn and see Harry lying in the middle of the floor on his back, his hands on his ribs with his eye closed.

“Good God, I’ve killed Harry Styles,” you tease, as he laughs and opens his eyes. You walk to where he is and lay down next to him. “It looks good, doesn’t it?” You look around the room and so does he.

“Yeah, it really does,” he agrees. “We do good work!” He lifts his arm for a high-five, which you return, and he moans from how sore his arms are from painting, and you giggle. He smiles and looks at you, thinking you look beautiful, even with paint on your face and in your hair. He smiles as he notices a spot of paint on your nose. He uses his finger to wipe it away, not realizing he has even more paint on his finger, which smudges down your nose. Your eyes get huge as you look at him and he draws his lips into his mouth and shoots his eyebrows high, then giggles. You giggle, slyly dipping your finger into your paint cup which is setting near you, and trace your finger right down his cheek.

“No, you didn’t,” he says as you giggle. “I can’t believe…” he says, as he leans up on his elbow, crossing his arm across your stomach and quickly dipping his finger into your paint cup, then doing the same to you along your cheek and jaw. You both laugh as you lay under him, and he looks at you with a smile. He looks into your eyes, to your lips, then slowly lowers himself to your mouth, taking your lips to his own. He kisses you softly, tasting your kiss in return, then pulls back and looks at you again, to make sure you were okay with him kissing you. You lift the corners of your mouth slightly, enough for him to know you were definitely alright with his risk-taking. He leans to you once again, kissing you deeply, his hand on your ribs, then your waist, pressing his body against yours. You feel his hand caress you as you taste each other, your tongue exploring his as your kiss lingers for a long moment. Harry leans away and looks at you, and smiles.

“Wanted to do that for a long time, you know,” he says shyly, rubbing his hand along your hip, resting it on your waist.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask him, thinking his “long time” meant hours, days, maybe.

“You had a boyfriend,” he states, matter-of-factly. He leans to you once again as you wrap your arm up around his shoulder and pull your body into his. You kiss for another moment until you hear the doorbell downstairs. You stop kissing and look at each other, his lips still ghosting over yours. “Maybe they’ll go away, love,” he smiles before kissing you again, but you hear the doorbell again and Harry groans slightly.

“I’ll go see who it is. Hold that thought,” you sigh then move from underneath him as he lays back on the floor once again, smiling to himself, pleased that he had finally kissed you. You walk downstairs, smiling, and peek through the little peephole of the door, and see Kari’s eye on the other side, looking into the hole. “Geez!” you gasp, not expecting to see an eye up close. You open the door and Kari walks in.

“Feed me!” she begs. “Please! I’m starving, babe!” She notices the paint on your face and clothes and stands back. “Oh, is this a new look?”

You giggle at her. “Yeah, it’s known as Monet grunge. Is it me?” you say as you pose.

Kari kisses her cheek. “Sweetheart, you are always beautiful, even with paint face.”

“That’s the truth,” they hear Harry say as he descends the staircase, walking toward them.

“Oh! I’ve interrupted some weird sex thing, haven’t I?!” Your friend finally realizes the depth of what she just teased. “Have I?!” she says excitedly.

Harry giggles, as you explain. “Harry helped me paint the spare room today. We just finished a few minutes ago.”

“Oh,” she says, a frowning look of disappointment on her face. “Just actual painting, eh? Alright, then. Now, can you feed me, please? I’ve been drinking and need nourishment,” she begs again.

“No,” you refuse, “but I will order some food for delivery. Harry, you in for some food?”

“Sounds good, love,” he smiles.

The three of you enjoy some take-away and talk for awhile, until you see Kari has fallen asleep, in one of the big, comfy chairs in your living room. You look at her and sigh, then look at Harry as he grins at you. You stand and cover her with a blanket, then sit back down again on the sofa, Harry pulling you more closely to him.

“You’re a good friend to her,” he says, thinking your friendship with your best friend is cute.

“She’s a good friend,” you smile. “Good for my ego, too!” you laugh and Harry chuckles.

“Yeah, think she has a bit of a crush on you,” he says, smiling. “But who wouldn’t have?”

You smile at his comment, then look at your friend again. “In the couple of years I’ve lived here, she and I have been through a lot together. I met her the first day I landed in England, at the airport. She had just flown in from a trip somewhere, and Alex was late picking me up, so I sat for a long time waiting on him, and she sat down next to me and kept me company.”

“Just like that?,” he smiled.

“She’s a bit forward, if you’ve not noticed,” you both laugh. “When Alex didn’t show up after 40 minutes, she grabbed my hand and started pulling me to the door, saying I could stay with her until my ‘sod of a boyfriend’, as she called him, got off his ‘bloomin’ arse’ and decided to come get me. She and I just hit it off and have been best friends ever since.”

“It’s good to have one person you can always depend on,” he said, rubbing his hand up and down your arm. “She does lack a good sense of timing though, doesn’t she?” he laughs.

You laugh and agree. “That she does. Who is that person for you, Harry? That person you can always depend on.”

“I’d say, choosing only one, my mum,” he says, grinning. “I think it’s important to be close with your family.”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I miss that sometimes.” He holds your hand sweetly, realizing you don’t have that with family anymore, and how that must feel.

“I hope you know, you can always depend on me,” he says, lovingly. “I’d like for us to spend more time together, if you want that, too, that is.” He takes his hand and caresses your jaw with it.

“I do want that, too,” you say, softly. He gently pulls your jaw closer and kisses you sweetly, then more deeply, as you let him pull you into him. You feel the rising heat of the kiss inside of you, before pulling away, as you hear Kari moan and giggle in her sleep, and you both look at her. Harry chuckles and kisses the side of your head, hugging you, then standing.

“I’m going to go, sweetheart,” he says. “Someone worked me to death today. Afraid I’m going to be feeling that for the next day or so,” he laughs quietly.

You stand and walk with him to the door, and like the feel of Harry holding your hand. You stand at the door and look at him with a grin.

“Thank you for helping me paint, today,” you say. “Would have taken me much longer without your help.”

“I didn’t mind at all,” he says. “It was fun. I always enjoy spending time with you.”

You smile at each other, as Harry leans in to you and kisses you sweetly, loving the taste of your lips, pulling you into another deep kiss. You feel his hands move to your waist as he pulls your body closely to his once again. Your hand finds his jaw as you return his kisses, until you are both nearly breathless.

“I also enjoy kissing you,” he grins.

“Can’t explain how much I enjoy it, too,” you agree.

He kisses you again, then opens the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” you tell him. He leans to you once again, leaving brazen, little kisses on your lips, then walking away. He turns and waves to you and you wave back, watching as he leaves. You walk back inside, hear Kari snoring in her chair and leave a light on dim so she can see if she wakes, then go upstairs, shower, and go to bed.

*

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, you spend time with Harry as you both can, but he finds he has to travel back to LA for some work needing done. One night while he is there, he video calls you.

“Harry?” you ask sleepily, looking at the screen then turning on your light, as it’s middle of the night in London. You had assumed it was Kari, needing you to come pick her up somewhere, either lost or too drunk to find her way back home.

“Hello, love!” you hear Harry’s voice and see him in the sunshine on the screen. “Shit, I woke you, didn’t I? Forgot about the time difference for a second, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “How is LA?”

“Warmer than London, I’m guessing,” he chuckles, knowing the weather has turned bitter again in England. “Beautiful here, today. I wish you were here, you would love it. Ever been to LA?”

“Um,” you think, still a bit bleary-headed but waking. “Yeah, once when I was a kid, but I don’t really remember it very well. I was young.”

“I’d love to bring you here someday,” he says. “Could show you around a bit.”

“I’d like that,” you smile.

“I’m sorry I woke you. I was just thinking about you and wanted to see your face,” he explains.

“I’m glad you did,” you promise. “Always love to talk to you.” He smiles from you saying it, liking to hear it. He hoped you liked him as much as he did you. “When are you back, Harry?”

“Saturday,” he says. “My flight lands Saturday morning. Are you home then?”

“Actually, I have to work this weekend,” you say, sadly. “My supervisor has required everyone to work this weekend due to the big snowstorm we’re expecting next week. It’s due-in next Thursday, I think, and we have deadlines for printing.”

“That sucks having to work the weekend, though,” he says, disappointed.

“Yeah, it does,” you agree, “But it’s going to be good money. Double-and-a-half pay will help if we lose time from the snowstorm.”

“Still, you should get time off. That’s at least 10 days of work in a row,” he says.

“It’ll even out,” you say, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, is it will suck not getting to spend time with you this weekend, because you’ll be working,” he says, smiling, his dimples shining. “I was looking forward to spending some time with you. I’ve missed you,” he says with a shy grin.

“I’m sorry. I’ve missed you, too,” you say, disappointed. “Guess we both have our own work obligations. Mine making me work the weekend, yours making you work in LA.”

Harry sighs. “Too true, love. Alright, going to let you get back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’m not,” you smile and watch him smile. “Anytime, please.”

“I’ll remind you of that next time I call and it’s 3 in the morning,” he smiles. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight,” you say, then disconnect the call. You lay in bed, smiling and thinking about Harry until you fall asleep once again.

*

You work long hours the rest of the week, and by Saturday evening, you look at your vibrating phone which shows a call coming in from Harry. You smile, happy for the respite from your work.

“Hey! Make it back okay?”

“I did,” he says, happily. “How are you?”

“Working my life away,” you sort of joke. “Late night at the office.”

“You’re at work?” he asks, shocked. “Sweetheart, it’s after 10 at night!”

“Yes,” you say, resigned. “One of my co-workers refused to work the weekend and was abruptly fired, so guess who had to take over her column?”

“You’re doing your job and someone else’s? That doesn’t seem rightly fair,” he says.

“I’m getting a nice bonus because of it, so I’m not complaining,” you say, yawning.

“Love, I don’t like that you’ll be leaving so late,” he says. “It’ll take me a bit to get there, but let me come pick you up and get you home.”

“Harry, thank you, but it’s okay,” you assure him. “I’m staying at Kari’s tonight. She’s working, too, so we’ll just crash at her place. It’s not far from here, so it’ll be easier coming back tomorrow morning.”

“I really don’t mind,” he says, but you stop him.

“I appreciate it, but it’s late and I know you’re tired from traveling. I don’t want you to get out and drive all the way here, then all the way to my house and back home again. It’s really okay, and thank you for offering”.

He sighs heavily. “Alright. As much as I would love to see you, you’re right, I’m exhausted. Are you at least able to leave to go to Kari’s soon?”

“Yes,” you say with a tired voice. “I’m almost finished for tonight and she’s getting her things together now. Probably won’t even stop for food. I’m ready for my head to hit a pillow.”

“I can imagine so, babe,” he says, hearing how tired you are. “Get some sleep, and hopefully I can see you over the next couple of days. Let me know when you have time, okay?”

“I will,” you agree. “Working 15 hour days every day is wearing me down. I don’t know how you do that so often in your job.”

“Honestly, sometimes I don’t know either,” he chuckles. “Get sleep soon, love.”

You and Harry don’t get much chance to spend time together again for the next few days, with your long work hours and his schedule. You stay at Kari’s, collapsing to sleep every night, and Harry works long hours at the studio, and writing deadlines, so your time together is spent only in a couple of short phone conversations.

By Wednesday you are pressed for time, trying to finish your deadline. The weather forecasters are saying the storm is moving in a bit sooner than they had initially predicted, possibly even this evening rather than tomorrow. And as much as you love Kari, you have been living with her for nearly a week and you are just ready to be in your home again. You finally finish all of your work, submit it to your supervisor, and put on your coat to go outside into the blustery wind and cold. You are prepared this time, knowing the weather is getting bad, and have dressed appropriately in warmer clothes, snow boots and thick socks, and a heavy coat, with hat, scarf, and gloves. You had quite a walk from work to the nearest tube station, then another long walk from the station near your home, until you hit your front stoop. You stood on the warmer side of the glass doors, staring out at the hard-blowing snow. It’s wet snow, too, so you know the roads, if not already, were going to be a mess soon. You wrap your scarf tightly around your face and neck, pulling down your hat well over your ears, and tucking the ends of your gloves into your coat sleeves, trying to prevent any cold air from slipping inside. You open the doors and are nearly knocked off your feet by the strong winter winds, but find your balance and start the long walk to the tube station, hoping they’ve not started shutting them down due to the weather conditions. It takes much longer than usual, as you fight the winds, sometimes nearly being blown over by them. Finally after what felt like years, you step onto the platform and see you have a moment to sit and rest. It was exhausting and, even with the layers, you were freezing. As you sat waiting, you feel your phone vibrating inside your bra and pull it out with numb fingers. You see Harry’s name at the top of your screen and start to answer but then see the train pull up and stop, so you tuck it back inside your bra and step onto the crowded train car. You would call him as soon as you got home, he would understand. After the long trip to your home station, the train finally came to a stop. You made sure you were once again covered well before stepping back out into the frigid, strong winds.

Harry had tried calling your phone several times but got no answer, and you didn’t reply to his texts. He knew the storm had come in earlier than you had expected it to, and was worried about you getting home safely. He even called your office to see if you were still there, but was told you had left long ago. When he still had not reached you and was at his brink of worry and losing patience, he put on his warmest clothes and coat and got into his vehicle, flipping it into 4-wheel drive to combat the storm-ridden roads, then set off to try and find you. He slowly drove to where your tube station was, occasionally trying your phone again with no answers, then traced the roads back to your house, knowing the way you probably walked. It was dark, wet, terribly windy, and miserable out. He looked up and down the streets and sidewalks, hoping to see you somewhere.

“Come on, love, where are you?” he said to himself. Some of the roads were bad enough that they were already closing them due to high snow drifts and ice, and Harry had a bit of trouble a couple of times getting through. When he is within just a few blocks of your house, his eyes roam up and down the streets and sidewalks, until he sees the figure of a person walking slowly, trying to get through the snow and ice, then stopping as if needing to rest. Harry got closer, trying to see if it was you, or someone needing help, always willing to help when he can. He sees the person take another step then fall on their hands and knees into the icy snow, staying in that position for a moment, before trying to get up again. Harry pulls his car closer, then quickly gets out and goes to the person. He pulls the hood of his hoodie and coat over his woolen, cap-covered head, and bends to help the person up. He feels panic and relief all at the same time as he realizes the person is you.

“It’s me, babe,” Harry hollers against the strong winds. “Come on!” He helps you up, but you have trouble walking, your legs and feet frozen and barely able to move anymore. “The car’s just here!” He puts his arms around your waist and practically lifts you off the ground, moving you to the passenger side of the car and helping you inside, then closing the door. He runs back to his side, climbing in, and slamming the door closed. He looks at you with worry. “Are you okay?” he asks, but you are too frozen to speak, and past the point of exhaustion, closing your eyes and leaning against the head rest of the leather seat. He makes sure the heat is on full blast then as quickly as the weather will allow, he drives to your home and into the driveway. Coming around to your side of the car, he helps you to the front door, where he finds your keys in your pocket and unlocks the door, getting you both inside the house before closing the door behind you. You are both breathing heavily, and he notices the ice hanging on your hat and scarf, and on the wisps of hair that have come out from under your winter cap. “Babe, are you okay?” he asks, as he helps get your wet outer clothes off of you. You don’t answer, not really hearing him, just looking at him through exhausted eyes, like you aren’t sure if you are dreaming or not. He pulls off the scarf and hat and removes his own, then rubs the skin on your face. “Come on, love.”

He helps you into the living room and starts a fire in the fireplace. He sees you are just standing, not moving, not talking. He grabs the floor pillows and warm blankets, and pulls your coat the rest of the way off of you. “Sit here in front of the fireplace,” he says as he helps you down to the floor, knowing your limbs are probably freezing and painful to move. He wraps a blanket around you, removing his coat and sitting closely to you, his legs around you and wrapping his arms around you, covering your legs with another blanket. “Better?” he asks as he feels you shaking. He sees you nod your head and rubs your arms and legs, trying to improve the circulation you’ve lost from the freezing temperatures. He kisses the side of your face, feeling it’s still freezing. After a bit, he thinks you feel a bit less rigid and more relaxed. “How are you doing, love?”

“So tired,” you say, nearly at a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” he says. “Crazy girl, trying to walk all that long way in this weather. I’m just glad I found you.”

“Couldn’t get…my legs…to work anymore,” you say quietly and shakily.

“It’s okay,” he comforts you. “Gonna get you all warmed up now. I’m just going to go fix us both a hot drink. You stay here in front of the fire, alright?” You nod, he kisses the side of your head, then stands and goes to the kitchen to make the tea. In a few minutes, Harry walks back into the living room, just as the electricity goes out. He stops for a second, thankful for the light of the fireplace. He looks and sees you lying down on one of the large pillows in front of the fire. He sets the mugs on the hearth then sits next to you. “Come on, love,” he takes your hand. “Made us some hot toddy’s. That should help warm you up inside and out.” You sit up and take the mug from him, your hands still shaking but not as badly. “Power’s out now. Good thing for the fireplace, yeah?”

You nod, taking another drink. “It’s good, thanks,” you say, holding the cup out a bit, then taking another sip.

“Not everyone’s liking, but when you’re cold, it hits the spot,” he says with a grin, sipping his own.

You take another sip then set the mug back on the hearth, pulling the blanket back up to your chin, then hiding your face in its warmth for a moment.

“Feeling better?” he asks, rubbing your back.

“Yeah, much,” you say, looking at him. “Thank you for coming looking for me.” He grins at you. “Why did you?”

“Couldn’t find you,” he says, moving hair from your face. “I knew you left work. I called and they said. You weren’t answering your phone. The worry just kept building. I wanted to make sure you got home safely, that you were okay.”

He grins at you again as you look at him. You’re not used to people being that way with you. You’ve always been the one who took care of everyone else. He’s always been sweet to you, and you know he cares for you, but to risk going out in a winter storm to make sure you were safe…even Alex wouldn’t have done that. You lean to him and kiss him sweetly on his lips, feeling him pull you slightly closer to him. You pull back a bit, then he sees you shake again, seeing the exhaustion still in your eyes.

“How about we lay here and rest for a bit, hm? No power for awhile, I’m guessing,” he says, then adjusts the large floor pillows so you both can rest comfortably in front of the fire. “Gonna have to share those blankets though,” he giggles, and you smile, then lay on the pillow, facing the fire. Harry lies down behind you, covering you both well with the blankets, then putting his arm around your waist and kissing the side of your face, then your neck and shoulder. “Rest, babe.”

*

You have no idea how long the two of you lay in front of the fire sleeping, but it was still dark when you woke, hearing Harry snoring lightly in your ear. Somehow you had managed to turn around and was facing him. He was holding your hand in one of his, and had his other arm under your pillow. You lay beside him, watching him sleep, and thinking. Harry must really like you to have done what he did. At first you felt he maybe had just felt sorry for you after Alex hurt you, and just wanted to be a friend to you. Then over time, you questioned in your mind your level of friendship, or if he wanted more. But his kiss. You’d always heard that you can tell a lot about a person by the kiss you share. You didn’t know what that meant for the longest time, but maybe you were beginning to understand better. You never really felt much of anything when Alex kissed you. But Harry…that was a different story all together. When Harry kissed you, you felt it from your reeling head to your curled toes. He made you feel like all he wanted was to taste your essence. Like you are the most delicate dessert that he can never get enough of.

You lay, watching his lips. The perfect shade of pink, you think. And so soft and gentle. You watch them as he sleeps next to you, feeling the burning desire inside of you to feel his kiss again. You didn’t want to wake him, but God, you loved his kisses. You gently snuggle closer to him and lightly kiss his lips, then pull back and watch him continue to sleep. You lean to him again, placing your tender kiss on his lips, lingering a moment longer, then feeling his own kiss you back as his hand squeezes yours lightly. You pull away again and look at his face, as he opens his eyes, gazing at you. You see the firelight in his eyes as he watches you. You swear when he looks at you, he must be able to see straight into your deepest thoughts and feelings. You study each other, saying nothing, as you lean toward him and kiss him once more, your lips melting into each other naturally. You feel his hand release yours as it travels to your waist, your back, drawing you closer to him, as his breath seems to catch in his throat for a short moment. You feel his leg wrap around yours as he kisses you almost desperately. You slowly move your mouth from his, to his jaw, peppering kisses and nibbles along the precision line and down his neck. You hear a light moan from his throat as he rubs his hand up and down your back, kneading your ass, your thigh, pulling your body as firmly against his as he can with clothes on. Your mouth trails to his Adam’s apple and kisses it, then lowers inside of his shirt, kissing his tatted chest.

He moves his face to yours, kissing you deeply, then traces his lips down your neck, leaving little bites along the way, loving how you whimper slightly from them. You feel his hand moving inside your shirt, over your ribs, then smoothing his hand lightly over your bra-covered breast. He lifts the fabric of your shirt, kissing the silky top of your breast over the lace trim of your bra, slowly inching the lace down, revealing your nipple. He breathes you into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, teasing it into a hard nub. He tastes you before turning you enough to treat the other the same. You watch him as he looks at your breasts, full as they are, fitting perfectly in his large hands as he massages them, suckling them with his mouth until he is satisfied with how erect and saliva-soaked your nipples have become. He traces his mouth back to yours and kisses you passionately, his breathing increasing as his hands find your waist. Nipping at your lips, he feels your hand move to the large log growing rapidly in his jeans. He moans at your touch, kissing you even more intensely. He lifts you enough to pull your shirt over your head and unclasps the hooks of your bra, as you make haste of unbuttoning and removing his shirt. His eyes trail to his jeans, seeing your hand freeing him of them. Harry impatiently slides his jeans down and off, his socks being lost in the denim heap at his feet, then turning back to you. You gasp slightly as you see his tattoos, prominent against the fire light. Those tattoos do something to you, and it had been ages since you’d seen them. You lean to him, planting kisses on some of them, darting your tongue over one of his nipples, then nuzzling your face into his soft curls as you feel him unfastening your jeans, while sucking and pulling on your breasts once again.

“Lie back, baby,” he whispers. You do as he says, as he pulls your jeans down your body, still damp from the snow earlier in the evening. He looks at you, lying on the floor in front of him, naked except for your lacy pink panties. His eyes roam up and down your body slowly, as if he is trying to memorize every measure of you, making you squirm slightly but turned on all the same. He slowly moves over you, like a panther about to devour his prey, and says with wild eyes, “So beautiful.”

You reach your hands to touch his tattoos, then his ribs, as he leans down and kisses you once again. That kiss. It does things to you that you can’t exactly explain. Harry presses his chest against yours, as his mouth kisses from your lips to the crook of your neck, traveling down until reaching your collarbone, where he once again nibbles and bites at you, sometimes to the point of slight pain, but it was a good pain that you didn’t want to stop. He slowly kisses his way down your body before parting your legs and settling himself between them. He massages your hips as he kisses across your tummy and groin, then lower further, leaving wet kisses on the insides of your thighs, causing you to barely breathe. He nuzzles his nose into the fabric of your panties from between your legs, up to your most sensitive spot, then kisses it, pulling at your clit through the fabric. Your breasts move rhythmically with your increased breathing, as Harry continues to tease your clit over your panties, until they become soaked from your own wetness. Harry notices the saturated fabric and moans, kissing the damp softness of your panties. He looks at you again as your eyes meet, then looks again between your legs, pulling the panties from your body and tossing them on the floor next to you. He places light, sucking kisses above your clit, enjoying your soft, shaven mound, then nudging your clit lightly with the tip of his nose as you catch your breath. He spreads your thighs further apart, holding them down and out of his way, before planting kisses on your lips, parting them with one finger, that then gently slides inside of you. He hears your breathing change slightly, as he nibbles on your inner thighs, kissing each sting to soothe it away. Harry sucks in his breath as he slides two fingers along your slick folds, lightly coating your clit with your wetness, then pushes them inside of you again, his tongue teasing your clit gently.

There was something about the fact that neither of you were saying anything. Normally you loved good dirty talk. Turned you on like nobody’s business. You were a firm believer that a really good kiss, or amazing filthy talk, are some of the best foreplay there is. But the fact that it was completely quiet except for the crackling fire, the spitting ice and snow against the house, and Harry’s mouth tasting your body, somehow made it very intimate. Like he was taking his time, learning what you like, wanting to pleasure you beyond your expectations, better than you have ever experienced.

You gasp loudly, suddenly shocked out of your thoughts, as you feel Harry’s hot, wet tongue plunge deeply inside of you. He presses his face firmly between your legs, as you feel his moan vibrating against your most sensitive parts. You feel him swipe his tongue from your lips up to your clit, not once, not twice, but three times, each time a bit more slowly and intentionally, and you moan loudly from the intense pleasure of it. You’ve never been quiet in sex, and Harry was learning this quickly, but it told him he was making you feel exactly as he wanted you to, exactly what you needed to feel. He looks up at you as he suctions his lips around your clit, teasing it with his tongue, his fingers finding their way inside of you again, curling up and pulling back to him slowly, over and over again, against the spot he knows will do you in. You moan his name loudly, your hand moving to his curls, pulling his face against you, slowly bucking up against each stroke of his fingers inside you, causing him to moan but not let go of your slippery nub. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so much during sex. You look at him again, seeing only his curls between your legs as he works eagerly to make sure you are enjoying it as much as he is. He kisses your clit, looking at your face as he feels you squeezing his fingers. His tongue traces lightly over you as he continues working you inside. He swallows hard, pressing his nose against your tiny button, licking you from his hand to your sensitive nerves over and over. He feels you clamp tightly around his fingers and watches your face as you begin to tremor in orgasm. You moan “Harry!” loudly as your body trembles and quakes with overwhelming release. You hear him moan more aggressively as his lips and mouth smack and drink your juices, cleaning you thoroughly with his strong tongue. Your hands grab the blanket under you, balling it in your fists as you slowly learn how to breathe again, looking up at the ceiling as you feel Harry’s fingers move from inside you and rub you gently along your slit, soothing you, then crawling up your body. You see the glistening remnants of you on his chin and cheeks and now brightly red and swollen lips, shining from the fire’s glow against his face. He smears his hand lightly over his face, then kisses you, and you can taste yourself on his mouth. He pulls back again and you still see the wild look in his eyes.

“Again, love?” he asks.

***********************

Thank you for reading Part Two of For The Love Of Harry. I hope you liked it, and I welcome your feedback, asks, and comments. Thank you for the good response to Part One. I will begin working on Part Three this week, and I’m curious to read your reaction to Part Two. How you respond to my writings will determine if I continue writing stories to post, so please, if you like it, let me know! Also I will be starting my Music Series, a collection of Harry short stories and one shots, based on songs and lyrics, as well as creating a Masterlist if it seems people are enjoying my writings. Please keep in mind I’m used to writing in screenplay format, so adapting my stories for posting is new to me, and I apologize for any mistakes. And I still deal with my smut-demons, so Harry, if you read any of this and are offended, please feel free to let me know and it is history! :) Thanks for reading!

Surprise!

Characters: Jared x Reader, fans, Jensen

Word Count: 1579

Warnings: implied sex and kinda fluff

Summary: All people ask you about is your past relationships and your relationship status during your panel. They are pleasantly surprised with the end result of their questions.

Authors Note: Honestly, this whole idea came from listening to Intertwined by Dodie. I wanted to have this song as like how they fell in love type thing. This is my first RPF. Also, Jared is single for this. No disrespect to Gen. Hopefully I satisfied your imagination with this! Feedback is always appreciated and enjoy xx

Originally posted by marvelouslyinsane

You slowly woke up in your hotel room with Jared’s arms wrapped around your waist. You lazily look at the time before jumping out of bed, realizing that you were running late for your panel.

Your panel starts in twenty minutes. It takes ten minutes to get there, leaving you with ten minutes to get dressed, and you still have to shower.

You texted Rob that you were going to be running late before taking a quick shower and getting dressed. You were about to rush out the door, then you realized that you hadn’t woken Jared up. You shake him awake and his eyes slowly flutter open.

“Morning sunshine,” you joke as you give him a quick kiss. “I’m running late for my panel, but I’ll see you down there after you get dressed.”

He hums in response, leaning on the headboard, looking at you. “Go on, don’t want to keep the fans waiting.” He smiles at you. “You’ll be great.”

You rush out the hotel room and made it to the panel, even though you were ten minutes late.

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Wash Away (The Mess I’ve Made)

( PROMPT: The reader is the Vulture’s daughter, she’s the enemy of Spider-Man, but she’s friends with Peter in real life. But at one point, she accidentally knows that Peter is Spider-Man, but her father asks her to kill him, but she can’t because it’s his friend and also his crush. ) 

A/N: AHHH this is my second request, so I hope I did it justice?? I was so thrilled to get one, so I hope this is what you were looking for, dear anon! ( If I get begged enough, I’ll make a second part! ) Also in other news: I desperately require a date with Tom Holland. Please give me a date with Tom Holland. 

Taglist: @mainspidey | @x-wing-starwriter | @tomsleftbrow | @tryn25 | @tanglefire

Warnings: Child abuse, so I’ve put it under a read more! 

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That time of the year ey Sansy?

22. Nap (requested by a previous anon)

Leia snuggled deeper under the covers, eyes still closed and limbs still blissfully, beautifully heavy with relaxation and sleep. She wasn’t sure how long their nap had been–there was no way to judge the passing of time in space without the help of a chrono–but it had been long enough for her to feel deliciously rested and content.

She was still comfortable enough–her mind still blank and fuzzy, as blanketed by sleep as her body was beneath the old, worn comforter–for her to have drifted back off, if she wanted to. She was so warm, snuggled up in the bunk… and even more comforting than the secure, familiar blanket was the warmth of Han’s skin–under her cheek, all along her belly and legs, his strong calfs heating her toes and feet…

Eyes still closed, Leia sighed and pressed closer to him. He was sprawled out on his stomach, arms folded under the pillow they shared, and she was nestled in alongside him, tucked close and safe in against his ribs, cheek resting against his bare shoulder. She could feel his breath brushing her forehead, the rhythm deep and steady and sure. They’d fallen asleep curled on their sides, her back to his front and his face burrowed against the nape of her neck… pressing adoring kisses against the wispy, curling hair there as they came down, sated, from the peaks of their pleasure and settled into tender, post-coital relaxation…

At some point during their catnap, they must have shifted. Leia sighed again, content to enjoy the calm and quiet and rightness of lying close, no uncertainties or impending battles or crippling secrets… only the utter surety of their love, and the sensual memories of their bodies moving together, and Han’s deep, soothing breathing filling the cabin as he slept. For a long while she drifted on a wave of peace, somewhere between slumber and wakefulness, aware of his presence both physically and through the Force, but aware of little else as she dozed.

Eventually, however, her sleepiness ebbed, and though entirely at ease she no longer felt the pull of unconsciousness.

Han’s breathing had not changed, and so Leia occupied herself with a quiet inventory of him. She nestled her cheek against the smooth, hot skin of his back, took note of the intimate press of his torso against hers, the vulnerable exposure of his flank from ribs to hip, uplifted arms beneath his head, utterly trusting in his sleep as she lay curled against his prone form. Her legs were tucked up against his, dwarfed by the length of his much larger form, and so she couldn’t quite rub her feet against his as she shifted under the covers.

A kind of disbelief stole over her then. This was not the first time they’d lain together in such a way, but still every time she experienced some sort of–ache borne of her love for him. For such a long time she’d never dared hope that they would ever have this–such steadfast, fearless harmony. To lie with him, naked and yet completely unconcerned, savoring the sensation of his own naked body against hers, and aware even while he slept of his commitment–of his absolute love…

Her somnolent, tender musings suddenly became poignantly fierce, and she freed her arm from where it was trapped between their bodies to hug him closer, to trace her fingertips along the beautiful expanse of his strong, muscled back and caress his sides and shoulders and waist. Tough hide though he claimed to have, Han’s flesh was sleek and smooth and precious–Goddess, he was so precious to her, and Leia pushed herself up for easier access to him, compelled to press soft kisses against his neck and spine and shoulder blade.

“Mmmmm,” he rumbled, roused but still clearly half-asleep. “Feels nice.”

Leia smiled against him; for some reason the hoarse, groggy sound of his low voice was making it hard for her to swallow, and abruptly she found that her eyes were stinging. Han. Han. Her Han.

Leia lowered herself down on top of him, her chest resting against his back, both hands moving to brush his arms, and almost reverently she pressed her face into the crook of his neck.

“You feel nice,” she told him softly, continuing her tender ministrations.

“Mmmmm,” he sighed again, agreeing as she kissed behind his ear and stroked her nails along the backs of his arms.

“Leia,” he mumbled–blissfully–as she ran her palms over his ribs, and she kissed his neck in acknowledgement.

“I love you,” she whispered, meaning it to the very depths of her soul.

Still asleep, he leaned blindly forward to find her hand on his bicep, pressing a kiss to her fingers, loving her even without fully waking.

“I know,” he mumbled, and she smiled brilliantly against his neck.

“Love you, too.”

Mystic Messenger Male! Mc: Transfer Your Cold To Me (Jumin x Male MC)

Do you take Requests? If so, could I if you dont mind & if Im allowed, Request a JuminxSickMaleReader? Like its summer and the MR is sick with a (really) high fever and Jumin takes care of him, like the good Boyfriend he is! And fluff! Sorry for bothering you with it!

My notes: Lol good thing you specified fluff (and that I reread it a bunch of times) cuz I was about to get keeerazzzy! 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had started off as just a small headache. Then he got a little achy. And then he was sneezing. No big deal, he said to himself, just take some Nyquil and sleep. He didn’t want to get sick, especially not now. A chocolate festival was coming to the city, something that everyone had been talking about ever since he moved to Korea. Everyone in the RFA was oogling about it. Even the recluse Yoosung was going, hell even Jumin seemed a bit intrigued by it, after Zack showed interest of course, but nonetheless it seemed to be a big deal. It was a summer festival that was held indoors inside a nice, air conditioned building. 

Well of course, as Lady Luck was so kind to play him this hand, he was sicker than a dog. He was running a high fever and was simultaneously cold as ice and hot as a furnace. He had the chills and was constantly thirsty but too tired to drink. He apologized groggily and in broken Korean how sorry he was they couldn’t go. 

“Stop apologizing.” Jumin said as he wetted a cold washcloth. “I want you to get better. I’ve never seen you this sick before.” He frowned as he squeezed the cloth. 

“I…know…” Zack coughed violently. “This..is the sickest I’ve ever been.” He groaned as his head pounded against his skull. “Ugh…talk to me…in English. I can’t even think.” 

Jumin placed the cold washcloth on his head and smiled a bit at the sight of relief on Zack’s face. “How are you feeling?” Jumin asked in English. 

“Like hell.” Zack groaned again as he felt sweat roll down his neck. “Like complete hell.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know…what I caught…” 

“Perhaps… a student? Or a child on the train?” 

Zack shook his head. “Maybe…it’s all…it’s all hot in the…” He coughed again and rolled over in pain, “ugh.” 

Jumin knelt down in front of him with a look of complete worry. “Please, are you okay?” 

Zack shook his head. “I…feel so hot…I think I’m gunna be sick!” He sprinted up, feeling dizzy and delirious as he ran to the bathroom and retched. “Ugh…fuck…this isn’t a flu it’s a damn migraine.” He pressed his head to the edge of the toilet bowl. 

Jumin ran up to him and patted his shoulder. “Are you going to throw up again?” He said gently as he rubbed tiny circles into his back. 

Zack sighed happily and shook his head. He reached up and flushed the toilet. “I.. I should brush my teeth.” He turned away from Jumin. “Sorry…” 

Jumin chuckled, although forced as his face was painted in worry, “Don’t worry about things like that. I want you to focus on getting better. Let’s change your clothes and get you into bed.” He carefully helped Zack up and guided him to the circular bed. He helped him change wiping down his torso with a towel taking off the layer of sweat and put him into one of his shirts. Zack was smaller than he so his clothes fit looser allowing, to what he hoped, more comfort. Before he was even finished with helping him Zack fell into deep sleep. Jumin tucked him in with a  throw blanket made entirely of Alpaca wool, to help keep in the heat. He kept Zack’s feet exposed to help with the airflow and left the room. 

Well now, it was time to make something for the young man. If his migraine persisted he would most likely keep vomiting. He walked out to his kitchen only to find his own personal chef wasn’t in. In fact, most of the staff wasn’t in today. A security officer called and notified Jumin that a flu was going around. Ah…He cursed himself for not persisting Zack to go get his flu shot. He knew he hated the place and avoided going at all costs, but… Jumin sighed. Look to what it had come to. Feeling glum about it Jumin started making porridge and sighed as he looked at the Chocolate Festival flier. 

“…” 

   ~~~~~~

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3

Sterek AU – How To Get Away With Murder
↳ in which Derek only uses Stiles to succeed in law school (or so they both thought)

I don’t do boyfriends.

The words are stuck on repeat inside Derek’s head even as he stops outside Stiles’ door, has been ever since he said them out loud hours before. It’s true–truer than most things that slips out of him these days–and yet it feels like he wasn’t just trying to convince Lydia, but also himself.

Which is ridiculous, because if there’s one thing he knows about himself, it’s that he can’t do relationships. Not since– No; he’s not built for that. He knows how to use his body, how to manipulate people. Someone made sure of teaching him that.

Derek knocks his knuckles on the door and hears Stiles’ steps on the other side, and suddenly his heart is in his throat and he thinks shit just as the door swings open.

“No,” Stiles says as soon as the gap is wide enough to reveal what’s behind the door, sounding as if Derek must be out of his mind. “I don’t care what your boss needs.”

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Falling Around You: Part 1

Title: Falling Around You

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Summary: Sam pines away for the reader in secret, but when she loses all memory of hunting and monsters, he’s forced to rethink how to approach his feelings.

Theme song: “Over You” by Ingrid Michaelson

Word count: 4,159

A/N: What is it with me and one shots that turn into series??? Anyways, this is my first Sam series, and I have to give a huge shoutout to my beta @idjitmonkey​ for helping me to avoid Sam sounding like Dean (#DeanGirlProblems). This is the first part of what will probably be a 3 or 4 part series for @impala-dreamer​ and @idreamofhazel​ ‘s Sam fic challenge. My prompt is the quote “We are far from perfect, but we are good.” I haven’t used it yet, but trust me, it’ll be used later. Let me know if you want to be tagged for future parts!

Originally posted by berezneva12

Sam smelled it first. The smoke. The charred flesh. The smoldering fabric. It was an all too familiar smell, a scent no one should have to be familiar with. But the scent came first, and with it, the memories tattooed in his brain, permanent and infecting his body with a poisonous ink.

Next came the realization. It’s happening again. Sam’s heart flew into his throat as tendrils of gray curled from underneath the door to the next room. He kicked the door open and the blaze towered over him in an arc like a tidal wave, but even through the flickering forest of scorching flames, he saw clearly who this time was pinned to the ceiling.

You.

Your mouth hung open in a silent scream, eyes wide and panicked but long since dead. Sam called out your name, lungs bursting in his chest with the force of his shout, but he made no sound.

Sam woke up to sheets soaked with his sweat.

It had been the same nightmare for one-hundred and sixty-four days.

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