#all that happy for a variety of reasons but like I’ll finally be sending people some of the stuff I’ve been making and collecting for them

[whimsyprinx]

gonna use some of my tax money this year to finally send out some of the gifts I’d been collecting for people

[salamandersorcerer]

Ok this was a HUGE question for me for so so long and I only ever got bs answers like those listed above, but I have figured some distinctions out now that I’ve had a variety of relationships to create the facsimile of “controls” as it would be in an experiment.

That being said, most of romance as we know it IS a construct! Roses and dating and weddings and everything are rituals that have been formalized and made ubiquitous over generations and they are now taken for granted as inherent to our species courting.

I have a lot to say so I’ll put it under a readmore ^_^ the tl;dr will be highlighted in orange so you can skip my rambling if the context doesn’t feel helpful 👍

Sex, romance, and gender are considered by the majority to be inherently intertwined and locked into certain roles (ie man-masculine-top-dominant-pursuer/woman-feminine-bottom-submissive-passive) and most people only ever start to deconstruct one or two of those layers, if any.

In queer and kink communities it’s more likely that some of these layers are dismantled, because when this narrative doesn’t fit you, you begin to question who you are, who you really want, and how you want it to look. Most queer people miss out on the teen dating experience because the frame that’s built around it excludes us.

Getting more to the point, from my research on the AVEN forums, and the larger aro/ace community (in person and online) it seems we’re taking a longer time to define the concepts that we fall outside of.

People who are both allosexual and amatoromantic very rarely think to disentangle their romantic attraction and their sexual attraction because culturally, they’re completely intertwined. The same way cis straight people can have a hard time wrapping their heads around homo and bi relationships and genderqueer folks (because their orientation agrees with the cultural norms) allo and amato people just never had a reason to question it.

Because people in the aro/ace community are defining an identity around a lack of feeling, it’s especially hard to know exactly what lies on the other side of the perception barrier. Having a strong intellectual interest in relationship dynamics and romance while being on the ace spectrum myself really helped me closely examine where the line actually lies (at least within myself) from difficult angles.

In my early days of questioning it was massively confusing. I was sex repulsed at the time, but very interested in romance, so it intuitively made sense to me that people could have romance without sex, and I understood that plenty of people had sex without being in love, so being aromantic completely made sense to me as well. But besides my intuition that it was possible, and the evidence that I found in thousands of amato aces declaring that they had found happy romantic relationships, I still couldn’t comprehend quite what separates a close platonic relationship from a nonsexual romantic one, especially after learning about queerplatonic relationships.

I was deeply infatuated with several of my closest friends at the time and had no idea if my feelings were romantic or not. I dated a girl while having no real idea what that meant other than upholding the rituals of romance, like flirting and holding hands and sending more heart emojis than usual, (because yeah, dates don’t count they are literally just hanging out and you agree with someone that it has a romantic connotation.) so I upheld the rituals of romantic interaction until I was sure that whatever she was feeling for me was something I wasn’t fully reciprocating. I considered that my general cue for “these may be romantic feelings” were when I thought a lot about kissing someone, but that didn’t answer the question because there are people who are fully not interested in kissing, but are still in romantic relationships. All that to say it is seriously confusing.

I finally started to figure it out just recently. Coming to a realization that demisexual may be the label for me (as I’m no longer sex repulsed) I’ve had sex in 2 romantic relationships, and with 2 people who I didn’t have romantic feelings for. That’s how I managed to separate romantic attraction from sexual attraction (and kissing.)

Ok the tl;dr is that love and strong affection are kind of an “umbrella feeling” where familial, platonic, and romantic feelings all live. To me, affection manifests in a rush of warmth towards someone, but for each category there’s a different flavor. (Familial stuff has a lot of baggage for a lot of folks and I only have my own experience to go off of for this one so I’ll skip that here.) Platonic affection for me sits in my head and my arms, it feels gentle and playful and deep like old tree roots. Romantic attraction manifests raw and magnetic. When it hits me, it’s a call for closeness in my blood, I feel it the most in my chest and in my gut.

It’s not the same for everyone, obviously, and there’s a lot of overlap, but I believe this kind of distinction, figuring out a pattern in the flavors of affection that you feel, and figuring out on an individual basis what you want out of that affection is the most important thing. Relationships are a charter of boundaries and common desires where you agree with someone what you do together and what you call it. You can make out with your pals or fuck acquaintances or marry someone you don’t want to touch, and as long as everyone agrees with what it means, there’s a lower likelihood of misunderstandings or hurt feelings. Most of us absorb the norms of what romance and friendship are “supposed to look like,” where one is exclusive and one involves no kissing, but that’s not how people really work. You can kiss the homies good night or never kiss anyone for the rest of your life or fall in love with a bunch of people, it’s all modular!

I hope this helps someone who has the same confusion I did + I’m happy to elaborate on any points I love talking about this stuff, this is a fairly basic version I whipped out real quick bc I got excited, so I’m sure it’s not absolute :)

it really does bother me how no one can seem to answer the question “what even is romantic attraction, really.” like some people are like “it’s who you wanna kiss and cuddle <3” and I’m like ok well kisses and cuddles can be either sexual or platonic depending on context. “It’s who you feel passion/desire/arousal for” well that just sounds like sexual attraction which you can have without even knowing somebody so I fail to see how that’s romantic. “It’s who you want to go on dates with” I go on dates with friends all the time plus “date” is a social construct anyway there’s really no innate difference between a date and hanging out. “it’s who you have deep feelings for” great news for you that can be literally any type of relationship. my friend told me she defined it as “who you wanna give roses to” and I’m like do u hear urself??? like the more I talk to people the more I’m convinced romance and romantic attraction is an elaborate socially fabricated illusion that has no real defining characteristics. and like there’s nothing Wrong with it being a constuct but why people are so attached to defending the supremacy of it is something I cannot for the life of me figure out

[watchmegetobsessed]

ALL IS FAIR

a/n: woohoo!! finally a harry fic! lol sorry i got very into marvel these past weeks but im finally bringing you some harry content! this one was originally requested by an anon sometime and then we kept talking about it until i actually got around to write it! hopefully you’ll like it and if you do, please like and reblog!

pairing: ceo!Harry x ceo!plussize!reader

warning: sexual content

word count: 16.7k

masterlist

“Stop being such a stuck up dick, it’s your birthday, bro!”

Harry rolls his eyes at his friend who walks into his penthouse as if he owned. Niall Horan was so well-known in Harry’s building that he could have easily walked into any homes in the tower and people would still welcome him warmly. It might have a few things to do with the fact that half of the residents in the Compass Tower are women who are hopelessly in love with either Niall or Harry, hoping for a chance to drag either of them into their bed one day. They have a lot more chance to do that with the Irish bloke than with Mr. Styles. Not that Harry doesn’t find them attractive, but he is not the type to have one night stands, something his friend gives him quite a lot of shit for.

“Would you fuck off for twenty more minutes?” Harry sighs, shooting him a look as he covers the speaker of his phone, in the middle of a call.

“You have ten minutes and we are leaving. I’m not letting you work on the night of your thirtieth birthday!” Niall warns him before walking into the kitchen to roam the always full, neatly stocked fridge.

As much as Niall Horan comes off as an irresponsible cocky child, he is quite the businessman himself as well. As the Lawyer of one third of New York’s most influential people, he surely doesn’t have to worry about making a living, enjoying his luxurious apartment a few streets away from Harry’s place on the Upper East Side. It’s not as expensive and impressive as Harry’s penthouse on the top of the tower his father built in the heart of the posh neighborhood most people only know from TV shows, but he couldn’t complain.

“Another designer refused to sign with us, H. We are running out of options,” Lambert’s voice rings through the phone as Harry turns to the floor to ceiling window, staring out to the city skyline in front of him.

“We have quite a few left, right?” Harry asks clenching his jaw.

“Yeah, but I heard that Cometa is planning on announcing something big next week so I think a lot of them are waiting for that to happen.”

“Do you think it’s another collab? But they just had fucking Chanel have a line sold through them!” Harry growls, his blood boiling at even just the thought.

When it comes to fashion in the virtual world, there are two businesses that totally dominate the industry. In the men’s wear, Twisted is definitely the number one selling place. The idea started off as just a freshman school project that originally wanted to sell tech stuff, but a few years into the project Harry met Lambert who was already a rising star in the fashion industry and they joined forces, creating the most classic yet affordable and user friendly online empire: Twisted. Though Twisted mostly features men’s clothing, they’ve been trying to venture to the field of women’s fashion, but it hasn’t been as easy as they thought it to be. And the reason for that is Cometa.

Cometa was originally a website where anyone could sell their own clothes, make their online wardrobe sale. But eventually the business grew itself out and stepped up a few levels, collaborating with various designers and brands, selling exclusive lines and a highly praised seasonal variety four times a year, earning a well-deserved top spot in the online fashion industry. It’s hard to compete with what Julia Bianchi built up through sweat and blood and Harry Styles has been working on stepping up to be a major competition for Cometa in women’s fashion, with not much luck so far.

To top the cake with a delicious looking cherry, Cometa has been trying to set feet into men’s fashion as well in the recent years, bringing out several lines with some mentionable designers, but they never made it be as big as Twisted. The two businesses have been trying to outdo each other for about a decade now, with not much luck so far and Harry’s patience is running low by now.

“I don’t know what it is, but keep an eye out. I’ll call you on Monday, alright?” Lambert sighs through the line.

“Okay, thank you,” Harry nods, feeling a little defeated.

“And happy birthday, man. Go and celebrate!” he chuckles, making Harry’s lips curl up as well.

“Thanks, have a good weekend,” Harry bids his goodbye before the call ends.

Wandering into the kitchen Harry finds Niall with the thickest ham and cheese sandwich between his hands, sitting at the kitchen island.

“So where exactly are we going tonight?” he asks, grabbing himself a granola bar as he joins the Irish lad on the stool next to him.

“Oh, that’s a surprise,” he grins, mouth full as he chews mercilessly. Harry grimaces, not sure how this is the same man who can convince a judge about basically anything, wearing his designer suits, putting on an intimidating and serious act for his cases.

“I have a switch,” Niall once told him when he asked how he does it. “I just turn it off when I’m off the clock.”

“You know I hate surprises,” Harry informs him matter-of-factly, but Niall doesn’t seem to be bothered by his comment.

“You’re thirty now, no one cares what you hate.”

“Says who?” Harry huffs.

“Me,” he grins, making Harry roll his eyes.

The bass is throbbing, red tinted lights illuminating the exclusive bar in the heart of Manhattan where Niall chose to gather some of Harry’s close friends to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. Sitting in the leather couches at a restricted area at the back of the place, they are hidden enough not to draw too much attention to themselves but still feel like they are part of the party.

“Cheers to three decades of this cocky motherfucker!” Niall beams as their glasses meet in the middle, everyone laughing and wishing Harry a happy birthday before they all chug their drinks.

Harry is not necessarily the type of person to enjoy going out too often, but he admits it’s been a while since the last time he let loose. It feels nice to have the evening to himself, leaving the business behind for just a couple of hours before he returns to his busy everydays.

Though the occasion is Harry’s birthday, Niall is surely enjoying the evening a tad bit more than his friend. After Harry sees him send down three tequilas in a row he realizes it’s not gonna end well if he doesn’t get some water into his system as well. Excusing himself from the group he heads to the bar, pushing his way through the dancing bodies until he finally reaches his destination.

Given how it’s a Friday evening, the place is packed and he waits in the line patiently while the bartender is fixing up the order of a group of girls a few stools down from Harry. Leaning onto the counter Harry runs his gaze over the dancing crowd, tapping his fingers against the surface to the beat, even bopping his head a little when he feels a push from behind him.

“Oh, sorry!” A female voice calls out and as he turns around he spots the owner of it, a young woman, her curvy body wrapped in a tight mini dress that leaves very little to Harry’s imagination as his eyes run up and down her figure. He has never seen a curvy girl as confident as her, she is radiating, drawing every male’s attention to herself like she is feeding off the hungry stares and dirty thoughts birthed by her.

Her eyes meet Harry’s gaze and the sly smirk that tugs on her perfectly shaped lips gives it away that she is not that sorry to be bumping into him.

“No worries,” is all he manages to say, the urge to drop to his knees right then and there stronger than anything he has ever had to fight.

“He won’t notice you,” she tells him and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. “The bartender. If you just stand there like that… he will never come here,” she explains.

“I’m not sure I have what catches his eyes,” he jokes, making her laugh and he swears his stomach drops at the heavenly sound.

“May I?” she arches an eyebrow and Harry nods, letting her step in front of him. He stands tall above her, eyes fixed on her figure as she leans onto the counter, the marble pushing her breasts up just enough to spark the bartender’s fantasies when he glances in her way. She waves at him with a charming smile and a moment later the guy is standing in front of her, ready to please her in any way she desires.

“Three vodka sodas and…” she turns in Harry’s way, her lips slightly parted and his breath hitches in his throat. “What did you want, handsome?”

“Just, uhh—Just two water, please.”

Her eyebrows rise, but she doesn’t comment on it, just adds the two water to her order. The bartender nods and disappears to fix up her drinks. Harry takes a deep breath and sticking his hand out to her he introduces himself.

“I’m Harry, by the way.” She takes his hand, shaking it firmly.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you, Harry. Are you here alone?”

“Um, no. I’m here with a few friends,” he replies nodding towards the back of the place. “Are you here with someone?”

Please don’t say your boyfriend, please!

“A few of my girlfriends,” she smiles, brushing her hair over her shoulder, flaunting a better look at her naked neck and just one glimpse is sending a whirl of dirty thoughts into Harry’s mind. He wonders how soft her skin would feel under his lips, what her moans would sound as he sucks on it, leaving a mark on her, letting every man in the house know that he made her feel good.

“Are you guys celebrating something?” Y/N asks, a knowing smile on her lips as she most definitely saw Harry staring at her.

“Actually, yeah,” he chuckles a little nervously. “It’s my birthday.” Y/N’s eyes brighten up as she beams at him.

“Really? Happy birthday then!”

“Thank you,” he smiles shyly. “Are you guys celebrating something too?”

“Well, I…” she starts, her thoughts wandering off for a second before she continues. “I kind of got promoted,” she explains and Harry smiles down at her warmly.

“Congrats then!”

The bartender returns with the drinks and she is already about to get her card from her little clutch when Harry pulls his card out, handing it over to the guy behind the bar.

“Birthday boys shouldn’t pay for others,” she smirks, but doesn’t try to fight him that hard.

“You can pay me back later,” Harry shrugs with a suggestive smirk on his lips. He doesn’t want to part ways with her, but she is obviously expected to be back with her friends and he needs to get back to Niall as well before he absolutely loses control. Stepping closer to him, Y/N slides a hand up his chest, her palm resting at the base of his neck as she leans to his ear.

“Save me a dance, birthday boy?” she murmurs into his ear, her lips brushing against him for a split second before she steps back, grabs her drinks and winking at him one last time she disappears from the bar. Harry stands there for a few more seconds before the bartender hands him back his card and snatching the waters from the bar he heads back to his friends.

 Luckily, Niall is slowing down a little, The water does him well and Harry finally doesn’t feel like he’ll have to take care of him, dragging him home once the night is over. Sitting by the table Harry is trying to focus on the conversation, but his gaze keeps wandering over to the dance floor, looking for one particular curvy figure in the sea of dancing bodies.

It takes him some time to spot her, but when he does, he is not able to tear his eyes away from her.

She is almost perfectly in the middle with her friends surrounding her, lips and shoulders swaying to the rhythm perfectly. He catches her chug down the last sips of her drink before she disregards the glass and gets back to dancing. Watching her every move intently, Harry feels his lips slightly part at the sight of this angel who is for sure a devil in the sheets. He can’t stop himself fantasizing about what it would feel like to dig his fingers into her thighs, kiss her neck, her cleavage that’s on show now, how her curves would fit into his hands perfectly. He wants to praise this woman, make her feel good and not just because he wants to be selfless and please her, but also because seeing this woman reach her high because of him would be the biggest ego boost for him and he just needs that.

“Go dance with her!” Niall wiggles his eyebrows at him when he catches Harry staring at her.

“What? No, I’m not a dancer,” he shakes his head, shifting his eyes away from the dancing goddess on the dance floor.

“Oh come on, don’t be a pussy!”

“I’m not a pussy, I just—“

“You’re a pussy. I saw her looking in your way as well, she wants your dick!”

“Jesus, Niall!” Harry whines rolling his eyes. He doesn’t like it when he gets so vulgar, but luckily no one heard their conversation. Glancing back in Y/N’s way Harry sees how men are eyeing him, probably building up the courage to go up to her and that has his blood boiling. He needs to be the one to touch her.

Chugging down the rest of his drink he snaps the glass on the table before standing from his seat, ignoring Niall’s cheering as he makes his way into the crowd.

Harry didn’t lie when he said he is not a dancer, he feels uncomfortable, awkward and uncoordinated most of the times he tries to dance, but he is pushing all of those to the back of his mind for now as his eyes are set on one person in the crowd.

When Y/N spots the man approaching her, she can’t push a pleased smile off her lips, slowing her movements down as Harry finally reaches her, leaning closer to her ear so she can hear his voice over the music.

“Here to collect that dance,” he smugly tells her, making her laugh, though the music is too loud to let him hear her. She just nods and turning around she presses herself up against him, her backside fitting his front perfectly. Harry’s hand snake around her waist, his large palm smoothly moving through the silky fabric of her dress as they start moving together.

She is intoxicating, makes Harry feel like he is some kind of horny teenager, like he hasn’t dealt with women before, but in a way, she makes all of his past flings appear to be only girls. Her confidence in her own body is easily one of her best traits, the way she handles herself, moves her body, the look in her eyes, Harry is getting drunk on just watching her and now he is able to touch her as well.

When he feels himself getting hard in his pants, he knows he should be at least a slightly bit embarrassed by himself, but as Y/N turns around in his arms and he sees the pleased smirk on her lips, the feeling vanishes in a heartbeat. She wraps her arms around his neck as she pulls him close, her lips brushing against his lips.

“Enjoying yourself, birthday boy?” she prompts before pressing a kiss to the soft skin under his ear and he can’t hold a growl back. The friction is almost unbearable, as his hands slide lower on her back, stopping on her ass, he knows he won’t be able to control himself any longer. Luckily, he is not the only one having this inner fight.

Snapping around Y/N grabs his hand and starts pulling him through the crowd towards the hallway of the bathrooms. He follows her eagerly, lucky for them, the club doesn’t have restrooms with several stalls, but single bathrooms with a lot more comfort and privacy. Just what they need right now.

They find the third bathroom empty, pushing their way inside and locking the door before Harry pushes her up against it the moment it’s just the two of them, their mouths hungrily meeting in the middle. He almost grunts against her lips, she tastes even better than he imagined and the way her tongue is the first one to come into action has got his mind blown. His hands roam up her body, running up all her curves until they reach her face and he cups it in his palms, pressing his hips against her. She moans against his mouth when his hard cock pokes against her, both of them desperate to take it further.

Tumbling further into the small bathroom, he helps her up to the counter next to the sing, her legs instantly opening for him, her tiny dress rolling up her thighs, revealing her clothed sex. Harry eagerly kisses his way down her neck and chest, her skin feeling so smooth under his lips. His fingers hook under the thin straps of her dress, tugging them down so he can push the dress past her full breasts and thank God she is not wearing a bra underneath!

“Fuck me, you are so hot!” he breathes out, making her chuckle at his reaction.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” she cockily answers before Harry’s mouth attaches to her nipple, his hand working on her other breasts before he switches.

He quickly gets down on his knees, pushing her underwear to the side before his lips and tongue meet her sensitive clit.

“Oh shit!” she moans, a hand coming to tangle in his hair while she tries to hold herself steady with leaning on the other one behind her. There’s no time for teasing now and they both know that.

She is so lost in the experience, Harry is licking and sucking just the right spots and she tries to close her legs, locking his head between her thighs. His arms come to curl around them, ring clad fingers digging into her flesh and the situation might be a little suffocating for him, but he doesn’t mind it a bit. In fact, if he died this way, he would die a happy man.

She doesn’t let him finish what he started, pulling him up, his lips still glistening from her own juices as she kisses him messily, wiggling herself out of her underwear while he undoes his pants as well.

“Shit, do you have a condom?” he breathes out when his palm wraps around his throbbing cock. She nods, reaching for her clutch she dropped to the counter and digging into it she grabs the package, smacking it against his chest playfully. “Were you planning to do this tonight?” he grins cockily as he rips the package open and starts rolling it down his hard length.

“No, I’m just smart, unlike you,” she retorts, her sass dripping from her tone and it just riles him up even more.

Grabbing her thighs he yanks her to the edge of the counter, a gasp leaving her plump lips as she tries to find her balance quickly.

“Don’t be a brat,” he growl against her lips before kissing her, while he lines himself up with her, the head already pushing in.

“Then fuck me, birthday boy,” she challenges him again and it’s the last straw.

Harry slams into her, both of them moaning at the sensation before he starts thrusting in a fast pace, needing all the friction he can make to get them to finish as soon as possible. Y/N’s head falls back as she holds onto the back of his neck, her other hand on the counter behind her again and Harry glances down, watching her breasts bounce every time he rails into her, slamming his whole length into her every time their hips meet.

She reaches for one of his hands that’s holding her thigh and she boldly brings it to her core, tapping his fingers to her clit, letting him know that she wants some extra effort. Harry doesn’t say it, but he is blown how she didn’t just do it herself, she made him do it. It’s got to be one of the hottest things he has ever seen.

“Fuck, go harder!” she gasps, wrapping her legs around his waist as he picks the pace up, feeling his orgasm building rapidly with each thrust.

They both are a whimpering, moaning mess, the bass of the music is thumping outside and for a moment, Harry feels like he is finally living his life to the fullest.

“I’m gonna cum!” she breathes out, his name falling from her lips moaning after that and when she pulls him down to kiss him, biting into his bottom lip and tugging it, he loses himself.

He feels himself jerking inside her, still sliding in and out of her as he grunts, releasing himself into the condom. He flicks his fingers on her clit at the same time, creating just enough friction to push her over the edge as well. He is coming off his own high when her walls tighten around his cock, dragging his orgasm out even longer as she basically screams, gasping for air, riding her orgasm out to the last bit.

Leaning down he kisses her again though they are still panting, this time making it a lot less rushed than the time their lips met for the first time. Her legs fall from around his waist and he pulls out, both of them cleaning themselves up in the aftermath of their little session.

“I know this was quite rushed and all that, but can I have your number?” he asks, even feeling a little nervous. She puts her underwear back on, smoothing her dress down as she smiles up at him, cupping his face in her palm.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to skip on that,” she tells him simply, shocking him for sure.

“D-Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

“No,” she shakes her head and now Harry is confused.

“You didn’t enjoy it?” he then asks, trying his best to figure out the reason behind the rejection.

“I did. But it was a one time thing. If it’s supposed to turn into more…” she sighs, grabbing her clutch from the counter. “Then I’ll leave it to fate if we ever meet again,” she shrugs before turning around she just unlocks the door and walks out, leaving Harry stand there in complete and utter shock.

This is definitely a first for him, a woman who doesn’t want to see him again. He is not that egoistic to think that everyone is in love with him, but he never had an encounter similar to this. Not after the most amazing sex ever.

Harry fixes himself up, still not believing she walked out that easily, but there’s not much he can do now. Walking back to his table, he acts like nothing happened and when his eyes scan over the crowd again, he can’t see her anymore.

Harry lets out a tired sigh when Zayn, head of the graphic design department walks into his office with a familiar brown paper bag with the logo of Harry’s favorite Chinese restaurant.

“Has it started already?” Zayn asks, though glancing at the big screen on the wall he can see the stream is still waiting to be started.

“No, I’ve been staring at it for like twenty minutes,” Harry grumbles, pushing himself away from his desk to join Zayn on the couch in front of the screen as he unpacks the food. “What do you think it’s going to be?”

Today is the day of Cometa’s big press conference and no one knows what they are about to announce. It’s been keeping Harry on the edge for the past few days, because whatever it is, it has got to be major. Julia Bianchi is not the type of person to hold press conferences, she is a private person who has managed to keep most of her life behind closed doors. That’s something Harry admires in the woman even though they are competitors in the business. He can relate to wanting to keep her life just for herself, he has been doing the same thing. No public appearances, no lengthy interviews, no photoshoots. He likes to let his work talk for himself and it’s proved to be a successful move so far.

“I don’t know, but I hope they don’t suddenly announce a full graphic makeover right before our update,” Zayn chuckles. He has been working on an entirely new appearance for the website these past weeks and it’s supposed to go live sometime later in the month. A change for Cometa would totally throw their attempt off, making them look like they are just copying Julia’s move.

They eat and wait for the stream to start when the screen finally comes alive. There’s an empty stage shown with just two mic stands in the middle and nothing really happens for a few minutes before clapping is heard from behind the camera and Julia finally walks on the stage.

The woman is a real diva. Wearing a matching pant suit with bold floral print all over it, her short hair is neatly straightened into a bob cut, her red lips smiling lightly as she waves around in the room. Julia has been in the fashion industry for almost three decades now and she surely made a name for herself, sitting front row in every fashion show she attends, her words on any new trend being basically the standard.

Stepping to one of the mics, she clears her throat as the clapping dies down and her calm, gentle voice rings through the speakers.

“Welcome, everyone, thank you for coming, as you might already know I’m Julia Bianchi, head of Cometa, the world’s best online women’s fashion house.”

Harry leans back in his seat, eyes fixed on the woman on the screen as he is patiently waiting to hear what she’s got for the people this time.

“I’ve spent twenty-seven wonderful years in the business, building my own one for the past two decades. I fell in love with fashion as a child and moved to Milan to study designing from the bests. Though designing has always and will always hold a special place in my heart, I saw an opportunity in the early years for a brand that would hold together every other brand in the industry, bringing it to everyone’s home thanks to the rapidly developing technology. Cometa has always been my little baby and I’m proud of everything I achieved as head of such a great company.”

Harry realizes what it’s about before Julia could even say the words herself. The phrasing, the nostalgic tone, it’s all adding up to the obvious: Julia is about to announce her retirement.

“I gave the best years of my life for this company and I regret nothing, but recently I’ve realized that it is time for me to slow down for a little bit and enjoy a life that’s not filled with work anymore, and spend more time with my beloved husband, Fabio and my family who supported me on my long way here. Therefore, I am now announcing it with an aching heart and a lot of excitement as well that I am stepping down from my role as CEO of Cometa. I might be leaving now, but my business will not. So it is a pleasure to introduce you the person who will carry my legacy on, my amazing niece, the absolutely most perfect woman to carry on the work I started, Y/N Y/L/N.”

The moment another woman comes into the picture Harry almost chokes on his own saliva, seeing the same curves he had his fingers dug into last Friday. Y/N smiles and waves around as she steps to the other mic next to her aunt, exchanging a short look with her before turning towards the people in the room and the camera that’s streaming the event.

“Dude, you alright?” Zayn asks, patting Harry’s back a few times as he is still struggling to breathe normally.

He refuses to accept that the woman he fucked in a bathroom on his birthday, the one that made him moan like never before, is the same woman who is going to take over his biggest competitor.

“This has got to be a joke,” he breathes out with teary eyes from all the coughing.

“It is an honor to be here,” Y/N starts speaking as the clapping dies down once again and the two men are staring at the screen. “Just like to be the one to step into the perfectly stylish shoes of my aunt. I hope to live up to not just her and everyone else’s expectations, but also to mine as well. I grew up watching my aunt build up this empire with basically dust so to be the person to take her place is a dream come true. I promise to keep the quality the same and work on improving Cometa to its possible best while being in charge.”

As she finishes talking, questions are thrown in her way, but Harry doesn’t pay attention any longer. Standing up he walks to the window, staring out to the city as he chews on his bottom lip anxiously.

“What the fuck is your problem, H? It wasn’t as bad as we expected, right?” Zayn questions.

“It’s fucking worse!” he snaps turning around. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“Would you just tell me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that… I told you about what… happened on my birthday.”

“The bathroom fuck, oh yeah,” Zayn chuckles with a playful shine in his eyes.

“Well, that woman… the woman I fucked was her.” Zayn stays silent for a moment before he turns towards the screen, eyeing the woman on the stage as she is still answering questions, standing confidently in her tight, black dress and red heels.

“You fucked Julia Bianchi’s niece? And she is now taking over Cometa?” he raises his eyebrows at Harry who just nods, pressing his lips together into a thin line. “And she is also the one who didn’t give you her number?”

“Don’t… bring that up. But yes, it’s her.”

Zayn starts laughing, clearly finding Harry’s misery entertaining, but Harry doesn’t feel like taking it that easy. He wonders if she knew who he was, if she did it on purpose or it was fate’s horrible joke on both of them.

“Ah man, that charity event on Saturday will be one hell of a show then!” Zayn points it out and Harry’s face falls. He totally forgot about the charity event he was invited to, one that would have the biggest names in the fashion industry together in a ball room to raise money for a chosen good cause. It happens every year and it’s a major event, the perfect place to network and also to see your biggest enemies. That means that Harry will see Y/N again in a few short days and if he is being honest… he is not ready to face her, not after the information he learned today. Sighing he steps to the minibar he insisted on having in his office and though he never drinks during the day, he now thinks that now might be an exception. He pours himself some whiskey and before he chugs it down at one go, he lets out a long, tired sigh.

“That’s just my luck…”

Leslie helps you with the zipper of your dress, the silky, red fabric hugging your body like a second skin. She smoothes the wrinkles out while you fix the straps, staring back at yourself in the mirror with judgment. You need to look perfect, this is going to be your first time appearing at an event as CEO of Cometa, your big entrance into the industry, you can’t let anything go wrong.

“You look gorgeous, babe,” Leslie smiles at you, bringing your hair behind your shoulders as her eyes meet yours in the mirror. Leslie might be your assistant, but she is a lot more than that. You’ve been friends for almost a decade and when she lost her job a few years ago you didn’t hesitate to offer her a spot next to you. You wouldn’t be here without her, she doesn’t try to use her privilege of being your friend to not do the work, she is always on top of her game and you’ll always be grateful for her to not make it awkward at all.

“I think you need some diamonds though,” she winks at you, stepping to the table where all kinds of jewelry is sprawled out. She reaches for a simple one, not too much, quite elegant and you nod as she holds it up for you. Walking behind you she brings it around your neck, the diamond brilliantly sitting on your chest now, giving that little extra shine to your outfit.

“You’ll make every man fall in love with you,” she smiles at you and breathing out you nod, hoping to believe that everything will go perfectly.

While you make a few last minute calls she gets dressed as well before the car arrives for the two of you. She is wearing a less daring but still beautiful black dress, her curly hair pinned up into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, her heavily freckled face bright from her happy smile as the two of you make your way to the event.

“I know it’s ridiculous, but I tried to memorize the faces and names from the guest list,” she grins at you, earning an eyeroll.

“Les, I told you, this is not The Devil Wears Prada,” you chuckle softly. She is obsessed with that movie and hasn’t shut up about feeling like she is literally living in it since your aunt has shared her plans with you about your future position last year.

“I know, but it might be impressive if you already knew everyone!”

You have to give that to her, it would earn you a few good points if you knew the names already, you’re just still nervous about the whole thing. So many things could go wrong and you want it to be perfect.

 At first you feel intimidated by all the influential people around you. Everyone here is one of the bests in their own field and you feel like an impostor, but then you remind yourself that you earned your spot. Your aunt wouldn’t have given you the company if she didn’t trust you entirely with it. You worth no less than anyone else in this ball room and that reminds you that… you’re that bitch.

Leslie’s knowledge of names actually comes handy. You love seeing people get shocked when they try to introduce themselves to you, but you already greet them saying their names. It earns you some appreciative looks as you make your way around the room. Everything is going smooth, right until you spot one particular man in the crowd.

You’re in a little circle with a few designers when your gaze falls on Harry who is standing across the room, talking to two men. The champagne almost slips from your hand when you realize it’s him.

“Leslie,” you grab her wrist catching her attention. “Les, who’s the man in the blue Gucci suit?” you ask in a whisper and she follows your gaze, finding the man in talk.

“Oh, that’s Harry Styles, head of Twisted.”

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you quickly excuse yourself from the conversation and head out to the balcony to get some fresh air before you faint right on the spot.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Leslie follows you.

“I messed up,” you squeak as you step outside, the chilly evening air hitting your uncovered skin immediately. “I messed up big time!”

“What? Why? What happened?”

Stepping to the edge, you wrap your hands around the railing, staring out into the void for a moment. Leslie Stands beside you, quite puzzled about your sudden panic.

“Remember the guy I told you about from Friday night?” you ask, keeping your voice down even though there’s no one really around. Leslie nods. “Well… he was the guy.”

Leslie glances back inside and then at you before her eyes widen and lips part in shock.

“You fucked Harry Styles at a club’s bathroom?!” she whisper-yells at you and you feel like a teenager who is getting scolded.

“I didn’t know who he was! And I genuinely think he didn’t know me either, how could he?! But now he is here and… Oh God, this is so bad,” you whine, your head dropping backwards as you let out a frustrated growl.

“Okay, don’t panic. Maybe… maybe he doesn’t remember you.”

“You can’t make me believe he doesn’t remember me after fucking me on a counter,” you tell her giving her a look.

“Alright, alright. Then… you just have to suck it up. It’s not like you can unfuck him,” she shrugs and though you know she is right, you just wish you could leave right now.

You never planned on seeing him again. Your bullshit speech about letting fate decide it was just an excuse to not give him your number. You didn’t want to because you thought he is not the kind of man that would be good for you. From his look you thought that he was either a fuckboy, not willing to commit to anything serious, or the kind of man that seems all nice and respectful at first but then turns out to be a total asshole and you’ve had enough of those in your twenty-eight years.

Soon enough you head back as the auction is about to start. Luckily, your seat is far away from Harry and it seems like he hasn’t noticed you yet. Though you wish to keep it that way, you can feel it coming already.

The auction goes by fast, you buy a new painting that will look amazing in your living room and almost twice as much money is raised through the evening that was the goal. You leave Leslie behind at the table as you go to the bar to get yourself another drink, probably your last one of the evening if you don’t want to end up making a fool out of yourself.

Patiently waiting at the bar you’re already thinking about watching Grey’s Anatomy when you get back and out of this tight dress. You look hot, but it’s not the comfiest look, if you’re being honest. There’s only one more person in front of you when you feel a little tap on your shoulder and turning around your stomach drops when you see the man you’ve been trying to avoid all evening.

“Fancy seeing you here, Y/N,” he nods shortly, his expression is quite blank, but he is definitely not shocked to see you. You tighten your jaw before looking away from him, squinting your eyes a bit.

“You don’t seem surprised,” you point out.

“I was kind of expecting to see you here tonight.”

“So you knew who I was all along?” you snap at him, but he shakes his head.

“Not until the stream this week. I was pretty shocked when you walked on stage.”

Nodding shortly you brush your hair over your shoulder and you catch Harry glimpsing down your body, but decide not to comment on it.

“Did you know who I was?” he then asks, digging his hands into his pockets.

“No, I wouldn’t sleep with my biggest competitor willingly.”

“Just from the abrupt ending I had a feeling that you might have known me.”

“Just because a woman doesn’t throws herself into your arms after a fuck, doesn’t mean she had ulterior motives,” you scoff. “Get off your high horse,” you add before turning back towards the bar so you can order your drink. Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t want the conversation to end just yet. His hand is laid flat on the counter in front of you as he stands on your right, a little too close to your liking. You can smell the expensive cologne on him, the same that hit your nose on Friday as well and suddenly your body is betraying you.

However crazy the situation is, you can’t deny that he gave you one of the best times last Friday. Men you dealt with were more concerned about their own pleasure and most of them didn’t even get you to finish. But Harry made it happen so fast and didn’t even bitch about it when you made him rub your clit. He just obeyed like a grownup man who is willingly take care of his partner. That almost made you change your mind about leaving, but once you came down from cloud nine, you returned to your original plan.

But not as he is standing in front of you and you can smell him, your senses trick you into thinking that you’re in that bathroom again, almost aching for him to touch you the way he did then. He leans closer to your ear as he speaks up again.

“Leave the drink, dance with me,” he tells you as the bartender places your drink in front of you. You debate what to do before grabbing the drink and chugging it down in one go. You’ll need the alcohol if you are about to dance with your enemy.

Harry takes you to the dance floor in the middle of the ball room, one of his hands finds the small of your back while the other takes your hand as the two of you start swaying to the gentle music played by the band.

“Your aunt set my company back in women’s fashion every time I tried to take a step forward. Are you going to do the same?”

“She didn’t do anything to set you back but to build her own company. Not everything is about you.”

“You sound a little naïve, Love. It’s pretty clear you are new in the business.” This statement riles you up big time. How dare he degrade you like that? He knows nothing about you, yet he assumes things that are not at all real.

Smirking to yourself you lean back enough so your gazes can meet. Your hand slides up from his shoulders to the base of his neck so your fingers can gently brush against his skin and you notice the shudder than runs down his spine. He is not the only one having flashbacks from your last encounter.

“Wanna know what I know about business?” you purr, his eyes glued to your red lips as you speak. “I know that… Twisted was one of the last sites to participate in personalized ads on online platforms, failing to reach it’s targeted audience as fast as literally everyone else. I know that your company and my company use the same security system in our server rooms yet I can assure you that it cost me twenty percent less because we waited a month before installing it and got a huge last minute discount because the security company was trying to boost their numbers for their end of year closing. And I also happen to know that you are working on a new design for your website that could easily be outshone if I just did the same before you could do it.”

Harry’s lips part, probably mostly at the last information. He has no idea how you know these stuff, but you have a wide circle of connections in the city, you have an insider at every big companies in the industry without them even knowing. You’ve given countless tips to your aunt through the years, that’s how she managed to stay on top of her games.

Leaning closer your lips almost brush against him and you see how he weakens, he is expecting you to kiss him and he wants it. But you just smile at him, your eyes snapping down to his lips before up to his eyes.

“I will not do the same as my aunt, Harry,” you softly speak, your fingers grazing the back of his neck. “I will do way worse things.”

And with that, you slip out of his arms and walk back to your table, leaving him standing there alone at a complete loss of words.

“What the fuck had gotten into you?” Niall grimaces upon hearing everything he told you on the evening of the charity event. And quite frankly, Harry has no answer to that. He has absolutely no idea what had gotten into him to act like such a dick when you didn’t do anything against him.

The situation just messed with his head, seeing you in that breathtaking dress, mingling with everyone, smiling and laughing, oh how he wished you were laughing on his jokes! But then you seemed so tensed when he came up to you and something just switched in him. He wanted to take dominance, to somehow get out of it on top, but he miserably failed. When you brought up their plans to change the design he completely froze.

“No idea, okay? I just…lost it,” he growls, sinking into the couch. When Niall found out that Harry met the woman from the club again he insisted on coming over with some wine to talk it out, but he was not expecting this kind of story at all.

“Dude, you just put yourself on her radar big time, maybe she wouldn’t have even bothered to compete with you like her aunt did, but you surely changed her mind now.”

“I know, Niall!” Harry growls, not in the mood to be scolded like a little child. “Do you think she’ll change their design before we do?” he peeks at his friend, but Niall just shrugs.

“No idea, but I would try to speed it up before she actually does it.”

 Harry made you into a ticking bomb and you successfully got under his skin about the whole design project so first thing the next morning he went to Zayn to discuss a possible earlier debut for the new designs. Though it would be a close stretch, they agreed that it would go live by the end of the week and that got Harry somehow a little relieved, but in the middle of that he failed to put the right amount of effort into finding designers for their female lines.

When he meets up with Lambert a few days later he is not there to deliver great news. Apparently, three out of the four designers they were negotiating with recently pulled out of their deal and signed a contract with Cometa.

“We have one last designer on the list, but then… we are out of the bigger names,” Lambert sighs as Harry chews on his bottom lip anxiously. He feels like he has fallen into a hole a while ago and instead of climbing out he is just digging it deeper underneath him.

“Okay, do we have an appointment with them?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, I’m meeting her this afternoon.”

“I’m going with you,” he nods before standing from his chair and opening the door he calls out for his assistant. “Rebecca, please clear my schedule for this afternoon, I’ll be out of the office.”

Rebecca nods behind her desk, already starting to make calls about Harry’s meetings and appointments.

It’s obvious he is anxious about the meeting, because if it falls through they are forced to look for less known designers and that won’t bring the change for the company they’ve been seeking for a long time. Arriving to the showroom where the designer is working, Harry is setting his thoughts straight, determined to convince her to sign a contract with them. The two men are let into the building by the nice assistant working at the front desk and she shows the way to the showroom where Kennedy, the designer is waiting for them.

Harry is confident, he trusts his skills to make this happen, but when they walk inside he instantly freezes upon seeing an all too familiar figure standing with Kennedy

A maroon colored pantsuit is hugging your curves, a Hermés handbag hanging from your arm, your hair falling in loose curls. As if you could sense his presence, you peek over your shoulder, a devilish smirk on your lips when you see the shocked expression on Harry’s face.

“What a great surprise!” you beam, selling how happy you are to see him and in a way, you are. You wanted to see his face drop when he realizes you snatched yet another designer from him.

“Oh, Mr. Styles!” Kennedy smiles nicely at him and he finally snaps out of his trance, shaking hands with her and then turning to you, doing the same but in a lot colder manner.

“Y/N, nice to see you again,” he fakes a smile as your hand falls from his palm.

“I could say the same. But I’m heading out now. Great talk, Kennedy. I’ll be waiting for your call,” you wink at the young designer who seems to be thrilled by your words as she walks you to the exit.

“Fucking hell,” Harry mumbles under his breath and Lambert shoots him a look before Kennedy returns.

The three of them take a seat on the couches in the corner of the room and Harry is quick to get down to business, trying his best to make his offer appear more appealing than anything you told her right before their arrival. Kennedy listens intently, even takes notes and then she shows him some examples of what she was thinking about for her next line and Harry is beyond thrilled.

Unfortunately, soon comes the painful part.

“Harry, I’m gonna be honest with you,” Kennedy starts and Harry already knows what she is about to say. “Your offer is very tempting and it would be an honor to design a line for Twisted, but in my situation it would be more beneficial if I collaborated with Cometa. It is nothing against your company, it’s more about my personal path and growth.”

Harry can feel his stomach dropping and he clenches his jaw as he listens to Kennedy’s worth. He understands, of course he understands, she has the right to selfishly look at her own benefits upon signing with a new company, but he wished she would take the risk and chose his company instead of yours.

“I’m keeping the offer open for you still,” he forces a smile on his face. “If you change your mind, Twisted would be more than happy to work with you.”

Kennedy walks the two men out and the fake smile quickly vanishes from Harry’s face upon stepping out of the building.

“What are we going to do now?” Lambert asks, clearly worried about how they’re gonna move forward with their last chance falling.

“If Y/N wants a war, that’s what she’ll get,” Harry growls, revenge burning in the greens of his eyes.

It’s a quiet Friday afternoon, only hours left from the day before you are headed home finally. You’re sitting in your office with Leslie, going over next week’s schedule to make sure everything is set and clear.

It’s been almost an entire month since you stepped into your aunt’s shoes as head of the company and though the start was a little rough, especially with finding out who Harry was, but you feel like you have everything under your control by now. After all, you didn’t learn business for years from the bests for nothing, right?

Harry’s comment on you knowing nothing about the industry made you bitter, because he knows nothing about you and the struggle you went through your life to get to this point. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbow, being Julia’s niece might have been a hugely influencing aspect of you taking over, but you worked your ass off to be the best leader you can and not just ruin everything she built up through her whole life.

Though you didn’t always want to be the one following her, but you like to think that things worked out to your favor and you are where you should be.

“Alright, everything is looking fine,” Leslie smiles at you over her laptop. “I’ll send you the notes from today’s meeting.”

“Thank you. Can you call in with the delivery company about next month’s transactions?” you ask her and she nods, already adding it to her list of tasks for the rest of the day. “Alright. I’ll do the rest of the signings and then we can head out,” you smile at her.

Leslie is grabbing her things from the table when there’s a soft knock on the door. You give your permission and one of the tech support guys walk in with a worried look on his face.

“Miss Y/L/N? I’m afraid we have a problem,” he clears his throat and you can already feel your anxiety crawl up on your spine.

“What is it?” you ask firmly. The guy steps farther inside, fumbling with his fingers as he presents the issue.

“There’s been an attempt to break our software’s security system where we keep our data about the sellings. A-And I’m afraid it wasn’t just an attempt, they succeeded.”

You take a deep breath, glancing over at Leslie for a moment before you follow the man to the tech department to investigate the issue further. You don’t know shit about these stuff, but from what he said you know the trouble is huge and if you don’t solve it as soon as possible, valuable data could leak out to the public. They try to explain you what they are working on as of right now and that there’s not much you can actually help with.

“Make sure to put your extra hours on your attendance sheets and let me know when you are able to restore the system,” you tell them and you earn quite a few thank yous on your way out for actually paying the overtime. Then you turn to the guy that first came to your office. “Do you have any information about who it could have been?”

“We weren’t able to track them back, but whoever it was, they’re surely professionals and they might know the system from the inside.”

“What do you mean from the inside? Someone did it from the company?” you ask, eyebrows knitting together as you fold your arms on your chest.

“No,” he shakes his head. “We would have been able to track that back. I mean that they know the system, maybe they worked somewhere where the same one was used and they could see into it.”

It takes you a few moments before you realize what this really is and it has your blood boiling right away. Nodding shortly you exhale sharply through your nose.

“Thank you, please call me when it’s up and running again, I’ll take care of the rest,” you tell him before turning around you walk away.

When Leslie sees you approaching your office with a head practically turning red she is quick to jump to her feet, following you into the office.

“What’s happening?”

“Harry Styles, that’s what happening,” you snap as you grab your phone, purse and coat before heading out, not wasting another minute.

“What? Where are you going now?”

“To the devil himself,” you growl back and enter the elevator, leaving her alone with her questions.

Sitting in your car on your way to the headquarters of Twisted, you imagine every scenario you want to make happen when you arrive, most of them including hitting the man across his ridiculously handsome yet annoying face. He crossed a line with breaking into your system and stealing valuable data. Though you’re sure he wouldn’t dare to sell or publish it, because he would be in a big legal trouble if he did, he still had a glimpse into your numbers and that’s already an advantage. He is playing dirty and you’re not having any of it.

Arriving you burst through the doors and demand to see him. Though the woman behind the front desk tells you that you can’t see him without an appointment, you still get her to make a call up and naturally, Harry allows you to see him. The fucker might already have been waiting for you to show up. As you stand in the all glass elevator, on your way up to meet him you take a few deep breaths to keep your cool and not snap like a maniac, however it all vanishes when you see him waiting for you with that shit-eating grin on his face when you step out of the elevator.

“You’re lucky I didn’t go straight to the police with your little stunt, you fucker!” you snap, not able to hold back your swearing any longer.

“Do you have any evidence?” he tilts his head to the side and you don’t miss how his gaze runs down your body as you march towards him. You’d find it flattering in another situation, but right now you just want to punch him in the face.

“I’ll show some evidence down your throat, Styles, if you don’t stop messing with my security system,” you growl back, standing so close to him now that you see every tiny freckle and blemish on his face and the way how he clenches his jaw, holding his gaze on yours.

Without a word or invitation, you walk into the room that you suppose is his office and he follows with a soft chuckle.

“Did you hire a hacker just to mess with me?” you throw the question at him as he closes the door so his employees don’t hear everything.

“What if I did?” he shrugs, stepping to the tray on his desk that already has a glass of whiskey on it. He grabs the glass and simply lifts it to his lips, taking a tiny sip from it. “Oh, excuse my manners. Would you like a drink?”

“I’m driving,” you answer shortly. “You crossed a line, Harry,” you warn him.

“What line?” he chuckles, rather entertained by your rage. “After what you pulled with Kennedy, I think I went easy on you.”

“I didn’t pull anything, I just gave her a better offer! It’s not my fault she has better chances with my company!” you snap back, feeling your heartbeat fastening from the anger that’s boiling in your veins.

“You knew I wanted her to design for me, why couldn’t you just let one person out of your endless list? You already have everyone else, she was my last fucking chance!” Harry barks back, clearly having some built up tension in him as well.

“If you didn’t act like an arrogant asshole at the charity gala, I would have happily let you work with her, but then you felt the need to fucking degrade me! That’s why I didn’t let you get away with it!”

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but he quickly closes his mouth, probably knowing well you’re right. He did act shitty towards you that evening and he has no excuse for his behavior. You walk closer until there are just a few feet between the two of you, your eyes glued to his burning green gaze that’s staring back at you, but before you could speak up, he cuts you off.

“Well, you know. All is fair in… war and business,” he shrugs and you honestly barely can stop yourself from laughing at how stupid that just sounded. You can’t miss the twitch in the corner of his mouth as well and you can’t believe how easily he made you break out of your rage.

“Don’t try to make money out of writing slogans,” you huff shaking your head and now he is grinning widely. “Do you have the data?”

“I don’t,” he answers and you narrow your eyes at him.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he chuckles. “I had it, but I already deleted it. I know it wasn’t ethical so as soon as it was handed to me I deleted it. I didn’t even look into it. I just wanted to scare you.”

“And how do I know your hacker doesn’t have it either?”

“Because he signed a contract that would cost him millions to break and I don’t think a junior in college who is still living in a dorm can afford that,” he points out and now you are somewhat convinced. You stare back at him for a few more seconds before nodding.

“Stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours, how does that sound?” you offer generously.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he questions with a smug smirk that makes your arch an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing tomorrow evening?” he then asks and you can’t mask your surprise in front of him.

“That does not concern you, Styles,” you scoff, though it boosts your ego that even through all the hate you’ve been targeting at each other, he still wants you the same way he did at the club that evening. You can’t deny, this rivalry has sparked a few thoughts in you as well, but you are not going to fall into the same mistake you made that evening. You pay him another smirk before turning around and heading towards the door. “Stay out of my way, Styles!” you call back without looking at him, but you just know he is grinning at you, a growing sexual tension thickening the atmosphere in the room.

“Or what?” he smugly questions and you stop at the door, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

“Or… You said it yourself. All is fair in war and business,” you smirk before walking out of the office.

Following your visit to Harry’s office things take a… playful turn in your rivalry. The attempts and competing don’t stop, both of you are on each other’s radar, ruining and messing with each other’s projects and works whenever and wherever it’s possible, but it’s not as hateful as it was at the beginning. If something, it even helps you to always be on your toes and watch out for possible threats, not just from Harry but from everyone else.

Neither of you succeeds in evolving in each other’s field, Cometa keeps thriving in women’s fashion with a quite small variety offered for the gentlemen while Twisted fails to grow out of men’s fashion and venture to the ladies, but somehow it’s not as frustrating as it used to be before.

Harry keeps up his flirty acts and tries to ask you out every time your paths cross each other, but you relentlessly turn him down every time, only fueling him to keep chasing after you more the next time. It’s a thrilling and flattering little game, knowing that even with all the rivalry between the two of you, being the biggest competitors in the business… he still wants you.

New York fashion week rolls around and it’s by far one of your favorite times in the year. You managed to snatch an exclusive deal with YSL to release a special line just for the fashion week and it sold out in the first two hours, now waiting to be restocked in a few days. Cometa is thriving and your aunt has expressed her pride towards the work you’ve been doing at the company, so things are heading the right direction.

You knew Harry would be attending the same shows as you, but it’s fate or just luck that you are seated next to each other at one of the shows, giving you the chance to talk without any of you attempting to corrupt the other this time.

Harry is already sitting in his seat when you arrive wearing a custom made Gucci dress, something that immediately catches his eyes since he is a huge fan of the brand himself.

“Your fashion sense never disappoints, Y/N,” he beams up at you as you take the seat next to him.

“Hope that’s not surprising, Styles,” You smirk at him, taking a glance at his own Gucci outfit, the checkered pants fitting him perfectly while the pussy bow adds some spice to the whole outfit, you have to admit. He looks good, he always does.

“Any plans after the show?” he asks right before the lights go out and the show starts. You leave him without an answer, just let out a soft chuckle as you glue your eyes to the first model who walks the runway.

Once the show is over you head out with Harry by your side, having an actually entertaining discussion about the designs you just saw. He might not be an expert in fashion, but he has developed a good sense through his years.

As you make your way out of the venue you are stopped by an interviewer and Harry remains on your side as the woman asks you a few questions about the show.

“I’ve always wondered, does it bother you that you couldn’t be on the runway yourself? You’ve been sitting front row the past years, but you once had aspirations of being a model yourself, is that right?”

The question makes you tense up and you can feel Harry’s puzzled look on you from the side.

“It’s not like it was my fault for not making it up there,” you sass back, forcing a smile to your face.

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” the woman chuckles and it has your blood boiling, because you know the real meaning behind her words.

It’s your fault you didn’t become a model because you were never thin enough to be one. It was your fault and not the industry’s to hold impossible standards to women who wanted to succeed as a model.

The smile falters from your face and you take a long, judgmental look at the woman in front of you. Because if she is brave enough to talk like that to you, you’re not gonna shy away from bringing her spirits down either.

“Judging from your appearance and attitude you wouldn’t make it either,” you spitefully reply and her smile quickly fades, clearly shocked at your answer. You open your mouth again, ready to continue, but then you feel a hand on the small of your back and you realize Harry is still standing next to you.

“Come on, we have somewhere to be, right?” he smiles kindly as you just simply nod and walk away from the woman before she could offend you again.

Harry senses your tension as the two of you leave the venue but doesn’t try to talk to you and that’s a wise choice from him. As you step out of the building you realize that if you went home now you’d probably get drunk on your own and let that comment get to you more than you should. So instead of doing that you turn to Harry.

“So, what are our plans?” you ask and you don’t miss the small smile on his lips as he stares back at you.

Not in the mood to stay around people at a bar you accept Harry’s invitation to his place, since it’s also close. The contrast between his extravagant penthouse and your cozy but still quite modern townhouse in Park Slope is major, but you didn’t expect anything less from the man.

You’ve managed to calm down since you left the venue, but you’re still quite bitter about the comment the woman made. Harry hasn’t tried to ask you about it, but you can tell he is dying to know more about the situation that’s behind the madness.

He fixes you a drink and you find yourself sinking into his comfortable and probably ridiculously expensive couch in his living room area.

“I used to want to be a model,” you start, breaking the silence that settled between the two of you. “When I was a teen. I was a lot thinner, I was a competitive dancer until I was seventeen, but I had a knee injury, so I had to quit.”

Harry sits on the other end of the couch, listening to you with patience as he sips on his own drink.

“I was never as thin as the other models at the agency I was trying to get into, but I definitely wasn’t overweight. Yet, they labelled me as a plus size model. I was a healthy, strong young girl with a perfectly good body, yet they told me that I was too fat to be a model.”

Glancing at Harry, you can tell that he is surprised at the information he just learned. He is probably picturing you thinner now, going to model castings and if you’re being honest you enjoyed that part. The trouble came when you got rejection after rejection, telling you to lose weight and come back after that.

“I quit my whole plan to be a model and studied fashion and business instead, consciously working my way towards this point. But I never got over how the industry made me feel less of a person because I wasn’t a size zero.”

For a few long moments Harry just stares at you and it’s actually nice that he doesn’t try to make you feel better right away, praising you how you are perfect just the way you are. Because you’re not, but that’s fine because no one is.

“I’ve honestly never seen a more cruel industry than fashion before,” he then speaks up. “I didn’t grow up in it and still don’t really have that much and deep connection with it, but I know how fucked up it is. And it’s nice to see that you know your worth even after everything that happened.”

Your gaze meets his and you’re looking for any sign that gives away that he is just messing with you, but it’s all genuine. You just shoot him a small smile before lifting your drink to your lips. It’s the most intimate moment you’ve shared with him, including the ones you had in that bathroom.

“Okay, now you tell me something about your life,” you prompt, wanting to divert the conversation on him a little bit.

“What do you want to know?” he asks with a soft chuckle.

“Why did you name your brand Twisted?” you ask. The question has been on your mind for a while.

“It’s coming from my mum’s name. Anne Twist.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, you weren’t expecting such a deep and personal reason behind the name, connected to a family member.

“Why her?”

“Why not?” he smirks shrugging his shoulders. “She raised me and my sister up, I wouldn’t be here without her. It was obvious I would make her be part of it in some kind of way.”

“That’s actually very nice. Who knew that you could be something other than an egoistic asshole!” you joke, making him laugh as well.

“Okay, what’s the meaning behind your brand?” he then turns it back around.

“Well, my aunt met her husband when they were very young, maybe eighteen. She fell in love with Fabio on her trip to Italy and being the impulsive and adventurous woman that she is, she stayed for a month there just because of Fabio. He is a very passionate man and he was always ready to bring the stars down for Julia. He always used to tell her that he would even catch a comet for her, if that’s what she wanted. And that was my aunt’s favorite saying from him. Cometa is comet in Italian. It’s her tribute to the love of her life.”

“That’s easily the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Harry hums and you just smile nodding at him. It really is like a fairytale and it’s also one of the reasons why you were so happy to take her place at Cometa. Julia is still just as in love with Fabio as she was at eighteen and she deserves to spend more time with her beloved husband. She earned the time off after all the sacrifices she made for the company and all through them Fabio stayed by her side. It’s their well-earned happy ending now.

“You know a lot about romantic things?” you cock an eyebrow at him, finishing up your drink.

“Actually, I’m a quite romantic guy.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah, you just never gave me the chance to show it to you.”

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?” you chuckle, handing him your glass when he stands from the couch to get you a refill.

“Exactly!” he chuckles holding up your empty glass on his way. “I hope you know you absolutely broke my heart when you didn’t give me your number that night.”

“Oh, you poor little thing,” you chuckle, resting your head in your palm, your elbow on the back of the couch. “I’m not sorry though. You didn’t give out the right vibes.”

“The right vibes?” he huffs as he returns with your drink and now sits a little closer to you. “What vibe did I give you?” “The vibe that told me I shouldn’t mess with you,” you simply answer as you take a sip from your refilled drink.

“You were so keen on hating me even before you knew who I was, I can’t believe you,” he chuckles shaking his head.

“I’m just cautious!” you protest. “I’ve dealt with some problematic men in the past, I can’t let myself walk right into another one that easily.”

“What did they do?”

“Some men just can’t treat women right. Especially confident ones with a body like mine,” you simply shrug.

Men like to think that bigger girls are so terribly insecure about their body that they need the validation of a male to feel good about themselves. But when you’re confident and feel good in your own skin without needing them to praise you, they think that you’re egoistic, so full of yourself and they are quick to try to drag you down. That’s something you can’t tolerate. You don’t need a man to feel good about yourself, you don’t need anyone for that. You know your worth and that’s all that matters.

Harry’s eyes travel down your body, taking his time on your curves and you smile shaking your head as you reach out and cupping his chin you pull his head up so he is looking into your eyes.

“I honestly can’t see what problem anyone could have with your body. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since our bathroom fiasco,” he bluntly comments making you chuckle, even flattered by his words.

“You are such a flirt,” you grin at him and he doesn’t try to protest.

You stay for a couple more drinks and you drop the heavier topics, venturing over to music, fashion and any funny stories that come to your mind. Harry is actually amazing company when you’re not trying to jump at each other’s throat and for a few short hours you forget that he is supposed to be your competitor.

You’re a little tipsy, but you are definitely not drunk, so when Harry offers you to stay the night you turn it down, calling yourself a car since you are not in the right state to drive.

“I’ll come and pick my car up in the morning,” you breathe out as you put your heels back on that came off your feet sometime during the evening, making yourself home in his place.

“I’ll text you the security number to the garage,” he nods, walking you to the elevator.

“Thank you. And… I guess thank you for the evening,” you smile at him, turning to face him. He is standing close, but still takes a step closer, one of his hands finding your waist as he pulls you against his chest. Your palms lie flat on his chest as you try to get yourself to the right mindset to leave now before you regret doing something. Leaning down his nose nudges against your cheek, before he presses a soft kiss under below your ear, a sigh escaping your lips.

“I should go, the car is here,” you breathe out, but don’t move.

“Mm, okay,” he hums, his lips peppering kisses on your jaw and your cheek, as if you didn’t say a word. You want to continue it, not just because of the alcohol but because the sexual tension between the two of you has been growing since that charity gala, but the remainder of your rationality stops you before your lips could meet.

“Bye Harry,” you smile at him softly as you push him away and you walk into the elevator, leaving him hanging. Again.

“Bye Y/N. I’m still going to try to ruin your company!” he calls after you as you turn around to face him, the sliding doors slowly closing between the two of you.

“Same back at you, Styles,” you smirk before the door closes and you are taken down.

Well, that was a lie. Following your evening at his place neither of you really tries to work against the other, leaving each other be without any fuss. It might also have something to do with how you kept in touch after that day. You’ve been texting occasionally, attending some events together, even had a business dinner together with a few other peers from the industry. Things have been quiet and you’ve been feeling content with the current state you’ve managed to reach. Or so you thought.

It was a silent agreement between the two of you. You both put your projects aside that targeted the other’s profile. Harry stopped looking for designers for his women lines and you put your men department to the side as well. There were a lot to work on beside these fields so you felt like you were in peace. Right until Leslie bursts into your office on a casual Tuesday.

“Have you seen this?” she asks, placing a tablet in front of you with an Instagram account open on it.

You want to ask what you’re supposed to look at, but then you realize what it really is. A shiny new account for a new brand that promises to take online shopping to the next level; female and male as well.

“You think it could be…?” you ask, not quite convinced that Harry is behind this.

“Well, the wording is similar to theirs and creating a new brand might be a solution to their gap in women’s fashion,” she points it out, though you don’t want to believe he could have been working on this all along, basically in front of your face.

But it’s a possibility and you have to consider this option before jumping into defending him without any proof.

“Men can’t be trusted,” you grumble under your breath before jumping into work.

What you didn’t know is that an eerily similar situation goes down in Harry’s office as well when Zayn bursts in, showing him the ad he found for the new brand called Farfalla.

Harry immediately digs up everything about the company, though there’s not much other than their new Instagram account and heavy marketing that started just yesterday.

“What is Farfalla even?” he grimaces leaning back in his chair.

“It means butterfly in Italian,” Zayn explains and Harry’s eyes flicker up to him.

“Italian? You think it’s her?”

“It’s possible,” Zayn nods. “Starting a new brand to finally reach men’s fashion is a good idea.”

“She wouldn’t have done this,” Harry shakes his head in disbelief. Could you be working on this all along? Was this your plan from the start? To make him fall for you and forget about business while you built up your new empire to ruin him?

“What if she did?” Zayn prompts and in a way his suspicion is valid, but Harry is having a hard time believing it. You would never play him this dirty, not after how the two of you have grown closer in the past weeks, almost became friends.

“What are you going to do?” Zayn asks him as he pushes himself away from the desk and quite obviously starts getting ready to leave.

“She is not getting away from this,” Harry mumbles under his breath as he grabs his coat and phone before storming out of the office.

It’s past six when Harry gets to Cometa’s building and he is informed that you’ve already went home. He could have just come back in the morning, but he knew he would just stew in his own anger if he didn’t talk to you as soon as possible. So using his charm he gets the woman sitting behind the front desk to share your address with him, saying that he needs to talk to you urgently. That’s how he finds himself heading to Park Slope, slightly surprised you are not living somewhere in the heart of Manhattan.

As the scenery around his changes, skyscrapers turning into brick buildings and townhouses, Harry tries to figure out what he even wants to say to you. Should he just get straight down to business and accuse you? Snap at you? Or should he give you the chance to explain yourself? He can’t really make up his mind, mostly because he still feels like you betrayed him even though he can’t be sure Farfalla is yours.

Parking down at the address he got from the woman, he stares up at the deep red brick townhouse, a simple, black door at the top of the stairs that’s lined with a few potted plants and flowers. This is not what he would have imagined your home like, but now that he is standing on your doormat, he realizes it kind of suits you.

Ringing the bell he hopes that you’re home and not out and about somewhere in the city, but when he hears the familiar sound of heels clicking on the floor he knows you are on the other side. When the front door flings open and you come into his sight, for a split second he forgets why he is here and his anger vanishes. As always, you look amazing, a tight, black dress hugging your curves, the middle part appearing like it’s a corset, emphasizing the dip of your waist. Your hair is let down in loose curls and your feet are bare, but he knows you probably wore heels all day. You must have gotten home not long ago and as your eyes fall on the man at the door, your expression hardens on him.

“You really had the balls to come her, huh?” you cock your head to the side, keeping your eyes on his green ones for a moment before you let him inside.

“Did you think you could get away with it?” he huffs walking into the hallway and stopping as you close the door and turn to him.

“Me? I could say the same! You thought I would just ignore it or what? I proved you a few times that I’m not stupid, Harry,” you retort, folding your arms on your chest as you walk past him, into the kitchen and he follows.

“You surely are not stupid, playing me so dirty behind my back!” Harry spats standing his ground. “Playing all friendly and nice and then make a fool out of me!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you question narrowing your eyes at him as you lean against the kitchen island’s counter. “If anyone played dirty it’s you! And you have the balls to come here and talk like this to me in my own fucking home?!” you snap, walking closer to him, keeping your deathly glare on him.

“What the fuck did I do?!” he scoffs throwing his hands into the air.

“You created a whole new brand just to fuck with me! Or did you think I wouldn’t find out about it?!”

“Me? You made a new brand! And you didn’t do a great job hiding the fact that it was your work, even the name is Italian, like your current one!”

You stare back at him, tilting your head to the side as you process what he is talking about. All along, the two of you were accusing each other of something neither of you did.

“Harry,” you breathe out, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Farfalla is not my brand.”

“And I’m supposed to believe it?!”

“Well you better be because it’s the fucking truth!”

“Prove it!” he hisses at you, taking a step closer, his face only inches away from yours now.

“Until about twenty seconds ago I thought that it was your new brand, Harry. I thought that you were the one who backstabbed me!” you snap back, standing up for yourself in this giant misunderstanding you fell into, accusing each other without any proof.

Harry stares back at you, his gaze burning into yours as he stands his ground and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he processes your words.

“So… it’s not yours? You didn’t do it to fuck me up?”

“Of course not!” you breathe out, suddenly quite tired of all the anger that’s been eating you away through the afternoon. “I thought that we had a kind of silent agreement not to mess with each other so I wasn’t planning anything anytime soon. That’s why I got so mad when I thought you did it!”

“I thought the same!” he growls shaking his head. “I thought you did it all to just make me look stupid, that the friendly act was just so I wouldn’t notice a thing and I fell right into your trap.”

“There was no trap,” you simply tell him and you hope he senses the hidden meaning behind your words.

Luckily he does. But for your biggest surprise there’s no snarky comment or smug smirking, he just steps closer and before you could even protest, his hands find your waist and he pulls you against his hard chest, lips hungry attacking yours. He makes you back until you bump against the kitchen island, his hips pressing against yours as he pushes you against the hard surface, his hands wandering on your sides and back, up and down, exploring every curve of your body while his kisses never slow down, your tongues meeting in the middle.

Bringing up a leg you curl it around his hips, your heel digging into his round ass as he leans forward, making you arch your back, leaning onto the counter as his lips move from your lips to your jawline and neck, his fingers digging into your waist and the thigh that’s lifted by his side. He nibbles on the soft skin of your neck, definitely leaving a mark, but you just comb your fingers through his hair, letting yourself get lost in the sensation.

“As much as I would love to fuck you on a counter again, can we take this to a bedroom?” he mumbles as he kisses his way back up to your lips, smirking against them as he captures them again.

You don’t answer, just grab his hand and pull him upstairs with you, right into your bedroom. He is all over you, lips, hands, tongue, pressed up against you as the two of you stumble your way to your king sized bed. Harry’s fingers fidget with the corset on your dress, but he soon realizes it’s a little trickier than he expected, so leaning back he furrows his eyebrows as he glances down at the dress, still trying to figure out how to get you out of it.

“Harry,” you smile at him softly. “It’s faux. There’s a zipper at the back,” you inform him and he sighs in defeat as he kisses you again, his fingers quickly finding the zipper. The dress pools at your feet and you rid him from his jacket and shirt, revealing his inked chest, a sight you’ve been thinking about way too much lately.

By the time the two of you fall to your bed, neither of you are dressed in more than just your underwear. Because both of you like to be in charge, you roll around for a while, trying to get on top of each other but eventually Harry stays up when he starts going down on you, kissing his way through your heated skin. You don’t shy away when his hands snake under your back and easily unclasps your bra, being bare in front of him is not something that makes you feel uncomfortable or insecure. The way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel brings you so much confidence, you have absolutely no problem being nude.

When your bra flies to the floor, Harry leans back a little to admire you lying there, before his lips find their way over the curve of your breasts, down your stomach. Hooking his fingers into the elastic of your panties he tugs them down easily as you lift your hips, your thighs parting as you bare yourself in front of him.

“Don’t be shy about screaming my name,” he smugly tells you before his lips and tongue meet your clit. Your fingers lace through his hair immediately as you gasp out at the sensation, his tongue drawing the whole fucking alphabet to your bundle of nerves. His arms curl around your thighs, ring clad fingers digging into your flesh as he sucks on the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Harry! Yes!” you moan out, tugging on his locks when he teases his tongue around your hole, your walls tightening around nothing as you are growing desperate to feel something inside of you.

You pull on his hair, signaling him that you want to get it on with, Hands reaching down to get rid of his boxer briefs before you blindly pull out the drawer of your nightstand, grabbing a condom. His lips eagerly meet yours as he wraps his erected cock and though you would love to have a taste of him like he did with you, you just want to feel him inside you.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he growls against your lips, teasing you with running just the head up and down your slit.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’m gonna rip your guts out,” you warn him, earning a soft chuckle as he kisses you again, tongue pushing into your mouth as he finally pushes inside you, his long, thick cock filling you up perfectly and it somehow feels even better than the first time.

“Go hard,” you gasp, a hand coming to grab his ass as you push him even further into you. He doesn’t need more, he starts slamming into you, his hips meeting yours roughly with each thrust, his whole length disappearing inside you every time.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, licking and sucking on the soft skin. You almost think about telling him not to mark you, but it just turns you on even more so you let him do whatever he wants.

“I want to see you on top,” he pants, lifting his head so his gaze could meet yours. You nod, before the two of you turn around and you straddle his hips, guiding him back inside you as you sink down his length. Your hands are sprawled out on his hard chest as you find your balance in the position, Harry’s eyes roaming your body up and down, not able to get enough of how blissful you look, sitting with his cock buried inside of you, enjoying yourself to the fullest. His hands run up your thighs and upper body until they find your breasts, kneading them as you start moving your hips up and down, back and forth. When you moan his name or gasp because his cock reaches that one particular spot inside you, those are the moments he wishes he could capture on camera and watch whenever he wants.

“I want it from back,” you pant as you lean down and kiss him roughly. That’s all he needs, he helps you get off of him before you get on all four, pushing your butt up in the air while Harry kneels behind you, the sight in front of him hardening his cock even more, if that’s possible. His hands grab onto your waist as he pushes inside you, making you both let out a satisfied moan before he starts moving again.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, Y/N. I love your ass,” he growls, giving it a smack that surprises you, but you absolutely love it.

“Harry, go faster!” you whimper, feeling your orgasm nearing as you grip the comforter on the bed, desperate to reach your climax. You’re just about to reach down between your legs to play with your clit when Harry not only picks his pace up but also reaches around you, two of his fingers starting the circling motions on the bundle of nerves, making your legs shake from the pleasure.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me, cum all over my cock,” he growls, railing you from behind without missing a beat.

“Harry!” you scream when he thrusts into you so harshly, your whole body rocking in the motion.

“Come on, angel. Cum for me,” he murmurs and leaning down he wraps his arms around you, bringing you up straight, your back pressing against his sweaty chest, his hands coming to cup your breasts as he keeps thrusting up into you, pushing you over the edge.

You moan and gasp and scream his name as your walls tighten around his length, riding out your bliss and it helps him reach his own high, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck and shoulder, grunting and cursing under his breath as he fills the condom.

As his thrusts come to a halt, he sinks into a sitting position, bringing you with him, you lean against him feeling like jelly as you’re still just trying to catch your breath. Harry peppers your shoulder with small kisses before you muster the energy to break the position and lie down on the bed.

“Towel is in the bathroom,” you tell him knowing that’s what he’ll look for as he stands from the bed and you point at the door that leads to the joined bathroom. Harry nods and pads his way in there, cleaning himself up before he returns with a small damp towel, doing the same for you. He drops it to the floor next to the bed before joining you, cradling you into his arms as you take a breather together.

One hand is on your shoulder, fingers dancing on the naked skin, the other one is holding your thigh that’s across his lap while your head is resting on his chest.

“You really thought I would backstab you like that?” he hums after a while, breaking the comfortable silence.

“You did the same,” you answer, lifting your head, resting your chin on his chest.

“Touché,” he chuckles, before leaning down he kisses you shortly. “So, if neither of us did it, then we have a quite major problem on our hands.”

“I know,” you hum. “That shit looks promising and they can easily ruin both of us.”

Harry stays silent for a little, but you can see the gears turning in his head. When his gaze snaps back at you, you know he has an idea.

“Unless… we join forces.” Your eyebrows arch as you stare back at him. “I know it’s a risky move, but this is the only way to stay on the top.”

“How much you want to be joined?”

“We could start with just one line, the men part designed by someone from me and the women by someone from you. And if it presents well we can just figure out where to go from there. Obviously, the men part would be sold by us and the women by you, but we could join the pages and direct users to each other’s sites in connection with the lines.”

“That could… actually work,” you nod shortly, thinking about the idea. It needs a lot of planning, but it could actually be a big hit if you do it right. “And you’re willing to partner with me?” you ask cheekily as you push yourself up into a sitting position, Harry doing the same.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m willing to do about anything with you,” he chuckles, making you smile at his playful answer. “I hope you know I’m not talking about just business,” he then adds with a meaningful look.

“You are still so keen on this?” you sigh, tugging your hair behind your ear.

“Do you not like being with me?”

“I do, surprisingly,” you roll your eyes, making him laugh.

“Do you not like having sex with me?”

“I think the answer is pretty obvious to that,” you give him a look as he smirks back at you.

“Yeah, but I want to hear it.”

“I enjoy having sex with you, Harry,” you roll your eyes again, but he just kisses you short but hard before leaning back.

“So then why shouldn’t we date?”

“Because we are competitors?”

“We just agreed that we should join forces. We are partners now.”

“You are running a little ahead, Harry,” you cock an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know, I haven’t been in a relationship in ages. I probably suck at it at this point,” you shrug, but it’s just a lame excuse and you both know that. Leaning closer Harry smirks at you smugly.

“I have something else you can suck.” You smack his chest at his nasty remark, but can’t push a smile back. His hand finds the back of your head as he pulls you in for another kiss. “I want you, Y/N. I really do. You are all I think about even when you are an annoying piece of shit, getting under my skin. I still want you.”

“Wow, so romantic,” you chuckle shaking your head. “What if we can’t get over our differences in the business? That can easily poison any relationship.”

“Then we’ll have a lot of mind-blowing angry and makeup sex. Those are the best. We can put all our frustration into sex, I think that’s just perfect.”

“What are you, a horny teenager? Sex is all you can think about?” you chuckle.

“It is when I’m lying in a bed with you naked. You can’t blame me,” he grins smugly and you want to hate him, you want to hate him so badly, but you can’t. You want him just as much as he wants you.

“So… partners?” he prompts, tilting his head to the side with a sweet smile as he waits for your answer.

“Partners in business and life?”

“Mhm, that’s the plan,” he nods, his smile growing wider with each passing second.

“Alright,” you breathe out. “So… it’s not—All is fair in war and business?” you ask teasingly, using his own words from earlier.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” he laughs, pulling you in for another kiss.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[alpacaparkaseok]

Could you repeat the question?

pairing: Taehyung x reader, oc x Yeonjun (TXT)

premise: a joint interview with your group, BTS, and TXT two months after you met your soulmate.

word count: 2k

[2/2] continuation of Can’t Keep My Hands To Myself

requested by anon - a picture of your request will be at the bottom of the post! 

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

“Please don’t tell them.”

“Me? Why would I say anything?”

“You...you have that look.”

Yeonjun whirls around to face Taehyung, who just entered the room. “Do I have a look?”

Taehyung winks at you in greeting, something that nearly makes you swoon and your group members snicker. 

“A look?” He frowns for a moment before giving his dongsaeng a pitiful smile. “Oh yeah, you do. Definitely.” Taehyung smiles at Jiwoo, my band member who is busy sending death glares at her soulmate. “He’s gonna spill it.”

Yeonjun jumps up from his seat at the same time Taehyung settles down beside you, placing his arm on the back of the couch and brushing your hair off to the side. It’s enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, which of course he notices. 

Oh, how you’d like to wipe that knowing little smirk off his face right now. 

“I can’t believe this! I’m not going to say a thing-”

“Yeonjun, and I’m saying this with love, if you say a single thing about it, I will personally unplug your refrigerator when you least expect it.”

Your attention is pulled away when you feel Taehyung leaning in to whisper something in your ear. “So, do we know what they’re arguing about?”

You can’t help but giggle. “Nope. Jiwoo won’t say anything.”

“Neither will Yeonjun.”

The smitten couple have been teasingly arguing for the entirety of the morning, leaving the rest of us in complete and utter confusion. 

Oh well, I suppose it’ll help make the broadcast a bit more exciting. 

It’s been two months since Jiwoo and I first *ahem* teleported to our soulmates at the MAMA awards. Or rather, since I landed in Taehyung’s lap and Jiwoo was nearly knocked unconscious when Yeonjun was thrown into her at full force. Of course, Jiwoo claims that it was horribly embarrassing, to which I’m always quick to say that she should feel lucky that at least she didn’t end up in a grown man’s lap. For all to see, no less. 

Ari, our other group member, just rolls her eyes and tells us that beggars can’t be choosers. 

Yeah, whatever that means. 

The past two months have been busy, with hardly enough time to spend with my soulmate. Between the busy schedules and BTS and TXT and our own schedule, we’ve had to settle for late-night FaceTimes and the occasional lunch at the Bighit building. I’ve become really good at sneaking in and out of that building in broad daylight - so far I have yet to be discovered. 

Today, however, is an important one. It’s our first official schedule together as soulmates. Naturally, all three groups have come together for the interview/variety show. 

“Alright, time to head on!” A manager shouts into the room, and suddenly there’s a flurry of movement as we all head toward the door. “I need all the soulmates to stick to their own groups, ok? We don’t want to be causing a riot today.”

Right. With a gloomy expression, Taehyung parts from me to head back to his members. Jiwoo and I glue ourselves to Ari’s side, much to her chagrin. “Ready?”

Both you and Jiwoo respond simultaneously. “Nope.”

Ari just sighs, feigning annoyance. Together, the three of you await your cue as one by one, your groups are introduced. 

TXT goes first, the hosts making a big deal out of swooning over Soobin who now has a cult of his own due to his MC abilities. They make a show of handing the microphone over to him, begging him to take it over from there. He politely declines, while the rest of the boys bicker and chat in the background. 

Then your group is called out, and you find yourself walking out before a huge crowd. You didn’t realize that many people could fit in this building, but here they are. And all of them are here for the same reason: to get a look at the soulmate couples that have newly formed. 

And that have been trending on Twitter and Tumblr for two solid months, breaking all kinds of records. 

As BTS is introduced with an almost reverent tone, you understand why you’ve been trending for so long.

It has a lot to do with one of the men walking out right now, smiling at the crowd and waving, graciously bowing his way across the stage. 

Taehyung wears a gray casual suit which has him looking like he just stepped off a photoshoot. Hair perfectly styled and eyes glowing with adoration for the fans that roar and wave, he commands the entire room with a single raise of his eyebrows. 

Your soulmate, ladies and gentlemen. 

Today is the day where you prove to the rest of the world how much of a perfect match you are for this man. The notion is terrifying. 

“Wow!” The host, a jovial man named Donghyun shouts out, exaggerating how amazed he is by the crowd’s reaction to all three groups sharing the same stage. Indeed, it’s a rare sight. “Ok! Should we get started?”

After a few minutes of more introductions, a few cursory questions (he asks Yeonjun what he’s been up to recently and you’re pretty sure Jiwoo manages to telepathically threaten him, because he chooses the most vague answer imaginable), and instructions on how to begin the next activities, you’re off to the races. 

Painting races, that it. 

Donning a frock and eyeing the empty canvas before you, you glare at your opponent across the way. Taehyung, to his credit, refrains from winking at you. He thinks you’re adorable when you’re flustered, but now’s not the time. 

“Taehyung-ssi!”

Taehyung blinks up at Donghyun. “Yes?”

“Are you going to let your soulmate win?”

The game is simple: paint the listed object with as much detail as possible in a sixty second period. The others will have to guess what it is. 

Taehyung pouts his lips a bit, glancing over at you with a glint in his eye. “I’ll have to see, I think.”

Donghyun chuckles into the mic, turning to face you. “What about you? If Taehyung-ssi falls behind, will you help him win?”

You wiggle your eyebrows at your soulmate, heart soaring when he delivers a boxy grin. “Oh, of course not. I came to compete, not hold hands.”

The crowd bursts out laughing, and someone yells out, “I’ll hold his hand for you!”

You all dissolve into a fit of laughter at that, your cheeks blushing madly. “Yeah, thanks for the offer,” you say between giggles. Readying your paint brush, you wait for the signal. 

You’ve been given the word ‘Iceland’, which you figure shouldn’t be too hard. 

What you failed to account for was the fact that you’re perhaps the worst painter you know. What should look like a globe looks like a basketball and what should be a cube of ice instead looks like nothing more than a cardboard box. 

In the end, you’re pretty sure you laugh more than you paint. Your team members, consisting of a mix from both teams, look utterly confused at the end product. Eventually it’s Jin - who happens to be on Taehyung’s team - that accidentally calls out the answer. 

The rest of the games pass by in a blur of laughter and covert glances toward Taehyung. He always manages to find a way to make you laugh, even though he remains on the other side of the stage for the most part. You don’t miss all of the fans that look at him dreamily, and you can only hope that they’re happy with your overall performance today. 

At the end, you all squeeze onto a couple of couches. Donghyun makes a fuss over allowing the soulmates to sit together, and you can’t hide your smile as a beet-red Yeonjun sidles down to the couch to sit beside Jiwoo, placing his hands in his lap and trying not to do anything that will go viral. 

Taehyung sits on your right, crossing his arms in a way that pulls on his suit jacket enough to expose the outline of his biceps. You catch your eyes wandering, snapping your attention back to the front where Donghyun reads some questions off of a card. 

“I believe that this was the first time soulmates have met while performing at MAMA, is that correct? What were your first thoughts when you suddenly found yourselves face to face with your soulmate?”

The four of you that now have all the attention riding on your shoulders look to each other for help. Finally, with a racing heart, you answer first.

“I think the obvious answer is that I was shocked,” you smile as knowing chuckles ripple through the room. “But I was also really grateful, because Taehyung was so kind and understanding. The staff were very professional and helped us quickly. Overall, I really can’t imagine it having happened in any other way.”

There’s a few ooh’s and aww’s that greet your ears, but you look down at your lap as you blush. Taehyung slightly nudges your knee with his own, and in that simple movement you feel the comfort that he’s trying to give you. 

“I’d actually been talking to Jiminie earlier about soulmates,” Taehyung pipes up. 

“Oh, yeah! That’s right!” Jimin says, giving his friend a slap on the shoulder. “What are the odds?”

Taehyung flashes a shy smile. “I told him that I felt like I was ready. It can be strangely lonely sometimes, and there are times when I just felt like I was missing something. Now, all I have to do is pick up my phone and my missing piece is on the other side, ready to talk with me.”

Now people are really swooning, you included. You dare to peek over at your soulmate, heart nearly melting when you see that his shy smile is paired with pink cheeks. You wish that you could snuggle up to him right now, but that would definitely not end well. Instead, you lightly nudge his knee with your own, returning the little slice of comfort he provided you earlier. 

“And you two?” Dongyun asks after wiping fake tears away from his eyes. 

Yeonjun chews on his bottom lip, Jiwoo too lost in thought to notice that he has that look again. 

“I, er...” Yeonjun begins, squirming a little in his seat. “I was...really happy.”

Donghyun urges Yeonjun to continue. “Of course you were! What about finding Jiwoo made you so happy?”

Jiwoo looks up in horror, but it’s too late. Yeonjun has already opened his mouth and begun to speak. 

“I was so happy because the first thing she said to me was that she thought I was so hot.”

Radio silence. 

And then-

“Oh-ho!! Yeonjunnie you’re so dead!” Hueningkai laughs, and soon everyone follows suit. Even Donghyun has to throw his hand over his mouth to keep himself from snorting with laughter. 

Jiwoo looks at Yeonjun, who completely avoids her gaze as he stares unblinking at the floor. Then, quietly enough for nobody to hear except for you who sits beside her, she whispers, “Say goodbye to all the perishable items in your fridge.”

In the chaos that ensues, Taehyung discreetly traces circles against your arm and mumbles, “Why didn’t you say that to me when we first met?”

You smack his shoulder. “I should be asking you the same thing!”

Just before everything calms down again, Taehyung leans over to grab the abandoned canvas on the ground. Taking the still-wet paint and dipping his finger into it, he draws something out on it. Nudging you to get your attention, he flashes the canvas for you to see, hiding it from the cameras. 

It’s hard to keep a neutral expression as you see his handiwork. It’s just six words, but they’re enough to have your entire face flushed a moment later. 

I think you’re hotter than Yeonjun ;)

Stifling a laugh, you roll your eyes. “I hope you know I’m keeping that,” you mumble. Taehyung grins.

“Great. We’ll get it framed.”

A few days later, you do. It hangs in the front room of your apartment, for all to see. And for Jiwoo to loathe, as it serves as a constant reminder of her embarrassing first words to her soulmate.

Oh well. In the words of Ari, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

masterlist

[robininthelabyrinth]

I love your Nie brothers content, all of it, but there is so little written about the friendship between Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian! We know they were friends in Cloud Recesses, but it's never explored how these genius guys, even if one is focused on magical inovations and the other on strategy and politics, got on. Something which shows how well they got each other would be great

1

Wei Wuxian’s fist trembled. How dare he – worthless peacock – my shijie..!

But before he could throw a punch, he saw a swirl of white – Lan Wangji, sweeping forward with a face like a graveyard, and Nie Huaisang cringing in his shadow – and suddenly he realized that he didn’t need to punch Jin Zixuan.

Speaking of others behind their backs is forbidden.

Sneering without reason is forbidden.

Arrogance is forbidden.

Do not be haughty and complacent.

Do not praise yourself and slander others.

Do not make assumptions about others.

Do not insult people.

Do not take your words lightly.

Wei Wuxian grinned with teeth. “Hey, Lan Zhan!” he sang out, and Jin Zixuan blanched. “Perfect timing!”

Later, after he’d laughed himself sick at Jin Zixuan’s punishment – humiliatingly perfect – and making his appreciation very clear to Lan Wangji, he went to go find Nie Huaisang.

“When did you go get Lan Zhan?” he asked, honestly curious. He hadn’t known he was going to get into a fight until he was there and it was happening, but Nie Huaisang, of all people, had apparently figured out what was going to happen before it happened and took steps to fix it.

“The second they started talking about girls,” Nie Huaisang said promptly. “It’s fairly obvious that Jin Zixuan is resentful of his parents managing his life and he’s lashing out at everything, including specifically your shijie, so a nasty comment was inevitable.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, derailed from his original line of questioning. “He – what? Wait, that’s why he’s so rude about my shijie?”

“Of course,” Nie Huaisang said, blinking back at him. “What did you think? That he just didn’t like her? He’s barely even met her.”

Wei Wuxian hadn’t thought about that way, but it made a certain amount of sense. “When did you get so good at reading people?” he asked, bemused. “I didn’t…uh…”

“Think I have any skills?”

Wei Wuxian coughed.

“I don’t!” Nie Huaisang beamed, clearly very proud of it. “But I do have a lot of expensive hobbies, and that means I need pocket money.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he understood the connection, and said as much.

Nie Huaisang laughed at him. “The Nie sect believes in self-sufficiency,” he explained. “My brother gives me a certain amount of money to spend, sure, but we’re not the Jin sect; I can’t just buy everything that I lay my eyes on and send the bill back home – my brother would break my legs! I’m expected to find a way to increase the money I get until it’s enough to cover both my needs and wants, necessities and luxuries both, and if I can’t, then I have to do without luxuries.”

Nie Huaisang has never, not once, in the entire few months Wei Wuxian spent in his company, done without luxuries.

“So,” Wei Wuxian said, feeling oddly unnerved and unsure why, “you learned how to read people because you want to act like…a merchant?”

Nie Huaisang lightly tapped his head with his fan, rolling his eyes at him. “Stop being such a landed gentry young master, Wei-xiong. There’s nothing wrong with trade! How much of your sect’s money comes from merchants interested in keeping their trade routes free of resentful energy?”

Wei Wuxian wrinkled his nose a little. “That’s cheapening it a bit, don’t you think? As cultivators, it’s our duty to stand up as heroes, to defend the innocent and defeat evil, to purify –”

“Right, right. Remind me again how the Jiang sect pays for all that pretty purple?”

“Well…I mean…”

Technically, yes, there were all the dye sellers and the fabric merchants, but…

Nie Huaisang was laughing at him.

“Don’t worry about it, Wei-xiong,” he said, wiping his eyes. “You stick to doing your own thing. If you ever need to sell anything, come to me.”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian said, privately thinking to himself that he’d rather farm for crops than become a seller hawking his goods in the marketplace. “Hey, wait, what is it that you sell, anyway?”

Nie Huaisang sniggered and refused to tell him.

2

It was porn.

Also barbeque and liquor, although in that case Nie Huaisang mostly played the middleman between the vendors of Caiyi Town and the students stuck eating Lan vegetables.

Sometimes he could even be convinced to tug on his contacts for other things, too.

“You’re a true friend,” Wei Wuxian said, clutching the bottle of chili sauce to his chest. “A true and wonderful friend.”

“You still have to pay,” Nie Huaisang said, his eyes curving up behind his fan. “No discounts.”

“A ruthless, vicious, cut-throat friend…”

“I lend you the porn for free, don’t I?

“Wonderful! Wonderful friend!”

3

No matter what Jiang Cheng said, Wei Wuxian was trying to keep his head down during their time at the indoctrination camp. He was taking this whole thing very seriously: he wasn’t making a fuss (too much), he wasn’t being insulting (too much), he wasn’t even socializing (too much).

Lan Wangji didn’t count, anyway; after what had happened to him, he needed someone bothering him.

But Wei Wuxian was being good and keeping back from the rest!

Well, he was, except then he saw Nie Huaisang and just had to go over to say hello. It was only polite, and had nothing to do with the fact that during the months he spent at the Cloud Recesses, he’d learned that Nie Huaisang could sell anyone on anything.

“I don’t suppose you have contacts that will sell you barbeque here,” Wei Wuxian said as a greeting, because the food they’d received was frankly disgusting in a way that made him wistful for the Lan sect like it had been a gourmet restaurant.

“Well,” Nie Huaisang hedged, and Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t get too excited, it’s not barbeque…”

It was meat, though, chunks of that had probably been roasted as skewers at one point, and Wei Wuxian didn’t even care that it was cold as he scarfed it down, immediately feeling ten times better than he’d been before.

“Where?” he asked. “How?”

“There’ll be a surprise inspection tomorrow morning,” Nie Huaisang said instead. “Keep your head down, they’re looking to make an example out of somebody.”

“How do you know that?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “I brought art.”

“To the indoctrination camp?”

“Wen soldiers get lonely and bored too, Wei-xiong.”

“You’re trading for information using porn?”

“Don’t be silly. I’m trading porn for meat, and getting the information while we’re chatting. A large number of the Wen sect cultivators used to be their own sects, you know, before they were absorbed, and not all of them are happy about what’s going on here. You just have to figure out who the loyalists are, avoid them, and focus on the rest, and it’s easy.”

“I still can’t believe you brought porn to the Wen sect,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking his head. “What’ll you do if your brother finds out?”

“You’re joking, right? He helped me pack it.”

Wei Wuxian will never understand the Nie sect.

4

Wei Wuxian stared wordlessly at his bowl.

There was a single slice of radish in it.

“Is this a joke?” he asked Wen Qing, because it might be, and she glared at him, meaning that no, it was not. “Don’t we have anything else?”

“With what money, Wen-gongzi? Do you think it comes from thin air?”

“I had a friend once who could make it come out of thin air,” he grumbled, looking down at his bowl. He’d practiced inedia, he didn’t need it, except for the fact that he really, really did. Not having a golden core made things hard. “He could’ve sold fish to fishermen, except he mostly just sold porn.”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes at him. “Wonderful story, Wei-gongzi. Positively heartwarming. But unless your old erotic art dealer is going to come to Yiling to help us sell some radishes, I don’t care.”

Naturally, that was impossible. Wei Wuxian was a villain now, his name blackened, the whole cultivation world against him –

Actually, as far as he could tell, the Nie sect didn’t seem to give a damn about him one way or another. From all the stories Nie Huaisang had told about his brother and from everything he’d seen in the war, Nie Mingjue wasn’t the sort of person to let evil sit around on a mountain while he was busy with other things – if he objected, he’d be there the next day with his saber, ready to put him in his place.

He hadn’t, obviously.

His hatred of the Wen sect was pretty well-known, but he’d taken no action at all to invade Yiling and demand that Wei Wuxian hand them over, and Wei Wuxian was mostly sure that it wasn’t because he was scared of what Wei Wuxian could do with the Stygian Tiger Seal.

…it was probably just the hunger getting to him and making him think crazy things. Not caring enough to go against him was pretty far from supporting him, after all.

But, hey, he wouldn’t be risking anything if he just wrote a tiny little letter asking Nie Huaisang for some advice on selling things, right?

I never thought I’d see the day my Wei-xiong finally became a merchant, the return letter said. I’ll be there in three days. I expect to see liquor.

Wei Wuxian took Wen Ning down the mountain and stood on his shoulders in order to emancipate a jar from the local tavern, but by the time Nie Huaisang arrived, there was, in fact, liquor.

Even Wen Qing – who had opposed the entire outing once she had heard about it upon their return – suddenly thought it was a perfectly reasonable sort of theft when Nie Huaisang offered to trade a giant crate full of meat for it.

“We had some leftovers from a boar hunt,” Nie Huaisang said mournfully, accepting the liquor and a bowl of radishes. “I need variety, Wei-gongzi, it’s terrible. You have to help me get rid of it; I can’t stand to look at it any longer.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Wei Wuxian reminded him in between glorious bites of pork. He was going to be a very good friend and do his best to ensure that Nie Huaisang’s request was fulfilled, even if it meant taking seconds and possibly thirds. “I asked for advice, not a visit.”

“You can’t expect me to put my good name on what could be inferior goods,” Nie Huaisang sniffed.

“Your good name? The one known for porn, you mean?”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes at him. “So show me what you have to sell.”

“It’s mostly just the radishes,” Wei Wuxian said. “I tried to tell Wen Qing that we should plant potatoes, but –”

“Forget the radishes,” Nie Huaisang said. “What’s this I hear about you designing a compass that pinpoints resentful energy?”

“Oh, that?” Wei Wuxian said, blinking. “Yeah, I made one of those – the Burial Mounds is the biggest source of resentful energy around, and it’s easier to have a compass that points home instead of north, you know? But what does that have to do with selling radishes?”

“Wei-xiong, you’re hopeless. Leave it all to me, and you’ll have your sect up and running in no time.”

“Yeah, that would be – wait, sect? What sect?”

“Actually,” Nie Huaisang said, tapping his fan against his cheek. He was just plain old ignoring Wei Wuxian now, which, hey! “I take it back – before you leave everything to me, show me what other ideas you’ve been cooking up. What about those talismans you used during the war? The spirit-drawing ones?”

“Spirit summoning,” Wei Wuxian corrected.

“Yes, those. Have you improved on those at all?”

“Uh, I mean, I guess…”

“Good. Show me everything.”

5

“So I have a sect now,” Wei Wuxian told Lan Wangji, who had come to visit. “We sell things to support it. Apparently.”

Lan Wangji nodded, apparently already aware of this. “The clan elders have agreed that using your flags to draw fierce corpses and other creatures away from areas with innocent human lives is an acceptable use.”

“Even the Lan sect?” Wei Wuxian marveled. “No wonder we’re making so much money.”

Then he sighed.

Lan Wangji looked questioningly at him.

“Well, I have a sect now,” Wei Wuxian said. “Everyone’s expecting me to – you know. Form the core of the sect.”

“Marry,” Lan Wangji concluded. Possibly advised? No, that didn’t sound like he was urging him to go ahead, which made a total of one person. “You do not have to if you do not wish. You already have an heir.”

“A-Yuan’s too young to be a proper heir,” Wei Wuxian objected, though he was secretly gleeful that people were generally accepting him as one. “And obviously I can’t just pick anyone; how will I know if they’re a spy? Or if they’ll secretly dislike A-Yuan?” He sighed again. “The worst part is, I think Nie Huaisang is plotting against me, too.”

“Plotting?”

“Yeah! He’s encouraging people to ask me about marriage, when clearly it’s better for me to stay off the market…what about you, Lan Zhan? Are you planning on marrying?”

“No,” Lan Wangji said.

“We’ll be a bunch of old bachelors, then,” Wei Wuxian said. “You should come more often, A-Yuan loves you…hey! I have a great idea! Why don’t we get married? Then no one will bother us ever again!”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said.

“Mm? What does that mean?”

“It means I will need to send Nie Huaisang his payment in the morning,” Lan Wangji said, and moved to sit next to Wei Wuxian.

“Payment? You bought something from him? What did you want to –”

Lan Wangji silenced him pretty effectively, no spell necessary, and by the time Wei Wuxian retained enough ability to think through what exactly the purchase must have been, he’d already been converted to thinking that it was a very intelligent purchase to make.

Nie Huaisang really could sell anything.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven. 

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind. 

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there. 

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair. 

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story." 

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.” 

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh. 

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?” 

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web. 

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project. 

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile. 

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter. 

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise. 

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine. 

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes. 

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile. 

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior. 

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging. 

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers. 

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle. 

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee. 

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @lu-morningstar @ggaslyp1 @swiftyhowlz @xeniarocks @teenwaywardasgardian @saintandrea-droidsmuggler​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[ever-is-typing]

Since I saw you do skins hdc can I request own for Desolate sand pleeeaaase 😗

note: yessssssss desolate sand :sobbing: legit so angry at myself for not being into the game when he was available he's so awesome >:(

🪙⏳ Desolate Sand!Andrew (Grave Keeper)⏳🪙 relationship headcanons

• the gold rush inspired many people to travel west-

• and you were certainly no exception.

• be it to chase a dream or to escape the dreariness of everyday life, you made the journey for the opportunity of a lifetime!

• though, your "opportunity" was cut rather short when Marshall- the wealthiest gold digger in the west- was murdered,,,

• and you were considered a suspect in aforementioned murder,,,

• then again, you weren't the only suspect in this ordeal.

• there were a variety of interesting characters involved- a bounty hunter, a western tycoon...

• and a mysterious masked stranger, just to name a few.

• like you, he wasn't from this small western town- no one knew where he was from, really

• either way, though, you were both outsiders. but that was about where the similarities ended

• this stranger was cloaked in secrecy. he covered his face with a dark bandana, but that didn't help to conceal the shocking red tint of his eyes or the stark whiteness of his hair.

• you were taken aback by his features at first, but you didn't find them as strange as the golden shovel he carried on his person at all times

• like what do you need a shovel for in the wild west bro that's kinda ಠ_ಠ ಠ_ಠ ಠ_ಠ

• he didn't have a name- or, rather, he never told it to anyone. so, when they're not calling him a "demon" because of his unusual appearance, the townsfolk took to calling him "Desolate Sand" for his solemn and enigmatic nature

• and, unlike everyone else involved in the crime, he didn't seem to care too much for money, which was practically unthinkable

• so yeah you were definitely intrigued by Desolate Sand from the start

• he, on the other hand, wasn't too keen on making friends. in his eyes, the westerners were all corrupt... putting their faith in gold coins instead of God, so they weren't worth his time

• but, when he sees you from the other side of the bar one day, fiddling with your empty glass, something about you stands out as different

• maybe it's the worry in your expression? the unspoken plea of innocence in your wide eyes? something about it just seemed so human...

• and, being a suspect of murder, he saw it as a breath of fresh air and rationale. you weren't like these other suspects, with their petty obsession for wealth and status.

• you were a person of reason, like him. a humble survivor of life, just trying to deliver God's justice in your own way...

• or, at least, he hoped so when he slid down into the seat next to you.

• "You look like you could use another drink, dollface."

• as he gestures for the bartender to fill your glass with the alcohol of your choice, you couldn't help but feel the corner of your thoughtful frown tug up into a smile

• "Dollface? That's awfully flattering for someone you don't even know." you would snort cheekily, looking him up and down. "Anything complimentary I should be calling you, stranger?"

• "The folks in these parts have taken to calling me Desolate Sand," he would respond, tipping his hat respectfully. "But something tells me you already knew that."

• you would nod, sipping on your drink in silence. at this point in the investigation, there wasn't anyone who didn't know about this mysterious man.

• "Well then, Mr. Desolate Sand, you can call me Y/N. Y/N L/N."

• "Charmed, Y/N L/N."

• "Likewise."

• from then on, you two would keep meeting at that spot in the bar- you spent most of your time together talking about your dreams for the future and your goals by travelling west

• or, at least, you did. Desolate Sand was rather reserved about his past, but he was more than happy to listen to you talk about yours. what a gentleman (¬‿¬)

• and, with every meeting you had, the both of you began to fall in love without even really noticing at first...

• ...which caused more worry to Desolate Sand than it did to you. you were a kind soul, a good person. you didn't deserve to be with a filthy sinner like him.

• besides, he's done some pretty horrible things in his life...

•...like killing Marshall-

• omg plot twist!! (o‿o)

• so, when you finally admitted your feelings to him and he hit you with that information, it was like a punch to the gut.

• up until this point, you had really grown to trust him- but this confession just felt like the grossest betrayal possible. what other horrible secrets was he keeping from you?

• so, not wanting to find out, you ran away.

• of course, Desolate Sand had his reasons for bringing that sickening man Marshall to his end. reasons he would never want to get you involved in.

• his deliverance of justice shouldn't come at the cost of a good heart like yours- so, even if it hurt, scaring you away from him was the safest option

• though, of course, that backfired on him once the infamous bounty hunter Black Rose got her hands on you.

• she was rather livid when she heard that someone else had gotten to Marshall before her-

• he was always at the top of her hit list, and she was expecting to draw a pretty penny out of his death before someone else had stolen the kill.

• turns out pretending to be a bartender is a great way to eavesdrop for information- and, seeing two of her fellow murder suspects chatting so pleasantly at the bar was quite intriguing to her.

• and how convenient that the mysterious stranger confessed to murder within earshot (even though she was already spying on you guys)!!

• "So, tell me, L/N," she cooed, pressing her cold black pistol to the side of your head. "Do you think that killing Mr. Desolate Sand will be enough for me to collect my bounty, or no? Perhaps I should take you out, too, just to compensate for all of the trouble your little lover has caused me-"

• "You get your filthy fuckin' hands off of them right now."

• even though he was far enough away from you that you could only see his silhouette, the rage in his eyes burned brightly enough that he was practically a beacon of raw emotion

• despite his obvious anger, though, Desolate Sand still leveled his revolver at her head with the confidence of someone who's shot it before

• and, though you were relieved to see him come to your aid, that remaining fact still scared you. the man you had grown to love had still killed a man.

• "So, what's it going to be, Desolate Sand?" Black Rose hollered. "You gonna turn yourself over to me so that I can collect my coin, or is pretty little Y/N here gonna have to die first?"

• Desolate Sand inwardly scoffed. it was always about coin in the west...

• the two stood in a silent stalemate for a while. neither moved a single inch out of place...

•...and that was starting to get on your nerves.

• so, you directed all of that pent up frustration into stabbing Black Rose in the gut with your elbow!

• she was actually caught quite off guard, so much so that she stumbled backwards and fumbled with the trigger of her gun-

• and suddenly, BANG.

•...though Desolate Sand's gun was the only one with one less bullet.

• Black Rose howled in pain and clutched her leg, red pooling around the flesh the bullet tore through

• you stumbled back, dazed by the sight, right into Desolate Sand's arms.

• you were at a loss for words- you didn't even know whether to thank him or apologize.

• though the urgency in his eyes told you right away that you had time for neither

• "Y/N, we don't have a lot of time here. The townsfolk will be out here any minute once they hear this broad screaming. She'll say we tried to kill her, so I'm going to get you onto a horse and send you away while I take care of all this-"

• you were very quick to shut him up with a kiss

• he was shocked for a moment, but he found himself slowly melting into it- you tasted absolutely heavenly.

• when you two regretfully pulled away for air, you told him very passionately that you weren't just going to leave him all alone.

• you'd take your hands in his, rubbing your thumbs over his hard leather gloves...

• "Desolate Sand, I... I know you lead a pretty intense life, but... that doesn't mean you have to live it alone. Neither of us do. I love you, and I'm not ready to leave you behind yet."

• he chuckled down at you. "Funny. I was about to say the exact same thing, doll."

• and so, you both made your escape, travelling from town to town in search of a quiet place to settle down

•...though that was quite hard with all of the wanted posters with your faces on them

• yeahhhhhh you're both kind of wanted criminals now I forgot to mention that sorry

• (Well, Desolate Sand more so than you. You're labelled as an "accomplice," and they just never seem to get your nose right on the posters. ;0)

• after everything, Desolate Sand agreed to deliver his justice in a less morbid fashion. despite everything you've faced in the past/will face in the future, you're both just happy to be at each others sides- and no amount of gold could ever compare to the love that you two share. ♡

"Y/N, you've got something these westerners and I lack- a good heart. You constantly prove to be a breath of fresh air in these lawless lands... don't ever change, darling. I'll protect you with my life."

-Desolate Sand!Andrew Kreiss 🕳🕳

[yukinon-writes]

* Takes a deep breath and exhales *

Hello to the Inuyasha fandom! Some of you may have seen me re-blogging, liking, commenting, and, with a few people anyways, interacted with! Well, I’ve finally gotten up the courage to make an official “hello” post. This is something I’ve been meaning to do for a bit now, but for one reason or another usually anxiety I haven’t. Until today, of course! I’m gonna put some additional info about me below the cut to help keep this small, but feel free to message me or send me asks if you want to get to know me better/interact with me. Or just ignore me. I won’t be offended. I just want to try and make some friends and get help/encouragement for my writing. Again, hello! And until next time, I hope you all are well!

Some personal details:

I’m 32 and got into Inuyasha when it was first airing on Adult Swim. I didn’t really get into the fandom then, though. I had some friends that also enjoyed it as well, but that was about it. Inuyasha quickly found a place in my heart, but after a few years I some what moved on. A couple months ago, I finally decided to check out HnY when I saw it on Crunchyroll. It was something like two or three episodes away from finishing the season at the time. After bingeing that, I went back and started re-watching Inuyasha, somehow started reading fanfiction, and now I’m here!

My writing:

I’ve always been one to come up with ideas and work them out in my head. But usually I’d struggle with pushing myself to write them down and just let them bounce around until I moved on with another idea/forgot them. I finally decided that I’m gonna push myself to work through what has been holding me back and share my ideas with others! It has been slow so far, but I’m still going.

As for what you can expect from my writing itself, I have a variety of ideas that fall into humor/comedy, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, and even some dark stuff. They could be entirely one of those or a mix of the categories. I think it’ll be mostly fluff and/or angsty stuff, but we’ll just have to wait and see how my writing evolves and what I end up being most motivated to write.

Some Inuyasha specifics of mine:

InuKag is my OTP. I probably won’t ever split them up, ever

I just want InuKag to be happy dammit!

I’ve never really been a fan of Sesshomaru, but I’ve come to respect him

I just want Inuyasha and Koga to be friends dammit!

I’ve never hated Kikyo, but I’ve come around on her and like her now

I’ve recently come to the realization that I think I ship KogKik

I also ship MirSan(duh), KaguKik, and RinShiori

Parting words:

I’ve never really been one for social media so this is kinda? new for me, but I’m trying to push myself out of my shell and make some friends. So, like I said, if anybody wants to get to know me more, just message me or send an ask. I’m not one to get offended easily, so feel free to ask me whatever is on your mind. If I don’t feel comfortable answering then I’ll just say as much. I just ask that you be respectful and I’ll do my best to do the same in return. Until next time, be well!

Pokes at people:

@shinidamachu @anisaanisa @witchygirl99 @ruddcatha @kstewdeux @sacred-arrow @lavendertwilight89 @fawn-eyed-girl @akitokihojo @knittingknots @nartista @keichanz @neutronstarchild @writemydaydreams

[thefanbasewhore]

United as One. || Part 1.

Summary: Din returns home after fulfilling his mission of saving his foundling, after completing it he can now claim his rightful spot as clan leader. There is one problem he needs a wife to secure the future of his clan but his clan is not to happy with his choice and they make that very clear.

Warning/content: None for this part except for blood, wounds and angst but future ones will be 18+, have mature themes, pregnancy and etc. This does contain chapter 16 spoilers!!! No use of y/n. 

Clan leader Din AU. Also not edited because im lazy. 

paring: din djarin/female reader

Part 2. || Master post. 

Din holds the child close, it's a bittersweet moment as Grogu is finally untied with his father. Tears threaten the Mandalorian's eyes, he's thankful of helmet at this very moment. His eyes find her, another reason to get emotional. He realizes just how much she’s grown on him during this journey, and could easily admit he didn’t want to say good bye. She can't help it as her own eyes gloss over as the words are said. Din leans over, cool helmet flushing against the warmth of her  forehead. “Now that the child is safe I must return to my clan.”

"I'm glad we found him Din, I'm glad you can go back home." Din sighs, the leather pad of gloves rubbing the highest point of her cheek, soaking in the feeling of skin. "I wish you could stay."

“It’s my obligation." Din mumbles, metal kisses her ear as he presses his forehead into the her collarbone. He was close, never wanting to let go as he pulls her in as much as the child will allow against his chest. "The clan needs me, I'm to be the new leader."

"I know, someone out there needs you more than I do." It's a whisper only meant for his ears, the rough edges of his visor meets her face, surprised at the words. She can’t see it, the way his bottom lip quivers with emotion, the longing eyes that just want her. Those words mean something to him. 

“Come with me, I can’t be without you.” he admits, he wishes Boba and Fennec weren't close by, he wishes he can tell her to shut her eyes so he can feel the softness of lips, the rush that fills him whenever he kisses her. Pink, soft and plump, the perfect fit for his own.

"Din I'm not -."

Din doesn't allow any excuses, "I love you. I need you."

"You're making this hard." Tears swell immediately, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth with a soft sob, disguising it as a laugh. Din doesn’t move a single muscle, just stares intensely. 

"Please." He begs, the hand against her cheek lowers to her hip fingers pressing in attempt to close the gap between the two.. Grogu's soft fingers touch her collarbones, his own quiet plea. Cheeks rise to form wrinkles under eyes as her smile makes Din's heart rate increase.

"Okay. I'll go." Din let's out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in, chest expanding once again, a ghost of a smile. 

"I wish I could kiss you Cyar'ika, I am so thankful for you." Din's heart felt like it was going to explode, the unbearable emptiness of leaving her here was suddenly gone. "You're are my other half. I can't wait to share my home with you."

While the ride was long, Din manages to make it manageable, he tells stories of his clan, talks about the different types of foods, the ceremony that will be held in days time when he arrives. It’s cute.. how passionate he is about his people. It never really hit her before.. Din is to be a leader of his clan and it fits him, a little to perfect. He’s a protector but caring, it’s the perfect blend for one. 

Din's fingers squeeze her own as the ship lands, reinsuring as he senses the nervousness seeing her shift her weight from one foot to the other. Standing tall, stiff and uncomfortable. "It's going to be okay, you look nervous."

"I am nervous." Fidgeting with the hem of tunic says it all, he leans in closer he smell of him is almost enough, but the warmth is what really calms her down. Din's fingers fill the gaps in-between hers, his own little way of saying he's here, there's no reason to be nervous.

The ramp of the ship is slowly opening while her eyes dart over his side profile over and over again; of course it’s just his helmet, but somewhere in those points of basker bring comfort. The moment he does notice, she’s blushing, caught but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

"There's no reason to be, I'll always protect you my love." There it is, the love of the man that got her nto this in the first place. It's a small gesture, a glove hand pressing softly into her cheek, dragging across smooth skin. "I mean it, I'd do anything for you."

Her mouth open to say the same words back but the smell of fresh pine, earthy tones of moisture are distracting, there is absolutely nothing, just trees and dirt that run for miles. The small child is asleep but stirs in the bag that wraps across his neck and down his side. 

"We have to hike there." The Mandalorian throws a pack over his shoulder, hand finding slipping into hers again. "The clan survives by being a secret, no one but us must know the location."

"Not even Boba?"

Din's eyes drag along her face, looking back at herself in the reflection of his helmet. "No, he is not a Mandalorian."

"Either am I." Din steps out in front of her, hands still crossed in each other, extending it until your feet move out from under her.

"You're with me, no one will say anything." He pauses, slight amusement in his voice. "If they know what's good for them."

"Come on." Despite Din controlling the pace it does not meet up to expectations as he pulls her closer and slightly in front of him. "Stay right next to me and we have to move quicker, it gets dangerous around here at night time."

Dark was near, hanging right over the horizon as the planet’s sun begins to set lower, it was quieter then when she first arrived, the small animals and bugs of the forest seemed to also agree with Din.

The big fill moon on display provides just the amount of light needed to maneuver the thick brush and trees. It’s peaceful, beautiful, the forest is different hues of greens, pinks and blues from growing flowers make the trip just a little more bearable. 

 It’s serenity, peaceful and ebbing so gently throughout the darkness. Din’s hand never leaves her own except when he drapes his cape over shuddering shoulders, or to check on the child, the darkness brought a chill with it. 

It’s happens in an instant, suddenly all of her breath is knocked out of as Din pushes her with a shout, “Get down!” Protective hands press accidently press her face against the foliage of the forest, the heavy body shielding her own from harm.

Large sharp spikes take wing above them. Both of their hearts thump at the crunching of leaves in the distance with the snapping branches falling all around when a loud unhuman sound fills the air, a growl so close she couldn’t decide if the hot air was it was coming from under Din’s helmet or snapping of jaws in front of her face. It’s covered in fur black red eyes peering as it’s long claws reached for both of her but Din is quicker, his fingers grasp her hips, yanking up and pushing her back as he secures the bag against his chest. “Run!” 

The sounds of chanting could be heard, a group large in numbers just ahead in the tree line, a large bright light that an only resemble a large fire burning, the smell makes her nose twitch, it’s so close but very very far for the predicament the pair find themselves in. 

She couldn’t breath, air ways blocked by paralyzing fear that swirls deep inside of her stomach sending her whole body into a frenzy. Feet ran with a blur, not being make out anything due to how fast she were going, the pitch dark didn’t help either, but Din was were to guide her, with one slip up he was pushing her into the right direction.  Alarms and bells began to sing, loud drums as chaos broke out, yelling and the sound of blasters as she finally hit the tree line. Din’s finger press into her shoulder to finally stop her from running, the beast did not dare past the tree line.

Only because of what in habited it. Loud wheezing falls from burning lungs, long, shallow breaths as she lean one hand against the ground for support. It was obvious her body was still in flight mode when hands try to touch her face only to be pushed away with brutal force. 

“It’s me, it’s just me. Breath with me.” The Mandalorian’s face is in front of her own, pressing his hand against the swells of her chest to remind her to breath. As her body starts to calm, it feels hot. The sound of crackling and popping as scarlet flames dance right in behind her, Din doesn’t like the close proximity as he stands between her and the warmth. 

“Come over here, you’re too close to the fire.” As she starts to take in the rest of the environment she can’t help but notice the faces around them, well some were faces the rest were similar to Din, the helmets weren’t as seek, silver as him but a variety of different shaped eyes, symbols and lines. Now she understood why the creature didn’t dare cross the forest lines. There was a small amount of commotion, some eyes question her but the majority seek out Din.

“The Mand’lor has returned.” Din nods in acknowledgment, hands pulling his girl from the ground. Din’s fingers swipe her hair from her forehead as he sees the look of disapproval on the few bare faces. 

“Listen to me.” He pleads, watching as a smaller woman, elder woman slowly ascends towards them. “Anyone can challenge rank in the clan, you must fight if need be.”

“Wh-What?” Wide eyes meet his visor, stomach twisting as Din’s words stun her. It was too late, the elder’s staff is pressing against her throat harshly. “Who is this woman you’ve brought us?”

The growl that Din lets out is enough to scare that monster in the woods, it’s protective, frustrated but expected, how did he ever think his people would accept a outsider? especially a non-mandalorian one. The elder sneers at her, different symbols of no legitimacy are painted against her forehead, black charcoal lines that reach to her lips. “Let her go. She’s with me.”

The elder’s eyes shift towards Din. While Din may be the leader of the clan, the elders are responsible for making sure the rules are followed, guidance for such a leader. The pressure releases from her throat but the venom in her tone says it all. “She doesn’t belong here.”

If a staff to the point of almost unconsciousness doesn’t say you’re not welcomed here the words make her cheeks red with embarrassment. Din’s fingers find her shoulder quickly, pulling her against his chest protectively. Eyes turn in disgust as they realize, the way he flushes her against him, his willingness to protect her. It’s wrong, so very wrong to the clan but Din doesn’t care. All eyes are on him as he steps in front of her, the child now awake is shoved against her chest, Din’s fists ball against his sides, he’s strong, sturdy like a wall as the crowd meets his own gaze. “She is under my protection, if anyone wants a challenge, they go through me first.” 

Just like the the tension leaves the air, no one dares to step forward as the cold, icy gaze of the visor warns them, then to the elder that stands a few feet from him. “Is that understood?”

Watching all these people cower at his words makes her throat dry, Din Djarin was passionate, a little rough around the edges but never this scary. Shaky finger rub against her throbbing throat as another wheeze leaves her burning throat. Without a second glance Din is dragging her along the field, the peaks of houses just over the land. 

“Are you okay?” She doesn’t answer, only presses herself into his hold as they near one of the biggest huts in the field. 

“Where are we?” It’s cold, but clean. Neatly organized books against the walls, a fireplace with two comfy leather chairs, the kitchen is small, almost right next to the living room but it is cozy. Din manages to find some matches to light the room up, “My home.”

The child fights against her grasp as she sits down on the brown chair, large dark eyes meeting her own as he lets out a whine of frustration. . It doesn’t register, everything happening to quickly doesn’t give her time to even breath as she looks up at the Mandalorian.  When Grogu is finally free, he manages to find the other chair, curling up comfortably in it “What just happened?”

Din tries to speak but she decides for him. “They don’t want me here, why did you bring me here?”

Din shakes his head, falling between her thighs, hands press against them with intent to comfort but it makes her more frustrated. “They’re not used to strangers, and you’re not Mandalorian, it caught them by surprise.”

“Din I saw the way they looked at me, that old lady almost murdered me. “Did you know it was going to be like this?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, bringing his helmet forward to her shoulder. “Yes but no one will challenge you for now, not until you’re part of the clan.”

“No one wants me here.” Tears of frustration slip past eyelashes, rejection sitting deep inside the pit of her stomach.

“Sweet girl.” Din’s covers her eyes with his palm using the other to pull the helmet off placing it next to him. “Close your eyes.”

Even if she wanted to she couldn’t open them, they’re too heavy with emotion as Din presses his fingers against tears, wiping them gently. “No tears, for the love of maker, no tears.”

“I-I’m -” Din doesn’t let her finish, instead he uses his lips to taste the salty mixture that formulated from her pain, lips meet hers gently. 

“They will love you, they haven’t seen a stranger since I left two years ago, give it time.” Din promises, hands wrap around just below her breast, pulling her against his chest. “The clan is sacred, they just see -.”

“An outsider.” The sourness of the words taste strange in her mouth, “Why did you bring me here then?”

“I love you.” It’s the first time those words move past those lips, “I can’t be without you.”

It’s hours later when Din returns to the tent, while many hours have past she was still asleep. The bed was comfortable, stuffed with feathers, covered in layers and layers of animal pelts. Soft fur smooth against skin, perfect for the chilly night.

The child notices, instantly perking up to extend his arms out to his father. The foundling coos as Din’s hands hold him close to his chest, “Hey buddy, are you hungry?”

The next few days are almost enough to make her regret coming with Din, she’s alone half the time, Din leaves her for what he called ‘very important business, and snarled at when she leaves the hut. Never in her life has she felt so.. unwelcomed, out of place. She has never been a person to care about things like these, but the child was soon becoming her only source of social interaction and everyone knows how well that is. 

“What are you doing out here?” Din’s voice startles her, the child in her arms jumps as she does. 

Eyes shift in confusion at the Mandalorian, the raspiness of his voice, hands bare but open cuts painted across them, dried blood show signs of a struggle as she tits her head. “What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry about sweet girl.” The hand finds the crown of her head, rubbing the hair softly, then to the child’s head before disappearing silently into the hut, while it was very Din the tone of his voice was very uncharacteristic. 

“Din?” It’s much later in the night, so late that they should both be fast asleep like the child tucked between them. Din’s helmet reflects the dying fire across the room, despite the inches of distance between them it felt like miles. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He sighs, turning onto his side so he can look at her. He was stripped down to a thinner tunic, comfortable pants rid of all amour except his helmet, the fire was still alive. “It’s just -.”

He cuts himself off, bringing his hands forward to her hips fingers dig into the flesh to pull her close against him. “What is it?”

“The elders.. they don’t like that I brought you here.”

“i know that.”

Din turns his back towards the fire, the broadness of him dimming the room almost instantly. The helmet falls to the floor with a thud, lips meet the junction between her clavicle and sternum, nose pressing against her skin. “I want you to stay here with me.”

“I don’t feel welcomed here, no one even knowledge me.”

“Marry me.” The words make her choke, body momentarily freezing as fingers release his hair. Din freezes as well, not believing the words fell from his lips so easily.

“If you marry me, they will have no choice but to accept you. You will be my queen.” A pregnant pause falls amongst them, Din doesn’t dare move from his spot but pushes further. “They will make me take a wife anyways, I want it to be you.”

Emotion is heavy in her throat, “It feels forced, you’re only doing this for me. For you can have me.”

“I’m doing this because I love you, I want you to stay with me. The elders have no control over what I’m saying to you. I want you to marry me because I love you.” The words aren’t forced, they’re spoken with carefulness but freely mumbled against her chest.

“Marry me, I’ve always known you’d be my riduur from the moment I met you.”

A/N: I swear its going to get much better, first chapters are always so slow. Thank you for reading, I’m accepting tags just comment below, thank you!

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 2

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: None, just more fuel to the fire. Fluff!!

A/N: Honestly this was fun to write, stay on the look out for chapter 2.5 -winks-

“Neville?!”

(Y/n) walked around the boy, taking in his appearance. She almost couldn't believe it was him. The lanky, tall, awkward boy she spent her days pining over had truly blossomed and from the looks of it, turned into a flower truly worth attention. Part of her almost didn't believe it was him but the cadence of his voice combined with the soft look in his eyes was more than enough confirmation. She'd recognize them anywhere.

The boy nodded, a small smile gracing his face as he held his arms open, inviting him into the warmth of his embrace. She accepted it gladly, sighing as she relaxed into them, squeaking a bit as she felt her feet leave the ground. Relaxing a bit, the girl closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around him tighter. 'Just like I remember..'

"Pardon?" He asked, causing her to tense as he sat her down. Had she said that out loud? If she had she certainly hadn't intended on doing so.

"N-nothing!" She started as she made her way back behind the counter, using her distance to admire his appearance. Twyla nudged her, still eyeing up the dangerous looking men.

"Geez (Y/n), and here I was thinking you were a complete prude. Who would've thought that you knew such hot guys!" She said, biting her lip as she eyed up the red head. The shorter girl crushed her foot, glaring up at her employee. She yelped but quieted up, staring down at her boss

"To be fair, I haven't seen any of them in 3 years. And plus, none of them looked like this during our years at Hogwarts." Her eyes drifted to the rings on Neville's thick tattooed hands. "I apologize for it taking me so long to recognize you, Nev. I hope I didn't make things too awkward."

"You're quite alright, petal. I'm not the same man I was when you went to school with me." He sighed, looking out the window into the distance as he adjusted his tie. "I've changed quite a bit."

(Y/n) could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't just referring to his new (but most certainly not unwelcomed) appearance, but he had been through some things as well. As much as she wanted to ask him about the things he had seen and the things he had done, she knew now wasn't the time. Neville had always been private about how he felt, that was another thing that clearly hadn't faded. She reached across the counter, placing her hand on top of his as she offered him a smile.

"So, how's life been treating ya? From the looks of it, I'd assume good?" She asked, watching as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. He went to speak but Twyla cut him off.

"Yeah, you look like you've got money! How'd you get so rich?" She leaned forward, eyes squint as she eyed them all. "What're you like loan sharks or something?"

"Something of the sorts." The redhead responded, nodding as he spoke. However (Y/n) was in shambles, she gaped at her friend, giving her a pissed look.

"Twyla you can't just go around asking people if they're rich!" She hissed out, going to tell her off but stopped as she felt a hand on top of hers. Neville chuckled some, patting her hand a few times.

"It's fine, 's only natural to be curious. And to answer your question…" he trailed off as if he was looking for an answer. "We work a less...desirable form of work. Lots of things people normally wouldn't wanna do."

"Yeah lots of paperwork. You wouldn't wanna hear about it, trust me." The freckled brunette finally spoke up. He held his hand out for the (h/c) haired girl to shake which she shook. "Seamus Finnigan."

"Oh! Your Nev's best friend, yeah? I remember during one of our herbology classes we had to leave because you blew something up." She began to giggle at the memory, trying to stifle some brasher laughter. "I don't know how you manage to do that with a plant. I'm (Y/n)." Seamus stepped back, clearing his throat as his face tinted a dark rouge.

"Oh trust me, we know. The bos- Neville would never shut up about you. Sometimes he still doesn't, going on about how he wonders what you're up to. Maybe running into you like this will shut him up a bit." The ginger spoke up, offering her a nod of acknowledgement. "Ron Weasley."

"Well it's clear who the lover boy here is swooning for but what about you two? Are you single?" Twyla asked, stepping from around the corner. The three of them began to converse, leaving the two former acquaintances to be amongst themselves.

"I'm sorry about her. She's got no filter on her mouth." She said, laughing to clear the stiffness to clear the air. He joined her, his familiar dopey smile on his face.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it, really." He sighed, looking around the bakery. "You got a job in a bakery like you always wanted! I'm happy for you, truly." She could feel the sincerity in each of his words. During her time at Hogwarts, Neville had been kind enough to be the one to sample her baking all the time while encouraging her to follow her dreams. Having him in her bakery was enough to make her heart burst.

The girl felt her face heat up as she shrugged, smiling at him sheepishly. "Actually, I don't just work here, I uh," she looked back at him as he had his focus on her, engaged as every, "I own it."

His eyes widened as he gasped, a mix of happiness and shock on his face. "Really? That's even better!" Neville's eyes wandered along the different treats and such in the display table, looking at them in awe at the variety of things. Each item was different than the other and yet they all worked together. "I see you're still as creative with your flavors. You are a true artist, (Y/n)."

"I-I wouldn't go that far. I'm just doing what I love and I couldn't be happier." She squeezed the man's hand, trying to ignore the burning in her cheeks and ears. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you. Whenever my parents would send me those awful howlers, you'd be right there to lift me back up."

He felt his eyes gloss over but blinked back his tears, clearing his throat as he unwillingly ripped his gaze from hers. "Wait- are those the chocolates? The ones with the brownie pieces in them?! I've been thinking about these for ages!" He exclaimed. If it weren't for the fact she was still nervous, she would've found humor in the giant, tattoo covered man freaking out about her coco brownie chocolates. 

"I remember you used to give them to me every valentine's day. We'd take them up to the astronomy tower and share them together." He sighed dreamily at the memory. "You were such a good friend for that!"

Right. Friends, that's what they were if you could even call them that. They rarely hung out with each other outside of school except for Valentine's day. She had originally gifted him the chocolates as a way to show how she felt about him but for some reason or another, he didn't realize the meaning behind them. She didn't correct him either. The way she saw it was any time she got with Neville was good time to her and that's all that mattered.

"Yeah...did you want me to pack some up for you?" She asked, reaching back for an empty box before leaning down, filling the box with the rest of the chocolates. "Here. My treat."

“Are you sure? I couldn’t possibly just take these from you! You’ve got a business to run here.” He responded, pushing the box back towards her. However, she pushed them right back, shaking her head.

“I’m positive! Think of it as an IOU for all those late night cram sessions during 7th year.” she wasn’t really giving them to him for that reason. Saying that though was just easier than saying ‘Hey take these, I’ve been in love with you for 5 years.’ and to be fair, she wasn’t in the mood for rejection. (Y/n) found herself being disappointed that even after all these years, she was conveying the way she felt for him through sweets. Anytime she went to say how she felt it was quickly just replaced with some excuse along the lines of ‘needing him to sample something’ when in reality, she knew her baking was good. But, there was just something so fulfilling from the way he’s eyes would light up whenever she’d give it to him, leaving the heart felt note in her pocket. 

“Thank you.” he smiled, taking them in his hands, acutely aware of the way her fingers were on his. He felt his face flush as he looked up at her, finding her eyes were already on his. “Listen (Y/n), I was wondering if you’d like to-” his words were cut short by the sound of a phone ringing. Shortly after Ron came up, whispering something in his ear which caused his soft expression to turn into stone. He gave him a nod, taking the box and ending the contact. “I’ve gotta get going. Duty calls! I’ll see you again soon, yeah?” he muttered something under his breath smiling at her before turning around and leaving the bakery. 

“Soo, what’s going on between you and the tall one?” Twyla questioned, sneaking another cookie from the display counter (which didn’t go unnoticed). (Y/n grabbed it from her hands, putting it back in the glass case as she rolled her eyes.

“First of all, you work at this bakery, not eat here. And second, nothing!” the blue haired girl gave her a look that screamed ‘bullshit’ which she simply chose to ignore. “He’s an old friend of mine and…”

“Andd?” she urged, using her hands to motion for her to continue. (Y/n) huffed, crossing her arms across her chest as she looked to the side.

“And my old crush. But I promise the only feelings we ever had in common were platonic ones!” she leaned over the counter, watching as his figure disappeared into the distance. A wave of regret fell over her wishing she had done something, anything to be able to see him again. She knew the reason he probably didn’t ask for her number was due to the fact that during her time at Hogwarts, she didn’t use a smart phone. It was something she had gotten into as of recent. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have asked for his.

“That looked like a lot more than platonic to me.” the green eyed girl sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her chest as she spun around. “Love is in the air with you two! I can feel it, you know I’ve got a 6th sense for these sorta- woah! Look at the tip he fucking put in the jar!” she exclaimed, reaching her hand into the jar.

 (Y/n) gasped, eyes widening as she looked at the three hundred dollar bills in the girls hand. ‘I kinda wish I had just let him pay..’ she thought to herself. She grabbed the bills, holding them up in the light to check the authenticity. She knew Neville would never give her fake money but it was almost hard to believe that he had given it to her without hesitancy. When had he even done that?

“I told you they have money! I mean, did you see the ring he had on? The big skull one with the sapphire eyes?” she asked, watching as her boss shook her head. “There’s only 3 of those in the world! It’s a hefty price for one of them. They must be really good at what they do!”

“Since when do you know about fashion?” (Y/n) asked, causing Twyla to let out a dramatic gasp. 

“I’ll have you know I went to one of the most elite fashion schools in the wizarding world thank you very much!” (Y/n) eyed her suspiciously causing her to let out a sigh. “Okay I give up, I just shagged a guy who did. However I did steal his books!”

“Whatever.” she giggled out, walking over to hand a menu to a regular that walked in. She knew he didn’t need it but it was still common courtesy. “I just wonder what he was going to say before he left…”

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

As the sun began to set, (Y/n) flipped the sign to closed, closing the blinds. Although Wednesdays were their slow days, that didn’t mean they still didn’t get customers. There was also an unexpected lunch rush due to a conference being held in the hotel a few blocks over. Walking over to a cushion, she sat down relaxing into the softness of the chair. Her eyes shot open at the sound of the backroom door slamming open.

“You wanted excitement didn’t you?” her worker asked, causing her to nod cautiously. “Well get ready. We’ve got plans this weekend! Hope you’re ready for a much needed shopping trip.”

PREVIOUS||NEXT

TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @beewitchedlou @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically

[translations-by-aiimee]

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 1

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

TW for this chapter: Mentions of suicide

I wanted to provide some ~variety~ so I'm doing another novel. I'll give a warning that the first few chapters are kind of intense and I'll keep the TWs updated as they come and put a TL;DR at the end if there's anything too graphic.

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 - The Beauty in Red

Song Qingshi is dead.

After his death, he came to in a strange space, and in the space, there was a sphere randomly flashing red.

The sphere said that he is a book-transmigrating system from a high-dimensional world. There was a xiania novel called "The Exceptional Furnace", which was about to be plagued by readers' resentment due to the tragic fate of the protagonist, causing problems in that world. It needed to find someone who is familiar with the tropes of these novels and someone with the power to change and repair the body and mind of the protagonist, and fulfill the readers' wishes - change the fate of the protagonist, dote on him, and let him live the happiest and most fulfilling life □□ □□□□□

The information in the system came intermittently, and in the □□ there were incomprehensible, alien-like characters.

Song Qingshi suffered from Lou Gehrig's Disease during his lifetime and devoted himself to studying medicine to try and save himself. He was a medical student who studied and experimented frantically every day and never wasted time reading novels.

In terms of emotions, he is even more obtuse. Although he is very handsome and has an attractive and obedient personality, due to his physical problems, even the school bully treated him like a precious thing. With all the excessive loving care and sympathy, not only did he never have a crush, but he also suffered from a slight fear of talking to strangers.

This was the worst soul for this task.

Song Qingshi didn't know how he was picked up by the system. He had read Marxist philosophy novels in vain. But from his messy information and analysis from the system's explanation, as long as he accepts the task, the system will send him to the virtual book world, give him a healthy body, and he will come back to life.

After Song Qingshi realized this, he was ecstatic. A healthy body is was his biggest desire. Not to mention the fact that the system only asked that he take care of someone. Even if the system had asked him to swim through seas of fire, he would have accepted still.

Because of this, he ignored his conscience, structured his response, and lied for the first time in his life: "I have read tens of thousands of books that I have memorized. I have extensive medical and nursing knowledge, have taken a psychology course as an elective, and I could solve all the physical and mental sufferings of the protagonist. And love. . . I have lots of experience with love, I know how to communicate, absolutely, I. . . can definitely accomplish these tasks!"

If there was any blood that could exist in a soul, he would definitely be flushed.

The system didn't notice his lies. It registered the identity of the task performer, and sent a series of garbled commands, mixed with all kinds of chaotic and disorderly information into Song Qingshi's mind, sending waves of discomfort through his soul.

Suddenly, the system let out a sharp alarm and the data transmission was cut off. Song Qingshi's vision went black, and his soul drifted away towards a bright white light. . .

. . .

When Song Qingshi woke up, he found himself lying in the woods, surrounded by the faint fragrance of various herbs. He squinted his eyes and looked towards the dazzling blue sky. There was a gorgeous golden luan bird dragging its long tail feathers, letting out a loud caw as it flew past, with countless immortal birds following it.

Was this the world from the novel?

It seemed too real. . .

A soft breeze blew across the forest, shaking off the dew on the trees. The dew fell onto his pale fingertips, bringing a slightly cool feeling. Then, all the memories of the original body flooded into his mind like a tidal wave, trying to merge with his own soul - this body was also called Song Qingshi, the master of the Medicine King's Valley, and the most talented medical immortal and pharmaceutical expert in the immortal world. His medical skills could heal the dead and revive bones, and the spirit pills he cultivates were considered treasures by every cultivator.

However, the original body's temperament was extremely troubling. He rarely left Medicine King's Valley at all, never made friends, and had no interest in matters other than medicine and alchemy. When a patient sought him out, he only looks at their temperament and never asked their identity. When he was in a good mood, he treated mortal beggars. When he was in a bad mood, regardless of the identity of the visitor, he would turn them into flower fertilizer for his garden. He often used living people to test medicines. Cruel, but because of his Nascent Soul cultivation base and various skills with poisons, the immortal sects didn't dare provoke him easily, only secretly calling him troubling behind his back.

Cultivators in the immortal world had long life spans, and the knowledge and memory of this original body had for its hundreds of years of cultivation had not arrived yet. Various data fragments of the system rushed in frantically, with countless garbled codes, tearing the original body's memory into a mess, leaving Song Qingshi at a loss. It took a long time before he managed to figure out his current situation.

This was Golden Phoenix Mountain Manor, the most luxurious place in the immortal world, where there are rare and exotic animals and countless immortals and beautiful concubines.

The owner, Jin FeiRen, was also a great Nascent cultivator. He was a true romantic, an excessive spender, and had friends from both the immortal and demonic cultivation world. He was a well-known figure.

The original body had always been cold, obsessed with his work, and never touched either men and women. Today's arrival was accidental. The Manor Lord Jin wanted to give him Ten Thousand Year Snow Ginseng to exchange a batch of medicinal pills for him. The original body had recently been lacking Snow Ginseng to make his medicines, so he agreed to the deal.

Since Snow Ginseng grows in the secret realm of the snow mountains of the Jin family. If you wanted to get the ones with the best medicinal properties, you needed to pick them at night and preserve it with a special refining method. Therefore, the original body came here to pick it personally, and Song Qingshi somehow ended up here.

Then, Song Qingshi was sent here by the system. . .

Where was the protagonist? What does he look like?

Song Qingshi wanted to ask the system to ask for more information, but the system seemed to disappear. The materials it sent not only contained no plot points from the novel, but also very little character information. There were garbled characters everywhere, even though the protagonist hadn't been introduced yet. Song Qingshi got dizzy going through all this information before he found some descriptions in the copywriting introduction: the best physique, unmatched beauty shou X□□□□□ gong, procured by trickery, sadomasochistic, □□, □□, □□ There were only three texts that could be read clearly: Banquet of Bea□□□.

. . .

If this were someone who often read these types of novels, they would immediately recognize that this situation was problematic.

Song Qingshi, however, didn't recognize any of this as problematic. He believed that this was a test given by the system to assess his reasoning skills and ability to do things. Song Qingshi was very accustomed to being assessed like this. Usually, when he and his teacher started developing a new drug, he often didn't have any prior results in his hand. It required some experimentation and to experience many errors and difficulties in order to reach the final result. Most of the time, that result was not what they were hoping for.

Many pharmaceutical companies invest billions or even tens of billions in drug research. Scholars have spent decades trying, right until their hair turned grey, only to fail during their clinical trials.

Therefore, every drug researcher is a strong man who has experienced many battles, repeated defeats and never-ending setbacks.

These questions from Teacher System were not difficult!

Scholar-Tryant Song expressed no fear! He will definitely find the correct answer and live up to the teacher's expectations of him!

Song Qingshi thought about the information he was given, determined the goal of the protagonist, and then quickly understood the key points of the novel: the protagonist will appear at the Banquet of Beauties, it will be a male, homosexual, unmatched beauty, superb body; a pitiful character with a tragic fate. He needs to save the protagonist, give him the greatest care, heal his physical and mental health, and then help him find happiness and joy!

During Song Qingshi's time, respect for sexual orientation was written into the law, and same-sex couples could get married.

He once found a novel lost by a rotten girl classmate, titled "His Evil Majesty's Spoiled Husband". On the cover was a handsome and domineering man in a period costume holding a beautiful woman with long hair with a super flat chest. He didn't understand it, and returned the book. When he asked curiously, his classmates told him what Danmei was, and told him that the beauty on the cover was actually male. The beautiful male was the "shou", and the domineering one was the "gong". So Song Qingshi is confident that he would easily distinguish between the gong and the shou in the novel. He would never mistake the gong as the protagonist.

He had thought it through and the direction of problem-solving has been determined. All that was left was to wait for the Banquet of Beauties to start the exam.

Song Qingshi's spiritual sea gradually became clear. The soul and body were merged and became flexible. He sat up with his hands cautiously, took off his shoes, raised his feet, and tried to stretch the toes that had been stiff for many years. The white and round toes curled happily. Song Qingshi stood up shakily, briefly walking forward a few steps with hands and feet before finally remembered the walking posture of a normal person, and his movements gradually changed from jerky to steady. . .

Under his feet was soft green grass and moist soil.

Outside the forest was a calm river. Song Qingshi stepped into the water and took a handful of cold river water to wash his face, confirming that he was not in a dream.

Tears fell out of extreme joy, and the big tears fell onto his palms. His hands couldn't stop no matter how much he tried. The river calmed down from the slight disturbance, and the reflection of the boy's figure appeared.

Song Qingshi was surprised to find that the body given to him by the system was very similar to his high school appearance; he was not very tall and significantly thinner. He wore a Daoist cultivator outfit made of many layers of snow-coloured cloud brocade, wrapped tightly around his body. At first glance, all the layers of clothing gave the illusion of a frail man.

His thin hair was simply tied up with some loose hair dangling freely. His appearance may be related to immortal cultivation. He is a bit more refined than his original body, with a cold, pale complexion and clear eyes. Because he often blocks out the world and focuses on his study, he feels a bit dull and extremely gullible, leading many unlucky ghosts to think that the original was harmless and would become the fertilizer or poison tester.

. . .

After Song Qingshi vented his emotions and saw the red-rimmed eyes in the reflection, he was a little embarrassed. He hurriedly lowered his head and fetched water, trying to wash away the tears on his face, but behind him came the sound of fine bells and ridicule.

"It's useless to commit suicide. It will only cause you needless pain. If you are still not reconciled, you can try and sink slowly to see if you can succeed."

Surprised, Song Qingshi turned around and saw the most beautiful thing he'd seen in his life.

There were trees full of peach blossoms, and under the tree was a beautiful young boy in red. Who knows how long he was watching Song Qingshi stupidly crying. The young man's appearance was blooming, like a scroll of rich colours and ink, painted with all the romantic colours of the world. The warm jade-like skin, the most beautiful thing about him were the dark golden phoenix eyes under the crow-feather-like eyelashes. He resembled a noble and dignified phoenix in the sky, but there was an extremely gorgeous red tear-shared mole under the corner of his left eye, desecrating his nobleness. The dignity of his appearance was crushed, and the phoenix rejoined the mortal world, turning into a creature stained with flattery and seductiveness which made people feel unbearable tempted.

His long hair was untied and hung casually around his waist. The ends of his hair were slightly curled, his feet were bare, and he was only wearing a red dress made of shark silk. The shark silk was as smooth as water, clinging to his body, covering all the desirables underneath.

Song Qingshi did not think anything blasphemous, but because he was caught crying, his social anxiety became more intense. After a long pause of building courage, he stumbled and said: "I, I just..."

His hesitation became reluctant approval in the eyes of the beauty in red.

There are dangerous monsters and birds everywhere in the immortal world. Cultivators were equipped with spiritual auras and keen senses, and can easily detect the wind and grass around them. Even the minor cultivators in the time they were establishing their cultivation base would not miss the sound of mortal footsteps with bells, let alone the Nascent Soul cultivators. If they release their spiritual thoughts, the smallest creatures on the mountain would not escape their attention. Except for Song Qingshi, a newly-born soul who had just arrived in this world, and was still very unused to spiritual power and these world conditions. . .

The beauty in red had completely misunderstood, thinking that Song Qingshi was also a mortal. There was only one use for such a beautiful mortal in Golden Phoenix Manor. He clarified: "A new slave?"

Song Qingshi looked up in amazement. He wanted to ask questions, but his eyes fell on the beauty of the red dress. There seemed to be some strange bruises on his neck as if it had been bitten by a mosquito, but it seemed that it might be something else. He took a few more secretive glances, trying to determine what they were.

The beauty in red noticed his curious glances and his heart grew upset. With growing malicious intent, a very gentle smile appeared on his face, and he said in a sincerely blessed tone: "Don't stare, you will have them soon, too."

Song Qingshi was very sheltered before transmigrating. He had never encountered malice and did not understand the mystery behind these words. Although he thought this blessing was a bit strange, he still answered politely: "Thank you."

The beauty in red choked hearing this answer. He was stunned for a moment. He looked at Song Qingshi up and down like a fool, and found that the person in front of him was clean and his skin was free of any injuries. He had never experienced the ravages of hell in his eyes. He was pure.

This discovery made him feel pity for the heart that had been tempered by suffering. He retracted his sharp malice and said softly, "After tonight, you will know that death is a luxury." He turned slightly to his side, looking at the river's flow. He warned, "When I first came here, I tried to commit suicide many times, but it was useless. We are slaves who are branded with the Acacia Seal. Our spirits belong to our master. So long as the master doesn't allow it, we cannot die, even by our own hands. . .

The beauty in red was silent for a long time. He slowly stretched out his hand and stroked Song Qing's hair that was soft as the fur of a small animal.

Song Qingshi saw several red rope marks on his pale wrists. He realized that this was pain that the beauty wouldn't want to be questioned about, so he pushed down his curiosity.

The fingertips of the red-dressed beauty slipped from his hair to Song Qingshi's delicate face, watching his innocent expression. He held his hand there for a moment before putting it down, conflicted. He didn't want to say any more. Since he didn't know those nightmarish experiences, it was useless to say anything more. Being able to preserve this kind of innocence, it was one more moment of happiness for him. Finally, he sighed, "You look good, but unfortunately the more your looks improve as you grow, the longer it will be until you're freed. . ."

Song Qingshi was puzzled: "What do you mean by 'freed'?"

"You'll know soon." The beauty in red's expression suddenly relaxed. He glanced around carefully, then stretched out his index finger and tapped his lips lightly. With a voice so light that he could barely hear it, he said ambiguously, "Tonight I will be freed. . ."

The beauty in red turned around with a smile and, with a crisp ring of the bells, turned to leave. His steps were a bit unstable, and each step was strenuous, like a mermaid walking on the tip of a knife in pain.

A pair of exquisite gold shackles were exposed on the beauty's ankles under the red clothes. Each of the shackles was decorated with an exquisite bell. The middle was connected by a slender golden chain. When walking, the bell shook slightly and made a clear and sweet sound, just like a tethered bird.

The golden chain dragged across the grass, and a few drops of blood dropped onto the green leaves.

Song Qingshi mustered up the courage to overcome his social anxiety, and shouted to the beauty who was about to leave: "Are you. . .injured? I, I know medical skills. . . Do you need me to treat you?"

The beauty in red turned back, looked at him for a few seconds, and he couldn't help but smile. This time the smile finally reached his eyes, like a ray of golden sunlight breaking through the clouds, dazzlingly beautiful. He shook his head towards Song Qingshi, and gave himself a sincere blessing: "I hope you have better luck tonight."

He turned his head, and the sunlight in his eyes disappeared in a flash, as if it had never existed, only the dark clouds that would not retreat.

Having endured these nightmares for years, he has long learned not to remember the kindness of others, and not to care about being offered charity from others.

He walked alone in this prison without stopping, step after step, wearing those painful shackles.

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Birthday

Summary: could you do a hs losers x reader where the readers new to town and hates her bday bc each year her past friends and family had always forgotten or did nothing so when richie finds out her bdays coming up he tells the losers and they all plan a special surprise party and richie saves up and gets her something super special and the losers r all like wow he’s never gotten anyone anything like this b4 so she finds out that he likes her or something so it’s like the best bday she’s ever had

Richie bikes swiftly passed you, faster than he usually does, which can only mean he’s trying to surpass you. You barely refrain from flipping him the bird in public, as you too throw your weight into peddling. It’s no use, Richie is more athletic than you by a long shot, and he’s been practicing with Eddie for track. You’ll never be able to catch up with him with no viable effort.

‘You asshole,’ you yell out to him, noticing an elder woman pledging through her yard too late to stop your exclamation. She regards the both of you with malcontent, stabbing her hark too brutally in the soil of her allotment for it to be a coincidence.

‘Not my fault your short legs can’t reach the peddles.’

You growl, lifting up from your saddle to race faster, but Richie sees you do it and does nothing but laugh.

Any other time you might give him hell for it, but today, you are in no mood to indulge in Richie’s escapades.

It’s your birthday, and while for most that equalizes a fun day stacked with presents and cake, to you it stands for a day full of misery.

Your birthday is cursed. And no, that is not you being dramatic. At your ninth birthday, your cake got slammed into floor, therefor ruing the gift your parents had been working on for weeks, and which was their only present.

At age ten, you fell off your brand new bike into a ravine and had to go to the hospital to get eleven stitches. On your fourteenth birthday, you and your parents got into such a huge fight they send you up to your room and forbad you from sneaking down at any point in the day.

There are more examples to back up your claim for the terrible birthdays, but you have tried to desperately block them all out, so you won’t rehash them.

That’s why your so peeved that Richie is forcing you to the quarry.

‘If you could tell me where I’m supposed to be going to bet u could find a short cut and be there faster than you.’

‘Nice try Dora, I’m not telling you anything. It’s a surprise.’

‘Alright, I get two attempts. If I can’t guess where we’re going, I’ll do your homework for a week.’

‘And if you do guess it?’

‘Then you owe me a favor and no matter for what reason I cash it in, you don’t get to complain.’

‘Fine, bring it miss know it all.’ Richie slows down to slide next to you, the wind picking up as the two of you descend down the mountain. His smile is mischievous and cheeky, probably too confident to think you’ll be able to reckon the spot he has in mind.

If only he knew that you had limited the possibilities to two places, the exact amount of guess you were granted.

‘Hm, are we going to the arcade?’ Your first theory is. Richie doesn’t have anything on him right now, except pennies that have been rinkeling inside his pockets the entire bike ride, the only thing he needs to go to the arcade.

Richie smirks, and shakes his head. ‘Try one my dear, may I say that the odds aren’t in your favor right now?’

His impressive ego in the way he taunts you with the right answer fuels your desire to be right. ‘Are we going to the Barrens?’ You sing, smiling wide as Richie’s shrinks.

‘Eh, no?’ He says, but he sounds petulant. ‘Fuck this shit, what gave it away?’

‘A girl never reveals her secrets’, you say covertly, forgetting momentarily about the agitating day. You suspect that might have been Richie’s intention.

It’s not like the Barrens is such a stretch in the first place, the losers and you have made that place your own, but you do hypothesize that he may have planned something special for you.

Your theory turns out to be true, as you can spot a long table at the end of the dirt path you and Richie are currently riding on to get to the clubhouse. The table is stacked with a variety of candies, your favorite, drinks that are sweet enough to rot your teeth, something Richie should be more aware off - having a dad who is a dentist-, and a giant cake with eight candles on. Each one representing a loser.

You say nothing as you approach, in a sneaky way torturing Richie a bit more before revealing that you’re at the verge of tears of this nice gesture. Richie slows down his speed by dragging his shoes along the dirt, glances darting nervously towards your face.

‘I know you said no parties, but how else was I supposed to show off my rocking dance moves?’

‘Do you mean the moves you make that look like you’re dying?’ Stan chides, him and the rest of the losers rolling up behind you two. They’re all walking next to their bikes, and Bill’s hands are smudges with cake residue he somehow missed while cleaning up. They didn’t want to be here before you and ruin the ‘surprise’, but it’s clear everyone has worked hard to organize this for you.

‘Fuck you Stan the man, the color green doesn’t fit you.’

‘Happy’, Bev grounds out, leveling Richie with one look, the way only Bev can, and then address you. ‘Birthday.’ She hugs you despite you still holding your bike, and you let it clatter to the ground with a loud bang.

‘Thanks Bev.’

‘Happy Birthday’, the other losers also call out, because there’s just too many of them for each to wait their turn.

‘We hope you don’t mind we don’t have any presents, we spend basically all of it getting ingredients for the cake, which we had to redo- twice.’

They don’t offer any other explanation about why the cake had to be remade two times, but by Eddie’s scowl you can fill in the blanks.

‘No, honestly, this is already too much.’ It is too much, but their efforts are so kind and heartwarming that you have to bit back a happy squall. No one has ever bothered to organize anything for your birthday, whether it be purchasing a two dollar present or even ordering a cake, but these people that you had met less then a year ago were willing to scramble together all the money they could, just so they could turn your day special. Thank god for moving to Derry.

For the first time in years, your birthday has brought smiles and laughter, and no tears and weeping moods.

‘Nonsense my dearest young lady, this is but a blip on our radar, a speck of dust on the tv, nothing compared too-‘

‘Can we please cut the cake now? Before something else goes wrong with it?’ Eddie glowers, refuting to wait for an affirmative.

‘Don’t forget the candles,’ Ben says as he follows Eddie to the table. You’re about to join them, when a hand on your wrists stops you.

‘Hey, Y/N? You really don’t mind this right? I know you said you didn’t want anything but I know how nice it is be caught off guard with something like this.’ Richie rubs the back of his head as if that makes him see any less anxious. It’s incredible how smart someone can be while simultaneously also being so dense.

‘Richie’, you say as you smile, unable to hide it any longer. ‘It’s amazing, thank you so much. If there is any way I can repay you I’ll do that. I’m really happy with this.’

‘That’s good, not that I was worried about it, who isn’t a fan of everything I do?’

Rolling your eyes only spurs Richie on, but it’s become an automatic response now, you can’t help but do it.

‘Oh, I almost forgot. I did get you another gift. Two actually, if you count my huge dong as one.’

‘Gross Richie, why do you always have to add something sexual to everything?’

‘It’s my game babe, love it or leave it. Anyway, here is the gift if you want it. If you don’t that’s fine too.’

‘Don’t get all shy on me now Rich’, you tease as your bump your arm into his while grabbing the package. ‘I’ve just gotten used to your antics.’

The package isn’t heavy, but it also isn’t light. It’s wrapped in enough layer that you can’t feel what’s inside of it just by holding it, but that was probably Richie’s intention. That or he is simply horrible at wrapping up.

While you carefully peel off each layer, you begin to speculate on what it could be. It could be a gag gift, but Richie looked sincere, and his eyes behind his glasses are magnified in true anticipation, a gag gift wouldn’t illicit that response.

As soon as the final layer is detached, you gasp, armored by the actual gift. It’s a blue bracelet, covered in butterfly pattering. You once mentioned having a similar one as a kid that you loved but lost one day while playing outside and had been sad about for weeks.

You can’t believe Richie had kept it in his mind, and had gone out to look for it.

‘Richie… I don’t even know what to say right now.’ You exclaim, squeezing the bracelet in your hand tightly, a blush covering your face. Richie’s mimics yours. ‘Thank you’, you say while reaching out to him and kissing him on the cheek. Richie face burns a brighter red.

‘Yeah… glad to be of service.’ His mind is ball parks away, and he is left dazed.

‘Come on Y/N, it’s time for you to blow out the candles.’

You go easily, letting your hand linger around Richie’s, deciding mentally that you’ll do it tonight before you go home. Your birthday has already been better than anything you could have imagined, and maybe it has one more miracle left to give. If Richie says yes to your question about going on a date, then this will truly have been the best birthday you have every had. By the love struck expression Richie is walking around with, you have an inkling as to what his response might be.

You blow out your candles, but you don’t need to make a wish. You already have everything you could possibly want.

----

‘Off course that asshole buys her a gift, but never returns the money I loaned him so long ago. I’m not a fucking bank.’

‘I think it’s cute.’

‘No, Eddie is right, I’m also waiting on my refund.’

‘It’s adorable he bought her something, he really can’t hide his crush anymore.’

[elareine]

JayTim + 42 from the Dialogue Prompts + SPACE AU, pretty please?

I… hope this counts? Technically, it’s not IN space. Though Tim would like to be. 

“You’re mad, Tim,” they said. “Stop trying to speak to aliens,” they said. “You’re wasting your life.” 

Hah. 

Tim has a… set-up. 

What’s the point, he figures, in sending waves out to space where they might be heard in a hundred years, when you could just try to contact the aliens already on Earth? After all, if intelligent life is out there and capable of interstellar travel, and if humans haven’t noticed them yet, then said life must be hiding itself. 

It stands to reason that these aliens must then be communicating among themselves in a form that’s inaccessible to humans. So Tim sat down and build every stupid crazy thing he could think off—unusual wave frequencies, smell transmitters (bad idea), hormone secretors… anything. There are forty devices stashed in his room, and he’s not crazy. 

Because one day, space talks back. 

“Koriand’r, what’s the name again for the thing—the strip around our waists that helps people not be naked? And why do I need it?” 

Tim whirls around. It’s one of his Hail Mary machine—a radio frequency so fucking impractical, no one would ever use it. 

Apart from an alien, apparently. Cause that question cannot have come from a human. Right? 

“I’m not Kori-whatstheirname,” Tim says, trying to sound chill. “But it’s called a belt. We need it because our clothing is factory-made and not tailored to fit; and also because it’s not acceptable to be naked anywhere but some beaches in Germany.”

A long pause, then the voice replies: “You’re human.” 

“Yes. Please don’t hang up. My name’s Tim Drake. Are you an alien?” 

“Uh.” There’s another pause. “I… guess? I’m not from Earth.” 

“Oh, awesome!” Tim is out of his seat and leaning forward, he’s that excited. “Wait, you speak English?” 

“I have a—a device that can mimic your languages.” 

Tim nods. “So like what Google Translate wants to be in another five years.” 

“…I suppose.” A pause. “Actually… can you tell me—who or what is a ‘google,’ exactly? I figured out it’s one of your gods, but what do they do, exactly?” 

“Oh boy, you just opened a whole new avenue of philosophy. I guess it could count as a god? Not in the religious sense, though.” 

“I’m not a boy,” he’s immediately corrected. “I’m a Hzewf.” 

“Okay. Okay.” Tim bounces back on his heels. “How about this? I explain Google to you—I’ll even throw in social media, if you want, but please don’t ask about Reddit, nothing can explain Reddit—and you tell me about the Hsev.” 

“Hzewf. Okay.” 

They talk. When the alien has to leave, Tim’s reluctant to agree—but the next day, the line crackles to life again. 

“You’re a good source,” the alien says. “We… can keep talking. If you don’t mind.” 

The alien’s name is something like j—more guttural sounding than Tim is used to, and with a long pause after—ay—or rather a pause i/j. Tim looks up various phonetic alphabets and dubs him J-a’i. 

The Hzewf have a different variety of gender expression, so the two debate pronouns, and J-a’i decides that ‘he’ will do just fine. He’s addressed as that on a daily basis, anyway, and has never minded. He draws the line at being called a man, though. 

What he is, though, is a total anthropology nerd. He wants to know everything about humans—that’s why he’s here, after all. Koriand’r, it turns out, is another alien from another planet he just met by accident. Apparently, she’s settled down and found love, so J-a’i tries not to bother her too much. The belt thing was a total emergency question. 

And now, he has Tim. 

It’s fun. Tim likes having a secret, a good one, for once. Every night, they talk. No matter how shitty his day is—and most of them are—at the end of it, he can speak with J-a’i and feel like somewhere out there, someone understands. 

And then, one day, there’s a knock on the door. Tim briefly entertains fantasies about the men in black before checking the surveillance camera and seeing an alien instead. 

Oh well. Alright then. 

He opens the door and ushers the visitor in. “J-a’i, I presume?” 

The other being looks relieved when he hears his voice. “Tim.” 

“The very one.” 

Okay. Tim kinda thought J-a’i would be smaller. Tim’s used to short jokes, but having to crane his head back like this feels ridiculous. 

“I need to hide,” J-a’i says, looking very serious. Tim would like to return the expression in kind—this is probably a very stressful and dangerous situation for an alien in hiding, and he should give it the proper gravitas—but he’s so happy. 

“So you came here?” 

“My masking device broke,” J-a’i explains. Ah. That’s why he’s so… uh… colorful. Tim’s really digging the red stripes, though. “I… I had nowhere else to go.” 

“Come with me.” Tim leads them to a cupboard, and then opens the secret door leading down. “You never know when you need a bunker.” 

“You—“ 

“Well, do you need to use it or or don’t you?” 

“I have finally found a being whose paranoia matches my own,” J-a’i says. He does get into the bunker, though. 

“So what now?” Tim asks when they’ve settled down. 

J-a’i shrugs. “I’ll probably have to leave.” 

“Go to another country?” Tim asks, already mentally mapping out his visa applications. 

“Another planet. Home, I think, at least for a while.” 

Oh. Right. What do Hzewf visa applications look like? “So we need to get to your ship.” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay. You left it in Lake Michigan, right? That’s about twelve hours by car. Oh, but,” Tim looks at J-a’i and his very much not human appearance, “should probably only travel in the dark. Luckily, there’s a lot of that in winter. We’ll give your pursuers a few hours, and then I’ll go pack. If the coast is clear, we can leave tomorrow night. What’s the weather like on your planet? Should I bring shorts?”  

Instead of an answer, though, he gets a surprised stare. “You’ll come with me?” 

“Well, duh.” Tim snorts. 

…wait. Uh. Maybe this is too much? J-a’i is self-admittedly desperate to show up here. Just because he didn’t have an alternative, doesn’t mean he wants Tim to invite himself along. None of this stuff is as exciting for him as it is for Tim, and with the bad experience the other creature has recently made with humans—

There’s an expression happening on J-a’i’s face that stops his panic attack in its tracks. Hope. Hope that’s painful because you’re sure that whatever it is you’re being offered will get snatched away from you. 

Tim recognizes the emotion for what it is, because he knows it so well. 

“Are you sure?” J-a’i asks. “We’d be going to space—“

“J-a’i,” Tim interrupts, “I’ve been waiting to hear these words all my life. Literally. All that’s missing is a kiss and we’d be in the final scene of the Hollywood movie of my dreams.” 

“Kissing is that thing you humans do, right? To express affection and/or lust?” 

“Yes.” And because Tim’s a fucking sap who has spent too many hours listening to the voice on the other end of a radio: “When we love each other, too.” 

J’a-i considers that. “Well. I… wouldn’t be opposed, either. Though I don’t understand how it relates to space travel.” 

Tim nudges his shoulder and grins. “Hey, we can work up to that. Tell me some more about your spaceship?” 

J’a-i’s whole face lights up when he talks about his ship. Tim’s heard it in his voice before, but it’s pretty awesome to see it in person. Also? He’s sitting next to an alien, talking about spaceships.

Hell yeah. Space, here Tim comes. 

(I’m taking prompts until the end of the year.) 

[luxekook]

chapter two.

⇥ pairing: namjoon x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, chaotic namjoon, power tools, hints of poly relationships, overall pretty smut free (who AM i???)

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter Two

Habitat for Humanity Worksite – 9:26am

When I signed up to volunteer Saturday morning of syllabus week, I should have known I would end up regretting it. I almost punted my alarm clock out of the apartment window this morning, but instead settled a slightly more civil action – punching the shit out of the ‘off’ button.

Don’t get me wrong: I love volunteering. It’s been part of my routine since sophomore year when I was recruited for the all-women’s service society on campus – the Alphites. As a society, us Alphites volunteer around campus and in our local community each week. There’s something about doing service together that really creates bonds, and the girls in the society have quickly become some of my closest friends.

We sign up to volunteer for a variety of different service projects each week, and Habitat is my current favorite project to sign up for. As a nonprofit organization, Habitat for Humanity helps families build and improve places to call home. Currently, our regional Habitat is working on building a house from the ground up for a local family in need.

Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form a very ‘handy’ person. Luckily for me, there are always a couple volunteers with construction or engineering backgrounds who are willing to teach other volunteers with less experience – or none, like me.

Since beginning to volunteer at the site last year, I have learned how to use a power saw, how to fasten siding, and how to mix, pour and level cement. It’s definitely empowering to learn new skills and also to see how my handiwork contributes to someone’s future home. I also feel lowkey badass when I get to use the power drill for anything.

Pulling up to the worksite, I clutch my cherished 24oz. Wawa coffee. I finally feel somewhat human as I park my beat-up Jeep Wrangler and hop out to meet the other volunteers for our task assignments.

The site leader Eddie – a burly retiree with a background in construction management – greets me with a huge grin, “(y/n)-doll, we missed you this summer! I can’t believe you abandoned us during the hottest months of the year.”

I roll my eyes, smiling at his teasing. Eddie’s like a teddy bear disguised as a grizzly – all rough edges and a heart of gold. “Missed you, too, Eddie.”

“Look at our progress now,” he continues, “Pretty impressive, yeah?” Nodding, I greet some regular volunteers I recognize as Eddie leads me around the house. He proceeds to show me what they had done over the summer in my absence – and they had done a lot. The house now had its full foundation and wooden framing with most of the doors and windows installed.

As we walk back to the front of the house to the main area, I sip my coffee and turn to Eddie, “So, what can I work on today, fearless leader?”

Letting out a patented ‘Eddie belly-laugh’, he replies, “I know you worked on the siding at our last site so I'm gonna have you work on where we started the siding on the right side of the house.”

Sweet, I could work with that. “Aye, aye, captain,” I respond with a lazy salute of my coffee cup. Before I can turn to start towards the scaffolding to begin, Eddie stops me.

“Oh, one more thing. I’m gonna need you to orient our new volunteer and let him shadow you today. Kid’s from the same school as you, I think… Mandatory service. Anyway, he should be here any minute.”

Shit, I know what ‘mandatory service’ means. It’s the first form of disciplinary action that the college issues and is usually the only form of disciplinary action for our athletes or for Greek life – a fact I actively resent. During my time in the Alphites, I have had to deal with some of these ‘mandatory service’ characters and they’ve never been much fun to be around.

“Ah, that’s probably him now,” Eddie startles me out of my thoughts of dread and doom as a black gleaming Tesla practically purrs down the block, swinging into the spot next to my Wrangler. Scowling, I cross my arms as I survey the stark contrast between this person’s shiny-ass luxury car and my dirty-ass well-loved Jeep.

The Tesla door opens. A Timberland booted foot emerges followed by a thick leg encased in light jeans, a tanned well-muscled arm…

No. Nope, it couldn’t be— Please, not today, Satan.

He stands with his back to us now, stretching out his large body. In only a cutoff t-shirt, his rippling back muscles might be enough to send me into an early grave.

I sigh in bitter defeat of the inevitable. Seriously, the fucking universe must have it out for me because I can’t seem to shake this stupid fucking fraternity.

As if the boy feels my eyes on him, he turns. His eyes immediately clash with mine as he slams his car door, clicking the lock over his shoulder. Those eyes – golden brown beneath dark brows and a wave of bleached blonde hair. Their focus is absolute – hard – as he strolls towards us. It’s almost as if he knows the maddening effect that he has on me.

I think Eddie is speaking, but my senses are on lockdown, his words muted. My thighs tighten as my pulse picks up. Get a fucking grip, (y/n). I can’t let him know that just one look from him has me thirsty and oxygen-deprived. I can’t look away – that would be succumbing to weakness.

Instead, I hold his heated gaze as best I can as his confident gait brings him closer. God, he’s got to be at least 6 foot...

The goddamn president of BTS Kim Namjoon is getting closer and I can’t help running my eyes over him.

His thighs flex and shift beneath his jeans with every calculated step. His abs are apparent under his tight cutoff shirt emblazoned with his fraternity letters.

Namjoon stops in front of us, hands stuffed into his back pockets, biceps flexing. “Nice to finally meet you, Eddie,” Namjoon takes his eyes off me long enough to greet Eddie and shake his hand, but then they’re right back on me, “Hi, (y/n).”

He drags out my name in a such a sinful way that even old Eddie does a slight doubletake. Clearing his throat unnecessarily loudly, Eddie booms, “You two know each other?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Our differing replies sound at the same time.

“Yes,” Namjoon repeats, lips turning up in an infuriating smile, “We have several mutual friends that she’s met a couple times now. Want me to jog your memory? I’d be more than happy to do so.”

Eddie takes one look at my face and hustles off, mumbling something about support beams. I guess my inner thoughts of ‘kill, maim, slaughter’ could easily be read from my facial expression.

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak again, but I’m faster, “Listen, Kim, I don’t know who you think you are, and, quite frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is this house and these people working on it. Don’t fuck this up for me, okay? Let’s just get through today and then you can go back to ordering around your brothers and causing general mayhem.”

I’m feeling pretty proud of my little soliloquy until I realize he’s still smiling with those blasted dimples out in full display. No, his smile has grown even wider now as he simply answers, “The semester.”

My nose crinkles in confusion, “What?”

“The semester,” he repeats, “I’m assigned here every Saturday for the rest of the semester.”

I stare at him.

He smirks back.

I stare.

His smirk begins to fade, “Uh, did you hear me?”

I stare.

“Okay, you’re creeping me out now, (y/n),” Namjoon waves his giant paw of a hand in front of my face, “How many fingers?”

I break out of my trance of denial and hiss, “What did you do? Double homicide? Serial arson? Oh my god, you were the one who blew up the science lab!”

His hand covers my mouth – it’s rough and warm and entirely disarming.

“You have quite the imagination, jagi. I’ll keep that in mind,” Namjoon chuckles, “To answer your question, I did none of the above. Now, answer a couple questions of mine: what did you do to get here and – more importantly – why did you distract Jungkook from doing his fucking job on Monday?”

I glare in response, waiting for him to remove his hand from my mouth. He takes too long, and I lick his palm. It works. He removes his hand, but from the look on his face it seems like he liked my tongue on his skin entirely too much.

Thankfully, Eddie chooses the perfect moment to yell across the site, “What are you doing just standing there, (y/n)-doll? I don’t pay you to just loiter around all day!”

“You don’t pay me at all!” I yell back, already moving towards the trailer with all the supplies to get started. Namjoon follows.

“(y/n)-doll?” his eyebrows are raised as I hand him a pair of the biggest gloves I could find, “What’s up with that?”

Taking a pair of smaller gloves for myself, I turn to look for some hammers and nails as I respond, “I’ve been here a while. He’s like my honorary grandfather at this point.”

I spot the hammers and nails tucked away on the highest corner shelf and I huff. Namjoon follows my gaze, “Need a strong, intelligent, tall young man to grab those for you?”

He’s impossible, but for some reason it draws a small smile to my face, “Yes, that’d be great.”

The smile I receive in response is so bright I wonder if it could make flowers grow, “Okay, but only if answer my questions, (y/n).”

I shrug, trying not to notice how his cutoff shirt rises as he stretches to reach the upper shelf. I catch a sudden glimpse of his abs, and I praise every god out there that hot weather can be blamed for my sudden onset of sweat. 

Clearing my throat, I laugh lightly, “Fine, first of all, I didn’t ‘distract’ Jeon. I just had a temporary lapse in judgement. Besides, he came to me all on his own.” His back muscles tense up at my words, but I continue, “And second of all, there’s no juicy story of how I got here. I just volunteer here every Saturday for the Alphites.”

The sound of a hammer hitting the floor startles me as he whirls around, “You’re an Alphite?”

Namjoon’s tone is one of disbelief and it’s a tone I do not appreciate, “Yes, why is that so hard to believe?” My arms cross defensively, “I’ve been a sister since my sophomore year...”

I trail off. He’s still gawking at me ridiculously. Narrowing my eyes, I stride across the trailer and grab his chin, closing his mouth for him, “Watch out, Kim, you’re gonna catch flies.”

Spinning on my heels, I sashay out of the trailer, nose held high in the air and satisfaction held even higher. He’ll catch up. After all, he’s basically supposed to be my bitch today.

I climb up the scaffolding next to the house’s right side and assess the siding work that has already been started. It looks pretty solid and level. I should have no issue with continuing without having to make any initial corrections.

The sound of a bucket of nails hitting the top platform I’m sitting on alerts me of Namjoon’s impending presence. Saving the bucket from teetering over the edge – a safety hazard for sure – I watch amusedly as Namjoon struggles stay upright and climb up to where I am on the scaffolding. Finally, he plops down next to me – entirely too close. I can feel his stare on my skin as I steadfastly ignore him.

“Hey, jagi,” he pokes my arm, “(y/n), listen, you just caught me off guard. I mean, you don’t seem like the type to be an Alphite – that’s all.”

Fury curls up inside me for the umpteenth time that morning, as I turn to face Namjoon with a sickly-sweet smile that has him flinching back, “Then do tell, Namjoon, what type I seem to be?”

I pick up the hammer closest to me and dip a hand into the nail bucket. The sooner this siding got done, the sooner I could haul ass out of here.

“I feel like that’s a trick question,” Namjoon sighs, rubbing a hand over his chin, “I didn’t mean anything bad by it, okay? I guess I just have always thought that your society was a bunch of mom-types—”

I cut him off with a swing of my hammer in the air, “What’s wrong with mom-types, you uncultured swine? And is serving your community really such a ‘mom’ thing to do? I’m sorry. I must have missed that memo. Here I was thinking that it was public service but go off I guess.”

He blinks, “Did you just call me an ‘uncultured swine’?”

I sniff in indignation, “Get with the times, Kim. I just roasted your ass. Now hand me that piece of siding and make yourself useful.”

“You’re so weird,” Namjoon mutters, sliding my request over to me.

“So what?” I shrug, “All the best people are weird. Now, do me a solid and explain to me why you and your ‘brothers’ keep suspiciously popping up everywhere I go.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he grins, “We’re interested.”

“What does that even mean? That you’re interested?” I wrack my brain, “As in all seven of you fuckers?”

“It means, jagi,” Namjoon pauses, leaning closer, “It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

a/n: i love namjoon. that is all. 

taglist (message me to be added):

@catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles @leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @athletes-of-god @karissassirak @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cvbachacbitch @bewitch3dforivar @honeyspillings @xxonyxpearlxx​  @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @fivesecondsofsarang 

[number-1-kuaidul-fanboy]

Why I Can’t Read the Harry Potter Series the Same Way Anymore

 (I know this is different from the stuff I usually post on this blog but… frankly I wrote three pages to vent about this and I wanted to publish it somewhere so just bear with me.)

So, I know what this looks like. However, this is not because of the… real life misgivings of J.K. Rowling. As a trans person myself, yes, she is transphobic. Also, she lies about what her books actually contain to seem more progressive than she actually is, like claiming Hermione was always black when she was described and pictured as white in the books and then played by Emma Watson in the movies that Rowling was personally involved with the production of. But that’s not what I’m here to argue because frankly, that’s an old argument and while it does taint my view of the author, it’s not what taints my view of the books.

I should preface this with this: I don’t hate Harry Potter. I read all the books and watched all the movies. I was an active fan of the series for a long time and I still enjoy the world and the characters. Heck, I still sort my friends and characters into Hogwarts houses for the fun of it. However, overtime, some of my issues with this series have started to weigh on my mind more and more as I’ve gotten older. I mentioned the Hogwarts Houses, which while it’s fun to sort characters outside of Harry Potter into these houses, the way they’re handled in the series is lazy at best and problematic at worst. First off, nearly every good character is in Gryffindor, while Slytherin is almost entirely made up of villains. Gryffindor is the designated good house where all the “brave” people go when barely anyone there actually embodies the house traits, besides Neville, Hermione, and maybe Harry. If you wanted a variety of personalities in one place, maybe you shouldn’t have made your sorting system based on personality!

In fact, here’s a whole list of characters who should not be in Gryffindor:

-Ron Weasley (Hufflepuff. He’s super loyal to the point where him leaving his friends in the final book felt out of character)

-Fred and George Weasley (Slytherin, they are some of the most ambitious, cunning characters in the whole series. Opening a joke shop IS an ambition and is a great example of a non-evil ambition.)

-Ginny Weasley (Also ambitious with her Quidditch to the point of spending years sneaking out to practice on a broom before she attended Hogwarts.)

-Percy Weasley (Ambition is his whole thing. He’s even a darker side of ambition. Him coming back to his family would be more meaningful if he were a Slytherin!)

-Dumbledore (Ravenclaw or Slytherin. He manipulated the ever-loving hell out of Harry, which I’ll get to, and is known as clever, wise, and a little eccentric. Either house could’ve been a better fit for him than Gryffindor.)

-Hagrid (Either Hufflepuff or Slytherin. Hufflepuff seems like the best fit for his current personality but Slytherin makes the most sense considering his backstory and history with Tom Riddle. The SuperCarlinBrothers made a really good video explaining this called “What House Was Hagrid in.” Go watch that.)

Leading into my next issue with the Hogwarts Houses, I have a serious issue with how Slytherin house is represented.

This has been said multiple times but the fact that every single Slytherin in the series is either evil (Voldemort, Bellatrix), assholes (Draco, Snape), morally gray (Slughorn, Regulus Black), or not in the core seven books (Albus Potter, Scorpious Malfoy, and Merlin), is extremely problematic. It makes the line between good and evil incredibly obvious and clear cut, with hardly any effort to blur those lines. The closest thing we got, especially in the author’s eyes, was Snape, who was not redeemed. He just wasn’t. He was a bully to his students, emotionally and physically, to the point where Neville’s biggest fear was him, and yet it’s suddenly all okay because he was in love with Harry’s deceased mother? That’s not how this works. His actions are not suddenly all okay because of that and frankly, he didn’t do enough to warrant saying he redeemed himself, besides indirectly letting Harry know that he needed to die to defeat Voldemort through the memories in the Pensieve, which just isn’t enough. Draco had more of a redemption and frankly proved he had good in him, yet we never got a true redemption from him because apparently all Slytherins are evil. Sure, there is a total of… one evil Gryffindor: Peter Pettigrew, who is pretty awful, but is there a single fully good Slytherin? No, they’re all either assholes, dabbled with evil, or are full on evil. Not only is it basic black and white morality, but it’s also downright harmful. The kids are sorted into their houses by their personalities and values. Some of the Slytherin traits are ambition, cunning, cleverness, resourcefulness, and leadership qualities, all pretty positive traits. The thing that divides these houses are their traits and values, so this is sending a message that traits such as “ambition,” “cleverness,” or “resourcefulness” are bad or evil, when they’re not. This is especially problematic when you remember that there is an official Wizarding World quiz that sorts you into a Hogwarts house based on your personality and likes and one of the houses you can get is this designated evil house. So if kids take this quiz and get Slytherin, they’re going to be disappointed and possibly think they’re evil. I’m especially annoyed at “ambition” ALWAYS being represented as a negative trait. That’s not just a Harry Potter problem but it still bothers me. Having aspirations and the guts to pursue them is not a bad thing, having evil aspirations is a bad thing. Ambition is a purely neutral trait, it can be positive or negative depending on what you’re pursuing yet it’s only ever shown as a “villain” trait.

(Look at this wonderful tweet I found while looking for images for this by the way:)

(Way to be even more blatant that you hate Slytherins and also have a poor understanding of racial issues. Speaking of which...)

This series tries to tackle racism… and it didn’t do it well. At all. It didn’t even tackle racism itself, it used elements of its magical world as an allegory for racism and these allegories just don’t work. The two that are most well-known are the wizard/muggle tension and the house elves as a whole. The pureblood purists are essentially an allegory for white supremacists, which has some troubling implications since wizards are literally genetically superior to muggles. Even if it’s not an objective fact, the books do imply that wizards are better than muggles from the story alone so this racial allegory doesn’t work when you’re saying one side is more powerful or better! The house elves are even worse. Their entire species is enslaved to these “genetically superior wizards.” In fact, if I remember correctly, house elves are enslaved mostly by rich pureblood families like the Malfoys and the Crouch’s, similar to slavery in the real world. But apparently, the house elves are happy to be enslaved (besides Dobby, who died) and were insulted when Hermione tried to free them. Winky in particular was horrified when she was freed by her master, treating it like a horrible punishment. Surely I don’t have to say how messed up that is.

Finally, my biggest problem with the Harry Potter series and the main reason I can’t stomach reading or watching them anymore, is the treatment of Harry himself. Harry was abused by the Dursleys. This is not me reading too into the book of reinterpreting anything, this is what is told to us directly. Harry is thin from being underfed in the first book, was forced to live in the cupboard under the stairs for eleven years, is frequently yelled at and berated by the Dursleys, heck Petunia and Vernon practically encourage their son to beat up Harry and frequently show favoritism to Dudley over Harry to an absurd degree. They make it clear to Harry that they don’t want him there. They also lock him in his room in the second book, literally boarding up the window and not letting him leave, passing him soup cans under the door. And all of this is just off the top of my head. Dumbledore left Harry in this environment. Dumbledore is fully aware of how Harry is being treated. Harry’s acceptance letter into Hogwarts literally has the address “the cupboard under the stairs” written on it. Yet they leave him in this physically and emotionally abusive and neglectful environment because the Dursley’s treatment somehow humbled him and made him the hero the wizarding world needed. Let me repeat that loud and clear: Harry is a hero because he endured abuse. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. I don’t care what your justification is, it is never a good thing to leave a child in an abusive situation. You are not good or noble or heroic or anything for staying with people who hurt you. And it’s not just Dumbledore. I understand that Harry living with Sirius wasn’t much of an option with him on the run from Azkaban and then dying in book 5 but what about the Weasleys? Why do they let him return to the Dursleys when they know full well what he’s going through there after Fred, George, and Ron bust him out? Oh yeah, he can’t leave because Lily’s love spell protects Harry when he’s in a blood relative’s house. He doesn’t have any other choice. This is a lazy excuse from the story to justify Harry staying with his abusers and frankly, doesn’t even work since he’s constantly trying to avoid his house, a pretty common response to domestic abuse by the way. So it’s not “protecting” him, even by that stupid logic. Harry was left with and forced to return to the Dursleys year after year solely because he’s the chosen one and needed to be put through hell because abuse apparently molds people into heroes and if Harry was even a little arrogant, he wouldn’t be a hero. And he wouldn’t have been prepared to die to Voldemort to destroy the horcrux in him. The story is framed in a way that glorifies Harry for being abused and I despise it. Dumbledore used Harry as a tool to defeat Voldemort, never taking his feelings into account and he’s just forgiven for all of this in the end. Everyone says Harry shouldn’t have named his kid after Snape? What about Dumbledore? Harry basically named his child after two of his biggest tormentors. It sickens me. It’s like the series is supporting and glorifying abuse, even if that wasn’t the intent of the author (and I doubt it was, since she was abused herself) that is how it feels. So yeah, I can’t really enjoy Harry Potter anymore the way I used to.

(On a side note, I hate “destiny” stories and Harry Potter is a good example of a terrible destiny themed story. Harry didn’t have a choice in anything. He was just forced into this scenario and twisted by the plot to be what it “needed” him to be, having no agency of his own. Great inspiring hero. -_-)

[siren-virus]

Luckyboy!AU thing. So I went looking some stuff up, and I can perfectly imagine that Ben would name himself Nekomata, the name for the lucky cats in japanese; you know, because he wants the victims he rescues to have luck in their lives and to bring some of that to himself. However this confuses the Plumbers a whole lot, after all, why would a vigilante want to bring to himself and the others luck in education and love? Green Nekomatas bring luck in education and pink ones (close enough to magenta) bring luck towards love. Spoiler: Ben didn't know what the colors mean, he just thought that the lucky cats bring luck in general to people. His stickers could be coins in order to keep up the theme, or it could be some kind of cats to keep the cat aesthetic.

I also need some fluff between the different "people" (still don't know which noun to use to represent both humans and aliens that isn't "beings" (kinda uncomfortable using that one, since it also encapsulates non inteligent creatures) ) that visit the coffee shop while Ben is working there, like some conversation that he would have with Rook or Gwen, or how he could give some ideas to Cooper over the next technological thing to create/modify, a chat with Kevin about what alien technology he could sell to the civilians that would make him money AND avoid the eye of the Plumbers (and his vigilante persona too if they aren't dangerous)

Would his parents and Max surprise visit him to the coffee shop? I'd imagine that they would, not only to see him but also to have an excuse to give him money in the form of tips without being returen the money XD "You guys just gave me a big ass tip" "Well we just happen to like the service" "I GAVE YOU A GLASS OF WATER" "We REALLY like your service *wink*", meanwhile, Max's watching everything from the table sipping his own extravagant coffee (don't tell me he wouldn't find a way to add some tentacles to his coffee one way or another, forcing Ben to make one that way XD)

Also, what would happen with the love interests that Ben had in the prime dimension? Would he have met any of them in this timeline? How would his relationship with them be? Would any of them come visit him to his job?

Also also, I imagine that Ben would ask grandpa Max any time some of his friends want a tour through the Plumbers HQ to give them all a pass of some kind and do the tour himself (sometimes with his grandpa by his side, sometimes it's Rook, sometimes he's alone, and the best of times he would be with the other Plumber kids going alongside doing lots of pranks at the same time)

I wonder how many charms does Ben have in his home, since some of them are really useful and would help in a lot of things, like I imagine he would use a light charm and reduce his living costs that way, or a heating charm for the same effect.

Finally, I have to say that I love that animation you did of Ben hating early mornings (and if he was out all night and went without sleep, then thank fuck he works at a coffee shop XD), and that tiny detail of him snapping his fingers with both hands, it's just, ugh, I LOVE IT, it reminds me of The Addams Family opening theme. Maybe whenever he does a spell he does that double hand finger snap as a way to focus himself? It'd be a funny easter egg for anyone who would be able to discern it (aka Jimmy, 'cause let's be honest, he would totally find a way to link the double snap with the show somehow, and he would be totally right XD)

Damn dude, I love that whole thing. He would totally choose that name without thinking about it. Nekomata... Rolls off the tongue nicely.

Fluff, eh? People is good enough.

With Gwen, like I said in another post (did I? maybe...) Their conversations would be brief, usually Ben just trying to get a rise out of his cousin to force her into a chat.

Rook is similar, their conversations are brief, but if Ben asks the right questions, serves him a particularly good drink, saves extra amber ogia tarts for him. Rook would be more than happy to indulge. They don't talk about plumbers business, Rook's smart enough to know not to exchange information with a civilian. (Even though Ben probably knows it already.) More, Rook discusses Earth culture with Ben, trying to play catch up with slang, sometimes he'll even indulge some info about his home planet, his friends, family, and girlfriend.

I don't believe Ben and Cooper would talk much, the only reason he's in the cafe is because Manny, Helen, and Alan (if he's not working) forcefully dragged him from the lab, kicking and screaming.

"i'll have an espresso shot. with some honey too... please." Is the only thing he'll before engrossing himself in what tech he managed to bring along.

The one with Kevin is interesting, I do like the idea of Ben tryna push Kevin in the right direction. But Kevins love of tadenite, and the fact he sells weaponry would propbably prevent that.

Instead Ben would try to get as much info from him as possible, subtly giving Kevin a little extra when it comes to info exchange. Kevins lips are sealed. Unless Ben decides to spill some info on Gwen. Kevin plays dumb, but it's easy to spot his interest.

Absolutely, Max, his parents, AND Patelliday all come for visits. At first his parents would be super cautious entering the cafe, they did their best to try to make Ben quit and find a "normal cafe" to work at. They also did their best to convince Ben to move back in. They would deffinitely use any excuse under the sun to tip Ben. They make regular visits on saturdays for morning tea. They don't stick around long though, aliens still spook them a little.

Max and Patellliday - are a unit- would always order a drink together. Max going with the basic Flat White, with some tentacles, of course. Patelliday going for the Boba Fish Tank... they have to restock their gold fish tank every week.

Ben has a good poker face, having to make such a... variety of drinks, and watch how his customer drink/eat. It leaves scars...

Love interests.

Well with Julie, Ben unfortunately never got the confidence to ask her out. But they're really good friends still. (Ben also learned as he got older that not every girl he's friends with wants to date.) Julie comes by the cafe every now and again, always checking if Bens there first before entering, she still managed to get Ship surprisingly, so Ship is always happy to get a pupacino, can't drink it or anything. Just happy to smoosh his face into it.

With Kai, they never had that meeting when they were 10. She comes to Bellwood every now and again, she and Gwen are surprisingly good friends. They clash alot though.

Kai comes by the cafe sometimes too, Ben think she looks nice, but they've had no interactions. (She's not a coffee person, just a water gal.)

Esther, there's no meeting between them, as Ben that is. However, Esther can't deny she feels something towards Nekomata. The guys charming.

I think there's another girl, but I can't remember ;;;

Tour guides? At plumbers HQ? Much as Ben would love to guide his friends around, the amount of jailbreaks that happen there is too many (the plumbers have shit security)... He's not even allowed there most times unless there is someone capable by his side.

More often than not Ben would be disappointed to see one of his regulars, Fist Rick out on the streets the day after he was arrested.

Yes yes yes!! Ben uses a lot of his mana on little things to make his life easier and more convenient. This also comes at the cost of using too much energy, so normally he makes sure to do this when he knows he doesn't have work.

Thank! I work best when I have a visual setting ;; Maybe I should switch careers to be a vis dev.

Also ngl, the whole finger snapping thing, Idk where that came from ;; Could be a cool easter egg thingy

Some days Ben has to be stopped from drinking the coffee. Mr Baumann (yes, he's the head honcho) threatens to send Ben home on those days.