#like am i allowed to call it infatuation at first sight

[eightpackdiaz]

this man was so down bad so incredibly fast

[lightsovermonaco]

Wedding Date, Part 2 (Pato O'Ward)

an: requests and comments always welcome! There will be at least two more parts to this series.

wc: 3800

Summary: Pato is in need of a wedding date, desperately. Despite hating him, and despite him knowing it, he asks you to be his date and you agree.

Okay, maybe Pato isn't all bad. If your favorite childhood Disney movie trilogy taught you anything, it's that everyone has some good in them, no matter how sour they seem. (High school musical, for the record- even Sharpay had her positive moments.)

Inherently bad people don't pay the aquarium entry fee for their fake date, or purchase the add-on ticket that allows you access to the touch tank. Perhaps Pato was revealing the best parts of himself in an attempt to impress you. Normally you're not inclined to let someone throw money around like that but… Pato had invited you. That counted for something.

For now, you give Pato the benefit of the doubt, extending him an olive branch in the form of holding your tongue. He is your employer after all- well, in a sense, at least. You do owe him some debt of gratitude for flying you out here, paying for your room, your dress, all of it. So you allow him to set the pace, occupying yourself by reading the plaques on the walls. 

While you're happy to take your time stopping at all the tanks, Pato gravitates towards the wrap-around shark tank the moment it comes into view. You let him wander, keeping him at the edge of your vision while you check out another nearby exhibit filled with brightly colored fish the size of your palm.  

Pato steps into the tunnel, utterly nonplussed by the thousands of gallons of saltwater pressing against the glass on either side of him. The water casts a cool, blue glow over him as he cranes his neck to see a bull shark swim over his head. His mouth falls open as he turns to track the animal as it glides through the water, gaping like a kid in a candy store. 

“Wooowww, did you see that? Amazing!” Pato’s boyish grin is something out of a story book. His following laugh draws the attention of a young, blonde woman to his left. She blatantly stares at Pato, eating him up like Christmas dinner.

Something curdles in your gut. Objectively, you know it's not Pato's fault that people become ensnared by him the second they're in his orbit. But you can't wrap your head around why people are so infatuated with him in the first place. He's just a guy that drives fast cars for a living. What makes him so special? 

“The shark? Yeah, it's great.” You roll your eyes and turn back to the tank you'd been examining. Tiny fish no larger than a stick of chewing gum dart through a miniature rainbow coral reef. The sign above the tank proudly encourages visitors to ‘find nemo!’, including a photo of a clown fish with only a single white stripe on its body. You're determined to find it, nose bumping the glass as you go up on your tiptoes for a new angle. 

“Bella, come look at this.” Apparently, Pato is equally determined to ensure you do not have a moment of peace. His voice grates on your nerves, though your feet propel you forward against your better judgment. It's a learned reflex and one you now curse yourself for developing. Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, you cannot stop yourself from answering Pato’s call- you blame Emma, head of Arrow McLaren's PR team for that. “How many times do I have to tell you my name isn't Bella?”

Pato looks at you as if to say yes I am aware but does not correct himself. You sigh, arms crossed over your chest. “What did you call me over here for?”

Like you had done seconds before, Pato presses his face to the tank and jabs his finger at something down below. It's hypocritical, but you cannot help noting the childishness of the action.

“Look at that one. The little one at the bottom, isn't it adorable?” Pato glances over his shoulder to confirm you follow his line of sight. You hum politely, not even remotely interested. “That's a nurse shark- they're pretty much harmless. They're known for being friendly, but they're fourth on the list for biting humans. Their teeth are tiny though, so really they don't cause too much harm.” Maybe he isn’t as much of a himbo as you thought. Apparently, Indycar’s golden boy knows a thing or two about aquatics. “I touched one once when I was snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef- I'll never forget that.”

Ah, there it was. The humble brag, which is almost certainly the real reason he'd called you over here. It's like he knows exactly what buttons to press to get a reaction out of you, and as much as you hate it, it's effective. You shouldn't give in- you should let the subtle jab roll off your back like a wave instead of rising to the challenge, but you just can't.

“Great, any other world travels you'd like to rub in my face? What about the hammerhead- did you swim with those when you were free-diving in the Galapagos?”

Something flickers on Pato’s face that you don't recognize. His eyebrows twitch downward and he purses his lips ever so slightly. It is gone in a flash, smoothed over by his usual aloof mask, “that doesn't make any sense. Hammerhead sharks don't live-”

You've had enough. Dealing with his high and mighty ass day in and day out during the season is torture enough. Enduring it now in the off-season is entirely too much to bear. When you agreed to come sightseeing with him, you imagined him as your silent human GPS and your face stuck in your phone whilst you took ten thousand photos. Instead, you're at the aquarium- which you won't complain about- with a man who insists on flaunting his lifetime of luxury experiences over your head- which you will complain about. 

“Look Pato, it was nice of you to bring me here and all, but I don't need a zoology lesson. Listening to you drone on about your beautiful tropical vacation that probably costs more than I make in a year doesn't sound interesting to me, and I don't feel like entertaining your ego. I'm gonna go find anywhere else to be,” you point your thumb over your shoulder, and then pivot to point at the tank in front of you, “and you can stay here with your sharks. Have fun.”

Pato has the audacity to look hurt by your outburst. “Oh. Right. Sorry for bothering you.” A pang of guilt hits your stomach when Pato stuffs his hands in his pockets and sighs. You dig your nails into your palm to resist the urge to apologize when you haven't done anything wrong. “You can just send me a message when you're ready to go. I'll be wandering around, but I promise I won't bother you.” 

Finally, peace.

Without another word, you spin on your heel and search for the signs pointing you to the touch tank, the one thing you are genuinely excited about experiencing. To be honest, a visit to the aquarium was already on your agenda before Pato brought it up. Marine life is something you've enjoyed since you were little, with your fascination dating from the first trip your family took to the ocean. Since then, you've consumed an unfathomable amount of media about all things ocean related, from documentaries to blog posts written by top activists. Oceanography was a career path you briefly explored at one point before deciding the long hours, low pay and tough competition wasn't worth the effort. Ironic that your current job also ticks all three of those boxes, and yet that hadn't deterred you.

The queue for the touch tanks is mainly comprised of families with young children, with a few couples scattered through as well. It feels a bit odd to be in line on your own, but that won't stop you. The bored teenager manning the entry line notes the neon pink band on your wrist and waves you through without a fuss. 

Excitement unfurls in your chest as you take a moment to soak it all in. Two semi-sunken tanks sit on either side of the exhibit, both the size of a small swimming pool. The sides are clear so that the children running about have a clear view of what's inside. The few attendants near the tanks are too busy reminding the little devils to be gentle and not poke the sea life too forcefully to deal with the kids running free.

Seeking a refuge from the chaos, you tuck yourself in a quieter corner away from most people. Your elbows rest on the thick plexiglass as you lean over for a view of the urchins, coral, and sea stars who are, like you, attempting to find some room to breathe. 

“I promise I'm gentler than most of those kids,” you say quietly, like the animals can understand you. Rolling up the sleeves of your chunky knit cream sweater, you dip your hand in the saltwater tank. The cold is a welcome shock to your senses. You gently run your fingers over the bumpy arms of a starfish, which somehow brings to mind the texture of tire marbles on a track. 

The sea creatures creep slowly through the water. You imagine they're on their commutes, either headed home or going to their mundane office jobs on the other side of the tank. There's a certain level of calm beneath the surface despite the occasional shriek from an unruly child. Simply having a hand in the saltwater is enough to regulate your body. Your frustration ebbs away with each passing second until your head is finally cleared of any lingering red fog.   

Circumstances aside, you're glad you're here. Visiting aquariums feels like reconnecting with yourself, a reset of sorts that erases your unease and replaces it with optimism. Did Pato know about your love of water, or did he simply get lucky? 

Guilt wraps around your shoulders like a blanket. You shouldn't have stormed off like you did, you know that. It's not your fault that Pato's unexpected kindness has put you on the back foot. Deep down, part of you knows Pato wasn't trying to brag. 

Despite witnessing his giving personality first hand in the past, having it directed at you is hard to wrap your head around. Whether it be making time to sign as many autographs as possible or purposely building time into his schedule to greet fans ahead of every grand prix on the calendar, Pato always showers his supporters with kindness. 

Now that you think about it, Pato hasn't once treated you as beneath him, despite the power balance in your relationship being skewed heavily in his favor. He's treated you as somewhat of an equal. Which is… an interesting revelation, and one that is best left in a dusty corner of your mind and unpacked another day. 

The sting rays are your next stop, your childhood favorites. Your heart beats a little faster when you approach the water despite knowing the captive creatures are perfectly harmless. Their barbs are kepts closely trimmed, and only the most docile of the animals are allowed into the exhibit. Still, your courage takes a minute or two to build before you stick a tentative hand into the water and brush a light gray ray as it swims past. 

“Beautiful,” you mumble to yourself. The surface of the water ripples when a ray chases your hand as you go to withdraw it. Leaning heavier on the tank now, you submerge your arm to the elbow in an effort to interact with any stingray that seems interested. Perhaps they intuitively know how much you admire them and that's why they seem drawn to you. Whatever the reason, you're perfectly content to stay just as you are, even when pins and needles prick your arm from lack of movement. 

**********

Promises aren't Pato’s forte. He does his best to uphold them, but once he gets bored it's easy to forget said verbal pacts. 

Pato walks through the entire aquarium twice and even stops to sit and watch the otters for fifteen minutes before he gives up. His watch vibrates thirty seconds after he stops pacing, alerting him that his ‘workout’ has ended. Sitting still is another thing he isn't exactly good at, hence his choice of high-octane career. 

If Pato has to make another lap, he might lose his mind- despite almost certainly doubling his step count for the day.  

So he breaks his promise and goes looking for you. Scavenger hunts aren't something Pato actively enjoys, though he is quite apt at them. Being trained to quantify small details means that he can often pick up clues easier than most. He suggested the aquarium because he  had overheard you talking about the ocean once. The wistful love in your eyes had taken his breath away, and he had understood then how much sway the water had over you.

Pato also happens to know that sting rays are one of your top five favorite animals; another fact he had picked up on after seeing the documentary you chose to watch on the plane. After only a few short minutes, Pato finds you by the touch tanks, leaning over the two inch thick plexiglass side and straining to reach a stingray that evades your advances. The sleeve of your sweater drags in the water, but that doesn't stop you. Pato quietly steps up to the tank a few feet away and merely observes. 

“Come on little guy, I just want to say hi,” you murmur, completely oblivious to his presence. A noise of frustration escapes you seemingly without your notice. It's adorable. The urge to squish your cheeks and inform you of that is compelling. Luckily, Pato is good at repressing said urges, particularly when it comes to you.

“Do you need some help hermosa?” Pato’s smile is the equivalent of a white flag of surrender when you glance at him.

“No, I'm fine.” You push up onto your tiptoes to gain a few more inches of leverage. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth, a telltale sign of your laser focus. Pato's seen that sort of look on you when you're holed up in his driver's room crafting the perfect socials post. “This is the only one that I haven't pet yet. All the others wouldn't leave me alone. I just… want it to… trust me…” 

Never did it cross Pato’s mind that one day he might have something in common with a stingray. No matter how hard Pato tries to be kind and considerate and moreover prove that he's a half decent man, you don't catch on. Like now, as you attempt to coax the stingray from its hiding spot beneath a rocky ledge with a piece of dinner, the ray remains steadfast in its decision to remain concealed where it believes itself to be safe. 

If it would just swim out if it's comfort zone… and if you would step out of yours- perhaps you could be friends. One of you has to take a leap of faith, and considering how you have shown no interest at all in doing so, Pato supposes it's up to him. Heavy lifting is something he does regularly, just in a literal sense, but how hard could it be to do figuratively?

“Here, use this.” Pato grabs the small step stool leaning on the opposite side of the tank and brings it over. He pats the step like it's gold plated and then smiles, “that should give you enough of a boost that you can drop it right in front of him. He might just be new to the touch tank, maybe he's not used to humans yet.” 

“I guess that's a good point.” Though you eye him warily, you accept his help and the extra six inches of leverage is exactly what you needed. Now you can just about reach the ray, and it seems more curious now that your hand rests under the ledge in front of it. 

“Ah! There! That's perfect.” Now that you're within its bubble, the ray happily takes the fish from your hand before immediately retreating to safety. “Perfect, that's perfect! Thanks Pato-” 

You weren't aware of how your arm pressed against Pato's when you gripped the glass for balance, but he was. He hadn't dared to move a muscle. Water from your drenched sleeve drips onto his hand, ice cold and scorching hot at the same time. Time stretches like taffy into what feels like hours but in reality is only a few seconds before you realize your error and break the contact. 

“Sorry. Didn't mean to get you all wet.”

You'd done more than dampen his sleeve; you've tied his stomach in knots. “It's alright. Don't worry about it.”

You absently wipe your wet hand on your sweater. Pato mentally wills you to look at him. His message goes unanswered and your attention is awarded to the view outside the window, “I'm ready to leave now. I didn't mean to keep you here so long. You could've left, you didn't have to wait for me.” 

Pato knows you mean that, too. Whether you admit it or not, he knows you hate feeling like an inconvenience. When the crew invites you out after a race, you're always the first to suggest a restaurant choice that's neutral and well-loved by the majority rather than picking something you like. Pato's heart aches on your behalf, a physical squeeze in his chest that steals his breath. 

Because what you don't realize is that Pato would set the world at your feet if he could. Your rough, impenetrable exterior is a defense mechanism. On the rare occasion that you let yourself enjoy and live in the moment, your brilliance exceeds that of the stars that paint the night sky over his hometown. And upon your request, Pato would pluck each of those stars and fasten you a crown of starlight fit for a queen.

Damn, he was down bad. Elba had warned him that inviting you to Copenhagen may wind up being the death of him. He would rather burn his lucky boots than admit she was right, but Pato fears there may have been some wisdom in her warning. 

“It's alright,” Pato says. “I don't mind. I've had my fill of watching sea otters play for a while though, which is good cause who knows when I'll have time to do something like this again.”

Your laugh is more or less a huff and roll of your eyes, but you know what? Pato will take that. It's an improvement over the icy facade you’ve insisted on wearing, albeit a small one. Progress is progress; shaving a tenth off his lap time is still better than nothing. He may as well build on his lead. 

“So, I was thinking we could grab something to eat on the way to our next stop? Honestly there's a few sights around here I think we should at least walk by, we could just see what sounds good along the way.”

“I guess that's fine.” 

There's another few hundredths shaved off. Another step in the right direction. 

Pato is careful to keep his distance while you walk and is generally happy to let you take the lead. Which is odd for him, because in all other aspects of his life, he has to be in control. But in your presence, his brain recognizes some green flag that tells him ‘hey, you don't have to worry around this girl, she'll sort everything out’ and it's damn refreshing. The never ending string of thoughts in his head goes inexplicably quiet around you. He doesn't worry about what he's wearing because you quite literally could not care less if he was wearing a potato sack- as long as there was no cameras in the immediate vicinity. He doesn't have to paste on a plastic smile when he's in a mood because you don't expect him to be sunny, happy Pato every second of every day. 

Pato can simply exist around you, be a human being with thoughts, feelings, needs. He's starting to think that is the most precious thing. 

“This looks delicious,” you say, pulling him out of his thoughts when you stop on the sidewalk. “How’s gelato sound?” 

Pato raises an eyebrow, “do you know me at all? When have I ever said no to frozen dessert? If they have any sort of chocolate flavor, I’m game.”

“Considering that chocolate is literally one of the two classic flavors, I think you’re safe there.”

“Hopefully it's as good as that place you took me to after Road America- that little vintage place? How many scoops did I have that day?”

Your laugh is a sound that Pato will never tire of. And now, when it bubbles out of you freely, it sends an unfamiliar heat to his cheeks. “I lost count after five. I still have no idea how you weren't sick! I couldn't imagine having that much in one go.” You wag a finger at him as the line moves forward and brings you closer to a sweet treat, “gotta admit, I was impressed.”

“So… Sounds like I have to get six scoops here and break my own record?” 

“Oh no please don't-” 

“Kinda sounded like a challenge from you though-” 

“Pato don't, seriously don't because then you'll be sick!” Your hand lands on Pato's forearm and squeezes to emphasize your plea. 

Pato hums, glances at the man waiting for your order. “You first cariño, pick one.” 

Pato isn’t sure if you’ve picked up on any spanish, but he uses little nicknames with you anyway. Whether you know what the affectionate words mean or not, your cheeks flare each time.

“What can I get for you, miss?” The shop worker, a young man in his mid twenties, smiles sweetly at you. 

“Um… Single scoop of strawberry please. Yes, thank you.” 

Your hand is still on Pato's arm. 

“And I’ll do…” Pato purposely drags out his choice, teasing you a bit to see what you’ll do. He won’t spoil his diet that badly, after all. The hand on his arm tightens ever so slightly, a warning to not over do it. “Two scoops of chocolate.”

“Thank god,” you mumble, smiling at Pato over your dish. “Thought I was gonna have to rat you out to the team when we got back.”

“Oh, you're reporting back to the team? Well then I have to be on my best behavior! Can't have a bad grade on my otherwise perfect record.”

“So far so good O'ward,” you say, pointing your spoon at him. “You're sitting at a passing grade right now, so don't mess it up.”

[until-the-house-shakes]

First Day of Hogwarts

Wolfstar raising Regulus / Werewolf! Regulus

Microfic

-

Regulus’ first day at Hogwarts went well, much better than Remus thought. Despite being under his and Sirius’ care for a little over a year, the kid was still a nervous wreck with an uncontrollable temper, especially on the week of the Full. Remus wouldn’t lie and say he had no doubts about the young werewolf having a perfect first day. He still remembers his own first day, ten years ago, and how terrifying and anger inducing it was- and it wasn’t anywhere close to a Full! But despite all the odds, Regulus seemed to have a perfect day.

The sorting ceremony was what Remus feared the most. All the Marauders told Regulus a million times over that none of them would think of him any differently when he got sorted into his house. Sure, they were all Gryffindors, but they weren’t about to be like the poor kid’s parents and scare him into begging for the same house. They all wanted for him to be sorted fairly.

Plus they all had a few running bets on what house Regulus would he sorted into. Sirius and James- ever the fanboys of their own house- fully believed he would be a Gryffindor, while Remus and Lily thought he would be a Ravenclaw. Peter was the odd man out with Hufflepuff (‘I don’t actually believe it but imagine how mental everyone would go if I am correct’). And lastly with Slytherin was Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas- Marlene’s Slytherin girlfriend who Regulus was infatuated by.

To only Regulus’ surprise, the dusty old hat screamed ‘RAVENCLAW’ the second it touched the boy’s black curls. The young werewolf shot his gaze over to the older werewolf, looking a mix of shocked and terrified, but when he saw the jaw breaking smile his guardian wore, he instantly felt much better about his placement and rushed over to the Ravenclaw table. Once everyone was sorted, Regulus was crowded by three other Ravenclaw first-years; A boy named Barty, and a set of twins- Evan and Pandora Rosier. Even though Remus didn’t know anything about the kids, it was safe to say that Regulus found his ‘forever mates’ as Sirius would call them.

-

The rest of the evening went off without a hitch. Remus was now fully unpacked and settled into his professor suite, and was about to change into his pajamas before he heard a soft knock at the door. “Coming.” Remus called out, a bit confused on who could be knocking so late into the night, and on the first night no less.

To his surprise, the sight of neat black curly hair, and a much too big jumper on a small pale boy, welcomed Remus. “Cub, what are you doing here?” He stepped aside so Regulus could enter his room, and the small boy did exactly that, before turning around and throwing himself into Remus’ arms. The older man was quick to pick up the smaller boy, allowing him to get as close to him as possible. Remus closed the door and walked to his bed, sitting them both down.

“Cub, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Remus gently rocked the boy back and forth, rubbing his back- trying to offer as much comfort to the kid as possible.

“This is all too much. I’m scared and I want Siri.” Regulus whimpered, not daring to take his face away from the crook of Remus’ neck. That was always his favorite place to hide when he was overwhelmed or upset and it wouldn’t change for a long while.

“We can floo call him. I’m sure he will love to talk to you.” Remus felt awful hearing how scared his cub was. Hogwarts was meant to be a fresh start for him. He no longer had to deal with big expectations from abusive family, hell he was already on his own path by being sorted into Ravenclaw. Remus thought he was in safe hands, especially after seeing how nice the other first-years were with him. But he should have known that his sensitive, traumatized, and dramatic cub would have had some sort of breakdown by the end of the first week, he just wasn’t expecting it to be the first day.

“Please? I really want Siri.”

-

An hour has passed, and Regulus was now fast asleep in Remus’ bed with the older werewolf gently brushing his curls with his fingers. The floo call was only about thirty minutes long. It consisted of Regulus talking about his new friends, Sirius promising the both of them that he is perfectly fine alone, and a new story about baby Harry and a frazzled James and Lily.

Once the call ended, all hell seemed to break loose, however. Regulus instantly started crying again, saying he didn’t want to go back to his dorm- that the boys scared him and he wanted to go back home for good.

“Cubby, is there something you’re not telling me?” Remus sighed, trying his hardest to get to the bottom of what was truly bothering his kid. It’s been fifteen minutes since the call ended, and Regulus was still quietly crying to himself, curled up in Remus’ lap.

“…Barty had this book. About magical creatures… and the cover had a werewolf on it. He talked about how scary werewolves were and how he wanted to meet one to see if they’re really as awful as everyone says they are.” The whispered words broke Remus’ heart. It was only the first night at Hogwarts, and Regulus was already facing discrimination for his ‘furry little problem’.

“Oh cub, I’m sure that was scary. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.” Remus was already thinking of ways to deal with that little shit. He could talk to Flitwick about moving Regulus to stay with the second years, or he could talk to Dumbledore about moving Regulus into his own suite for the time being. It was hard for the young werewolf to trust anyone, especially kids his own age, and maybe forcing him to share a room with rude, snotty nosed children wasn’t the best idea! He should be allowed to settle into school for a few weeks, and then slowly integrate sharing a room with those assholes into his routine.

“They seemed so nice, but… now I’m scared. I don’t want to go back in there.” Regulus’ small voice took Remus out of his own internal rants. “Trust me Cub, you won’t go back there until you’re ready.” Remus kissed the top of Regulus’ head, sealing his promise.

The kid fell asleep not long after their short conversation, and remus has spent that time watching his cub sleep peacefully in his bed, playing with his hair, and thinking of all the ways he can keep him safe. Remus was already a very protective (‘possessive’ if you ask Sirius) person, but when it comes to Moony’s cub? He was another form of protective. He really hoped that Barty gets better, because he didn’t feel up to getting thrown in Azkaban for nearly killing a child.

-

As if it was a pattern, right before he could fall asleep himself, there was another knock at the door. Remus couldn’t help the unconscious growl that came from his gut. Who in their right mind wants to bother him and his cub this late at night?

“Hello?” Remus grumbled, opening the door to see two small boys. The same two small boys he saw at the Ravenclaw table with Regulus earlier that evening- which means one of these assholes were the reason why his cub spent the last hour crying and terrified.

They better have a good ass reason for being here.

“Professor Lupin, I’m Evan, this is Barty. Is Regulus here? He ran out of the dorm room crying an hour or so ago and we’re really worried about him. We’ve been all over the castle looking for him and I really hope he’s here. If not… we might have some issues.” The kid- Evan, said while rocking back and forth on his feet. It was clear both boys looked terrified. Whether it was about the wellbeing of their roommate or it was fear of facing the wrath of Regulus’ guardian- Remus wasn’t sure.

“I’m really sorry to bother you sir, but we’re both very worried… and thought you should know as his dad.” The last part took Remus by surprise. His dad? Did Regulus really tell these two boys that he was Regulus’ dad?

Huh.

Remus did not mind that one bit.

“Yeah, he’s in here. Got really homesick and wanted some comfort. Thank you for checking on him, but I promise he’s safe with me. You two should head back to your own beds and go to sleep. You’ll see him tomorrow.” Remus assured the two boys before sending them off back to their dorms.

Maybe they weren’t all that bad, they did seem genuinely worried about Regulus.

But their worry wasn’t what had Remus’ spirits so high.

‘As his dad’

Regulus saw him as his dad.

[shoezuki]

Dya have any more headcanons for sampard?

Maybe ideas on how they fell for one another. Would you see it as an X fell first but Y fell harder or a flirting for fun but realising you've caught feelings?

Or have ya got an entirely different view on it! :D Oooooo. Do you perhaps have a timeline for how they traverse the "enemies" to friends to lovers stages.

Can you tell I love all your ideas and headcanons T-T

thankyou anon i am ghglg. im in love w u now. yes i have Many Ideas bout these two bastards like i have so many thoughts you cannot believe. like i have a post drafted where i write hcs when im bored and headin to class lkshglhg. heres some hcs

sampo falls in love first. very, very early in when he is new to the planet and is just drawing the attention of the silvermanes. It's not exactly some 'love at first sight' thing its more like the first time gep almost catches him sampo thinks 'oh he's cute' and a few times after that he's like 'wait im enjoying this. a lot.' and its downhill from there

whether sampo Realizes it is another thing tho. i can see him just enjoying the attention and thrill of evading the silvermanes and not realizing his disappointment when gepard isnt there is cuz hes infatuated w gepard.

but he Would realize it. at some point itd hit him like. why he enjoys the chase so much n lets himself Almost get caught. why hes memorized gep's schedule and where he patrols the most. and it hits him n hes like 'oh fuck. what the fuck. holy shit.... well anyways.'

(probably freaks out to seele over drinks but he's too incomprehensible through his tears n she has no clue what hes whining about)

Sampo flirts and teases gepard unabashedly, kisses grenades before throwing them into gep's arms, saying 'woah youre so strong geppie' while gep punches the wall behind him narrowly missing his face, leaves notes with lipstick marks on em at crime scenes, all that stuff.

but for sampo. it isnt supposed to actually Go anywhere. he knows he likes gepard more than he should and its kinda just to scratch that itch in his heart yknow.

sampo very much thinks that. gepard is the captain of the silvermanes, a wellknown and noble person in belobog, and sampo's a slimy secretive conman that just enjoys pushing the captains buttons. theres no hope for anything more so he might as well enjoy flustering the captain right?

gepard on the other hand. doesnt allow himself to really think of sampo as anything else but a criminal. it takes a long Long time for him to realize he even feels anythin for him

gepard does look forward to trying to bust sampo, though, in a sort of frustrated way. sometimes the front lines or patrols are so monotonous and sampo's tendency to appear whenever gep's bored out of his mind is impressive

he is insistant on arresting sampo and 'bringing him to justice' to an obsessive degree, though. he's not even typically assigned to investigating criminal cases but he has basically inserted himself into bein the lead investigator of any sampo related case now

(intelligence officers and detectives and other silvermane's are so used to it now. they could be investigating a house fire or a break in, find a note with lipstick marks on it and curly writing, and they all just sigh and call gepard.)

sometimes other worry that his insistence on arresting sampo and how dedicated to it is concerning. they ask why he hates sampo so much n he just says 'hes the most prolific criminal in belobog and needs to be apprehended'

(he cant say he hates him, though. for some reason. he cant figure out why he thinks about sampo so much. he just figures its to arrest him)

gep finds himself starting to relax when sampo sends him on wild goose chases n they both leave other guards in the dust. its probably not intentional, how sampo always seems to draw him away to somewhere quiet and secluded when his head is killing him or he's stressed or exhausted.

(its intentional)

sampo falls first, but gepard is absolutely the one who initiates.

i imagine it'd take... something for gepard to reconsider sampo and let himself think about sampo outside of his criminal record

during a chase out in the snow plains, just sampo laughing and taunting him as gep tries to hunt him down, they get bombarded by fragmentum monsters

sampo holds his own; he fights with a sort of viciousness gep has never seen from him. his bombs arent just smoke, but powerful explosives that shatter fragmentum. he's insanely fast and doesnt even break a sweat. but as soon as theyre all dead he pretends he's exhausted and that gep needs to carry him back to the city before giggling and vanishing.

gepard realizes that this whole time sampo has been holding back. he realizes that sampo could easily cut through the silvermanes, use his lethal bombs or easily outpace gepard and outrun him.

he starts thinking about other things sampo does; how natasha mentions he delivers medicine to him, how lynx sometimes talks about finding supplies and food in hidden ruins and obvious places around her camp, or the notes sampo leaves and how they sometimes give hidden hints about other criminal operations the silvermanes have been tryin to investigate.

he doesnt know what to make of it, what sampo wants or why he's doing this. the next time sampo sends him running through abandoned streets in belobog he slows down, realizes that sampo also slows to his pace so gepard keeps chasing him.

gepard asks point blank at some point, what in the hell sampo wants from him, why he's doing this. sampo doesnt know how to answer. just shrugs and says hes just trying to have some fun.

from then on gepard and sampo's 'chases' tend to... dissolve. sometimes gepard just sits down and takes a moment to forget about being the captain, to relax. Sampo acts like a skittish, stray cat who's ready to bolt until he eventually relaxes as sits by gepard too.

gepard collects all sampo's notes, all the fragments of his bombs with the hearts painted on metal shells, and keeps them as 'evidence' in his desk.

sampo pushes his luck constantly; as soon as gepard relaxes or gives him any room to get closer, he takes and takes as much as he can get.

gepard catches sampo, entirely on accident, when he's off duty. climbing out of a window or something. and sampo freezes but gepard just says 'hey i'm not working now, i can't arrest you.'

(they both know it's a lie. being out of uniform never stopped gepard before.)

sampo starts just appearing more and more around gepard when he's off duty, showing up walking alongside him like he's been there the whole time, or just 'passing by' when gep is in the florist's shop.

gepard leaves his window open. sampo takes the invitation and crawls in and strange hours when gepard cant sleep. he just sits on the couch or a chair or stands there like he is a foreign intruder. gepard just nods and makes him some tea.

when it would hit gepard, that he's in love with sampo and has been for a while, he'd just blurt it out. 'huh. i think ive fallen in love with you'. and sampo would erupt into flames and kiss him so hard his lips bruise

[hearts4jean]

‎♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

- jean - art exhibition - modern au -

synopsis: jean makes an art exhibition based off of you; his muse ♡

Think of the relationship between an artist and muse. It is common to assume that the muse’ purpose was to serve the artist as they play a pivotal role in said artists work. This is far from the truth as muses often have great power over their artists they have inspired. The significance a muse stands as for the artists includes bringing emotional support and never-done-before creativity to achieve the artists objectives.

Jean, a struggling artist struck with everything but a hint of inspiration has been stumped with being unable to come up with any art pieces for an exhibition he was commissioned to create and curate; until he met you that is. He got the type of spark that every artist does when they find a specific specimen they desire to be included in their work and further explore and understand it. This first sighting is what made him to be infatuated with you.

While dating, he doesn’t ask if he could draw or paint you, much rather he does it in secret as his art isn’t something he enjoys to blatantly show off. Not only this, Jean is caught up in the fear that he’ll “mess you up” and does not want to deal with the embarrassment of showing it to you; he is fine with the pent-up frustration instead.

On multiple occasions, this has caused him to feel discouraged in his work as he does not to desire to make anything else in his artwork but you. How was he supposed to be the Alfred Stieglitz to your Georgia O’Keefe if he couldn’t even properly capture his accurate perception of you in his work? At least Stieglitz was a photographer, he would’ve had no issues with that. Jean would mainly work in oil and acrylic, ceramics if he feels like it. Any medium except pastels, over his dead body he’d opt for pastels; he says to himself. He takes a wide interest in love stories between artists and their muses as he likes to think that is what has happened with you and him.

This was the case until you found him in the indoor garage in his home he calls his ‘studio’ (which you were not aware of until this very moment), hands and knees on the cold concrete facing a ridiculously large canvas of an incomplete piece. You watch the man express his pent up frustration in spilling a string of cuss words in French, surrounding him a wooden paint palette with a pool of various hues, squeezed and almost finished paint tubes. You examined the space more and pinpointed the scattered photos of you and him together from past dates, you were able to make connections to those photos to the elephant of a canvas. It was you. To Jean, it was not. Not an accurate presentation at least that is up to the young artists standards.

After this coming across this sight, you then find yourself on that same cold concrete in front of Jean with his head buried in your shoulder as you cradle him. He was non-verbal for the time-being. He was embarrassed that you had to see him in such a state but also relieved that you were there with him.

“Please don’t look at the canvas” he utters.

“I won’t, but why?”

“Just don’t.”

“I never knew you were an artist.”

He scoffs. “Some artist I am. I can’t even paint you right.”

You continue paying all your attention to your lover rather than the dreaded canvas he won’t allow either of you to glance at.

“Say, how about you explain the hidden art talent to me later. Right now, do you mind explaining what this canvas is and why you refuse for me to look at it?”

Jean slowly lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you normally. Even while you both are leaning he is taller than you, only now his posture is slouched more than usual.

“I was commissioned by an art gallery to make a collection they would like to display at their venue in the next year, and the only description they added in with it is if was able to make it personally significant to myself on an emotional level. I asked if that meant that I could do it about someone that was personally significant to me rather than merely basing it purely on myself. They said it’s fine as long as it fits the stated criteria. I wanted to create the pieces based on our relationship. Well, based on my love for you basically” He felt his face getting hot.

“Jean-“

“Will you allow me to make you my muse?” He says with a stern look in his eyes.

“Well, of course. I mean, I’d love to if it’s so important to you.”

You watch his eyes light up. “Really? Oh my god thank you, love”

“No problem, but why am I finding about this whole artist thing just now? You seem very passionate about it all” You state with a short glance at his previous works hung up on the wall like trophies.

“Yeah, no one really knows except my mother and with exhibitions and stuff I go by a code name. Connie and Reiner knew I liked art in high school but those assholes made fun of me for it. I guess that stuck with me and just made me not wanna be able to freely speak up about it. I was planning to tell you eventually but I just..” He sighs.

“Just what?”

“I just wish you didn’t find out this way, especially with a piece I’m not proud of. I mean, look at it. It’s not doing you justice at all.”

You laugh. “You grant me permission to be able to look at it again?”

He laughs back. “Yes, I grant you permission to look at my shitty work”

You both look at the unfinished work for a second. It is a hyperrealistic acrylic painting if you want to get specific on its qualities.

“It looks fine to me-“

“Yeah no, it’s pure shit”

“Jean!”

“That wasn’t towards you, rather it was towards my poor skills of not being able to capture your righteous appearance in my work.”

“Either way I’m not letting you insult yourself like that”

“…”

It goes silent between the two of you for around 20 seconds until he lets out a sigh and returns to his original place of his face being buried in your shoulder again. You don’t mind it at all. It’s a type of habit he has when he’s upset or just simply fatigued.

You speak up. “You know, this could still be presented in the exhibition but maybe in a different manner?”

He looks up again. “How so?”

“You could have this as some type of statement piece, like displaying this whole scene from the dirty white sheet to the worn out brushes scattered in front of the canvas. It could like display your pent up frustration on attempting to perfect this exhibition. It can be called “The Failed Muse�� or something along those lines. You can have a little plaque beside it explaining it all.”

He looks at you with a deadpanned expression. “Are you saying I’ve also failed with painting you with that name?”

“OH! No! I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to sou-“

You’re cut off by his laughter. Oh how you adore it.

“Kidding, kidding. I know what you meant. I’ll keep that in mind actually.

For the rest of that time on that cold concrete floor, the both of you discuss the other works that should go into this exhibition.

You were both able to come up with a few together.

The first artwork he plans to create is another portrait of you that will hopefully succeed in accuracy to your appearance unlike the last one. Assuming it will, it would’ve been because you were there in his presence, and you being there gives him some sort of reassurance that it will turn out fine. Alongside the words and actions of affirmation (little kisses and telling him that he’s doing great) that he will receive from you during the making of it. The way that he intends for this work to be sighted is that it is the first thing he wants the viewer to look at. Jean wants it to have that same captivating aura as the Mona Lisa; you just seem so attached to it and you don’t know why. Similarily to the Mona Lisa, it will be displayed on its own seperate wall that is a diluted version of your favourite colour to make the connection between you and the painting stronger.

The exhibition would also include specific monuments of your time together.

For instance, he would do is something related to your favourite flowers. Since flowers are not man-made, it’s hard to display them in an exhibition setting due to the bugs living inside them and they are considered a threat to the other works displayed. He would instead make wire-works of your favourite flowers as an alternative. Flowers are especially symbolic to your relationship with Jean as he gives you a bouquet every chance he gets. I think we have already settled that he is a huge giver.

Something you personally share together is your music taste. It is one of the things that first drew you closer to one another. In the exhibition, he would have a table set up with a record player and vinyls of albums you enjoy listening to together. The collection would be a mix of his own and a few borrowed from his parents. For instance, The Smiths; give or take.

One of your most treasured moments with him is when he tried to teach you French back when you were still in high school. A table and 2 chairs would be perched up. On the table there is a range of French dictionaries and literature. He will attempt to make it as accurate as possible to your memories of his moment, even down to the very positioning of the books and how they were stacked up on one another.

Another idea you were able to to come up with each other is a sculpture of two figures hugging each other; reenacting your “First Embrace” with one another in which is what the work will be called.

[writerofcrazydreams]

Butterfly effect of the Reversal Salt AU

First thing first, I'm not bashing Adrien, Marinette, or anyone. However, the narrative is mostly from Lila's POV so, of course, she'd throw insults like candy, undermine everyone's worth (such as calling them by a superficial attribute instead of their names), and exaggerate their flaws.

On a related note. ML's characters are flawed. Marinette has creepy stalker tendencies, Chat Noir is a dogged nice guy, the class takes advantage of Marinette (even if unwittingly), and Mme. Bustier is an enabler for bullying. I'm not willing to overlook those flaws but seeing most of the characters are teenagers, I think they have room to grow and all of them deserve a chance for redemption. Yes, even Lila, loath as I am to say it. Most of the kids have also virtues worth of notice.

Secondly, this is a writing prompt. After reading too many Lila Salt Fics and a Lilanette one I stumbled upon by accident, my brain decided to wonder how would a Salt Fic be if Marinette and Adrien's roles were reversed.

For want of a nail (i.e., transferring six months later in the year), Lila has set her sights on budding fashion designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Because Marinette is infatuated by Adrien Agreste, Lila needs to get him out of the way. As a result, she plans on ostracizing him from the class and demonizing him so Marinette would lose interest. Lila's actions have some unexpected positive side effects. She's possessive, so everything Marinette does has to be to Lila's benefit which leads Lila to shame the classmates on how much they take Marinette for granted. Whether Lila successfully traps Marinette in an abusive romantic relationship it's up to whoever wants to continue this thing. More impactful is the fact Lila was never akumatized into Volpina or Chameleon, thus preventing Heroes' Day from happening. This means that Hawk Moth achieved the mass akumatization and discovered the temporary heroes' identities in another way or didn't do it at all. Another ripple effect is Lila getting a Miraculous by virtue of being on Ladybug's good side. I don't think Rena Rouge will be replaced, so no Volpina, but I'm betting she gets one of the Zodiac Miraculous or the Peacock if the heroes manage to retrieve it from Mayura.

In spite of a nail, Lila still eventually associates with Gabriel Agreste to manipulate his son into doing her bidding. And I can assure you she's still the cause of several akumas (the shaming part). She will still wrap Damoclès and Bustier around her little finger by claiming she's being bullied by a fellow student. Furthermore, it's still well in the realm of possibility Lila gets akumatized at some point. The girl' still has a penchant for holding petty grudges, so it's bound to happen. Maybe she does get turned into Volpina or Chameleon, but it will be later and in different circumstances. "The Collector" still happens more or less the same as Gabriel will akumatize himself to retrieve the Grimoire and get the heroes off of his trail, though there's the chance the middlewoman (Ladybug) is cut and Chat Noir gives the book directly to Master Fu, causing him to meet the guardian. Will that make Adrien a more responsible hero and prevent his tantrums from being locked out of the loop? It depends. If somehow Ladybug and Chat Noir go together, Ladybug will still be Fu's successor but Chat Noir will know more things from the get-go. If it's only him, either the guardian contacts Marinette later or starts training Adrien. Keep in mind, though, that his packed schedule won't allow him to visit Fu as frequently as Canon!Marinette could.

Whether she starts working for Hawk Moth is uncertain, though. It depends on your take on this prompt so nails don't have a say in this matter. Or not an obvious one, at least.

In the third place, this is a writing prompt and, as such, people have utter freedom to make of it what they want. Wanna bash the hell out of Adrien? Of Alya? Mme. Bustier? Chloé? Even Marinette? Go on. I think the kids can grow into better people, but if other writers disagree, have different stories in mind, or are simply salty over someone, I won't be the one to put limits to their creativity and desires. The same applies to whomever you choose to redeem. That's why I left it very ambiguous throughout the prompt on whether Chloé is working towards her Redemption or following her canonical Damnation. She defends Ladybug because she loves the heroine, she snickers when Alya has to change seats because she feels vindicated ("Origins" episode), and she stands for Adrien because he's her childhood friend. In the former case, both the vindication and the insults are little steps backward, especially considering Chloé knows how much Adrien fears conflict (he won't and doesn't defend himself that much).

Having said that, for all I respect freedom of speech, that doesn't mean I'll condone or agree with everything people write inspired on this prompt. Have fun, but it's not my responsibility if we end up with a "Dead Dove: Don't Eat" kind of fic, okay?

Fourth, here are some of my ideas about this Reversal Salt AU.

Lila's mother, here dubbed as Signora Rossi (Signora means Mrs. in Italian), is not an abusive parent but possibly a slightly neglectful one. That doesn't mean she's a bad person or that she loves her daughter any less. It just means she's caught up in a very demanding job either because she's ambitious and wants to succeed in her work field (which is fine) or because she's a single mother and thus is stretching herself thin to fulfill her daughter's physical and emotional needs. Or maybe she just wants to believe the best of her daughter and turns a blind eye to Lila's misdeeds. Despite that, she's caring and loving. I'm not keen on demonizing Signora Rossi because of these reasons but it is clear she ought to pay a little bit more attention to what her daughter is up to and is likely she for some reason failed to instill integrity in kid!Lila. An excellent take on this matter can be found in this fanfic: "A mother's love".

On the other hand, it's also entirely possible Lila was born a psychopath. I've been researching and some psychologists hold that a sociopath is made through trauma and a psychopath is born, but the result is the same anti-social tendencies. Though if you want to make her a sociopath and give her a traumatic past, go on. Canon!Lila not only scores high in psychopathy but also Machiavellism and Narcissism.

In regards to her other parent, I left their gender ambiguous because there are some fan theories that Lila has two mothers. Or it's maybe just an animation error, but I don't like to throw the chance out of the window. Now, in the case it wasn't a mistake, both mothers are what I described a paragraph ago but fanfiction exists to explore different scenarios anyway, so... Maybe this other parent influenced Lila to become who she is now.

About Adrien. As I said above, the kid does have some nasty flaws. What he does to Ladybug at the very least verges on sexual harassment and he's proven to be manipulative (throwing tantrums when rejected). In this AU, said flaws are at play as much as Marinette's flaws were in canon. She partially misused her powers out of jealousy (partially because she had a point in that Lila was making herself a target) and her reasons to eavesdrop on Lila and Adrien are definitely not pure. Here, it's her tendency to obsess over and idealize her crush what is going to be her downfall. I'm not victim-blaming, but abusers prey on their victim's weaknesses and those just happen to be Marinette's. And that's not counting how Marinette's yearn for control was aggravated since the "Chat Blanc" incident (it happens later, but the base is already there). Nonetheless, I'm of the idea that Lila opened Marinette's eyes a little when she attacked her crush on Adrien (like pointing out being a stalker is not healthy) and that's going to bite her in the ass later on. Marinette being a doormat to her friends is more tricky since Lila made it as to ensure Marinette will remain a doormat to her but not anyone else. It's workable when the time to heal comes.

By contrast, Adrien's doormat policies, pushiness, obliviousness, and social ineptitude are still going to be rocks in his path. He's now crossed at Lila for several reasons. The obvious is her "bad-mouthing" Chat Noir, but there's more. Up to this point, Lila has consistently stirred trouble in the classroom, menacing the peace he values so much. It's Lila's fault (or that's how he sees it) Marinette is "abandoning" her friends and being "mean" to them. His upbringing has left him rather unable to understand that kindness is not a synonym of "absolutely catering to someone's wishes" (as he often does with Chloé and always with his father) and that this behavior is not healthy. His obliviousness comes into play in regards to just how much Marinette means to him (platonically or romantically). Lila has been monopolizing Marinette all to herself even when the class hangs out as a group, which severely cuts the already scarce time the two interact. He's jealous without being aware of it. It doesn't help how touchy-feely Lila and Marinette are because it sometimes causes discomfort to the latter, which Adrien picks up and not only notices Lila's hypocrisy but also rubs him in the wrong way as it mirrors his behavior as Chat Noir. Now, don't get me wrong, the least he wanted was to cause a scene but couldn't help but glare and Lila capitalized on that.

What does Lila think of Ladybug? "Volpina" never happened and this Lila only intended on pursuing Adrien before discovering Marinette's promising career, so neither hates the other one nor harbors a grudge. In fact, I doubt this AU would last much if that were the case. I left open the possibility of Lila being the anti-Chloé (hates Ladybug, loves Marinette) with that part of suspecting Marinette is crushing on Ladybug (*laughs in Plagg*), but I have to note that the hatred cannot be mutual for this to work. Canon!Lila loathes Chat Noir and it's likely that will remain the same, just less vocal (Marinette admires Ladybug and has a way of contacting the heroine, so Lila won't bad-mouth Chat Noir in front of Ladybug).

What roles would Luka and Kagami play in this AU? Obviously, the love-dodecaedron has shifted. There are at least three people after Marinette/Ladybug's affections: Chat Noir, Luka, and Lila. And whoever you ship Marinette with. And, now, there are only two girls wanting to date Adrien/Chat Noir: Kagami and Marinette. Chloé is uncertain because it was stated at some point she wasn't in love with Adrien, she was just possessive for some reason (fanon says it was to protect him from fangirls and fanboys). One possible scenario in this AU is that Marinette's feelings towards Adrien fade for the most part (maybe they will resurge later or shift to return Chat Noir's), depending on how efficient you want to portray Lila.  Getting back to the point, Luka still has a crush on Marinette as revealed in "Silencer" and Kagami on Adrien but the events of "Oni-chan" developed differently and it's as equally possible that she confessed her crush on him/was akumatized than it hasn't happened yet. If Lila somehow catches wind of Kagami's crush, she will set the two up to force Marinette to move on. She might even encourage Marinette and Kagami's friendship to bind Marinette to obey the girl code and support Kagami. If she learns of Luka's crush, then she'll either play the card that "he's too old for Marinette" (if we disregard the retcon) or try to exclude him from the class' activities. Taking more extreme measures will tip Marinette off of Lila's true nature. As I side note: I like this more than canon because I'm TIRED of watching four girls fighting over a guy.

How will Alya and Nino react? Without the jealousy component, what are the grounds to dismiss his warnings? Well, Adrien still takes the high road so he won't publicly confront Lila on her manipulations. He dreads conflict too much and if he finally does it, it will be too late — either Lilanette is official or everyone else believes so, therefore the class will be prone to believe Adrien is jealous. The lack of public accusations also rob Lila of one of her primary strategies: turn on the waterworks. Consequently, everything will be much more underhanded. Lila's association with Gabriel will result in Adrien spending far less time with his friends and maybe even pulling the same stunt of threatening them in the hopes of creating powerful akumas (again, "Chat Blanc" episode). But I digress, Lila will relentlessly target Alya and Adrien for supporting LadyNoir. Maybe Alya will learn her lesson but as Adrien already sees Lila in a bad light, he will take longer to budge or won't do it at all. Nino will try to change Adrien's opinion and that'll cause a gap between the two. Nino is very laidback, so he won't push as much but will be vulnerable to Lila's poisoning. Alya will remain Marinette's friend but butt heads with Lila as the latter tries to correct her occasional forcefulness. Marinette will intervene and either Alya regards Lila in a positive light because she did help Marinette (in a sense) or by holding onto her stubbornness will have a fallout with Lila and seek flaws on her. All in all, Alya and Nino's behavior are wildly variable. The only secure thing is that Lila is as capable as in canon of swaying them to her favor and making them unwittingly throw a friend under the bus, just in a different way.

I don't know if you've noticed but there's a theme about how holding onto flaws can sometimes yield positive results, often aided by virtues. In canon, it was how holding onto virtues can sometimes yield negative results, often exacerbated by flaws. Marinette's hatred of liars and loyalty to her friends are virtues but landed her on a bully's bad side and got isolated. Her jealousy and stalker tendencies (both flaws) didn't help matters at all. Meanwhile, Adrien's desire to see the best in everyone and give second chances are virtues but they made him act in the wrong way and fail to support a friend. His learned fear of conflict and submissiveness only made things worse. Lila has the virtue of being charming (for the wrong reasons, but still) and knowing her way with people which would turn her into a fine leader. Yet, she causes mayhem and destroys people's lives by using those virtues along with her fatal flaws — narcissism and vindictiveness.

In the Reversal Salt AU, however, most of the positive results stem from holding onto one's flaws. If Alya remains stubborn, she eventually learns Lila's nature aided by her reporter abilities and determination. If Marinette refuses to let go of her obsessiveness and refuses to think the worse of her friends, she forces Lila to ditch subtlety and thus expose herself. If Adrien continues walking the high road and keeps being nice, he provides Lila with far less ammunition against him. Nino has proved to be distrustful (dismissing Marinette in the Lila ordeal and believing Alya is two-timing him in "Rocketear") and if he does that here, he'll catch on to Lila's manipulations and even call her out given his outgoing nature.

This brief interpretation is merely a suggestion and, again, you are not obliged to use it as the central theme of your story. Personally, I'd use the whole "holding onto flaws gets better results" as a temptation in the characters' arcs whereas the "working on my flaws unwittingly aids the villain" as an angst-fuel when the characters learn of Lila's manipulations. One of the traits of an abusive relationship (romantic or otherwise) is how much the victim struggles to stop believing their abuser's words. Nobody is always wrong, so if my abuser was right about/helped me with this thing, would they be right about/had helped with this other one? Often, it comes down to finding a balance: you keep whatever good things you got from the relationship while discarding the harmful ones. Naturally, this is a lengthy, stressful process that Lila can very well exploit to blackmail her victims, make them second-guess themselves, or just make them miserable.

Last but not least, I want to comment on two Lila Salt Fics that depict similar ideas, although I only found them after crafting this AU. Little spoilers warning about them. The first is "Liar's New BFF" and delves into the idea of Lila being the anti-Chloé. After having her lies exposed at the end of "Volpina", she starts regarding the classmates as vermin and genuinely falls in love with Marinette because of her kindness. She then proceeds to create a riff between Marinette and them by pointing out how much they take advantage of her. In this case, Lila is partially redeemed and doesn't seem to hold a particular grudge against Adrien. The Reversal Salt AU can follow a similar path if you want to, but the idea is to not shy away from Lila's many shortcomings as a human being and how that would affect Marinette and Adrien in an alternate scenario.

The other is "Jerk in Sheep's Clothing", where Lila's spear counterpart, called Henri, acts pretty much as I described Reversal Salt!Lila. He gets infatuated by Marinette and after threatening Lila, makes a deal with her so it's easier for both to accomplish their goals (Lila: get Adrien and be popular, Henri: get Marinette all for himself). He exploits Marinette's broken trust in the classmates to bully them and get away with it, collaborates with Hawk Moth at some point, and even gets a Miraculous. The difference between them is that Reversal Salt!Lila doesn't have the benefit of Marinette being emotionally vulnerable due to Canon!Lila's bullying, nor her faith in her friends is weakened. This means this AU's Lila must resource to more deceptive tactics to get what she wants (she can't blatantly lie).

[defaulttwig]

Negotiation Tactics

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader (18+)

Summary: As Queen of your planet, you're approached by the Jedi on behalf of the Senate. They look for your support in the war, believing that your additional resources will provide an edge. Your skeptical advisor is of the opinion to not get involved, to remain neutral. Unfortunately for him, a certain handsome Jedi knows how to sway your decision.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: oral sex (f!receiving), Anakin Skywalker being a giver, a sensual massage I guess

A/N: I did not survive writing this for many reasons. 

Your posture fixed at the sound of distant footsteps.

  Two pairs of footfalls matched in rhythm, their soles marching in your direction. They entered through the grand double doors opposite your throne. Two men adorned in plain robes walked in, their personalities open to judge based on their stride. The gentleman in white with a clean beard approached with his head high and his walk professional. Beside him, in dark robes and with a head of unruly curls, his companion carried himself with a confidence that impressed you. Most who entered were prone to timidness.

  Had you not already been intrigued, you’d find yourself drawn to them. Alas, their arrival was expected. A call between you and the Chancellor of the Republic granted them permission to come to speak on behalf of the Republic. After all, you wanted to see a Jedi up close for yourself. If neither ambassadors nor senators could sway your move in the war, perhaps - from the words of the Chancellor - lending your ear to the Jedi might. And who better for the challenge than the famed Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Negotiator.

  The two men stopped before the bottom of the dais, dropping to a kneel before your throne. Their heads lowered in respect. You considered their position with pleasure. Jedi, bowed before you - what a sight indeed.

  “Welcome, Jedi,” you said. “You may stand.”

  They obliged with their backs straight and looking adorably obedient from your spot. You smiled.

  The white-robed one spoke first. “It is a pleasure and honor to be here before you, your highness.”

  He had to be Kenobi, with a pleasant introduction like that. Shame, you hoped the curly one would be your opponent in a battle of words. He certainly held himself like this was one - a battle. One he was certain would end in their favor.

  You tilted your head slightly, the weight atop your head noticeable in its quiet jingle. Your headdress, saved for the ceremonial event, was coated in jewels that draped around the crown of your head. It complimented your similarly elegant gown. Far be it from you to not want to dress your best before such guests of your world.

  He glanced at his companion to also address you, though his response made the former sigh under his breath. The curly-haired one dared a step forward, dark boot on the lowest tier of the dais. “Might I say, your highness, your beauty is beyond words. Your reputation precedes you.”

  Perhaps, this one was Kenobi. He certainly had a way with words, if the warmth that blossomed from the compliment was any indication. Negotiation came in all forms, flattery was most certainly a way to sway your interest. The corner of your mouth quirked in delight.

  The white-robed one stole your attention again, his brief look at his companion not overlooked by you. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

  Ah, so you were right the first time. No matter. Whoever his companion was, his charms combined with the effort of ‘The Negotiator’ may prove entertaining. You nodded politely to the former’s introduction, looking at the bold one.

  “And you?”

  “Anakin Skywalker.” He smiled.

  Oh, you’ve heard of this one as well, it seemed. The Hero With No Fear, the poster boy for the Republic’s war efforts. Now, it made sense why he was brought with The Negotiator. Such a duo had to instill an appreciation to sway your interest. Still, Skywalker’s charm had planted an inkling of infatuation in you.

  You wondered if he caught on - goodness knows how the Jedi worked - given that his smile gained a smug edge to it. Cocky, you thought. You could not say you did not like it, though. It meant he was more fun in your eyes. This meeting may prove entertaining.

  “Forgive my tardiness, your highness.” From behind the throne, your advisor made his appearance. You slackened in your seat, barely suppressing a frown. He would no doubt take away the fun from this conversation. Your advisor turned to you and bowed before standing perfectly still at your side. “There was an urgent matter to attend to.”

  “You are forgiven,” you noted. The Jedi looked on in confusion before you took the time to introduce your advisor. “Sir Vance Tanrav, recently appointed advisor of diplomatic and social affairs.” Your advisor’s minor annoyance at mentioning his fairly new obligation showed in the way his pointer finger twitched at his side. “He will overhear matters, considering this is intergalactic affairs.”

  And, be your voice of reason, much to your chagrin. Tanrav had been appointed to this position by the other advisors, not by you, as is the way of your court. Personally, you’d have preferred someone more open-minded. His mindset matched the archaic ideals of your elderly constituents. Fortunately, you had the final say on all matters. He merely had to advise you.

  “Of course.” Kenobi understood. This wasn’t his first time in the presence of a world leader. 

  Skywalker was the first to move past the introductory phase. “Your highness, I’m sure you are aware of why we are here.”

  Your attention perked at his voice. The sound was pleasant on your ears. “I have had this same conversation with other associates of the Republic. Numerous associates.”

  Obi-Wan did not have to use the Force to understand your annoyance. The Republic had been persistent in its efforts to make an ally of your world. As Separatist forces weakened Republic fronts, your planet harbored both military and financial resources that could give them the push needed to draw back the Separatists.

  He took the reins of the conversation, nudging Anakin through the force to take a step back from the dais - ignored, of course, by the younger Jedi. “I understand your grief, your highness. Such are the pains of a neutral planet in the war, to be asked to join a side.”

  “Yes.” You wanted to slump back into the throne, already forming knots in your shoulders. Reminded you of the tug of war game to have your alliance and its effect on your people. How it left you cornered. “Then, you understand what would happen if I were to choose?”

  “You become a target for the opposing side.”

  “Precisely,” Sir Tanrav said. “Which is why we shall remain neutral. To avoid the war altogether and keep the citizens of our planet from harm.”

  You cast a glance at your advisor, who remained unaware of your annoyance. His interruption was unnecessary. You had your own voice to speak to the Jedi. He only repeated a fact known by all in attendance.

  A certain Jedi caught said glance. Skywalker had locked eyes with you once your attention returned to the men. His eyebrows rose in jest, much to your amusement. At least, you believed he understood your reaction. You gave a small smile. Surely, he could see your desire to be without a parrot over your shoulder.

  “Your planet’s resources may give us an edge in the war.” Kenobi’s voice reminded you once again of your current situation. “With your allegiance, we may turn the tide-”

  “And if we were to offer our help, be it from our armies or credits, we would be defenseless. The Republic may need such resources on the other side of the outer rim, and without a strong defense, we would be a target. The economy has staggered since the beginning of the war, we cannot afford to…”

  Again, you tuned out Tanrav’s voice to think, he spoke on your behalf. Despite the points he made, you had your own misgivings about the war and its effect on your people. Whether or not you decided to choose a side. As you said, you were cornered.

  And, again, Skywalker shared a look with you. It gave you a sense of comradery, to have someone break out of the formalities his role asked of him by entertaining you wordlessly. You covered your smile with your sleeve. He may just get you in trouble with your advisors if they found you delighted during a serious conversation.

  The younger Jedi turned on Tanrav. “With all due respect-” His companion prepared for the worst. “-joining the Republic would ensure your planet’s safety as a priority.”

  “Our safety hadn’t been a priority before?” You raised a brow.

  Skywalker froze, sure he had offended you. Kenobi turned to him with a quick scolding look, but it led to the older Jedi missing your added smile. Of course, you could understand the priorities of the Republic. Peace throughout the galaxy meant harmony between all planets. That meant your planet’s wellbeing had always been in the interest of the Republic - only doubly so in the time of war.

  Your smile fell before Kenobi’s attention returned to you. Funnily enough, he missed the smile of his companion. The two of you certainly had a different focus from your partners. Briefly, you allowed yourself the moment to admire his appearance. Handsome, the best word to summarize all you thought of him.

  “Every planet is under the protection of the Republic if such accepted the offered help.” Kenobi hoped to ease a tension that only existed between him and your advisor.

  “So, you want our resources. And, in return, you offer your protection?” You could only stand so much politics, even with a handsome man to entertain you quietly. If this conversation were to continue, you could only assume Tanrav would interject with more and more hostility to your guests.

  “If that is all you ask, yes.” Kenobi nodded.

  Tanrav turned to you. “You’re not considering this are you? Neutrality is the only way to see an end to this war unscathed.”

  You didn’t acknowledge him with your eyes. Not when you had a handsome Jedi sharing an expression that conveyed exactly how you felt. Tired of Tanrav’s vocalness for the entirety of the conversation. His duty had been to listen and advise, not speak as though he were on the throne. The crown did not rest on his head.

  The conversation paused when another advisor appeared on the other side of your throne breathless. She looked only at you. “Forgive me, your highness. The Duke from the Southern Plains has arrived.”

  You broke your stare with Skywalker to address her. “Have him wait.”

  “I’m afraid this can’t wait.”

  Tanrav added quietly. “You should see him, your highness. I can finish this meeting.”

  You sighed. The Duke had always been one to demand your time. However important this meeting was, intergalactic affairs could hold until your domestic affairs were settled. As such were the ideals of your people. However, you were not allowing Tanrav of all people to give the Jedi the send-off.

  “My apologies, Jedi.” You slowly rose from your throne. “I’m afraid we will put this meeting on hold.”

  “On hold?” Tanrav quipped.

  You ignored him, smiling at the Jedi. “Unfortunately, this matter will take the rest of my day. We shall reconvene tomorrow. You, gentlemen, are welcome to stay in the castle, general access is granted and private rooms shall be provided. I will give you my decision in the morning."

  Kenobi bowed his head. “Thank you, your highness.”

  “Right.” Skywalker, however, locked eyes with you again. At a position your advisors could not see, you offered him a look, not exactly hiding your attraction to him. After all, you wouldn’t see him until morning. You needed to commit that face to memory. Skywalker regarded you with a similar look. “Until tomorrow, your highness.”

  You promptly walked from your throne. All the while, you considered the knots in your shoulders from the stress. Perhaps, you would ask one of your servants to provide you a massage before your bath tonight.

  It wasn’t until after you and your advisors had left the chamber, well out of earshot, that Obi-Wan snapped his head to Anakin. In all his years, he couldn’t say he was surprised at the younger’s behavior. That didn’t mean he wasn’t miffed at the obvious charm he put on. Obi-Wan believed firmly that Anakin’s attempt to flirt only offended you in some way.

  "What are you trying to accomplish, Anakin? We're trying to earn their favor, not play whatever game you think this is." Obi-Wan set his hands on his hips. “Do you understand who you were talking to? A queen, Anakin.”

  Anakin deflected Obi-Wan’s stress talk with a wave of his hand. "Relax, I got this."

  "Oh, I'm eager to find how you can amend this." The smug smile Anakin fixed in Obi-Wan’s direction only spelled trouble for the older Jedi. He dropped his hands, already having a bad feeling. "Tell me you won't do anything foolish."

  Anakin smiled wider, crossing his arms. "I won't do anything foolish."

  +:+:+:+:+:+:+

  You relaxed onto the massage table. Covered only from your hips to your mid-thighs by a small towel, you lay your head through the face port. The room itself already relaxed you. An aroma of honey and good-smelling oils permeated your senses. 

  Your servant finished their setup while you let out a sigh. Your body all but sagged, completely spent from the day’s events. The Jedi had only been the beginning. From the Duke’s visit, where he had all but talked your ear off about a local disturbance that you quickly resolved, he put you behind schedule. Every other meeting carried over thereafter like dominoes and you had the headache of irate officials speaking oh so humbly about their patience for your tardiness. As the queen, you had no excuses for your behavior in their eyes, but today they’ve been especially perturbed.

  It had to be the war across the galaxy that put them on edge. Sooner or later, your planet would be affected. The appearance of Jedi diplomats did little to put them at ease. In their eyes, this meant the war had already come knocking at your front door. You sighed again, closing your eyes. This was exactly why you asked for a massage, as a little de-stressor before you inevitably finished the meeting with the Jedi in the morning. Your mind was set on an answer and you had to mentally prepare yourself for the civil unrest that would ensue among your people.

  “I’ll be right back, your highness,” the servant said. “This bottle is empty. I’m going to fetch more ointment.”

  You hummed in understanding.

  Their footsteps echoed out of the room and disappeared down the hall. Fatigue rendered you motionless on the table. You had half your wits about you to move your hair away from your neck and shoulders, tying it loosely. Your arms wriggled back to your side, drained from the simple act.

  At the footsteps reentering the room, you let out a yawn. “You’ll have to excuse me if I fall asleep. It has been a rather long day.”

  You were met with no response. This alerted you. Opening your eyes, you furrowed your brows. It could be an intruder. Carefully, you raised your head just out of the face port. You used the decorative, golden vase on a table at the end of the room to determine who had entered the room.

  The figure wore dark robes, not a very comforting thought. They froze, but through the vase’s distorted reflection, you discerned the familiarity of that outfit. Short, unruly curls framed a sharp face, bangs covering part of his forehead. In his hand, you recognized a bottle, the honey shade of the ointment blending into the vase’s surface. Your expression shifted from curiosity.

  The Jedi, Anakin Skywalker, was your intruder. You lowered your head back to the face port, feigning ignorance. Given the nature of Jedi, he would be no threat to you. Relaxing into the table, you breathed easy. If anything, you would play along and see what he would do. He made no immediate attempt to reveal himself, so you’d play along until he did.

  He approached the table. The sound of the bottle’s cap untwisting met your ears. You only registered his plan, still unsure as to why , when a callous hand met your back, a generous amount of ointment cooled the spot. A shiver ran up your spine. Oddly, he began to apply it with one hand, smoothing his strong hand over your skin. Oh, you would not complain about this treatment.

  Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing in his touch. He made sure to coat your back, gliding his hand between the slope of your shoulder blades. When his hand rose to your shoulders, sliding from one end to the other, the warmth of his skin encompassing your neck for the brief second between stole your breath. Back down he went. When the tips of his fingers ghosted over the edge of your towel to coat your lower back, you bit your lip.

  A moment of hesitation passed, once your back was fully coated in the ointment. His hand splayed motionless below your shoulder blade. You opened your eyes. A twinge of impatience coursed through you. This was a game of tease.

  “Your highness-”

  “Use both hands,” your voice cut through the air at the same time as his. 

  You grimaced at yourself. His voice was hardly above a mumble, layered with hesitance. He certainly did not come here just to massage you. Your eagerness for his hands had rendered him quiet once more. 

  Anakin’s tongue swiped the back of his teeth. He hadn’t meant for this to go this far. Seeing you in such a state already disrespected your title and privacy. To touch you, he knew he was testing his luck. Still, you thought he was a servant and he did not want to spook you. His mind reeled with ways to approach the topic he came here for. In the meantime, he’d continue to pretend to be your servant.

  You flinched at the touch of leather. He wore a glove? While odd, you relaxed once more. His hands pulled away at your obvious distress, but you wanted them back on you. No sense of guilt plagued you for indulging in a risky fantasy, experiencing a shade of intimacy from a Jedi. He started it. You simply accepted it.

  The pads of his fingers started at the middle of your back. Kneading your flesh at a level unlike your masseuse, you couldn't help but compare his touch to that of a child. He did not even try to make it believable that he came to massage your back. You stared at the floor in mild disappointment. If you were to have these knots undone, he’d need a little encouragement.

  “I’m not fragile.” You gave a small coo. “Don’t be gentle.”

  Tentatively, the hands resumed. His fingers stroked along your skin, a mix of flesh and leather sliding along your anointed back. Pressure increased, him awaiting your complaints that never came. As he massaged into you, he felt around your knots. 

  When he pressed into them, giving them the attention they deserved, you groaned. He paused momentarily, as if afraid he’d hurt you. That meant the sweet relief stopped. You narrowed your eyes, letting out another encouragement.

  “Right there.”

  You surprised yourself with how spent you already sounded. The rasp to your voice teetered erotic. Were this your actual servant, you’d have apologized right away for the discomfort. However, this wasn’t your servant and you truly did not feel remorse. A handsome Jedi massaging you with nothing but a towel preserving your privates from his eyes? The intimacy of the entire thing would pull such a reaction from anyone. And you only wanted to toy with him more.

  His swallow was audible. Anakin retracted his hands for a moment, balling them before flexing his fingers again. You were in a state he should not have been privy to. He didn’t get to question his morals for long before your voice cut through with an order.

  “Don’t stop.”

  His hands returned to your back once more. He actively searched for the knots - not a hard feat. You really did have a lot of tension in your back. Anakin wanted to hear your voice again. The noises he pulled out of you were lewd. What did he come here for again?

  “Harder.”

  He dug into your knots in all the right ways, pulling all sorts of involuntary grunts and groans from you. You sank against the table, eyes blissfully closed. His hands rose to your shoulders, working the knots there. When his thumbs dug into the base of your neck, you let out a long groan. That was where the most tension was.

  Oh, but it was over so soon. Your breath hitched at the ghost of touch over the back of your neck. It did not go unnoticed. Anakin’s hands slid back down your back, feigning ignorance to your choked moan. You decided you had enough of this teasing.

  Raising your head out of the face port, you set your palms on the table and lifted yourself. His hands slid down the slope of your back before he pulled away entirely. He took an uncertain step back, afraid of how you’d react. Anakin took too long to reveal himself, he knew it.

  You sat up and faced him. Your knees were a breath away from his waist. His tunic, thankfully, covered the effect your voice had on him. It worsened, now that you faced him.

  His eyes moved from your face down to your chest. Bare and exposed to him, his mouth had gone dry. Unashamed, even thrilled at the attention, you said nothing of it. You crossed your legs, propping your hands on either side of you.

  “What is your game, Skywalker?”

  He looked you in the eyes. “You knew it was me?”

  “A normal masseuse would not use a glove.” You cocked your head. “Where is my servant?”

  He gauged your expression for how to speak to you. Clearly caught off guard by this new revelation, he bit his tongue. Though, you were quick to relieve tension with a smile. Your shoulders were relaxed and you made no move to kick him out or call for security. Of course, he relaxed in return, his charm shining through.

  “Oh, you know.” He smiled back, setting a hand on the table, right by yours, to lean in close. “Gave them the night off.”

  “Is that so?” You lifted your hand and pinched his chin between the crook of your forefinger and thumb. Your eyes narrowed playfully. “And why is that?”

  He rested his free hand over yours. “I’ve come to negotiate.”

  You let out a short laugh. “You call this a negotiation?”

  “Well, plans change.” His smile widened. “If you like, I have other methods of negotiation that I believe you’ll find…” He racked his brain for the right word, deciding on one with a husky voice. “-gratifying.”

  You raised your chin. The two of you were engaged in a sultry game of touch. With a hum, you swiped your thumb across his chin thoughtfully. The look in his eyes was eager . It would be rude of you not to hear him out. 

  “Very well.” You let him go, his hand following yours back to the table. Effectively, he caged you between his arms. Your legs parted slightly, giving him room to be closer to you. “Say your piece.”

  His hands fell to your knees, earning a surprised oh from you. Compliant to his action, you allowed him to part your legs further. The towel fell away from your waist, pooling on the ground by his feet. Anakin began to crouch and desire trickled through you. 

  As he sank to his knees, his eyes stayed locked on yours. “This requires no words.”

  You could not deny the flutter in your cunt. He certainly had a way with words. That mouth of his, you would soon learn, was very useful in many aspects. Anakin was a man of many talents. Smooth words were not his only specialty.

  He slotted himself between your legs. His gaze left yours to see in front of him. You bit your lip, pushing yourself to the edge of the table. Anakin smiled. You had to lift your hips, legs closed slightly, in order to move. The tips of his hair tickled your thighs. Once at the edge, you parted your legs on your own.

  His hands roamed up from your knees. Along the meat of your thighs, kneading it once he got close to your cunt. His head followed his hands, closing the distance between you. He glided his lips along the length of your thighs, following the ticklish trail his hands left behind. A rough finger pad swiped over your slit. Your legs quivered.

  Anakin chuckled. Wrapping his hands around the outside out your thighs, he left no space between you. A cool, wet sensation dragged up your slit. At the first swipe, he teased blissful sighs from you. Your fingers curled into the table, looking down at the top of his head. You watched the ends of his hair curl on contact with your thighs. How his tongue looked while he languidly dragged it up, offering you a good view of his act.

  His eyes snapped up to meet yours. Piercing blues gave away his pleasure, his gaze half-lidded. Licking another stripe up your slit, he diverted his ministrations to your clit. You remained locked in a staredown, your nails digging into the table while your chest began to heave.

  His tongue swirled over and around the bundle of nerves. He flicked it once, twice, changing the direction of his tongue as he pleasured you. Breathy sighs escaped you, your toes curling at the sensation. A low burn washed over you, like a loose knot slowly being pulled taut. 

  He switched his attention elsewhere, closing his eyes while his tongue dragged along your slit again. The burn’s sweet ache dulled and you let out a small groan, thrusting your hips into his mouth for more stimulation. He let out a chuckle, sending vibrations all throughout you. Oh, he was a tease—a menace dressed as a peacekeeper.

  That was how he kept you on edge. Toying with your clit and switching his attention elsewhere before you grew too hot. On occasion, he let a vocal hum to spur you on. The knot reformed again and again, unsatisfied. You weren’t on the precipice forever, though.

  His fingers dug into the meat of your thighs, holding you tight. He gave full attention to your clit. This time, unyielding, relentless, and rhythmic, his lips encompassed you. He alternated between swirling his tongue and lightly sucking, going as far as to do both at the same time. 

  You moaned, arching your back. He showed no sign of stopping when the knot formed one more time. The knot tightened and your hand reached for his pretty hair, fingers purchased in his unruly curls. You gripped tightly, lost in your moans while you bucked weakly against his mouth.

  The knot pulled impossibly tight. He kept his even pace, saliva coating your clit. You writhed, moans reaching a low tone, whiny and vocal. Knot pulled so impossibly tight, you reached your high with a burning ecstasy. Everything unraveled so fast, your eyes screwed shut and you folded over him.

  Anakin squeezed and massaged your thighs while you rode him through your orgasm. Hips rolling against his mouth with a stutter, he took it all in stride. As your moans lowered back to a soft breathy whimper, he licked a stripe along your slit. The taste of you coated his tongue. He pressed a kiss above your clit, mumbling a soft praise you didn’t quite catch.

  While he pulled himself to stand at his full height, your grasp on his hair loosened. He looked down at you with a smile, parting his lips to say something. You didn’t let him, tugging on his hair to bring him level with your face. His hands fell onto the table to keep from falling onto you, all while you rammed your mouth against his. 

  It was all sorts of sloppy, but he reciprocated so easily. You tasted yourself on his saliva. His lips were soft and wet. You’d have kissed him forever if you didn’t need to break away for air.

  Draping one arm over his shoulder, you carded your fingers through his hair. The two of you locked eyes, not even close to being done with one another. His hands found purchase on your hips, his thumbs tracing circles. You twirled some of his hair around your finger.

  “Words were certainly not needed.” Your voice came out breathy, offering a sultry smile. “Though, I believe you haven’t said enough.”

  Anakin raised his brows. “Oh?”

  “I have a hot bath prepared in the other room.” You continued to twirl his hair, enjoying the feel of it. “I propose we continue negotiations there.”

  “I accept your proposal.” He smiled back. “This matter may take all night. But, will we both fit in your bath?”

  You let out a small laugh. “Space is not an issue, Skywalker.”

  He covered your hand with his own, pulling it away from his hair and to his lips. He kissed your palm, maintaining eye contact. “Lead the way, your highness.”

  +:+:+:+:+:+:+

  Obi-Wan entered the throne room shortly after breakfast, followed by his former padawan. His eyes rose to your form, perched atop your throne in yet another elegant gown. He could not help but notice how you were positively glowing. The air around you buzzed with electricity. Surprised, he half expected you to be grouchy if what he heard about your tight schedule yesterday was anything to go by. He hoped your good mood would benefit their cause.

  You cast a glance between the two, letting your eyes rest on Anakin for longer than necessary. He returned your stare with a half-smile, raising his chin. You pressed your knees together, hidden by the long skirt of your gown. Smiling, you could not mistake your accelerated heartbeat.

  “Good morning, Jedi,” you started. “Did you enjoy your stay?”

  “We have, your highness.” Eloquent Kenobi answered for the two. “You and your people are most hospitable.”

  “You flatter me.”

  Tanrav appeared beside you. It did little to deter your good mood, fortunately. Having the handsome Jedi back in the same room as you, after last night’s events, you could take the war head-on with how unnerved you were. To say Anakin Skywalker left an impression on you was a vast understatement.

  “I will keep this brief.” You tore your gaze from Anakin to look between the two. “There is no need for further debate, I made my decision.”

  “You have?” Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose by a hair. Beside him, his partner beamed.

  “It is something I thought about long before your arrival.” There was a twinkle in your eyes, looking back at Anakin. His handsome face was a magnet, begging for your attention. “My planet would be honored to join an alliance and become one with the Galactic Republic.”

  If you were not whisked away yesterday, you would have given your answer to the Jedi as easily, then. Ever since the Separatists were gaining territory in your star system, the call to war became less of a choice and more of a necessity. You would have had to pick a side at some point, and you believed in the Galactic Republic’s millennia of peace. The Separatists had only caused unrest that you wished no part of.

  Tanrav visibly balked. The advisor turned his head to you, flabbergasted. He let out a choked sound of disbelief. “Your highness, you can’t possibly think this a good idea. The war will drain us of our resources. We-”

  You raised your hand, effectively silencing him. Offering him a narrowed gaze, you kept your voice even. “Neutrality is no longer an option for us. If you were as well-read in the current events of the galaxy, as I am, you would know that. We are joining the Republic.”

  Tanrav understandably went red in the face. He closed his mouth, refuting further debate. Stiffly, he turned back to the Jedi and held his head high, attempting to retain some form of dignity.

  You turned your attention back to the Jedi, putting on a smile. “Thank you for going out of your way to be here.” Your eyes narrowed teasingly at Anakin. “It was a pleasure to have you.”

  The two bowed, Anakin speaking before Obi-Wan could. “The pleasure is all mine, your highness.”

  You let out a low chuckle, mirth twinkling in your eyes. “I look forward to seeing you again. May it be very soon.”

  Obi-Wan dipped his head in acknowledgment. “The Republic will be in contact with you regarding resource distributions.”

  “Farewell, Jedi.” You reluctantly concluded the meeting. “And have a safe journey.”

  Obi-Wan and Anakin bowed once more. They left shortly after, and headed to the landing pad to board their ship. Your eyes locked onto Anakin’s back, smiling to yourself as he walked away. He carried charm like no other.

  Oh, how you hoped he would grace you with his company in the near future.

  +:+:+:+:+:+:+

  “That went better than I expected. She had already planned to join.” Obi-Wan sat in the passenger seat of the ship, rubbing his beard appreciatively while he glanced at his former padawan in amusement. “I suppose we had no need for your supposed methods.”

  Anakin chuckled, tapping his finger against the wheel while he piloted. “I like to believe I had an effect on her.”

  Obi-Wan missed his suggestion, having flown over his head. He hummed, instead bothered by another issue, furrowing his brows. “What were you up to last night, anyhow? You returned to the room in the wee hours of morning.”

  The Jedi Knight glanced at his former master out of the corner of his eye, a wide smile overtaking his face. “I had a private audience with her highness.”

  Obi-Wan huffed. “There could not have been that much negotiation, given her steadfast decision.”

  Anakin’s chest puffed in pride. Obi-Wan turned his head, not quite yet understanding the younger’s boastful demeanor. The cogs turned in his brain. Clouded once by a fog of ignorance, a picture began to form in his mind. He feared what Anakin could possibly have done alone with a queen .

  His face pinched. “Oh, Anakin, no.”

  The younger one did not respond right away. Obi-Wan’s fingers massaged his temple. It was all becoming clear that his former padawan did indeed do something foolish. And now, the former master was increasingly aware of it. 

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Anakin kept his eyes to the stars, his smile giving way to a smirk.

  Obi-Wan looked away from him, turning to face the viewport. He crossed his arms, justifiably horrified at the revelation. In retrospect, the looks shared between the queen and Anakin this morning now held new light. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to not imagine the young queen being with Anakin of all people. Obi-Wan decided then and there that, as successful as he was earning the queen’s favor,  he was never letting Anakin lead negotiations again.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Let’s not discuss this, ever.”

[artzee-bee]

Not going anywhere | Lucifer Morningstar x reader

Fandom: Lucifer

Request:” Hi i have request for you ,Lucifer and the reader have a big fight they are married, and this fight it's lucifer fault The reader leaves home and Lucifer decides to give her space After a few days, he goes to the reader and realizes that she has been missing for a few days,When the person behind all this claims that the reader is dead and gives them a her body . Everyone thinks that the reader is dead and Lucifer He gets depressed and thinks it's all his fault , and after a few days, the thieves release the singer and the reader goes to Lucifer.Lucifer first thinks it is an imagination and then apologizes to the reader Thank you so much”

Genre: Angst with happy ending

Warnings: kidnapping, death

~~~

Your intention had never been to start a fight. All you wanted an explanation (preferably one that also made sense) and an apology, but apparently that was too much to ask, because as soon as you voiced your opinion, Lucifer went up in flames

“Don’t start this again!”

“I dislike it just as much as you do but what I hate more is being cancelled on, AGAIN, through a text message no less!”

“It was an emergency!”

“It’s always an emergency Lucifer! It’s starting to sound a lot like work means more to you than I do!” “The detective needs me, damn it!” your husband yelled

“And she has you! Every day of every week! All I ask for is one date night and for the past month you’ve done nothing but avoid committing to one or backing out at the last second! I’m tired of being your second choice Lucifer! I’m your wife and you are my husband, I love you to the ends of the world, I just wish you'd say no to Decker from time to time...”

“I’m saving people’s lives Y/N. So if you’re not on your deathbed, other people are and they need me now!” as he said this, Lucifer walked right past you and into your bedroom, seemingly ignorant to the painful words he’d just said. You looked around the living room, vision blurry with tears, your chest heavy with anger and disgust. You rushed towards the elevator.

“When you find time in your busy schedule and feel like being my spouse again, let me know!” the elevator door closed before Lucifer could say anything

~~~

When Lucifer woke up the next morning to a cold and empty bed, he didn’t think much of it.Truthfully, he was still kind of pissed at the attitude you had given him a day before, so he got dressed as usual and went to the precinct, assuming you’ll be home by nightfall.

Except when he got home that night, he stopped by Lux first, which ended up like it always does: with him sucked into an endless cycle of booze and dancing, that lasted until well into the night. When he did enter the penthouse eventually, he found it empty. Exactly the way he had left it in the morning. Even the tie he had left on the floor, after deciding last minute that it didn’t go with his suit, was untouched. Now this was curious, but still, Lucifer felt like you must be playing hard to get. He sent you one text message, before going to bed

“Call me when you can!”

The day after that, he figured his part was done! By reaching out first, he had already made a big compromise, so now it was your turn! To reach out, come home! But that didn’t happen that day, or the day after that.

Three days after the text message,Lucifer was getting worried. He was looking at his phone every other minute. Always making sure he hadn’t accidently put it on silent or missed any texts. He sent more messages, telling you he was sorry and that he wanted you to come home. That he would listen and spend more time with you, promising luxurious dates and weekend trips, if only you forgave him. You didn’t even open the messages.

“Lucifer are you listening?” Decker was insanely annoyed at her partner’s lack of concentration

“Sorry detective. I’ve...I’ve got a lot on my mind”

“Well, better get it out of the way now, so that we can move on to our case!” she said, cleaning out her desk quickly, before resting back into her chair “Talk to me!”

“It’s Y/N. I’m worried about her!”

“Why?” “We...had a fight a couple days ago and she left. She hasn’t come back since”

“Have you heard from her at all?”

“No…” Lucifer said, embarrassed at his own lack of care for you. He should have called you earlier, reached out more! He should have tried harder!

“How long had she been missing for?”

“4...maybe 5 days…”

“Lucifer, are you sane? And you’re only telling me now?!” Chloe jumped from her seat, turning on her computer

“I thought she needed space! I thought she was avoiding me intentionally cause she was angry! I didn’t know…” Lucifer choked back a sob, not wanting to break down in tears in the middle of the precinct

“Lucifer!” Chloe caught hold of his hand “I’m gonna find her! I promise you!” A few days later, she did. Well, more like Y/n came to her, in the shape of a pretty little gift box left on Decker's doorstep.

“A lil too late on your case detective” read the note attached to it. 

Inside were Y/N’s clothes, all of them stained with dark, dried blood. Y/N was declared dead that day and the case was closed. At her funeral, only her closests friends were present. Lucifer wanted it to be as intimate as possible.

That day was also the first time anyone had seen Lucifer, since the news. His eyes were bloodshot and the dark circles under his eyes almost matched the black suit he was wearing. Throughout the ceremony he kept twisting his wedding band, a habit he’d picked up on since you went missing. He chose not to do a speech, but once the crowd disappeared, and he was left face to face with your grave, he pulled out a little piece of paper from his pocket and sat down on the grass.

“In hell, everyone feared me. There, I was nothing but another server of the universe, ruling over an empire I never really wanted, because I never had a choice. So eventually I left, thinking anywhere will be better than what I had, and I came to earth.

I ran into you about 2 weeks later, before I really even knew how to behave myself. Before I knew anything about who I really was besides ‘the devil’. I longed to know, grow and discovers different sides of me, where I could be something new, and you gave it to me. You made me who I never thought I could possibly be. You made me a lover. I never thought of myself as capable to love anyone, in any degree, but your light shone everywhere you went and your kindness touched me and everyone around you. It became impossible to not get infatuated with your person. I allowed you to see and feel around every dark corner of my soul and being and every time I thought it was the end. Everytime I would take in your touch as if it was the last, I would prepare myself for abandonment, but it never came. Through everything you stood by my side and when I felt my darkest, you gave me a fistful of your light and that was enough to keep me going. You married a broken man and called him perfect, despite everyone telling you how much of a foul you were. Even then, you shooed them away. Even then you chose me. I wasn’t worthy of your love or your trust and our last night together proved it.

You’re not here anymore to hear my apologies and I’ll never forgive myself for it. You’ve gone now somewhere I can not follow, but I know you are well taken care of there. I hope, someway, somehow, you’ll hear these words: I am sorry. I loved you with my entire soul. Not listening to you was the biggest mistake of my life and I’ll never forgive myself. I choose however, to remember you as you were, because I know that’s what you’d want. I’ll remember you and your laugh.I’ll remember our date nights and shopping sprees. Nights in Lux or on the penthouse balcony. I’ll remember all the meals you prepared for me and the flirtatious remarks you used to make, because you thought they were so silly. I’ll remember the little frown on your face whenever you worked on an important project for work and I’ll remember every evening walk around the block you’d make me accompany you on. I know I always complained about them, but they were always fun. Everything I ever did with you was always fun.

I loved you. I still do. You are my everything Y/N. Thank you for devoting yourself to me in all the ways that you did. I’ll forever live on in my heart.“

~~~

It had been months since your disappearance. After all this time, you finally managed to escape your kidnappers and report them to the New York police station, since that’s where you had been held hostage for so long. As soon as the paperwork was done and you were sure that the people who ruined you were getting the punishment they deserved, you jumped on a train and headed straight back home. Straight to Lucifer.

Lux looked exactly the same as you had left it. You were washed over by a wave of comfort that almost brought you to tears. Home. You never thought you’d get to step in here again. Overwhelmed, you took a seat on one of the couches, allowing your head to rest back on it, as you took in every detail of your surroundings: the feel of the leather on your fingertips, the cool breeze of the air conditioning, the warm lights. Everything was still here.

“Y/N?” you jumped at the sound

“Hi love…” your voice broke as you said those words. Words you never thought you would be able to mutter again. The sight of your husband, messy as he was, made you weak in the knees. He was standing at the top of the staircase, dressed in nothing but his robe, tied carelessly around his waist. He had probably just woken up. You wanted to say something again, but before you could, he laughed

“Nope” he said simply, before making his way down the stairs and to the bar “I’m not doing this. Not today, not ever!” Lucifer filled his glass to the top with bourbon, before turning around and trying to leave back to where he came from

“Lucifer, it's me!”

“Sure you are, except you’re not real! Nice of dad, taking my ability to stay endlessly sober, getting me drunk, forcing visions of my dead wife onto me to teach me another lesson about managing my emotions. Real clever, except this is too much! So I’m going to enter that elevator and I expect to never have to see you again, hum? Right, well, au revoir now!” he continued on his way, but before he could get far, you were clutching on the silk tie of his robe. Lucifer felt the tug around his waist and turned around slowly to look at you, this time a little more unsure. As if he was trying to figure you out

“Lucifer, I’m Y/N. I escaped”

“Escaped? But that’s impossible, she died! I saw it-”

“What you saw was a bloody shirt!” he looked up to meet your gaze, tears already forming “They lied to you Lucifer”

Finally, it seemed like he had connected all of the pieces of the puzzle. The glass of alcohol fell to the ground and your husband wrapped you in a big hug for the first time in months. He nuzzled his head in your hair and took in your scent, your figure, your warmth. Hell, you were even more perfect that he remembered! Silent tears fell down both of your cheeks as you collapsed to the ground, still holding onto each other for dear life

“I’m so sorry” Lucifer sobbed in your hair “I’m so so sorry”

“It wasn’t your fault Luci”

“If I hadn’t been a jerk you wouldn’t have left! If I would have simply listened to you, they wouldn’t have gotten to you! You would’ve stayed here, where you belong! You would have stayed with me but instead I was too busy with my stupid job and the stupid cases and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” he continued crying on your shoulder as you rubbed small circles on his back

“I’m here now my love” you whispered, kissing his cheek “And I’m not going anywhere”

[watermelonlovershigh]

A Day of Breastfeeding

Thank you to this ask for the request of this one shot prompt

Things to help you read this easier:

(Married for 3 years/Any solo Harry era)

(I pray that this photo doesn't get my account in trouble again. It's an innocent photo with no real nudity shown.)

Today has been a busy day with you and your four month old daughter. She woke you up at the early hour of 5:00 am and you've been up ever since.

When she woke up at five, you crawled out of the warm bed you and Harry were sleeping in to go into her nursery. Her reason for awakening was hunger. Instead of feeding her in the nursery like you do most mornings, you carried her back into yours and Harrys bedroom so you could feed her in the comfort of your bed. You climbed back in bed with a hungry baby and laid her on your newly exposed chest. She latched instantly and you may or may not have dozed back off again due to exhaustion.

At 5:30 am Harrys alarm goes off, letting him know he needs to wake up to go to the studio for a few hours and record new music. He reached for his phone, shutting the alarm off, and turned around to glance at his beautiful wife. Beautiful wife who some how stayed asleep through the sounds of his alarm. What he wasn't expecting to see was his equally beautiful baby girl laying on top of your naked chest with your nipple exposed to the cold air of the room. Presumably due to your daughter having finished eating and your nipple falling out of her relaxed mouth. Harry sleepily smiled to himself. How did he get so lucky he thinks internally.

Harry knew he needed to get ready to be at the studio but he just couldn't help himself. He got up and quietly walked around the bed to pick up your sleeping daughter from your chest. Your eyes shot open at the loss of contact with her but Harry was quick to whisper, "Shhh my love. I'm just going to take her to her nursery and let you get some comfortable sleep. Then I'm leaving for the studio. If you need me, call me. I'll come right home. Love you." He bent down to place a kiss your lips and you give him a thankful smile. Right before he let the room, he covered your exposed chest with the blanket so you don't get cold.

Harry decided to burp your daughter on the walk to her nursery knowing she hadn't burped yet. She let out a soft little burp from her tiny mouth on her daddy's shoulder and Harry kissed her soft head in appreciation. He noticed her diaper was dirtied, so being the father he is, Harry changed her poopy diaper and cradled her back to sleep. He placed her back in her crib and gave her one more good bye kiss on his way out. Then Harry got dressed and left for the studio.

Your daughter let you sleep until 7:00 am when she got hungry again. You got up to feed her and decided to just stay awake and start your day. After you fed your daughter and changed her soiled diaper, you went down the stairs to make you something to eat. While you ate your yogurt and berries, the four month old played in her playpen. Then you put her down for a midmorning nap so you could clean up a bit. Around 11:00 am, you breastfeed her again while you watched a bit of tv. She fell asleep shortly after and you called Harry to let him know you were doing fine and talked about dinner options.

Through-out the rest of your day, you pretty much alternated between breastfeeding your daughter, changing dirty diapers, putting her down for naps, and did house chores: dishes, vacuuming, laundry, and dusting. Around 5:00 pm, you felt super disgusting from all the sweating you did today. The only problem was you were home alone with your daughter and there was no one to watch her while you showered or bathed. Usually you'd wait until Harry came home but the sound of a relaxing bath sounded heavenly to your ears. So the only reasonable fix to your problem was to bring her in the tub with you.

Harry and yourself have allowed her to get in the tub with either of you before. Sometimes Harry will be taking a relaxing bath and you'll kill two birds with one stone and have your daughter get a bath with him. Being only four months old, its still expectable for her to bath with her daddy. Or sometimes while you're taking a bath and Harry is watching her, she starts to scream and cry, needing or wanting you, so Harry has no other choice other than to bring her in the bathroom and allow you to comfort her to your warm, wet body.

Now in current time, you're in the bathtub with your naked daughter laying on your bare chest, just relaxing and cooing gentle words into her ears. It feels super nice to have all this skin to skin contact with her, but you're just praying she doesn't pee or poop in the tub. Maybe you should have kept her diaper on.

At first she was calm and relaxed, just staring off into the distance, but now she is grabbing at your boob wanting to be fed again. You reach down and position your nipple to her mouth and she laches on quickly. Your nipples are painfully sore from all the feedings you give her through-out the day, everyday. Harry has told you that you should start pumping and give your nipples a break but you can't seem to do that. Even though its quite painful each time she sucks, it's one of the best feeling to have a baby feed from you directly. That may not make much since to just anyone but you're sure other mums will understand.

While off in your own little world, you don't hear Harry come in the house. He finished for the day at the studio and came home to be with his loving family. First he questions where you two are. He walked in the kitchen to find it empty. Then he walks up the stairs and to the nursery to find it empty. Lastly he walks into your shared bedroom and it's empty as well. He starts to get worried until he hears a soft voice coming from the bathroom in your bedroom. He carries his sock covered feet to the bathroom door and gently pulls it open to see a pretty sight. You breastfeeding your daughter.

"Now we're feeding in the tub, are we?" Harry softly speaks with a content smile. He startles you at first but then you force yourself to relax so you don't disturb your baby.

"I needed a bath and had no one to watch her. Then she got hungry for the millionth time today. I actually think my nipples are going to fall off." you reply back and though you sound like you are joking, Harry could hear pain in your voice when you talked about your nipples falling off. He hates you're in pain.

"I'm sorry my love." he sincerely speaks while kneeling beside the tub to run a gentle hand over the babies back. He has always been infatuated with watching her feed from you. Not in a inappropriate way because they are the same boobs he loves to see jiggle when having sex but in a way where he's in total awe.

Seconds later your daughter spits out your nipple, so you ask Harry, "Could you maybe burp her and get her dressed for bed please, so I can properly wash myself."

Harry responds immediately with, "Of course darling. Anything for you." He bends forward to peck your lips and stands to grab a towel to wrap her small body in. He returns with a towel dedicated just for babies. It's made with thin, soft material so it won't be too rough on their skin. Then with the towel over his shoulder, he bends down to pick up her wet, naked body and lays her directly on his towel covered shoulder. She whines from the cold air but he shushes her. "Shhh my little love. It's alright." he whispers to her while wrapping the towel around her frame and begins to pat her back so she can burp. Before he steps out of the bathroom, he turns to you and says, "I'll be in her nursery. Yell out if you need me for anything."

"Okay." you comment back. As you began to wash your hair and body, all you can think about is how great of a husband and father Harry is. He never puts up fights when it comes to taking care of his daughter. It doesn't matter if it's 3:00 in the morning or while he's working. He'll always come to her aid or your aid for that matter.

Harry successfully burps her and lays her down on her changing table in the nursery. Before any accidents occur, he puts a clean diaper on her bum and finds some clean pjs to keep her body warm. "Alright. All done sweetheart." he tells his baby with a kiss on the cheek. Harry carries her with him to the kitchen, her face burred in his neck. She's awake but the warm bath and feeding did make her sleepy.

In the kitchen, Harry tries to decide what is best for dinner. He decides on a veggie pizza to pop in the oven, knowing you should agree with that choice. Right as the pizza goes into the pre heated oven, you come walking down the stairs in a loose fitting shirt and pajama shorts. "Feeling better?" Harry questions you with a dimply smile while soothingly rubbing your daughters back.

"Much. Thank you for getting her ready for bed." you tell your husband.

"You don't need to thank me. It's my job as much as it is yours. She 'our' baby." he responds.

You take your daughter from his hold and walk into the living room to feed her one last time before you put her to sleep. Harry takes the cooked pizza out the oven and plates you and him a slice. Then he makes his way to the living room, deciding you both can eat in there tonight so you're more comfortable. You eat and breastfeed at the same time, doing mummy multitasking. When Harry finishes eating, he takes your now sleeping baby girl from your hold and carries her to the nursery. Like every time before he leaves her room, he makes sure to lay a soft kiss on her head. Once all that is done, he comes back to you in the living room.

"Please use the pump for tonight. Your boobs need to rest and also that way I can get up to feed her through-out the night and let you get some proper sleep." Harry says to you as you're cuddle each other on the couch.

"But I'm scared if she uses a bottle that she won't want me again. She may realize the bottle is better than my nipples." you mumble in his neck.

"That's silly. Of course she'll want your breast again. You're her mother. She very much enjoys the bonding time with you when you breastfeed her but she's getting to the age to where she needs to have other options. In a month, she'll be able to try baby food. She'll still need your milk but just introducing solids to her diet." Harry calmly speaks while rubbing over your back in a calmly manner.

After a lot of convincing on Harrys part, you decided to try and pump for the first time. So you both stand from the couch and head to your bedroom. Harry grabs the milk pumper from your closet and you get comfortable on the bed. You take your shirt off and pull the covers to your waist. Then he brings the machine over to you and sets everything up. He helps you attach the pieces to each of your nipples, being very gentle knowing how painful they are. Once they are suctioned properly, he turns the machine on and asks, "Are you alright by yourself if I go take a shower? I promise I won't be long." You nod your head and Harry grabs a pair of clean boxers, than makes his way to the bathroom and began his showering.

When Harry returns from his quick shower, the two bottles that collect your milk are near about full. He helps you remove the suction cups and disconnects the bottles from the pump to place them in the fridge for later tonight. As he returns, he see's you standing in front of the huge mirror in your bathroom, just staring at your boobs. Specifically your nipples. Your nipples even look painful he thinks to himself. He walks up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder and caresses your ribcage with his fingers, looking straight ahead at your body in the mirror. "Go lay in bed and I'll put some cream on them." he whispers in your ear.

You follow his instructions and exit the bathroom to get in bed. Harry grabs some cream and returns to you. "I'll be gentle." he says in his tired voice, straddling your lap. He dips his ring less fingers in the soothing cream and bends down. Cradling the sides of your boobs with one hand, he uses his other to rub the nipple itself. His movements are slow and if it was under other circumstances, you swear you would have just gotten turned on by his actions. He looks to be in extreme concentration and you can't help but feel happy. For the second time today, you realize how great Harry is to you and your baby.

Once Harry has covered both your nipples in the cream, he helps you put a bra on that has leaking pads in them, to prevent the ointment from making a mess on the beds covers. Then he goes to wash his hands and comes back to crawl into bed and snuggle with you. "Love you y/n." Harry whispers quietly.

"I love you too babe. And I know you said not to thank you earlier, but thank you. I'm grateful to have you in my life." you blindly reach up to kiss his lips and then shove your face into his neck, smelling the manly scent of his body wash.

Through-out that night, anytime your four mouth old daughter woke up needing a feeding, Harry got up and warmed a bottle from the fridge and sat in the rocker located in the corner of her nursery each time. She would curl up on his tattooed chest, sleepily drink the bottle, and he would rock back and forth, lightly singing to her in a sleep ridden voice. Then he burped her after each feeding and put her back to sleep comfortably in her crib. That night, you got the most uninterrupted sleep you've gotten since before she was born and its all thanks to your wonderful husband and baby daddy, Harry.

MASTERLIST & My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

[with0utath0ught]

Sooo...

Ships?

Now, I know originally this idea was more for a Stiles-centric fic, but I have been more interested in Scott.

I still plan on having Stiles be just as important in this plot as Scott, but the thing is I don't think I will be giving Stiles a love interest.

I don't really buy the Lydia and Stiles romance, don't get me wrong, I can see them being together, but not for a long and not because they actually like each other.

In the first season Stiles was infatuated with the idea of Lydia, he didn't know her, and he kind of stalked her. Again, I like to think of them as friends, I like their dynamic, and it's fun, but I don't see them being in a relationship.

Now, a bit of controversial thought, I don't think shipping Stiles with Derek is that great, at least not in the first few seasons.

He is in high school after all, I can see them being together, don't get me wrong, their dynamic is just as fun, but in the future, when Stiles is his own person.

I want to see Stiles who finds it hard to talk to anyone that isn't his dad or Scott, and even with them, he would find it hard.

I want a Stiles who finds out he still has powers from his time with Nogitsune and I want him to be inconsolable. I want him to be visited by Allison, only to immediately kick her out, because the thought that he almost killed her is just too much for him.

I want to see Melissa recommend a therapist for him, and then see him quickly accept it, because he trusts her soo much, he knows she would never hurt him.

I want to see him sitting with his dad in silence as he hugs him and doesn't let go.

I want to see him and Scott spend time playing family-friendly games as they trash-talk to each other, just so they don't have to think about anything.

When it comes to Scott, I am a die-hard Scott x Isaac x Allison shipper. I like the two idiots and the one with the brain cell of the group. I like the idea of them helping each other overcome their trauma. Of course, I know that when it comes to trauma it's always better to see a specialist, that's why I see Allison doing it first, closely followed by Isaac.

It's hard, of course, it is, but they try, they acknowledge that they need help and try to seek it out, but Scott is not like that, he got used to being a leader, someone who is perfect and kind.

Someone who is strong and with no fault, I think Scott would be so far into his denial, even after the Nogitsune and even after Allison barely survives (yes I plan on having her survive).

After the Nogitsune, I want to see him become overbearing, I want him constantly to be checking on everyone, through calls and messages, even visits.

He would not be letting Stiles or Allison out of his sight, if Isaac decided that he wanted to go live with Derek again, Scott would not allow it, not because he doesn't trust Derek, but because the thought of hurt Isaac makes him sick from anxiety.

He will become too much, because while everyone understands the first month or two, they start to get frustrated.

Allison and Isaac would be attempting to get him to talk to them, or Stiles, even his mom, but Scott would not comply.

It would end in a fight. As for the later, well I have yet to decide.

In this version, I want to focus on Stiles' and Scott's bromance, I want them to be two idiots running around, trying to figure out their mental health and the aftermath of everything, I want to see them question their life in the supernatural world, I want to see them be lost and hurt, and I want to see other people, the ones close to them slowly figure out that something isn't right.

So yeah, I want to see them in romantic relationships, but I also want to focus on platonic ones as well.

Part 1

[thefanficmonster]

Infatuation

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: It’s not a secret that Corpse prefers taking care of his hair himself rather than going to a hair salon to get it trimmed and/or tampered. However, he only has so much knowledge of how to properly do it without having to obliterate his budget. Luckily, his girlfriend comes to his rescue.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for the incredibly fluffy request! I’ve been very pumped to write it and now here it finally is - so sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but I still hope you come across it and give it a read! Love, Vy ❤

“Um, what are you doing?“

I just walked into Corpse’s apartment to find him barricaded in the bathroom, giving himself a hair appointment. We were supposed to have a chill night in watching movies, but it seems to me like those plans will either have to be delayed or canceled, given the chaotic state both Corpse and his bathroom are in. I mean, how dumb was I to expect he was actually doing his hair justice when he told me he styled it himself? Why didn’t that immediately raise an army of red flags in my head and lead me to question his methods?

I’m honestly quite jealous of Corpse’s hair. It’s always so soft and silky and no matter how much or how little effort he’s put in it, it always looks good: either evidently carefully styled or boyishly messy, it leaves me with heart-eyes regardless. But to see him massacre it like this, it makes me wish I could report it as a crime.

“Ain’t obvious?“ He sounds rather frustrated and I feel at least slightly better due to this fact. He deserves to be as frustrated as I am by the sight of the crap he’s doing. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to wait for me for...a little while. I just need to get this under control and, um, clean the mess. Sorry for ruining your night like this, babe. I-I really wasn’t planning on it to take this long but I forgot to buy one of the products and I thought I could wing it without it but...I very clearly can’t so...“

“Please, stop talking. I don’t need to know what sins you’ve committed - if I do I’ll probably have to give you the silent treatment for like a week or so.“ I call out to him as I quickly skip over to the kitchen to leave the food I bought on my way over before returning to the bathroom and carefully taking a step inside, mindful of where there are hair strands on the tiles. Even severed, his hair is beautiful and I have a ton of respect for it - ok fine, I adore it. Corpse definitely doesn’t appreciate it properly. I walk over to the shower, reaching out to the two shelves inside which are lined with different types of hair products. “Oh fuck...“ I let out the whisper without even realizing it because I’m so stunned by the brands I see on those shelves. “Corpse, um, what the actual fuck?”

He turns to me, eyes wide and terrified because of my menacing tone. “What? What is it?” His gaze searches the spot where mine was just pointed at, looking for anything that could’ve provoked such a reaction from me. Seeing nothing but the hair products, he meets my deadly glare yet again, “What’s wrong?”

Alright, this man-child needs some serious help

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong.“ I say, stomping towards the exit of the bathroom, “You’re gonna stay here and wait for me to come back and don’t you DARE, even touch your hair, let alone bring a pair of scissors or any chemical near it. Copy?“

“Copied and pasted, ma’am.“ He salutes me, knowing better than to ask questions when I enter my commander role. There are quite a few things that set me off into this bossy-ass persona, and hair mistreatment is most definitely one of them. Thing is, Corpse doesn’t know that. Well, he didn’t know that, pretty sure he’s guessed it by now.

Feeling myself soften at his obedience and trust, I give him a smile and a wink over my shoulder as I go to grab my bag and leave the apartment to complete my mission, “Good boy.”

                                                              *  *  *

“Isn’t that a lot better?“ I ask, gently running my fingers through Corpse’s freshly cut, washed and dried hair. I’ve spent a good five minutes just smoothing through it with my fingers. I bet he’s expecting me to say ‘my precious‘ at any moment now, and trust me it’s tempting, but I still don’t, I won’t give him the pleasure of predicting my actions. Wow, we’ve really reached that level of being familiar with one another that I predict that he’s predicting what I’m gonna do next. While I’m a guessing game for him, I tend to think of myself as more of an open book. You just gotta be fluent in the language it’s written in to understand it.

I’ve gone off-topic, my bad.

“Yeah, you’re a lot less scary now.“ He tells me, his hand finding mine in his hair and taking it to his lips to place a kiss on my knuckles.

We’re positioned so that we’re in front of the bathroom mirror with Corpse seated in a chair in front of me and I’m for once in my life towering over him from behind. Our height difference was threatening to be a hinderance in my work on his hair, but we easily figured it out.

I can’t help but laugh, “You know what I meant.“ I curl one of his already curly strands around the pointer finger of the hand that’s still wandering around the soft dark curls while the other remains in his gentle hold, resting on his shoulder.

“And you know what I meant.“ He shifts in his seat to look at me directly, not via the mirror, “Since when do you have a hair infatuation?“

I roll my eyes and retract my hands, defensively folding my arms over my chest, “It’s not an infatuation with hair, dummy. It’s an infatuation with your hair.” I correct him, doing quick work of styling the stray strands that fall over his forehead and eyes. “I really like your hair, you already know that. I can’t handle the thought you’re doing such a shitty job taking care of it.”

He shrugs, furrowing his brows, “Hey, I was buying top-shelf products, cost me a fortune every month, my hair was being treated like royalty.”

I roll my eyes once again, “High price doesn’t always equal high quality, Corpse. Did you ever stop to read what was in those products?” I don’t let him answer, I don’t need him to confirm what I already know. “Even if you did - which you didn’t - you wouldn’t know what each of those ingredients do to your hair. You see, taking care of hair, especially hair like yours, takes patience and knowledge. It’s practically an art form. It’s not like you can just buy any product that has ‘suitable for curly hair’ on it. There’s a lot more to that.”

It’s only after I finish my monologue that I realize he’s looking at me with amazed amusement in his gaze, almost like a parent listening to their kid talk about their wish of becoming an astronaut. “Since when do you know so much about hair? You’ve been using the same shampoo and conditioner since I know you and now you wanna lecture me on hair care?”

I raise an eyebrow at him, exasperated by his stubbornness on the matter, “Who said being consistent with your hair products is a bad thing? You know, frequent changing of brands has the potential of being damaging as much as aiding.” I explain with the most amount of patience I can muster, now taking over the parent role myself, “And as for your previous question, I know so much because my mother is a hairdresser.”

His eyes widen in surprise. I can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to recall if I’ve ever told him this before.

“How come I don’t know that?“ He asks finally after a long moment of silence. “Why haven’t you told me?”

“You ask that as though I just tell you things like that on the regular. Did you also want me to drop the info that my dad’s a mechanic in passing conversation about video games? Cause that’s a little hard to shoehorn in....“ He cuts off my sarcastic rambling with a brief peck to the lips. He’s the only person allowed to shut me up, and only like that. Anything else will earn him either an earful or a silent treatment. 

Just kidding....unless...

“So, does that mean you’re continuing the family business?“ he asks when he pulls away, “I mean, you’re technically my personal hairdresser now.“

I furrow my brows playfully, “Wait, what? Since when?”

“Since I hired you approximately an hour ago.“ He beams up at me, satisfied that I’ve fallen in his trap.

“And what about my payment?“ I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

He looks to be contemplating for a second before he stands up from the chair, taking my hand in his leading me out of the bathroom, “Well, each appointment you’ll give me a different price, Miss Y/L/N. But, considering today was your first day, I choose to pay you with dinner.“ He sends a wink my way, laughing when he’s met with an unamused expression on my part as I stop in my tracks, causing him to halt his movements as well.

“You really plan on paying me with the dinner I bought?“ I raise an eyebrow at him, freeing my hand from his so I can put both my hands on my hips for the complete 'I’m far from impressed’ look.

“Yeah...? Problem?“ He asks, faking nervousness and guilt as he closes the distance between us, once again returning to the default of towering over me instead of it being the other way around.

“Several actually. First of all...“ I raise my finger in the air accusingly, ready to go off but the arm that wraps around my waist and lifts me off the ground causes my words to die down, evaporating in a frightened squeal, “Corpse no!! Put me down!“

Of course, he ignores me, carrying me into the living room while I don’t know whether to thrash or stay as still as possible. 

Tsk, so much for gratitude

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse

[spicysoftsweet]

A Thorn In The Side - Gojo x Reader

Summary: Infatuation enduring from high school is more of a problem than you or he think (~3.4k words).

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, noncon, kidnapping, yandere, wlw mention, gojo is a pos

A/N: Part of @suedebunn​‘s Hanahaki collab! 

When the strongest jujutsu sorcerer to have ever lived wakes up in the early am with the sensation of thorns scratching his throat and fullness in his stomach, he’s baffled.

Even more so when he doubles over in bed to cough profusely to the point of near emesis, shocking for a man who rarely gets sick. He stares blankly at a pillow covered in droplets of flecks of red, and his eyes widen with trepidation, until he realizes those large drops strewn across his bed come from flowers rather than blood.

He must be dreaming, Gojo Satoru tells himself, but the satiny feel of the scarlet petals between his fingertips is very real.

Or perhaps a curse.

“So you expect me to diagnose you over the phone?” 

Shoko pulled a drag of her cigarette as though for dramatic effect, blowing it out with a sigh, but continued to listen. She had to be up early anyway and ignoring Gojo would only make him more annoying in her experience.

“So what are your symptoms again?” she asked.

“Apparently my insides are trying to match my beautiful outsides~” he sang.

Shoko rolled her eyes, and as though he could see her, Gojo laughed loudly.

“In all seriousness, I’m turning into a garden. Coughing up flowers apparently.”

“Coughing up flowers, huh?” She leaned a little further against her balcony, her eyes setting on the early morning sunrise she could view from her high rise apartment. “Do you think it’s some type of curse?”

“It’s… different,” he replied, somewhat noncommittally. “I don’t think it’s cursed energy, actually.”

This was unexpected.

“What else do you feel?”

“Uneasy…”

It was Shoko’s turn to laugh. An interesting choice of words coming from him.

“Any ideas?” Gojo insisted.

“I mean, it could be some kind of undetectable curse. I’d know if I got to see you… How does your heart feel when you cough up the flowers?”

“It races.”

“Your mind?”

“Also races… lightheaded.”

“Any thoughts?”

“None.”

“As expected.” she teased, laughing again until she realized that for once, Gojo was silent on the other end of the phone. She scratched her head, then ran her fingers through her fingertips.

“Come in at 2pm today, okay? Don’t be late.”

---

“Well, you’re right,” Shoko stated, stepping back from the examination table, and crossing her arms as she set herself down on a stool to formulate her assessment. 

Her friend, already graced with the palest of color palettes, did actually look ill, dark circles prominent enough to match hers marring his porcelain skin. He sat, legs spread apart, and leaning onto the weight of his hands besides him, raising an eyebrow quizzically..

“It’s not cursed energy, alright,” she said, with a sigh. She stretched out her hand.

“You brought the sample, right?” 

Gojo, uncharacteristically a bit listless, tossed her the bag of vomited petals from this morning, covered in now dry saliva and other fluids. Not batting an eyelash, Shoko slipped on a pair of gloves and felt inside the bag, petals crumbling at her fingertips.

Definitely not cursed energy. She placed the bag on a disorganized counter behind her, making a mental note of scrutinizing it further under a microscope.

“Ideas?” Gojo asked after he’d decided that the time he’d given her to think was enough. It turned out the idea of being sick irritated him more than he expected. 

The very idea of being vulnerable made him slightly nauseous.

Shoko let out a chuckle that sounded more nervous than she had intended.

“My only other thought is Hanahaki disease.”

“Hanahaki?” Gojo repeated.

“Yeah,” she stated. Crossing her legs, she relaxed into her stool further as she watched the young man carefully. “Who’s the unlucky one?”

“You mean?”

“Who’s the unfortunate soul you’re in love with?” She asked again, waiting for his response. The truth was that she was quite shocked at the idea of Gojo being afflicted with Hanahaki, that he of all people could have such a pure, destructive form of love given his track history.

She’d known him long enough to know that his body count was near ridiculous.

He tilted his head, then burst into laughter.

“Myself, duh.”

“Well, auto-Hanahaki isn’t a thing, but I suppose if it was, you’d be the one to be afflicted with it.”

She decided not to press further. “Whoever it is, I’d recommend you settle your feelings as soon as possible,” she added. “People don’t usually die from this but you look surprisingly like shit so I’d be careful.”

Gojo ran a hand through his hair, hopping off the table and pulling back on his shirt.

Settling his feelings may be more complicated than either of the two of them expected.

---

You were in the middle of your drive home when Shoko’s name finally flashed on your dashboard. Grinning, you picked up on the car speaker, mischief in your voice.

“It’s 7:03 and you promised me you’d call at 7 sharp, babe. What do you have to say for yourself?” 

“You’re going to hold 3 minutes against me?” Her sultry voice filled your ears as you made the last turn between the grocery store and your apartment, and you hoped she’d be inside your home waiting for you so that you could actually hold something tangible against her.

“I did say I wasn’t going to tolerate you being late for anything anymore, didn’t I?” You teased.

“Bold declaration for someone who isn’t even home yet,” Shoko retorted.

In minutes, you were walking through the door, arms charged with bags full of groceries for dinner you’d planned to cook together. Shoko greeted you with a kiss on the forehead as you placed them on the counter.

“Did you miss me?”

You did, but you stuck out your tongue at her instead. Her hand intertwined with yours briefly before you separated to unpack items for dinner.

“I promise I’ll be less busy,” she offered as the two of you worked in tandem. Your stomach was already growling, so the sooner you had food on the table, the better.

“It’s no problem,” you replied, and you meant it only half-heartedly. It’s true she was less busy than a regular civilian doctor, but it seemed recently that her clinic was getting overrun with more and more curse victims. Things had been bad recently in the world, you figured. 

You were happy to step back from the world of sorcery, but small reminders like these persisted.

“Did you still manage to fit Gojo in today?”

She had complained earlier today that Gojo always managed to make a bad day worse.

“Mmm,” is what she offered over the sound of chopping vegetables. You understood that she couldn’t say more, on top of the fact that any discussion of Gojo was already a sore subject. It didn’t have to be, and it shouldn’t have been, but this was what it was.

“Hope he’s okay,” you offered, as you turned on the stove.

“He’ll be fine,” she replied, her voice now quieter than usual.

---

The first and last time Gojo fell in love was in the spring of his third year, he suddenly recalled in the middle of a tryst, as an upsettingly subpar blowjob allowed his mind to wander. The young woman whose gags sounded almost theatrical when compared to the amount of pleasure he was actually receiving was starting to get on his nerves, but instead he took matters in his own hands, wrapping her long ponytail around his wrist before guiding the back of her head so she took him deeper.

If she was gonna choke, she should commit to it.

He’d fallen in love with you at first sight. It was a strange feeling for him to immediately be enamored with someone upon first glance instead, having always been the recipient of many an awe-filled or fawning look.

You were a transfer from the sister school, already a rare occurrence, and what was even rarer was the fact that you both had little affinity to jujutsu and little interest in getting better. One could wonder why you even showed up in the first place, much less why you’d moved from one school to the other. 

You’d quit as expected just before graduation, but not before you caught his eye. 

“You’re pretty shitty at this,” he’d remarked, attempting to win you over with humor when he’d been assigned to you for both orientation and possible tutoring. “Of course, you can always ask me for help,” he added, flashing pearly whites at you.

He was the opposite of successful in wooing you.

“I suppose since this comes easy to you, this is just funny, right?” You’d quipped.

Your words cut more than both you and he anticipated, but it didn’t exactly matter. You were not interested in him, the way he was interested in you. 

But Shoko was different.

You became fast friends and upon your departure from the technical college, you’d remained in contact despite withdrawing from everyone else related to magic. 

Even if Gojo tried many times to either bring you back to this world you’d left behind or be part of your new one, you’d rebuffed him every time. Harshly. 

“I don’t know why you expect everyone to worship you,” was the last thing you’d said to him. “I’ve already made it clear that I don’t want to be part of this life,” you’d insisted. “Why would I change my mind just because you asked me to?”

You were right. 

And yet you loved Shoko.

The young woman whose name he’d forgotten’s face was now pressed against his pubic bone and she now began to squirm, slapping and scratching at him like some kind of trapped animal as she struggled to breathe, reminding him that he’d daydreamed for too long.

“Sorry,” he offered, as he released his grip, leaving her to sputter and choke. Looking at her, knowing that she was not you suddenly made him want to choke himself, to bring forth that impromptu garden of unrequited feelings.

He patted her on the back gingerly, and once it looked like she’d restabilized, pulled her in for another kiss. 

If only her lips tasted like yours.

---

Shoko’s hand glided against the curve of your hips, taking in the image of you sleeping softly on your side, facing her. She dipped down to kiss your nose; it was the only time the fact that she had such an issue with sleep benefited her, this ability to almost always wake up before you.

You looked incredibly peaceful while sleeping, and she had to admit this angelic view of you was even better than your features twisted in a pleasured mewl (not that it wasn’t a close battle).

There was a nagging concern in the pit of her stomach, however.

Gojo suffering from unrequited love could be a problem, if the object of his affections did happen to be you. But it had been years ago that he’d pursued you unsuccessfully, why present now?

Why present to her office of all people? Gojo could be inconsiderate, but not to this extent. 

But what if he didn’t know that this was what he was feeling? Suppressed feelings taking root and morphing themselves into the tangible he couldn’t ignore?

She sat up, resting her back against the backboard, the lack of a cigarette between her lips being palliated with the gnaw of her thumbnail. 

It couldn’t be. Not you. 

Please, not you.

---

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Shoko checked in about a week later.

Gojo didn’t share that he’d spent the entire morning in a coughing fit of petals, now definitely streaked with blood, and the entire last night vomiting enough flowers into the toilet that it had overflowed.

He didn’t comment on the entire scarlet sage plants with large green leaves that threatened to sprout from every orifice, not just his throat, but his ears and nostrils, possibly from behind his eyes.

He didn’t know what was next, only that it was getting worse.

The constant fire in the pit of his stomach, the shivers, the chills, the incessant flash of you running through his mind, your name moaned in the darkness, his body drenched in sweat.

The fact that he knew it was because he loves you and cannot find an alternative for you.

The fact that he must have you, and only you.

“Has it gotten better or worse?” Shoko asked.

“I’m fine,” Gojo reassured her, masking the exhaustion in his voice, and she made the mistake of believing him.

---

You awoke in darkness with an icy cold searing into your skin.

It took you a moment to let your eyes adjust to the light and for your body to resume the motor control it had briefly relinquished in sleep before you could reorient yourself. You were laying on ground of some sort, maybe hardwood which implied that you were in some kind of building. 

Your head throbbed viciously as you shifted slowly to a sitting position and you almost expected there to be blood as you ran your hands over the back of your head, checking for injury. But there was nothing, just the normal feel of your hair, and the steady thump of your temples in time with your pounding heart.

Looking around, your eyes soon fixed to the low light, not actual darkness to center on a figure in the center of the room.

You let out a gasp of surprise.

Gojo.

Not only had it been a while and he was the last person you expected to see, he looked stranger than he ever had.

He sat perched on a chair backwards, chin leaning on the top of the backrest. His head was tilted, and he watched you warily but fixedly through eyes that looked sunken into their orbits. Their clear blue was still sharp in the darkness.

His skin had taken on an almost ghostly cast to match his hair, and he was thinner than you remembered as though he had been slowly withering away since the last time you saw him. That was ages ago.

Your limbs froze in anticipation. You didn’t have to be a genius to recognize that whatever was happening or was about to happen was bad.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He stared at you blankly for a moment, unmoving. If he weren’t so extraordinarily fatigued, he would have sat up straighter in his chair and offered you a smile. You were still as pretty as the day he first laid eyes on you, after all. What a welcome sight.

“I guess I missed you,” he responded instead, quietly. 

Your teeth gritted as you flared up in indignation.

“Excuse me?”

He cut you off with a loud, exasperated sigh, mustering the little bit of energy he had left to run a hand through his hair.

“Listen, I thought I’d forgotten myself, but it turns out that I’m being betrayed by my own body.”

As though to add effect, a coughing fit began just at the end of his sentence, and you watched as he spat flowers into the palm of his hand, lowering them for you to see.

“And it seems like you’re the cause of this.”

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of bloody petals falling through his fingertips and hitting the ground.

He was completely out of his mind.

“I…,” you shakily got yourself up to your feet, not letting your gaze leave Gojo for a second. He didn’t get out of the chair, but he did shift so that he leaned back in the seat, a wicked smile on his face.

“You...?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You spat. “Where the hell am I and how did I get here?”

He finally did get up, although it was done in a dramatic, strained movement. He really had lost weight, you noticed, picking up the flash of pale wrists before he shoved his hands in his pocket.

“I know it sounds crazy but apparently, according to your girlfriend, I’m suffering from lovesickness.”

He bared more of his teeth now, looking more like a grimace than a grin by this time. “I didn’t believe it either, but then I started seeing you in my mind every single waking moment.”

In the split second it took for you to blink, he had crossed the distance between you, so that he was now in your personal space, the palm of his hand inappropriately caressing your face, as tender as you’d expect from Shoko.

And you immediately jumped back and backhanded him as hard as you could.

The crack of your hand was loud and exaggerated, reverberating in the room. For a moment, you froze in shock, surprised the slap had actually landed, before shaking out your now burning hand and following up with a hiss.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Gojo’s icy blue eyes glint, demonic in their delight.

“That’s the feisty bitch I remember.”

---

It was nearing 24 hours since you’d failed to reply to Shoko’s text and the normally collected woman was terribly anxious.

She’d stayed at work late, and still, not a single message from you. 

The nagging feeling in the back of her mind returned.

What if it were you?

Gojo couldn’t be that insane, could he?

When she entered your home to find traces of red salvia scattered throughout your home, it only confirmed her fears.

---

“I don’t want to do this either. I mean it.”

It was hard to believe him when he seemed to savor every brush of the lips as he trailed kisses along your inner thighs, spread open with the force of his hands. Gojo had always been deceptively strong, even now, when it looked like he was wilting just as much as the flowers he coughed up. 

Your wrists were bound to a fixed point at the head of a foreign bed, and your ankles to the bedposts anteriorly to prevent you from fighting. Not that you would have been able to fight back anyway, but the severe fatigue permeating his very bones made him less willing to risk anything.

When his lips made it to your center to circle your clit, you writhed in disgust, forcing back the sighs of pleasure that would inevitably ensure.

“Y-you can’t - ah - make me love you…”

Gojo paused the swishing of his tongue to give you a look that reeked enough of apathy that it was almost startling.

“I’m aware, but there’s no harm in trying.”

---

“Where the fuck is she?”

Satoru had the ostentatiousness within him to receive the phone call on speaker, so that you could hear Shoko beg to find out your whereabouts.

“She’s with me,” he replied, calmly to her, holding the phone in one hand and pumping fingers in and out of your slippery cunt with the other. 

By this time, Gojo had gotten tired of your expletives which no longer retained the initial cute charm, so your screams for help were muffled by a gag over your own wet panties shoved into your mouth.

He’d been at this for hours.

There was a pause on the phone from Shoko’s end that sounded like something crashing to the ground, maybe a plate breaking.

Her tone changed immediately.

“P-please don’t hurt her.”

“I’m not.”

He glanced at you who glared back at him with reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You looked even prettier when you were so totally helpless.

“I would never,” he added.

The pump of his fingers slowed but did not stop.

“This won’t fix you,” Shoko warned, almost in a low protective hiss, her own voice breaking. “This won’t fix anything, you bastard.”

He cut off the phone abruptly, and let out a sigh before shifting his attention back to you.

“Where were we?”

---

Maybe if I pretend, he’ll stop?

Or will he continue? Will I just affirm that he won?

His thrusts were relentless, as was the constant tugging at your hair, the teeth sinking into every inch of your skin, the moans and groans whispered into your ears or your bosom.

A violation in every sense of the word.

You were running out of tears.

The fact that it’s pointless, you and he both know it. Your true love knows it, that this is just an excuse to get back at you. For what? Rejection? 

He would die anyway. You would never return his feelings, if there even truly were any. 

He continued to rut into you, and flowers started to stain every inch of your bodies, covering them in a deep scarlet.

Red. Red. Red.

Blood. Rage. Power. Passion.

You probably didn’t need the restraints anymore. You had no fight left in you. 

Just the satisfaction, however small, that regardless of what he did to you, he would still eventually succumb to nature and perish in a bed of putrid efflorescence.

[raggaraddy]

hello, so if you still take requests i want to request yandere reaction where the reader is as possesive as them, or like she willingly do anything for them and obey them. its totally okay if you dont feel like writing it or maybe you dont take request.. its just im craving reading something like that and youre a great writer :)

A/N: Hi, I am still new to writing reactions, so I hope that this is what you wanted or you at least like it.  Thank you for your sweet comments. Enjoy!

Mine

Summary: When another girl gets a little too comfortable with Jungkook your reaction's a surprise to the both of you.

Trigger warnings: Fighting, mentions of abuse, violence.

Jungkook

You had begged Jungkook to take you with him tonight. He'd been so busy with work lately and you'd found yourself missing him too much when he was gone. So when he said he wasn't staying home tonight, but he was instead going out to a bar with some of his friends, you were enthusiastic for him to take you with him. It had used to be the complete opposite. Every time he left you alone, gave you some time to breathe on your own, you were thrilled. But more and more you'd started noticing him in a new light.

Sure he's rough and demanding sometimes. And yeah, he can lose his temper every now and then. But you're not perfect either, and you know it must be hard for him, especially when you behaved so insensitively at first. However, despite your flaws or his, he deeply loves you. He accepts you for who you are and he wants nothing more than to keep you safe. How could you ever find anyone else who cared for you as much as your Kookie did?

The night started as every night out with Jungkook did. He listed out the same rules over that he had said dozens of times before.

You have to listen to everything he says and do everything he says. You don't talk to anyone unless he's with you, and most importantly, you never leave his sight. You had tried to run off a few times in the past, so you knew how deathly serious he was about that last one.

After thoroughly prepping you, and dressing you, and warning you one last time to mind the rules, the both of you finally went to meet his friends.

"Sit. Here." Jungkook pointed to the booth table at the back of the bar. You slid in and he right away pushed in alongside you, nudging you in further and further until you were all but barricaded against the wall. As his friends began to come in one by one, they all joined in a large group. While the night went on, you talked among his friends and their girlfriends. A few people got food, but most people were just drinking to excess. You of course got the choice of soda or water. Every now and then throughout the evening, you could feel JK's attention on you, and you would hug his arm a little tighter to let him know you were paying attention to him too.

At some point, it was Jungkooks turn to buy the next round.

"Y/n." He whispered lowly. Even in the middle of a conversation and with the music playing in the background, his voice caught your focus right away. You looked up to him, a small smile and big eyes. "I'll be back in a few minutes." His lips pressed to your ear, his warm breath blowing along your neck spiking tingles down your side. "If you even try to move while I'm gone, I'm going to pin you to the table by putting this butter knife through your hand." He twirls the point of the dull knife into the table, scratching the wood.

Your smile grows a little bit bigger at his threat. Not because you think he wouldn't do it, but because you know there is no way he would ever need to do it. You're not going anywhere.

Your fingers linger with his, holding on for a few seconds extra as he gets up. While the conversations go on, your concentration keeps flicking to Kookie. Watching every now and then to make sure he hasn't left your sight either.

On one momentary glance, you catch sight of some random woman standing too close to him. They're at the bar, and it's quite crowded so it could be nothing, but she doesn't look like she is ordering drinks. She's completely facing him. Talking to him.

Slowly your frustration starts to build as a few minutes pass and they stay in the same position. You don't know who she is, you've never seen her before. Jungkook's body language expresses that he doesn't know her as well. She, however, is acting way too familiar. Laughing, smiling, flicking her hair and pushing her chest out like some kind of desperate slut.

You're trying to let it pass. But after only about 10 minutes of silent stewing, that's all you can tolerate. You know your Kookie has no interest in any other girls. He's just too innocent to realize that this girl is flirting with him. That, or he is only trying to be polite.

She crosses the line though when she decides to put her hand on his arm.

He might have told you to stay in your seat, and you know he is going to at the very least slap you for willingly going against his rules, but you have had enough and you're not going to allow this bitch to paw all over him anymore.

Shuffling out of the booth, you take heavy, furious steps towards them. The second you're in reach you draw against Jungkooks side, wrapping your arm around his. At the same time, you roughly and forcefully shove the heel of your palm into this girls shoulder, knocking her back and off of him. She stumbles looking shocked and fleetingly frightened. You're not done sending a message yet.

"The next part of you that tries to touch him is going to get stabbed!" You growl. Jungkook leans back a little to look at you. A mix of intrigue and surprise coming together to form a smirk on his face. It's not just from the forceful action you made, but also the confident, ruthless way you spoke to intimidate her.

This woman is dumb though. She either doesn't see or doesn't understand how sincerely you made that threat. "Wow," she scoffs. Yelling, trying to be louder than the music, "Is this your girlfriend? She's a psycho." she mocks, stepping forward, speaking directly to Jungkook. You pull yourself in front of him, dragging his hand around your waist to wrap on your hip, your fingers lacing over the top of his. Even with you standing between them, eyes burning with hostility she still doesn't back down. "If you want a cool girlfriend, you can come home with me, baby." She propositions him, with the cherry on top of calling him baby. Calling your Kookie baby! Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?!

You snap forward and slam your curled up fist into her face as hard as you can. She mustn't have been expecting that at all because she falls like a ton of bricks. Knocking into two or three other people behind her before she ultimately falls on to the floor.

Honestly, you've never hit someone before, and you didn't realize it would hurt so much. So you have to quickly shake your hand feeling the bones bruised and jarred. You regain your composure by the time she can gain hers and looks back up to you. You step over the top of her getting into her personal space. "Go find someone else to be a pathetic whore with." You snap. "He's mine!"

She scrambles out from under you and back to her feet, sensibly darting away. Over your shoulder, you can see Jungkook taking control of the consequences of your interaction, assuaging the bartender's concerns. JK knows them all, so if they know that it's him, they're not going to make a fuss over it, they'll just let it go and assume there was a good reason.

You latch onto him again as he focuses back on you. Grabbing your hands into his shirt, you hold him closer. "Don't let other girls touch you."  You whine, taking the aggression out of your voice when you talk with him, but not the seriousness.

"Why? Because I'm yours?" He looks down with a smug smile, and a salacious glimmer in his gaze. His tongue running over the inside of his cheek.

You're still so pent up and frustrated, you just want to be as close to him as you can be for comfort. You press your whole body flat to him, feeling warmed by the firm shape of his arms and chest. "Yes, you're mine."

He insists on a small amount of space between you two, gripping onto your upper arms harshly he pushes you back. His free hand comes up and his fingers cling into your jaw keeping you still.

This is it. You knew he was going to hurt you for disobeying. But honestly, it was worth it to keep her off of him.

Looking down at you so intensely, he isn't reacting the way you had expected. His eyes are instead filled with an infatuated allure that's making your stomach tingle and your cheeks feel warm. He rests his mouth next to your ear like he had earlier. "That was so fucking hot Kitten." His teeth nip at your ear lobe, making you shiver. "We're leaving. Just wait until I get you alone. I'm gonna prove I'm yours."   

[sporadiclilbook]

Ooo I loved how you wrote Diluc for the event! Could you do zhongli as well?

Woah, thats a lot of Zhongli request. You guys sure like Zhongli huh, me too! :D

Hope you like this anons! And since there's lots of request I'll guess I'll make it longer?

Yan!Zhongli snapping

"Rex Lapis, my lord?" Zhongli snapped out of his thoughts as he hear your voice. The serene overlook of Liyue Harbour on top of Mount Tianheng was simply mesmerising. Turning around to look at you, he simply sighed "(Y/N), you do realise that I am no longer the Geo Archon. There is no need for formalities. Please, just call me Zhongli." Even with that said you still bowed to him. Old habits die hard he guess. Although he doesn't mind if you can't shake it off, except if it was in public.

It was no secret that among the adepti that you were close to him. He would often spend time with you, alone and sometimes with your fellow adepti or Guizhong. He must admit, all those time spent with you had made him fall for you. At first it was just a normal infatuation. A gentle wave. But after the Archon War and the death of Guizhong. He realises that you could be lost as well after seeing you heavily injured. Perhaps that is why in the contract he forged himself stated that you could never leave Liyue in under any circumstances. Tasking you with making sure the harvest of the people of Liyue was bountiful.

However, long after the Archon War, you longed to see more of Teyvat. Living a long life in one country made it feel like it was a small empty room. In the same period of time, Morax's wave of infatuation slowly become a tsunami that wanted to consume you whole. To keep safe within it's waves. To keep you safe within Liyue.

And that's why you were here. You wanted to break your contract.

"Oh....right..... It's Zhongli now. Apologies, I am still not used to you living a mortal life." He simply let out a small laugh "I don't blame you for it. I, too, am still getting use to it. May I ask to what honour do I have to meet one of my faithful adeptus?" He was glad that you still willingly come to see him. He was planning to visit whenever he was free as the funeral consultatant. Maybe one of these days he'll even invite you to some tea

"I was wondering if I....."

How wonderful it could be. Speaking of the good old days in private. Perhaps getting to know you closer as a friend and more instead of your lord. He was delighted at the thought. After millenia of knowing each he could finally--

"call off our contract."

His train of thoughts stopped. Eyes wide, mouth agape a little. "Call of.....our contract?" You nodded "Yes indeed. Seeing how the people of Liyue would do fine without you, I thought that maybe it's time for me to retire as well." Zhongli took a long breath before answering. Why....would you want to break off this contract? You swore your upmost loyalty to him ages ago and now you were just going to.....break it? "Oh....ah...hmm. I see.....May I ask why would you want to break off our contract?" After everything he has done to make sure his little crystal fly wouldn't flutter into any danger, they're just going to voluntarily flutter into some?!

Unacceptable. A corner of his mind spoke. Old personalities of war threatening to rise. To just whisk them away right there and now.

Perhaps a change of terms in the contract would suffice.... Another thought chimed in, being more reasonable albeit manipulative.

"Forgive me, my lord. I know breaking a contract is a great offense to you but please conside-" You stopped midway as you see the earth grasping your legs, petrifying it. You looked up to look at Zhongli in confusion only to be frightened. Zhongli's eyes had slits for a pupil. His faced was painted with an infuriated expression. "M-my lord. Please, calm dow--"

"Silence!"

His sudden outburst made you shut up immediately. You thought that he would be disappointed but you didn't expect him to be angry.

"You do realise that our contract cannot be broken? Do you not?" His voice was still low despite his rage. Making you more frightened. "In under no circumstances it shall be broken. Do you understand?" He walked up to you and tilted your chin up so that your eyes meet his. "I said do you understand?" "Yes my lor-" "Zhongli." "Yes Zhongli."

He lets go of your chin, unpetrifying your legs and crossed his arms "Then I suppose we have an understanding?" Should you risk it? Should you risk to ask why he would not let you go? Most of yourself wanted to. To at least know the reason. "But why would you not allow it?" Zhongli narrowed his eyes. It was filled with anger as if he has been betrayed "Why won't you let me go out of Liyue?"

Zhongli let out a frustrated grunt. Why are you being so difficult? "Because it is what you agreed to. You agreed to stay in Liyue." He grabbed one of your hands and held it tight. "Why can't you just stay? It's not that hard, is it not? I'm doing this to keep you safe." You were a bit annoyed, you do know how to fight. You can handle yourself just fine! "Safe? I'm fine on my own! I don't need to be-"

"No."

"I refuse. Why must you be so difficult (Y/N)? Can't you not see that this is the best for you?" His tone was low, akin to a growl at this point. He pulled you towards him, his eyes deeply staring into yours. "I may not be Liyue's Archon anymore but a contract is a contract." Zhongli was frustrated. You could see it in his eyes. "Why is it that you refuse to let me go Zhongli? What reason do you have? Tell me Zhon-- no, tell me Morax why won't you let me out of Liyue?"

Slowly you feel yourself being petrified.

"It's because...

The petrification was at your waist

I love you deeply (Y/N)."

You let out a shocked gasp wanting to say something but your mouth was also turning to stone.

"Trust me, this is for your own good."

Your entire body was petrified in stone. Unmoving. Zhongli felt no regret having to make you immobile like this. He can't let you go out of his sight anymore. He wants you to stay in a definitive location where he knows you're safe. He shall keep you in a remote place where even your fellow adepti wouldn't find you.

"Consider your eternal isolation a punishment for trying to break our contract."

[wroteasongabouther]

can’t stand to see you lonely: part 1

a/n: oh my god guys it’s finally here!😬 i really hope i didn’t hype myself up too much and that you guys actually like it. overall i just wanted to put out a story that revolved around christmas and this is what i came up with! so without me babbling too much, i hope you enjoy part 1 of my new story and as always any feedback/reblogs are very much appreciated.

and of course, thank you to the lovely jess @arrogantstyles and jill @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this part for me and giving this rusty old writer the help i needed lol

word count: 17k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, some sexual tension, and an over consumption of starbucks holiday drinks.

fic page // let’s chat // cstsyl playlist 

“What floor?” Harry asks, eyes stuck on the many buttons in the elevator instead of seeing who had entered the small space with him. He can tell it’s a woman, and they smelt lovely.

“Six please,” her soft voice replies.

Harry looks over his shoulder in what he hopes is a smooth motion to get a quick peek at who was behind that sweet voice. Her eyes were squinting slightly as she smiles at him. She must be my new neighbour, he thinks as he hits the number six button and it lights up before the elevator begins to move. He steps back, standing in the opposite corner of the young woman. Harry assumes that she is maybe a few years younger than him, but one thing he knew for sure was that she was very pretty. He may even say she was stunning. She's all bundled up with a long coat and a thick scarf as he guesses she had just gone out for some shopping, judging by the few large white paper bags hanging off her arm.

“Did you just recently move in?” He questions, catching her eyes switching from gazing at the wall to his own instead.

She smiles again and nods, “yeah.”

“I thought I heard someone move in beside me,” he exclaims. He was certain that someone had moved in beside him. It caused him a bit of a headache hearing all the moving around. And then on top of that, his new neighbour had decided to get right to hammering in on the wall they shared. Little did he know, there was a determined and beautiful girl on the other side.  

“Oh you’re my neighbour then?” She says, bringing Harry back from his memory of a few days ago.

“Harry,” he introduces himself, reaching a hand out into the space between them. She switches her Starbucks holiday cup into her other hand in order to shake his. Her hand is warm from holding the drink and it causes Harry's stomach to erupt with little bitty butterflies.

“Y/N,” she says in the same gentle voice as before. He wanted to hear her talk more. There was something about the soft tone of her voice, like he could listen to her speak into the late hours and early mornings and never once get tired of it. He blinks a few times and drops her hand at his intimate thought.

Harry didn't believe in love at first sight per say, but he was known to develop an infatuation of sorts very quickly. A crush as some would call it. Well, to be precise, Mitch teases him the most of his little crushes. There was that one time that Harry fumbled over his words over and over again when they had gone for dinner and had a rather attractive waitress, having asked for her number at the end of the night too. Mitch mocked him for days about it, asking if she had ever texted him back - she didn’t. And Harry didn’t even want to think about the time he spilled an entire blended margarita on his white vans when a certain handsome lifeguard had winked at him during their trip in LA last summer. Mitch still doesn’t let that incident go either.

The elevator doors open, and Harry gives her a smile and motions with a hand for her to walk out before he does. His mom must’ve raised him well, Y/N thinks at her new neighbours mannerisms. First holding the elevator for her, then offering to press the elevator button, and now letting her exit first. Suppose it was just minor things, but growing up in this lovely city that is New York meant she was used to the rudeness of people and sadly the simplest of gestures can make her heart beat just a bit faster in her chest.

“If you uh,” Harry pauses as Y/N stops at her front door but looks back at him as he speaks. Harry slows his steps to keep eye contact with her. “If you ever need anything, don’t feel shy to knock on my door.”

Y/N smiles again, nodding at his offer while she twists her key in the lock and opens her front door. Harry's walking backwards now, just a few steps to that same door he’s saying she can knock on. His eye contact is intense, but addicting, like every word she had to say to him mattered. His eyes are green, just green, nothing crazy and yet she found them very endearing. Would it be cliche of her to say she swore she saw them sparkle?

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you,” she says and before she can say anything else, she steps into her new apartment and shuts the door behind her.

Y/N finds herself standing there for a moment, remembering every word Harry had spoken to her as she slips out of her shoes. She then remembers his facial features while undoing her coat and hanging it up along with her scarf. The bit of facial hair he was sporting, how it seemed like it may have taken a while to grow so he kept it minimal. Or that little mole by his mouth, she even took note of that in their short time together. He had a cute nose too, she thinks. Harry takes up every inch of space in her mind for over an hour before she’s brought out of whatever dream state fog she was in. She lets out a deep breath and shakes her head a little before going about wrapping the presents she had bought earlier in the day while sipping her Christmas Starbucks drink, falling back in love with the holidays all over again.

“No, no, no, no,” Y/N groans as she twists and turns the knobs for her shower, and yet, nothing happens. Only a few drops fall to the tiled floor causing her to let out another string of curses. “This can not be happening,” she says.

But it was. Y/N’s hair was a mess, beyond greasy and a bit matted from her sleep last night. Not to mention she smelt like sweat from bringing up the box that held her new fake christmas tree this morning. She had been tempted to walk down the hall and knock on Harry's door, but she didn’t want to be annoying and fall into the stereotypes of the helpless young female living on her own for the first time. So instead she grabbed a cable knit sweater, tugged on her old dirty ugg boots, and went down in the elevator to meet with the Amazon delivery person. Little did she know that the box was way too tall for the elevator. So, she ended up bringing it up herself. All six flights of stairs, Y/N pulled and dragged that box up to her floor which caused her to break quite the sweat. Thankfully, it wasn’t so heavy, but she couldn’t help but think that she went through all of this just so she could get her new fake christmas tree up. Freaking fake! Not even a real one because apparently that wasn't allowed at her apartment building. Oh, how she was going to miss the smell of a fresh christmas tree. And oh, how she wanted to get rid of this disgusting smell of sweat she embodied now.

“Why me?” She winces, looking up at the ceiling and letting the glass door for her shower close as she gave up on the water magically appearing.

Is this the most appropriate time to not be shy and knock on Harry's door? Suddenly, her Apple watch vibrates, and she brings her arm up to see the reminder she had set before to tell her of the tight schedule she’s on for the day. With only 45 minutes left to get ready, she needed to get moving quickly. Y/N curses herself for wasting the past fifteen minutes on her phone, reading over her newest Instagram comments and aimlessly scrolling through her feed. So she tugs both sides of her purple robe that she had changed into anticipating a shower in her own home. Y/N pulls it tighter and ties the belt around her waist into a bow, and before she can give it a second thought, she’s out the door of her own apartment and starting down the hallway.

Harry didn’t know when he thought Y/N would eventually knock on his door. A part of Harry was hoping that she would have knocked sooner than a week later. But nonetheless, when there was a frantic knock on his door, he didn’t miss how his heart skips in his chest as he imagined Y/N standing on the other side. Peering through the peephole in his door he saw her standing there - in a bathrobe? Harry's brows pull together in confusion as he unlocks the door and heaves the door open.

“Is your water working?” She asks, her voice sounding as panicked as her knocking had been. But before Harry can answer she starts talking a million miles an minute. “Cause mine’s not, like not a single drop and I need to shower. So badly. And I know it’s probably super weird and rude of me to just bang on your door and ask to use your shower. Honestly, I can’t even believe I am but I am in such a hurry and I have the busiest day ahead of me with work and going to the-”

“Y/N,” Harry cuts her off abruptly. Y/N rolls her lips into her mouth and blinks up at him. “You need to use my shower? Is that what you’re getting at?”

Harry is a bit thrown off, not once did he think she’d come knocking for this reason. He glances down the hall awkwardly. He hopes that that noisy neighbour of theirs across the hall wasn’t peeping into their conversation, or seeing Y/N in this bathrobe. Mr Matthers can be a bit of a creep, Harry thinks. At the thought he hears a creak come from behind the door that’s across the hall.

She nods, “I know it’s like super strange to ask but mine is not working and I don’t have time to figure it out.” When Harry looks back at her, he notices she’s staring down at the ground between them, her eyes blinking rapidly as if she’s realizing what she’s gotten herself into. Harry didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable.

“S’alright, really, come in,” Harry says while opening the door to his apartment wider.

Y/N gives him a smile of appreciation before stepping into his home. The layout of Harry’s apartment is really just the opposite of hers, but the interior design he’s gone with is a lot better.

He’s gone for the classic monochrome look with blacks, white and greys. But with pops of colour where it matters, like a blanket over the back of his large L-shaped couch that looked handmade. She wonders if a family member made it, quite liking the light blues and pinks blended together. He’s got the same hardwood flooring like her own apartment and the plain off white paint on the walls - but with a few very unique paintings hung up on them. There’s two tall shelves, full of vinyls and novels and some picture frames too, that are on either side of his large flat screen tv which he took the time to hook up on the wall. It’s got a TV show paused on the screen, in her quick glance she can’t tell what show he was watching before she knocked but it looked like a cooking show. The corners of her lips twitch up into a smile at the thought of Harry being into cooking or baking maybe. He’s got a matching chair to his couch in the living room too that looks like she could fall asleep in it within a second. Overall it simply seems more grown up than her apartment - more put together and clean, that’s for sure.

To give her some credit, she has just moved in while she’s sure Harry’s been here for a while. Harry steps away from the door after locking it again, taking a few steps in order to be in her line of sight. With an arm thrown up, finger pointing down the hall, he gives Y/N another smile. He can’t help it, she looks rather adorable in that purple bathrobe. Was that all she was wearing? He thought to himself. He clears his throat as his mind goes on to imagine what’s under that plush purple material she’s wearing.

“Bathroom’s the first on the left,” he states, “did you bring your own soap or anything?”

“Honestly, no, I just kind of ran out of my place in quite a hurry and didn’t think twice as I got the sudden nerve to come over here.”

“Well, lucky for you I care about hair care, so there’s some good shampoos and even a nice hair oil to put into your hair afterwards when it’s damp. It’s in a small clear bottle with a white and gold label, by my toothbrush,” Harry explains. Y/N nods and starts towards the bathroom. With each step further into Harry’s home, she realizes what exactly she’s done. She can’t believe it really - just asking a complete stranger to let her shower in their home. She could be a murderer for all Harry knew, and he just opened his home up so freely. She steps into the bathroom, switching on the lights and the fan, she shuts the door and sighs. Lifting her arm up her Apple watch lights up to show the time. She had twenty minutes tops to shower, that’s all.

The bathroom is clean, very clean actually. Y/N lets her gaze wander around the space for a moment. There’s matching hand towels and all his skin and hair care are placed neatly on the small counter space too. She assumes he’s a bit of a neat freak. Turning to the shower, she opens the glass door gently and instantly reaches for the silver knobs. As she turns them water falls from the showerhead above her.

“Thank God,” she whispers while looking up at the water.

Y/N adjusts it to her preferred temperature and then she works on untying the knot of her robe. Words can’t describe how grateful she is that it held together in front of Harry. Him seeing her in the robe and with her hair in the state it’s in is embarrassing enough. Honestly, she can’t believe she even knocked on his door in it, and without any clothes to change into afterwards too. Stupid, she thinks while opening the glass door once more and stepping into the shower.

As Harry had said, there’s many bottles littering the built in shelves of the shower. Her fingers lazily turn the bottles so the labels face her. They’re all scented lavender of some sorts, helping with curly hair and volume. Well that explains why his hair looks so lovely, Y/N thinks as she opens a bottle of shampoo and squeezes it till a good amount falls into her other hand. As she hums ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ she lathers up her hair and massages her scalp. Rinsing it out after and then doing the same with the conditioner. While she lets the conditioner sit in her hair she scans the few other bottles on the shelves for a body wash. She didn’t want to come out of the shower smelling like a pre-teen boy, but she also did not want to smell like sweat. Goats milk and lavender infused, Y/N reads the label of what looks to do a locally owned product. She can’t help but smile as she reaches for it and pours some into her hands before rubbing it over her skin. There’s something so sweet knowing that Harry supports local businesses. He really doesn’t seem like the guys that Y/N is used to.

Three sharp knocks on the door startle Y/N, bringing her out of her day dreams. She quickly brings her arms up to her chest, trying to save herself some modesty if Harry did walk in. Because of course she didn’t think to lock the door. God, what if Harry is a murderer? Y/N thinks. She doesn’t know him, he could very well walk in here with a large kitchen knife and stab her multiple times in the chest while the water begins to run red and she dies right here all because she thought his dimpled smile and green eyes were enduring. Didn’t she learn anything from the whole Ted Bundy thing? Hello, hot guy doesn’t immediately mean nice!

“Y/N?” Harry calls out from the other side of the door, raising his voice just slightly so she could hear it over the running water. She shakes her head from her ridiculous thought - no more Criminal Minds at night for her, she takes the quick mental note.

“Yes?” She responds.

“I just realized I didn’t give you a towel,” he says, his voice sounding strained as he closes his eyes and tries to not imagine his neighbour naked in his shower. Harry’s fist tightens around the towel as his mind ignores him and thinks of how the water is dripping down her skin.

“Oh, yeah,” she breathes out. Looking around the bathroom beyond the foggy glass. There weren't any towels that she could see. Maybe they were under the sink.

“So I uh, I grabbed one for you. I can just open the door really fast and drop it in, I wouldn’t look in I swear, I’d face the hallway and just reach through,” he clarifies, “wait, you locked the door didn’t you?”

“Actually, I didn’t,” Y/N says, “so yeah just drop it in, please and thank you,”

Harry nods, regardless of the fact Y/N can’t see him. He takes a deep breath before turning the doorknob and opening the door just a crack. The towel doesn’t quite fit through, so he opens it a bit more. His eyes are on the towel as he makes sure it gets into the bathroom. He notices the steam pillowing in the small space and just before he looks the other way, he sees Y/N’s purple bathrobe on the floor. Only her purple bathrobe. Harry swallows and drops the towel to the floor and quickly shuts the door again. Y/N jumps at the sudden slam of the door, her heart having been beating out of her chest as she stood under the warm stream of water and listened to Harry deliver the towel.

He spins around and walks away from the bathroom in a brisk walk, making it to his kitchen in record time. He takes a few breaths and blinks at the view from his kitchen window above the sink. It’s beginning to snow. Something tells him this will excite Y/N - just a feeling he has. He hardly knows the girl and he’s been conjuring up versions of her in his head these past seven days. He’d heard her play music through the walls Tuesday night, he recognized the artist after a few moments. Van Morrison, one of his favourites. What were the odds? He had thought. But then he quickly shut that thought down because many people liked Van Morrison, and just because his very cute neighbour liked the same music he did, that didn’t mean she was meant for him.

Then on Thursday in the middle of the day he had seen her running across the street from his apartment. One thing he loved about his apartment facing the front of the building is how he got to see people coming and going. That day it looked as though she was carrying a take out bag from his favourite restaurant. Again, what were the odds that she liked the same place? But again, he had another hard conversation with himself saying that it was a rather popular place in this area and lots of people liked to go there. Y/N was still a stranger to him. A naked and attractive stranger who was in his bathroom right now.

Harry breathes in deeply and leans both hands at either side of his sink as he watches the large snowflakes fall over New York City. He still couldn’t believe he lived here sometimes. Having grown up in a rather small town in Northern England, where the most exciting thing was the bakery he used to work in as a young teen or maybe the fun graffiti on some of the walls downtown, living in NYC always seemed a bit unrealistic to think of. But this was always a dream of his. To be in one of the biggest cities in the United States and doing what he loved the most.

“It’s snowing?” Y/N’s voice full of irritation catches Harry off guard. He turns around to see her standing in the threshold between his kitchen and living room. That purple robe, which would be making an appearance in his dreams he’s sure of, is back on her now clean body while the towel he had given her is wrapped around her hair atop of her head.

“You don’t like the snow?” Harry questions, both of his brows raised high at how off he was about his instinct of her loving the snow.

“No, I mean, yes I do,” she shakes her head slightly, “I just don't like driving it in. New York drivers already freaking suck and the moment snow starts falling it’s like they forget how to drive altogether.” Y/N explains, crossing her arms at her chest.

“It’s the same in London, nearly got into a few accidents in my early years of driving thanks to it,” Harry reveals. Y/N smiles at the knowledge about himself he had let slip, regardless of how irrelevant it is.

“Anyways,” she sighs, “thank you for letting me barge in here and use your shower.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Harry assures her.

“No seriously, you saved me a lot of trouble.”

Harry’s chest swells at her words, mirroring her smile as he stuffs his hands into the front pocket of his trousers and leans back against the edge of the counter. Y/N takes this time to look over Harry’s outfit. He’s got on a cream collared ribbed t-shirt, a beaded necklace adorning his neck, a pair of brown pants that flare out and nearly hid his white sock covered feet. He doesn't dress like the men Y/N sees day to day. It's different, kind of old school, but she likes it. Suits him, she thinks, despite the fact that she barely knows him.

“You’ve got to drive somewhere?” Harry questions, unsure if he’s prying.

“Yeah, JFK unfortunately,” she frowns.

“That’s going to be a nightmare,” Harry says.

“Thanks for the reminder, yeah,” Y/N teases him while fighting back the smile pulling at her mouth.

“Sorry, I just meant that it’s sort of a long drive and airport terminals are a pain, that's all.”

“I’m just bugging you. It most definitely is going to be a nightmare,” Y/N agrees with a chuckle, “and I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.” She adds while jabbing a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of her own apartment. Harry nods and notices how her robe’s a bit looser than before as she drops her arms and it falls a few inches down her shoulder - exposing more of her soft looking skin. Harry has to look away and walk towards his front door with Y/N before his imagination gets the best of him.

Harry unlocks the door and holds it open for Y/N to walk out of his home. He liked having her in his space. Harry internally curses himself for yet another intimate thought about his neighbour fogs up his mind. Just as she steps over the threshold of his apartment, Y/N spins on her heels quickly and reaches up with both hands to grab the twisted up towel around her hair. Harry nearly comes undone right then and there. The sight of her wet hair falling down effortlessly around her freshly washed face causes Harry’s mouth to feel dry suddenly. But as she makes the move to reach up, pulling it off of her head, and then holding out the towel in front of her, all of this causes her robe to fall even more off of her shoulders. Now both of her shoulders were fully exposed for him to see. Which Y/N notices right away and blushes, rushing to try and readjust herself, then only holding the towel with one hand while she bares her other arm over her chest to keep the robe from falling open completely.

“Nearly stole your towel,” Y/N breathes out.

She’s distracted by how her robe is slipping apart and how Harry’s eyes are falling with it. Harry clears his throat and takes the towel from her, giving her a chance to fix her robe, and he leans against his door for support as his head spins from the scene he has played out in his head. Her robe falling apart, seeing the swell of her breasts, how her nipples must look. He imagines they’re hard from the chill in the hallway, pebbling into little buds. Then he’s imagining how he’d pull her back into his apartment, kissing and touching all over her skin till she’s left breathless and begging for more.

“Thanks,” Harry says and drops his arm to hold the towel down at his side.

“I owe you one,” Y/N states, “for letting me use the shower,” she adds. She’s not sure what else he would think she’s talking about, but she just felt the need to clarify. And she really needed to get back to her own apartment and finish getting ready. “See you around, Harry,” she says with a smile before walking away and hurrying into her home.

Harry thinks of how he should've wished her a safe flight, or even said goodbye. But instead he heard her door shut and followed suit by closing his own. Harry walks into his living room - discarding the towel on the back of his large arm chair, before moving his acoustic guitar from where it was laying on his couch and taking a seat. He then reaches for his cell phone that was left on the coffee table. Opening his contact, he finds the building's maintenance number and calls them.

“Hey Phil, how are you doing?... Good, I’m good yeah, uh, I’m just calling because the water in 602 isn’t working...Yeah Y/N, she actually had to leave in a bit of a rush, so I just wanted to make sure someone got in there as soon as possible to check it out,” Harry explains the situation to the building’s head maintenance man. “I’m not entirely sure when she’ll be back home, maybe you could give her a quick call and double check... Just being a friendly neighbour, Phil… Thanks Phil, have a good day and say hi to Georgia and the kids for me… Bye.”

Harry hangs up the phone and sets it back down onto the table, looking at the open notebook beside it. He hadn’t written anything all morning. Just had a few good cords stuck in his head. Harry picks up the guitar once more and plays the cords.

“Tangled wet hair, soft silk skin, looking so good it should be a sin,” Harry sings softly. It’s not his best and it’s not even that good, if he’s honest with himself. But it seems that Y/N sparked some inspiration inside of him. He grabs his pen, and starts scribbling down the words that now flow through his mind. Finishing with writing ‘Plush Purple Robe’ in capital letters before dropping the pen and going back to strumming the guitar.

He wrote nearly an entire song, thanks to how Y/N looked in that damn bathrobe standing in his apartment, and he just knew this would result in some teasing words from his friends when he brought it into their studio session next week.

Y/N was tired and her third Starbucks of the day wasn’t helping her out at all. She brings a hand up to cover yet another yawn that escapes her. Her eyes feel heavy, drooping as she blinks slowly a few times at her screen. She feels as though she might doze off if it wasn’t for the loud bang of the mail cart smacking against the elevator doors signalling it’s arrival for the day. It jolts her upright once again and she takes another big gulp of coffee, and sends a prayer up above, before she begins clicking away again at her laptop trying to finalize her schedule for the upcoming month of December.

Fittings, photoshoots, buyers meetings, and more fittings, there was rarely any free time in the first two weeks of the month. But thankfully her boss isn’t a complete Grinch and gave her minimal work during the last two weeks. Plus Y/N really did love her job. She lived for the magic world of fashion. The way her bustling office just meant that the designer’s creations were coming to life as A list celebrities and New York's elite fell in love with the pieces she’s gone through lengths to get for them.

She also loved Christmas just as much, if not more, as her job. Even thinking about everything she was looking forward to this holiday season made her feel all giddy inside now. Growing up in the city meant she knew the thrill of skating in Central Park and seeing the Rockefeller Christmas tree being lit up. Her smile was as bright as the lights. She loved going to the annual Christmas markets that were held; walking around with hot chocolate in her hands as she browsed the many homemade soaps and ornaments, and even clothing too. Y/N even enjoyed shopping at the Macy’s down the street and gasping at their holiday displays, and found herself buying a few too many decorations for her home while there. Over the past few days - with any free time she had off work - she had gone into full blown decorating mode in her apartment. It was like Santa’s village and it filled her with so much joy as she set everything into its rightful place in her new home, smiling from ear to ear at the twinkling lights and tinsel lining the perimeter of every room.

“Earth to Y/N,” her co-worker, Sammy, sings while leaning back in his desk chair to try and make eye contact with her.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, zoning back into reality and turning her own chair away from her desk that was up against the large floor to ceiling windows.

“Daydreaming about that hot new neighbour of yours?” Sammy teases her with a smug look on his face. Y/N rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.

“No, I was not,” she says, “I’m regretting telling you about him already,” she adds. Sammy returns the eye roll.

“There’s no shame in having some eye candy as a neighbour you know,”

“Yeah there is when-“

“Y/N!” Her name suddenly being yelled across the room cuts her sentence off and makes Sammy and herself look over to where it came from. They both see their boss, Amanda, standing in the doorway of her office with both hands up in the air and a look of annoyance across her face. Y/N’s watch vibrates just on time to remind her of her meeting with Amanda. She’s always at least five minutes early; suppose daydreaming about the holidays - not her hot new neighbour - had put her behind schedule a bit.

“Better not keep her waiting,” Sammy says as he rolls his chair back over to his own desk while Y/N closes her laptop, taking it and a notebook with her quickly before slipping her feet back into her black heels. She always took them off when she sat at her desk to give her poor feet a break. As she broke into a speed walk across the office space, nearly avoiding the mail cart, she internally went over what today's meeting entailed.

“Sorry Amanda,” Y/N apologizes as she steps into the office, closing the glass door behind her quietly.

“It’s alright, you’re rarely even a few minutes behind that schedule of yours, so I was more surprised than anything,” Amanda states as she smooths her dress out and takes a seat at her desk. Y/N takes a seat in the chair across her desk, setting her laptop on her lap and then the notebook on top of it while she keeps her favourite pen in hand. It had a cheesy Christmas sweater snowflake pattern on it, which Y/N had bought a whole set for her and Sammy at Target last week.

“I wanted to quickly talk about your time with Miss Woods a couple days ago,” Amanda says, referring to one of the clients from North Carolina that had visited recently. “She said you showed her great hospitality and were a true New Yorker in her eyes, her words exactly.” Amanda gives Y/N a proud smile. “So, great job. She ended up purchasing those Gucci purses we had bought in hopes she’d like them even though she didn't ask for them. All thanks to you putting her in such a good mood, really.”

“Well she was a blast to be around, age really didn't slow her down,” Y/N and Amanda share a laugh. “She turned up my radio every time we got in my car, ordered doubles at dinner and brunch, and even talked about boy issues with me. It was a great time,” Y/N explains while adjusting herself in her seat and crossing a leg over the other casually.

“I think it’s your energy. Your love for this city can be infectious sometimes Y/N,” Amanda says. Y/N’s lips pull up into a smile at her words, they made her feel warm inside.

“Thank you,” she says softly with a nod.

“Now, onto what’s happening over this next week, let’s see how our schedules look,” Amanda starts as she opens her large planner than was always either on her desk or brought home in her large Louis Vuitton purse.

“I got an email from the lovely Mrs. Archibald this morning,” Y/N states. Amanda shakes her head as her face twists up at the mention of one of their bigger clients who happens to be married to the richest man in New York City. It’s just too bad she’s a real bitch sometimes because her attitude could make doing their job a bit harder at times. But Amanda and Y/N loved a challenge, and Mrs Archibald was just that. “She has a last minute dinner party tomorrow and she needs the newest item from Gucci that we can find immediately,” Y/N explains.

“Shit, our new stuff from Gucci doesn’t come in till next Monday,” Amanda curses, eyes roaming around her desk as if the answer to her problem would pop up somewhere.

“I know, which is why I went ahead and called Greg at the store on Fifth and Fiftieth, he said they just got a handful of exclusive holiday pieces early and would gladly have one of us pick a couple items up for Mrs Archibald,” Y/N says. Amanda’s sour look fades instantly and is replaced with a wide smile.

“What would I do without you, honestly!” Amanda exclaims. “Head over to Gucci after lunch today, and then we’ll get Mrs Archibald in first thing tomorrow.”

“Will do,” Y/N says while jotting down her after lunch plans onto a blank page in her notebook.

“How’s your influencer work going for you?” Amanda asks, her eyes on her planner in front of her instead.

“It’s been good, getting closer to five hundred thousand every day. I think the holidays will push me over the mark soon enough,” Y/N states.

“Great, make sure you’re getting close up shots of the dresses Greg shows you. Tease the people of what an exclusive holiday gown looks like,” Amanda suggests. Y/N smiles and jots down the note.

Having an audience was never the goal for Y/N. In fact, she thought of suspending her Instagram account all together once she got the promotion at work. She was worried that it would cause a conflict of interest, but Amanda and the rest of the team saw it as a plus. Having so many people follow Y/N’s life, being interested in what she’s interested in, wanting to get their hands on what she had, all lead to good publicity for the company. It even got them a few A list celebrities because of her account as they saw the company’s name in her bio, which led to contacting the company about setting some fittings up.

And with that set up, they settle into the rest of their itinerary for the week, making note of who needed to be involved with what, and who would be coming into their offices. Jennifer freaking Aniston was scheduled for a fitting this Friday and Y/N was praying she made it back from picking up an order of Louis Vuitton scarfs in time to see her in her custom grown that their team's seamstresses had been working tirelessly on with Prada’s team.

By the end of her and Amanda’s meeting, it was time for lunch. Sammy was waiting by her desk with his black Gucci backpack in hand that Y/N was sure held a Kardashian sized salad. Y/N was glad she meal-prepped teriyaki chicken and rice, so she didn’t have to eat yet another salad seeing as Sammy had gotten her into the over sized salad eating last month; she’s had enough of it.

“I’ve gotta head over to Gucci on Fifth Ave after,” Y/N states with a smile as her and Sammy walk into the conference room that they used for lunch sometimes, shielding themselves away from work a bit - even if the walls were glass and they could still see everyone working around them.

“Lucky bitch,” Sammy grumbles, “Greg always hooks you up with some free pieces when you go there, I swear.”

“Hey it’s only been a few items, nothing crazy,” Y/N defends herself before taking a bite of her lunch.

“Oh I’m sorry, two rings and a pair of tights are nothing crazy? Every other influencer would kill someone for those tights. Firstly, they’re so cute. And secondly, those rings cost my monthly rent.”

“I’m not complaining about any work perks. Maybe you could come with and get to know Greg a bit and get your own ring or two?”

Sammy chews his mouth full of salad, “no thanks, it’s so freaking cold out there. I’ll stay inside where it’s warm,” he says.

“Then don’t complain when I get another pair of tights and you don’t,” Y/N scowls playfully.

“I’d look so much better in those tights, you can’t even deny it,” Sammy says and pokes his fork at Y/N. She raises her hands up in surrender.

“Oh I wouldn’t dare to deny it, ever,” she smiles. They eat a few bites in silence. Y/N starts to feel a bit more energized by the protein she’s eating, thankfully. She now had a long journey to the Gucci store and back as well as a ton of emails to filter through too - which she’s sure will follow her home till the late hours of the night.

“What are you planning to wear for the Christmas office party?” Sammy chimes in, his eyes still on his phone.

“I don’t even know,” Y/N sighs and brings up her Pinterest app on her phone. “I found this outfit and am dying over it every day but I really should just find something in my closet and restyle it, I'm getting more broke by the day.”

“Blame your excessive christmas shopping habits,” Sammy deadpans while glancing at her phone screen.

“I’m aware of why I'm broke, thank you,” she deadpans back, narrowing her eyes at him. “Maybe Greg will have it in his heart to lend me a special piece for the party,” Y/N taunts Sammy with a smile on her face.

“Shut up,” he groans. Y/N laughs and is just about to shut her phone screen off when a phone call comes through from her apartment building maintenance.

“Hello?” She answers. “Hi Phil… Oh that’s awesome news thank you so much for getting it fixed so soon… Yes, I’m glad Harry called in about it right away too…” Y/N notices how her friend's eyebrows fly up at the mention of Harry’s name. “Lovely, thanks again Phil… Have a great day… Bye,” she hangs up the phone and sets it on the table in front of her.

“What did Harry do now?” Sammy questions without a second to spare. Y/N rolls her eyes, but can’t stop herself as she smiles.

“He called in about the water in my apartment like right after I made a mad dash out of his place to go pick up Mrs Woods in time. I hadn't even thought of calling about it and then I got a call on my way to the airport from the head maintenance guy saying Harry told him about it and asked for verbal permission to enter my apartment while I was out,” Y/N explains to him. She was still shocked by Harry’s kindness. Not only did he offer his shower to her, but he then got hers check out that same day. She probably wouldn't have called about it till the next day, if she was lucky to have any free time to stop by her house between entertaining Mrs Woods.

“What a neighbourly thing to do,” Sammy says smugly.

“Shut up, he’s just a nice guy.”

“Mhmm,” Sammy hums while stabbing his salad again for another bite.

The two of them continue to enjoy their lunch break and catch up on what’s been going on in the office. Their fellow associate Kate was trying to sleep with the mail cart boy. He seems freshly twenty one, if that. Just seven years younger than Kate, but she’s a well known cougar - it’s been a thing for, like, two years now. And Julianne was sick again, for the third time in two months. That was the extent of the office drama, sadly. Y/N packs up her bag with her left over lunch, notebook, and laptop before heading back to her desk with Sammy to get her coat and bundle up to brace the cold weather.

At least it wasn’t snowing.

The snow is coming down like a blizzard, making it hard for Harry to see in front of him. It was a colder day, his weather app had called for cloudy skies and a chance of some light flurries - but that all changed  in a split second and had Harry racing home from the coffee shop a few blocks away. He’s just praying his notebook full of new song ideas, based off his people watching this afternoon that’s now in his tote bag, doesn't get wet in the short trip he has to walk. Just as he’s about to turn left down the last block till his building, he sees a young woman struggling to walk along the sidewalk in her heels just in front of him. She’s carrying a large beige garment bag, having it folded over her arm as she tries to maneuver around the busy sidewalk and everyone is rushing to get out of the storm. Harry’s just behind her now, that’s when he recognizes the jacket and scarf.

“Y/N?” Harry says, trying to not startle her. But of course, as Y/N turns around to look behind her at whoever had just called out her name on the busy streets of New York, she slips.

“Oh my god!” She squeals, trying to keep the garment bag up so it doesn’t damage the dresses inside, but that means she doesn’t have any hands to throw out to catch herself. Harry sees her begin to fall and reaches out without hesitation. “The bag,” she says, trying to get Harry’s attention to saving the garment bag rather than her. But of course he manages to wrap his arms under hers and hold her upright, standing straight to get her back on her feet once more.

“Shit, I’m sorry, shouldn’t have scared you like that,” Harry says.

Y/N squints at him through the thick snowflakes, he’s standing so close though that she doesn’t have troubles staring into his enchanting eyes. She smiles, adjusting the dresses and her bag before motioning to their apartment building only a couple blocks away. “Let’s get out of this snow storm,” she suggests.

“Right,” Harry agrees and lets her start the walk - that way he can stick close behind in case those death heels of hers cause her to slip again.

Y/N regrets her decision of wearing heels so much right now. She’s sure her cheeks are still red from embarrassment of nearly falling on her ass in front of so many people. Harry’s seen in her purple bathrobe, which is already  embarrassing, but falling in heels in this snow storm would’ve only added to her list of making a fool of herself in front of him.

When she arrived at Gucci it was  just cloudy, but then after nearly two hours inside the store - mostly chatting with Greg and his associates, she walked outside into the blizzard. Her office was too far of a walk, she knew getting a cab or an Uber during the storm would just be a nightmare  and she didn’t want to wait around. There was no way she was going to risk taking the subway while carrying the garment bag that said Gucci right on it and have some lowlife steal thousands of dollars of designer clothes from her. So, she went with the most obvious option of getting these pieces out of the snow storm and headed  to her apartment building that was only a few blocks away, thankfully.

“Thanks for saving me back there,” Y/N says with a sigh as Harry uses his key to let them into the building. They both brush the snow off themselves as they walk across the lobby and to the elevator. “I would've been dead if this fell into a puddle or something,” she states while lifting the garment bag.

“Does that say Gucci?” Harry asks, eyebrows raised as he looks at the label on the bag.

“Yeah, I just had to pick up a few things for work,” Y/N explains vaguely. Harry has followed Gucci on Instagram for years, he loves their pieces and finds what they make to be so wonderful. He wishes he had the money to spend on a shopping trip there and yet here is his neighbour - who he may or may not be crushing on - with a large garment bag with Gucci items inside. “I can’t even imagine what Mrs Archibald would've done if I messed these up, god she'd have a fit,” Y/N says with a chuckle, looking at the floors lighting up as the elevator moved.

“Your boss?” Harry questions.

“No, a client, super rich and super bitchy,” Y/N answers, emphasizing both times she says super to really get her point across. She moves the garment bag from one arm to the other, leaning back against the elevator wall.

“Client? What kind of work do you do?” Harry tries to ask casually, not trying to seem creepy or invading in any way.

Y/N smiles, “I’m a part of the, oh so lovely, fashion industry.”

“You don’t like it?” Harry questions, eyebrows furrowed together.

“No, I do,” she corrects him.

The elevator opens then, Harry motions for Y/N to exit first as he had before. She smiles and walks down the hall to her apartment. Just as she fishes her keys from her coat pocket she turns back and looks at Harry when he walks past her. “I owe you, again, for saving my ass, literally from falling,” she says. Harry stops walking and looks at her, she smiles and tilts her head to the side. “And for calling the maintenance guy for the issues with my water,” she adds. Seems Phil spilled the beans, Harry thinks.

“I um, I wasn’t sure how long your trip was, and I just thought it’d be the nice thing to do by making sure they could get it fixed as soon as they could,” Harry explains.

“I actually didn’t go on a trip, I just had to pick someone up from the airport. But regardless it was very nice to know you thought of it for me. So thank you, I owe you, Harry,” she says again, giving him yet another one of her dreamy smiles. Harry’s heart did a little pitter patter in his chest as he looked over her face, taking in how her wispy hairs were wet from the snow that had melted on her head and how her eyes seemed to sparkle under the dim lighting of the hallway. But her lips, he’s been imagining those lips for two days now. Along with that purple bathrobe being on his floor again - his bedroom instead of the bathroom though.

“How about dinner?” Harry blurts out. Y/N had turned back to her door, having it unlocked and open as he had fallen into one of his daydreams about her. She pauses mid step and looks back at where he had stood still, her eyebrows are furrowed together as she thinks he misheard him. Oh shit, abort! Abort! Backtrack and say nevermind before she flat out rejects you, Harry thinks while he waits for her response.

“I, uh, I,” Y/N stops her stuttering and closing her eyes for a moment. She lets out a sigh and opens her eyes again to meet his nervous stare. “I have to hang this up, and change these shoes first,” she says.

“Of course,” Harry nods.

Y/N ponders over it for a moment before coming to the realization that the weather outside was truly frightful and they shouldn’t go out anywhere. “Honestly we shouldn’t go back out there. What if I just ordered something in and you came over? You like pizza?”

“Love it,” Harry smiles. Y/N nods and opens her door further, stepping in to survey the state of her apartment. It’s not messy, thank God. She had time this morning to put away her clean laundry that had taken up her couch over the past few days. There’s a couple hoodies draped over the back of the couch though, a half full glass of water on the coffee table and her kitchen has a pile of dirty dishes beside the sink that she hadn’t gotten to putting in the dishwasher yet. She quickly bends down to put away the few pairs of shoes that were kicked off in whatever direction they went, and turns on the two light switches by the door to light up her living room and hallway.

“Well, come on in,” she says as she turns back to Harry. He smiles as she lets out a deep breath and opens her front door for him.

He should’ve guessed that it would look like Santa had thrown up in her apartment. It was traditional, which Harry loved opposed to the new all white or all gold themes some people went with, but there was a lot of it. A red and green checkered throw blanket over the back of her grey couch, a decent sized tree filled with lights and tinsel and ornaments that all matched, a family of snowmen in one corner of her living room, and many little vintage looking nicknacks along her tv stand, and few shelves around the space. Not to mention the priceless looking tiny christmas village that was set up on top of the desk by her front door, fake snow laid on top to really pull it all together. So much Christmas, and he was only looking in one room. He imagined this festive feeling went throughout her entire home.

“It kind of seems like a lot whenever someone new sees all of my Christmas crap,” Y/N says, breaking Harry’s stare away from her living room and back to her now. She had hung up the Gucci bag on the closet door to her left, and had slipped out of her shoes and was now undoing the buttons of her coat. Her eyes are on the decorations around them though, looking unsure as she takes it all in.

“It’s lovely, honestly, not crap at all,” Harry assures her. Y/N turns back to look at him and mirrors his smile.

“I just have a big soft spot for the holidays, I can’t help myself from buying four Christmas themed throw pillows if they make me feel all warm inside,” she explains, motioning to the couch that did in fact have four pillows on it.

“If it makes you happy, you don’t have to have any reason for buying ‘em.”

“I suppose so,” Y/N hums, finally taking off her coat and hanging it up.

Harry quickly takes his off too as she reaches for it, to hang it beside hers. He gives her a small thanks and then takes his shoes off, setting them beside hers . Y/N has walked into the threshold to the left that led to her kitchen. He notices the tinsel hanging from the beam and smiles before taking a quick peek into her kitchen. As he guessed, it’s all decked out in Christmas stuff too. Towels and nicknacks that seem to replace everyday things like salt and pepper shakers and her soap dispenser that was spaced like a snowman.

“I’ll order a pizza right away. Hopefully this weather won’t slow them down. Have you ever eaten at Sal’s down the street?” Y/N questions.

“Tons,” Harry says. He leans against the threshold to the kitchen and watches as Y/N sets her purse on her small kitchen table and fishes through it for her cell phone. She’s got this crease between her brows as she can’t seem to find it, but it instantly goes away and is replaced with a smile as the iPhone is in her hands.

“Do you like anything on your pizza?” She asks, eyes on her phone screen and she brings up the menu. She typically just gets a cheese, sometimes spices it up with a vegetarian pizza cause she likes the green peppers and red onions.

“I’m actually a vegetarian,” Harry states. “Well, I eat fish on occasion so I guess I’m a pescetarian.”

“Oh cool,” Y/N says, looking up to see Harry’s watching her from the space between her kitchen and living room. The way he’s leaning against the small space of wall, arms crossed at his chest and head tilted to the side - he looks good. He’s dressed in a pair of beige trousers, straight and baggy as his last ones were too, and has a white tank top tucked into the waistband while he layered with a fun patterned button up shirt. She can’t quite make out what is printed on the shirt, but the little squares seem to each have a picture in them.

“Where did you get that shirt?” Y/N can’t stop herself from asking, the fashion lover in her wanting to know.

Harry glances down at the short sleeved shirt on his body, then shrugs, “I think I thrifted it back home in England a few years back,” he says.

“I like it,” she says, then brings up one shoulder in a shrug to make it seem more casual. It’s not weird to compliment your neighbours clothing, Y/N thinks as she glances back down at her phone. “I’m going to order a cheese and they have a great vegetarian pizza too that I like,” she tells Harry while punching in her order on her delivery app.

“Yeah, I’ve had it before, it’s pretty great,” Harry agrees. Y/N can’t help as her body reacts to how low and slow Harry’s voice is. How she gets small chills throughout her body, as if threatening to pebble goosebumps along her arms, and how her mind feels foggy almost as she listens to him speak. She rolls her lips into her mouth and stuffs her phone into the pocket of her fitted black pants. He could tell her the most pointless story and she would let him, just to hear his voice and that accent that went with it. Moving to her fridge, she finds the bottle of red she had opened last night. It’s such a normal thing for her to have a glass or two after work that she doesn’t even think of her guest. He might not even like wine.

“Do you drink?” Y/N asks, looking over her shoulder to see Harry still in the same spot but his hands now in the front pocket of his trousers.

“What are we drinking?” He asks with a smile.

Y/N smiles back, as she always does, and reaches for the wine she had her eye on. “I opened this bottle of wine last night, it’s red. Would you be interested in a glass?” She asks, holding the bottle up for Harry to see.

“I’d love a glass, thanks.”

“Perfect,” Y/N nods and sets the bottle down on the counter beside her fridge. “You can get comfortable on the couch, I’ll bring our drinks in a moment.”

“Sounds good,” Harry nods. With one final glance up her body as she reaches high in her cupboard for two wine glasses for them, he shakes his head and turns around. He has to stop checking her out, he has no idea if she’s into him or not. She’s simply being a nice neighbour, and here he was, fancying her so much he’s checking her out like some horny teenager.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, walking around the back of the couch to take a seat on the corner furthest from where the Christmas tree lit up Y/N’s living room. He really did like all of her joy that she’s put into decorating her home. There’s no doubting her love for the holiday, not a single space feels like it was forgotten as she must have spent all day setting it up. He especially liked the framed photo on the side table to his right, where there was also a rather plain lamp and a Santa spaced coaster too. Inside the frame was a small child who he knew immediately was Y/N. There was no mistaking that smile of hers even at such a young age. She’s sitting on a man’s lap, a man dressed as Santa, but it’s truly the most realistic mall Santa he’s even seen. Harry thinks back to his home in that moment, imagining the many photos of him and his older sister with many variations of mall Santas that must be littering his mum’s house by now. Truthfully, many of them didn’t leave the shelves during the year.

“Here you go,” Y/N says as she holds out a wine glass nearly half full of red wine to Harry. He takes it from her, his fingers brushing hers for a moment and sending those childish tingles through his body.

“Thanks,” he nods and brings the glass to his lips to have a taste. If he wouldn’t be so infatuated by Y/N, he would have told her that he typically didn’t drink red wine. He typically doesn’t drink at all, except for the occasional night out with his mates. But he saw that look on her face that said ‘I need a glass or two’ and he couldn’t say no, knowing it’d make her feel awkward and  end up not having a glass herself.

Y/N lets out a long sigh as she takes a seat on the other side of the couch, relaxing alongside Harry as if they aren’t complete strangers. He liked that she felt comfortable around him. She did in fact enter his apartment the other day in a bathrobe and use his shower after all. After she takes another long sip of wine, she sets it down on a matching Santa coaster that sits on the coffee table - Harry notices now that she had brought the bottle of wine with her too.

“Long day?” He questions. Y/N nods, tucking her legs under her as she gets comfortable on the couch beside him. She clears her throat softly before answering him.

“Uh, yeah, work’s just been a lot lately and I’m actually looking forward to some time off,” Y/N says, running a hand through her hair, and then leans her arm on the back of the couch. Harry watches her movements, bringing his glass of wine to his lips to have a small sip, which he notices she watches him do. He likes her eyes on his lips, he thinks before turning his body slightly and setting his wine on the side table. When he turns back and looks her way he notices the slightly tint of pink flushing over her cheeks. Harry fights the tug at his lips to smile at how she seemed to catch on that he caught her staring at his lips.

“That’s always the worst, feeling as if you’re counting down till the days off,” Harry exclaims.

“I typically don’t, to be honest. I love my job,” Y/N states. “It’s my career so I better,” she adds with a chuckle.

“So you’ve already found your career at such a young age then, that’s awesome. Have you always known you wanted to be involved in the fashion industry?” Harry asks, his eyebrows pulled together as he does find himself very curious of how she herself a career so young.

“First off, twenty four is really starting to not feel young anymore so let's not label me as a youngster or anything alright-“

“Um, twenty four is young but okay,” Harry cuts her off with a playful look on his face. Y/N rolls her eyes and chooses to ignore his teasing. He’s always hung out around people older than him and typically dated women older too. But Y/N doesn't seem young. From what he’s seen from her, she doesn’t fit the mold of any twenty four year olds he’s known before - most being rather rude and partying their youth away while it’s obvious that Y/N worked hard during those years. Y/N looks as though she's got the whole world figured out already, and he admires that a lot.

“And secondly, yeah, I guess I sort of did know, not at first, of course, but it was always an interest of mine,” Y/N states, bringing Harry back to their conversation.

“What did you want to be when you were a youngster then?” He questions, using her choice of words back at her which makes Y/N chuckle. She shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling for a moment as she falls back into memories of her childhood. She remembers being emotionally attached to a pair of plastic pink princess slippers and how she slept in her matching tiara for nearly a year before her mom put a stop to her fantasy.

“I wanted to be a princess-“

“Me too,” Harry says.

“Stop interrupting me,” Y/N laughs and reaches across the couch to smack his arm. Harry's head feels light, his cheeks hurt from grinning at Y/N so much. He hasn’t felt like this in quite a while. Being able to have a light conversion with a pretty girl. How she makes him smile and laugh so easily too, it’s a really nice feeling.  “But you’d make a much prettier princess for sure-“

“Not at all,'' Harry disagrees, managing to cut her off yet again. She glares at him but can’t help the smile that's still on her face.

“Anyways, I wanted to be a princess and then I wanted to be one of Santa’s elves-”

Harry chuckles, “of course,” he says as he’s not so surprised to hear her say so - seeing as it looked like Santa’s village inside her apartment.

Y/N chooses to ignore his short interruption this time and continues on. “But then as I got older and got ahold of the internet, I wanted to be a model cause I thought it was the most glamorous thing, but I wasn't as beautiful or skinny as Candice Swanepoel so that was out of the question-“

“This is the last time I'll interrupt you I promise,” Harry says, Y/N presses her lips tight together and gives Harry another look as if to say yeah right. “But I cannot let you sit here and say you aren't pretty or skinny enough to be a model, Y/N, because you are one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen and your weight is nothing to ever question,” Harry pauses as he looks down at the sofa between them, realizing that he had said all that out loud. He was slightly embarrassed as he’s not sure how she’d take her neighbour saying all that to her.

My heart needs to calm down like now, Y/N thinks as she wets her lips and fidgets with her own hands as she watches Harry. “Y/N, don’t ever think less of yourself,” he adds in a gentle voice that sends chills down her spine.

Y/N doesn't respond right away, because honestly she's speechless. No one has ever said something so kind and so genuine to her. Sure, she’s gotten compliments from people, but the way Harry immediately stopped her from talking poorly of herself had made her stomach stir and her heart race. They had only just met, only had a few interactions - they were all good, great even - but Harry wasn’t like most people she’s met before and she’s beginning to realize that. She looks up to see Harry's watching her, his green eyes staring back at hers. Something switches in the air between them as Harry feels like he should lean in. Should he lean in? Would she want that? Does she want him?

“Thanks,” she smiles, bringing Harry back to their conversation. She clears her throat and sits up straight again, flipping her hair over her shoulders and snuggling into the couch some more. “If I ever feel down about myself again, I’ll be sure to knock on your door and demand you shower me in compliments,” Y/N teases.

“I’d be honoured to,” Harry says. There's another beat of silence, but it's not quiet inside his head. All he’s thinking about is how he should've made a move. She felt it too, right? Harry stops himself before he can go too far inside his head again while thinking about Y/N. “I won’t cut in again. Continue from the dreams of being a model - which you’d be a great model, by the way, don't count that one out just yet.”

Y/N smiles again, not even sure if she’s stopped smiling honestly. “Right, well, modeling led me into the world of fashion. Not that I hadn't known about Vogue or any of the high fashion houses since I did grow up in New York; fashion week had always been a highlight for me. But I actually started to look into the other sides of it. Designing wasn't an option, I just didn't feel original enough. So I did some personal assistant stuff during my high school years at fashion week, working behind the scenes at shows.”

Y/N pauses to lean forward and grabs her glass of wine again, needing liquid to coax her throat before she continued. Harry noticed that she was talking so passionately, probably not even realizing how much she was using her hands while speaking or how her eyes lit up at the world she painted for him. “And then I got a scholarship into FIT, the Fashion Institute of Technology. I was lucky enough to get an internship at my current workplace but quickly got offered a position on my graduation day, and now I'm one of our senior associates.”

“And what does your job really entitled to exactly?”

“We do a lot of things, but we’re really a personal shopper and stylist company. Working with many of New York's elite, even some of the east coast’s elite really, as well as celebrities too, which is always fun to see the dress you styled at the Met Gala or the Grammys. I just do a lot of running around, it feels like,” Y/N explains, “like how I had to rush to the Gucci store on Fifth Ave in order to get some pieces for Mrs. Achibald for tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds like a real tough job,” Harry taunts. Y/N returns his smug look and narrows her eyes at him playfully.

“Right, well what do you do then? You always seem to be home, I’m starting to think you don’t even have a job. Maybe you’ve just got a sugar daddy, hmm?” Y/N jokes. Harry lets out a loud laugh, throwing his head back. Y/N laughs with him before taking a sip of her wine that she had almost forgotten about.

“Definitely not a sugar baby, although that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, totally,” Y/N nods in agreement. They both chuckle again. Harry reaches for his wine to take a sip before answering her question for real this time. Blame the wine, he thinks, for any longing looks or laughing too much at her jokes just blame the red wine in his glass.

“I’m actually in the music industry, kind of,” Harry states.

“How are you kind of in the music industry?” Y/N questions curiously, her brows pulled together as she takes another sip of wine.

“I am a studio rat, as people in the industry would call it,” Harry says, Y/N’s face scrunches up at his words utterly confused at the term. “I pretty much live in music studios most of the year. Most of my time is taken up by writing. So I guess I’m a songwriter, but I also make demos for my songs with a few people I’ve grown close with in my studio, so I end up doing some instruments for artists' studio versions of songs. I do a bit of producing too, but I mostly leave that to my buddy, Tom.”

“Wow, that sounds like a really cool job. And here I was jabbering on about my job when you’re a songwriter? That’s so cool,” Y/N repeats, another sip of wine going down her throat as she stares at Harry. His cheeks are starting to turn red, eyes avoiding hers as he fidgets with his rings. “Have you written any songs I’d know?” She asks, trying to get more information out of him.

“Maybe,” Harry shrugs.

“You’re not going to tell me?” Y/N asks, brows pulled together.

“Nope,” Harry shakes his head.

“Shouldn’t you be proud of your work?”

“Of course I am,” Harry says, bringing a crooked finger up to his nose before rubbing it twice. “I just know that my music might not be everyone's favourite.”

Since the beginning of his freelance songwriting career, Harry's always been nervous to show people what he’s poured his heart and soul into, especially to people he’s friends with, or people he likes. What if they hated it? He couldn’t bear listening to the fake “it's great” with an even faker smile. Although he knows people do like his songs, those people were mainly artists that bought his songs and their fans, of course, along with his fellow colleagues. He just doesn't want Y/N to hate his work.

“Well, I'm sure it's brilliant,” Y/N says. “And maybe one day you’ll show me.” She adds with a smile, not wanting to force the subject, over the rim of her wine glass before taking another sip and finishing off the red liquid in one small gulp. She frowns at the empty glass and sets it down on the Santa coaster on the coffee table. “Do you write all the time then?” Y/N asks, bringing her gaze back to Harry’s.

“Pretty much, although I’m in the studio less in December due to it being so close to the holidays. I’ve actually got my last session with my mates just in a few days.”

“Counting down the days till you have some time off?” She asks, referring to what he had said earlier to her.

“Not particularly,” Harry says.

Y/N is about to ask why, but then her phone bings from her pocket. It’s then that she realizes she hadn’t thought of looking at her phone once since sitting down with Harry. She had been so engrossed with their conversation, and feeling a light buzz that she managed to forget about the pizza she ordered. The notification on her screen read that her pizza had arrived at the building, and the delivery person would be here any second. Then her phone starts ringing.

“Hello,” Y/N answers the phone in a sweet voice. Harry has to stop himself from staring, instead finding himself grabbing the red wine that he wasn’t too fond of, and has a few sips as he listens to Y/N talk to, what he assumes, is the pizza delivery. She buzzes them up with one tap on her phone before the call ends. “Our dinner is finally here,” she tells Harry, even though he had gathered as much, but he still smiles in response. She stands from the couch and adjusts her pants by pulling them up slightly. They fit her so bloody well, Harry thinks. “And we are both nearly done with a glass of wine each before we’ve even eaten,” Y/N chuckles as she walks past Harry and to the kitchen to her purse.

While Y/N pays for their food, Harry takes it upon himself to top off her glass of wine. He was content with his last few sips between bites. Y/N sets the two pizza boxes on the coffee table before rushing into the kitchen to grab two plates and some napkins for them. They work together in a comfortable silence to get things set up; both boxes open and Y/N settles back onto the couch before they dig into the large New York slices.

Y/N brings a piece straight from the box to her mouth, once she bites into the greasy food she moans around her mouthful of cheesy pizza. Harry is just about to take his first bite as well but stops just short at the sounds that come from Y/N. He dares to glance her way, throat bobbing as he takes her in. Both eyes closed, her head hanging back and lips turned up into a smile as she chews her food. He watches her swallow, utterly mesmerized by her soft skin moving just slightly. Dear god, Styles, get it together, he thinks as he imagines her swallowing something else.

Y/N opens her eyes at the sound of Harry clearing his throat, turning her gaze to him and seeing him lift his piece of pizza to her in a ‘cheers’ manner. “Thanks again for the meal,” Harry says. There his voice does it again, sounding all low and throaty as it makes chills go down her spine.

“No problem,” Y/N nods. She tries to focus back on eating her food, willing the thoughts in her head to go away. But she can’t stop them from entering her dreams later that night after Harry and her had said their goodbye - Harry noticed her yawn a few times and began to clean up their plates and empty wine glasses while he continued to tell Y/N about his time in school before he was writing songs full time on his way to the kitchen. Y/N watched him from her spot on the couch, smiling at how he didn’t think twice on cleaning up after them. She was pretty sure that’s how her dream started too, but then it led to Harry’s voice whispering in her ear, asking if she’s been naughty or nice this year while they laid in bed. Y/N blames the large glass of wine. One hundred percent she blames the wine.

There wasn’t a more perfect day in the year, Y/N was sure of it, as she sat on a bench in Central Park. It was t-minus three weeks before Christmas Day and she had just gotten off work. The sun was slowly setting in the horizon as she stared at the sparkling snow that covered the ground and trees around her.

“Y/N?”

She turns her gaze away from the skating rink in the distance to see who had called out her name. A smile tugs at her lips as she sees Harry a few feet away. He’s dressed in a long dark coat that reaches to his knees, one which was exposed from a rip in his loose fitting jeans. With his outfit he wore a pair of chelsea boots upon his feet that trudged through the snow. Y/N noticed that he was bundled up with a grey scarf around his neck and a matching beanie upon his head too. She liked how his hair flipped up at the ends, sticking out of the beanie.

It has been almost a week since their pizza night together, and thankfully, those wine induced dreams had stopped after that one night, which to be fair were rather innocent compared to some other dreams she had thanks to too much tequila - regardless, it’s making it much less awkward to face him now.  

“Hey,” she greets him as she meets his eyes once more. Harry stops by the bench, motioning at the open space to her left.

“Mind if I sit with you?” He asks. Y/N shakes her head and moves to her right just a bit to make more room for him. “Was going for a stroll, thought I was imagining you sitting here by yourself to be honest.” Harry states.

“New York City can seem rather small some days,” Y/N says with a smile.

“Some days, yeah,” Harry nods. “What brings you out to this lonesome bench in Central Park?” Harry asks, looking out at the scenery before them.

“This,” Y/N answers with a hand out to the park.

“It's rather pretty.”

“Very, and calming. And after my day at the office today, I desperately needed to just sit here by myself and disconnect from the world for a moment.”

“Oh,'' Harry says, bringing Y/N’s gaze away from the couple holding hands across the pond and to him instead. “I'm- I'm sorry if I barged in. I just thought it’d be weird if I didn’t say hi.”

“Oh no, it’s totally okay,” Y/N assures him. “I’ve been out here for a good while now.” As if her body realizes at the same time, she shivers beside Harry.

“Did you want to head home?”

“Not particularly,” Y/N hums. Her eyes falling back to the sights before her. The sky is becoming a soft hue of pinks and oranges before their eyes. It warms her heart despite her entire body is cold.

“How about a cup of hot cocoa?” Harry suggests as he sees the cart serving hot drinks just to their right. An older couple and, what seems to be, their grandchildren are being served steaming cups and candy canes too. That seems like something Y/N would like, Harry thinks as he stands from the bench. He's about to offer his hand but thinks twice about it, sticking both his hands into his coat pockets before he can make a fool of himself. “My treat,” Harry adds with a smile.

“I would love that,” Y/N beams while standing from the bench and falling into step with him.

Harry orders for the two of them as they step up to the small cart. Y/N discreetly takes out her phone and opens her Instagram app, swiping to the right to open her camera before she’s bombarded with notifications. She holds down on her screen to begin filming her pointed Versace boots that she had been gifted from work this winter; they had become a staple as the weather grew colder and the snow kept coming down since they had the thickest heel of all the shoes in her closet. Holding the phone up, she catches half of Harry’s body as she films the hot chocolate cart. His back is to the camera, his large coat and beanie covering any angle she did get of him so she’s not afraid to post the story after adding a quick filter to it and typing ‘pro tip: always get a hot chocolate when you’re feeling chilly in central park’ tagging her location as well before hitting post to her story and feeding her nearly five hundred thousand followers with some content for the first time all day.

“Thank you,” Y/N says softly as Harry hands her a to-go cup without a lid since there’s an abundance of whipped cream on top. Her smile turns into a grin as he also reveals he bought her a candy cane. She gasps and is quick to unwrap it and stick it into her mouth.

“Woah, you’re like a toddler itching for a sugar rush, huh?” Harry teases as they begin walking along the path and away from the cart.

“Candy canes are my weakness,” Y/N states as she pushes it to the left side of her mouth in order to talk more clearly.

“Good to know,” Harry smiles over the rim of his cup before opening his mouth and licking off some of the whipped cream. Y/N has to look away as she’s brought back to her dream.

Shaking her head slightly, she brings her phone back up to her face and it unlocks for her. Since it’s still open on the Instagram camera, she holds out her heaping cup of whipped cream and attempts to take a picture as they walk. The first two turn out blurry, then she stops walking, in hopes it’ll turn out nice before Harry can notice she stopped. Only it doesn’t of course, so she ends up furrowing her brows and sucks harder on the candy cane in her mouth before trying three more times to take the perfect snap.

Suddenly, Harry’s hand is in her shot, a blur over her whipped cream. She gasps and looks up to see his forefinger in his mouth, obviously licking off the bit of whipped cream he managed to steal. She’s surprised he did it, and she can tell he is a bit too, but then she huffs out a short chuckle while her mouth is still agape, which makes Harry grin. He doesn’t think twice as he reaches out to swipes his finger over the sweet cream again.

“Stop stealing my whipped cream!” Y/N glares at Harry as he licks his finger clean once more.

“It’s gonna melt anyways, you're taking so bloody long to drink any of it.”

“I'm busy enjoying my candy cane, jeez,” Y/N rolls her eyes and takes the candy out of her mouth, having forgotten about the picture, her phone screen turns blank. Harry shrugs and reaches forward again to steal more. Y/N is faster this time, and moves her cup away from him while bringing her candy cane up and pointing towards him. “Do it again and I'll stab you,” She warns. Harry throws his free hand up in surrender, but both of his cheeks have those deep dimples showing. I’m beginning to really like those dimples, Y/N thinks.

“You get rather hostile over your holiday treats, hm?” Harry questions, raising a brow before slowly retreating his hand to hold his own hot chocolate with his other. He brings the cup to his mouth with both hands and takes a sip.

“Yes, in fact, I do,” Y/N mutters, looking down at her own cup and notices that the whipped cream is nearly gone now. Suppose Harry was right, she missed her chance to enjoy the extra sweetness.

She takes a few sips as they continue to walk together through Central Park. The sky is beautiful as the sunset is in its full glory with dreamy pinks and purples littering the skies. Y/N debates taking a photo but decides against it as she slips her phone into her pocket. Just as she’s about to return the candy cane back to her mouth, she glances over at Harry and notices just as he brings down his own hot chocolate from his mouth that he’s made a bit of a mess.

She chuckles before saying, “you’ve got a little,” Y/N points to her upper lip, “uh, a whipped cream moustache.” She giggles as Harry pokes the tip of his tongue out and swipes it over his top lip. Y/N chuckles some more and offers him her napkin.

“Thanks,” Harry says before wiping it across his mouth, looking back to her to ask, “did I get it all?”

Y/N finds herself staring at Harry for a few moments longer than it would take to give a simple answer if his face was clean or not. She’s never felt so comfortable around someone before, not even her childhood friends or Sammy honestly. There’s this ease around Harry the few times they’ve been around one another, and it makes her heart swell up in her chest. She rolls her lips into her mouth and inhales deeply through her nose, breaking her gaze away from his face and to the ground. In order to not seem weird or awkward, she looks back up and finds his eyes on her while she nods her head.

“Yeah, you’re good,” she tells him. They start their walk through Central Park once more, heading towards home at a slow pace. Y/N has her candy cane back in her mouth, alternating between it and her hot chocolate before it got too cold. She could live off them both one hundred percent; two of the best things ever invented.

“So, tell me about your day,” Harry says, bringing Y/N out of her own thoughts and meeting his gaze again.

“It was a pretty good day, I guess,” she sighs, “we just have a lot of clients that like to do last minute shopping during the holidays and have some pretty crazy demands, but we want to deliver for them so we bend over backwards to do so.”

“I’m sure that can cause you to be rather exhausted then, yeah?”

“Very,” Y/N nods, “but I’m sure your day was much more interesting than mine, so tell me what kind of songs you wrote today?” Y/N asks with a smile.

Harry chuckles and lets Y/N lead the way to their left on the path home, he wasn’t the most confident with getting around sometimes since he usually stuck to the few places in the city that he was familiar with. While he has learned that Y/N is a New York City Native, he trusts her way direction over his, that’s for sure. He thinks back on what he had done today, including a quick run on the treadmill in the gym in their building that ended sooner than he thought as he got a burst of lyrical inspiration out of nowhere.

“I was in my apartment for most of the morning and a bit of the afternoon, then got in a bit of a rut after writing a new song about love, of course. Then I decided I needed to get out of the house and hope for some inspiration from people watching, which I have done a lot since living here,” Harry explains. Y/N takes a big gulp of her nearly cold drink, leaning to her left to get to the garbage they are passing in order to throw out the empty cup. Harry takes the chance to throw his empty cup out too.

“Do you always write about love?” Y/N asks, not thinking twice if it may be a bit too personal of a question. Harry is taken back at first by how that’s all she got from what he had said, but he only clears his throat and shoves his hands into his pockets now that they are free.

“Mostly, yeah,” he nods, “most relatable thing in life, I suppose.”

“Sometimes, I guess it can be,” Y/N agrees and goes back to sucking on her candy cane. She wonders how many times he’s been in love? How many times has she really been in love? Y/N sighs internally and focuses on her steps, avoiding a puddle by having to step closer to Harry. She sniffles from the cold at the same time and is hit with Harry’s scent - lavender, as it always seems to be how he smells. She still thinks it’s lovely.

The two of them make more casual conversation on their fifteen minute walk home through the busy streets. Harry tells her about an elderly couple he had seen just before seeing her, maybe in their 80s, and looking more in love than he’s ever seen before. He wrote a few things about how they looked before going on his way. Y/N tells him about how her grandparents used to go on walks through the park when she was younger, which then brings them into the topic of grandparents in general. Harry tells her about how his grandpa refuses to retire and how his grandma ends up bugging his mom because of how lonely she is. Y/N is smiling the whole time, loving how he must feel comfortable around her too as he’s able to talk about his family like this. Y/N also yawns many times in their short walk. She’s tempted to invite Harry into her apartment for some wine and pizza again but decides against it and simply gives him a smile and soft goodbye at her door, deciding to get into her night routine earlier than normal due to how she can’t stop yawning.

After hanging up her coat, double checking her door was locked, and slipping out of her boots, Y/N pulled her phone out of her pocket to check out what text she missed while on her walk home. She liked how she wanted to feel so present around Harry, having no want to look at her phone but instead being more interested in his little stories about his grandparents. Her face ID unlocks as she looks at the screen. It’s still on the photo she last tried to take for her Instagram. Harry’s hand was a bit of a blur as he stole her whipped cream off the top of her hot chocolate. There was no way to not know it was Harry’s hand, though, his rings being so unique and noticeable in the photo as well - her favourite being his initials wrapped around his fingers in gold. Some would think it’s maybe a bit narcissistic, but Y/N thought it looked good and really there’s no harm in being a narcissist sometimes right?

Y/N saves the photo but doesn’t post it, deciding to simply keep it for herself instead of letting her many followers see into a small yet sweet moment between her and her newest friend. She could call him that right? They were friends? Y/N did hope that Harry thought of her as a new friend too because she was enjoying this time with him a lot, maybe even a little too much.

It had been another day spent at the cafe down the street for Harry. Marking only one last day off till his final studio time this year, he was itching to get to work in a couple days and see his mates too. Over the almost two weeks, he’s written more than he had expected himself to and he knew he could thank a certain new neighbour, or I guess, a new friend, Harry thinks to himself as he turns towards his apartment building. There was no denying the feeling he got around Y/N. He wanted to become more than friends, eventually, no rush of course - but he couldn’t ignore the feeling he got around her; the butterflies and heart racing nearly every moment together. And he couldn’t forget the constant smiling, which he was doing right now just thinking about her.

Harry walks up to the main doors of his apartment building and notices a man beside the main doors. Harry furrows his brows at him. He didn’t look like some strange man trying to find warmth during the beginning of the evening here in the city that had fallen to freezing temperatures as the first week of December came to an end. In fact, he had a brand new iPhone in his hand and rather expensive looking clothes keeping him warm.

“Hey, did you need inside?” Harry asks the man standing by the intercom system. The man looks up at Harry, eyes narrowing at him. He seems Harry’s age, maybe even a few years older judging by the lines around his eyes. He’s got dark eyebrows which makes Harry think he must have dark hair under the beanie he wore under the hood of his thick winter coat. Harry waits for an answer, staring back into the stranger’s brown eyes.

“Yeah, girlfriends not answering and I know she’s inside,” his voice is low and gruff, he then lifts a Starbucks hot cup up - Harry recognizes the holiday pattern anywhere now since Y/N seems to always have one on her even in quick passing in or out of the building. “Even got me to pick her up this stupid drink on my way too, her fault if it’s cold now I guess.”

“Guess so,” Harry mumbles, kind of put off by the man’s attitude. He decides to give him the benefit of the doubt and holds the door open for it. The man walks in without so much of a thank you. You’re welcome, Harry sarcastically thinks to himself.

They walk together to the elevator in an awkward silence. Once the doors open Harry steps up to the buttons and hits the sixth one, not bothering to ask the man what floor he needs as he steps away. The stranger gives the lit up button a brief look before he’s staring down at his phone. As the elevator moves Harry’s mind wanders off to how he’d assert himself into Y/N’s evening today. Maybe he could make her dinner, then ask if she’d like to walk over to Central Park after because he knows how much she enjoys it there, and when they decide to take a break from walking and find a bench he’d finally get the nerve to make a move - maybe reach for her hand during the walk even. One thing was for sure, he liked Y/N and he needed to buck up and do something about it.

He’s still deep in thought about Y/N when the elevator doors open. The man he let into the building steps out first without even glance at Harry. Typical New Yorker, he thinks. Harry finds himself looking at where Y/N’s apartment door is over the man's shoulder as they walk down the hall, he’s debating just walking right up and asking her to hang out right away. But then the man stops in front of the door that reads 602 - Y/N’s door.

Y/N hears the knock on her front door and blinks rapidly at her laptop screen, unfocusing from her long email that she was to send to her boss, Amanda, within the hour with an update on how the first week of December had gone. She glances at the time and sees it’s nearly four in the afternoon. Took him long enough, she thinks while rolling her eyes and standing from the couch. Just as she’s a few steps away there’s another knock on the door. She sighs and unlocks it, quickly throwing the door open to reveal Mark standing on the other side.

“You are home,” he says, that attitude she knows so well is thick in his voice already. Y/N opens her mouth, about to sass him back, but then she notices a certain tall figure with a mess of brown hair walking behind Mark.

“Harry,” Y/N breathes out, hoping he didn’t even hear it honestly. But he slows his steps and gives her a tight lipped smile once facing her. It’s one she was not familiar with and makes her stomach feel as though it was full of rocks.

“Hey,” he says with a small three finger wave.

“You know this guy?” Mark, her boyfriend, questions. Bringing her eyes from Harry’s green ones and to his brown ones instead. “He was nice enough to let me into this place since you were too busy,” he states.

Y/N tucks her lips into her mouth and looks away from Mark and back to Harry. She knows he’s questioning everything by the look in his eyes. She tried. Well, maybe not hard enough, but she wanted to tell him about Mark, even just casually and quickly. Y/N didn’t intend to give Harry any sort of mixed signals during their times together, she really was just being polite and ended up enjoying being around him so much that she thought there was no harm in making a new friend. But she’d be an idiot to try and deny she felt something more than friendship with Harry.

“Yeah, uh,” she clears her throat and waves a hand between the two young men, “Mark, this is Harry my uh, my neighbour. Harry this is Mark, my boyfriend.”

Well shit, that’s not ideal, Harry thinks as he looks into Y/N’s eyes and prays he heard her wrong. But he knows he didn’t. So, he just takes a deep breath and forces a smile to stay on his face while holding a hand out to Mark, even though it hurt him to be polite to the guy that was dating the girl he’s been crushing on for nearly two weeks now.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Harry says as Mark grasps his hand and shakes it lazily. Shit handshake, he thinks. “I would love to stay and chat but I’ve got some work to get to,” he says quickly after taking his hand out of Mark’s and backing away from the situation towards his own apartment.

Y/N opens her mouth, but the words don’t come out. She just watches as Harry turns on his heels and his posture hunches as he gets to his door and tries to unlock it quickly. Mark is suddenly pushing past Y/N, saying something but she’s too focused remembering the look on Harry’s face just moments ago. She steps back into her apartment and doesn’t look over to where Harry is shutting his own door before closing her own gently.

Really fucked this up didn’t you, Y/N? She thinks as she turns the lock on her door and listens to Mark complain about his day while flinging his belongings around her living room. What is she going to do? What is she going to say? If Harry ever talks to her again, that is. She sighs and closes her eyes before making her way towards where her boyfriend was lounging on her couch, giving him a small smile as he opened his arms for her to sit with him.

“I did miss you these past few weeks while I was away,” Mark says, planting a quick kiss to her hair as she leans into his body - praying he doesn’t question why her heart is beating so fast. She’s sure he wouldn’t enjoy knowing it’s because of her growing feelings for her new neighbour, and seeing the realization in Harry’s face at the fact she wasn’t single kind of hurt to see.

“Missed you too,” she mumbles, lying. Y/N hadn’t thought about her boyfriend all that much these past, almost, three weeks that he was away for a business trip.

“Do much without me?” Mark asks.

Y/N shakes her head, “no, not much at all,” her soft voice replies while she begins to zone out on the wall that was between her and Harry’s apartments, noticing how it made her feel more separated from him now more than ever. 

>> part two <<

thanks for reading, please reblog/leave some feedback if you enjoyed it! until next week 😘

*like this post if you’d like to be added to the cstsyl taglist!*

[hannie-dul-set]

— contrariety & confluence | jung jaehyun.

SUMMARY | there was not an instance in your life where your judgement was proven to be mistaken— especially with regards to infatuations outside of your own. after an unpredicted introduction with a far too remarkable farm boy, you took it upon yourself to find a suitable match for him, not realizing that perhaps this time; your usual correct judgements might have been incorrect. PAIRING | jung jaehyun x female! reader [slight johnny x reader and jaehyun x oc, mentions of dotae and other pairings] GENRE | emma! au, matchmaking! au, strangers to lovers! au, slowburn (like i mean slow slow), period romance, humor, one suggestive scene, very very tiny angst, also jaehyun falls on love too quickly LMAO WARNINGS | implied and borderline smut, other than that none <33 (omg there’s no SWEARING in this wow) WORD COUNT | 16.9k TAGLIST | @sehunniepot​ @ukiyoneo​ @roury66​ @nct-writers​ @czennienet​ @neowritingsnet​ @kpopscape​

a/n: i wrote this....in seven days (not even JSFSD) ANYWAYS i hope you like this huhu jaehyun really has gotten me in a spell lately HJFF inspired by jane austen’s emma! but it doesn’t follow the actual book’s plotline hehe

A pleasant afternoon was how one would describe the present air and scenery— the sunrays scintillating over the nearby stream in such a manner that made its blue tint rival that of the clear sky, a faint brustling of the wind that shuffled the neverending tall, forest trees, and distantly was a flowered meadow of the countryside that visually neared as the carriage horses took their light gallop on the dirt path towards it.

Indeed, it was a pleasant afternoon, yet your temperament was less than pleasant; it leaned more into the adjective “stormy” from the way your eyebrows knitted together to accompany your deep frown, only worsened when an envious bump interrupted your supposedly pleasant carriage ride.

“Father, perhaps it isn’t too late to reverse? To return back to the estate?”

You made no effort in hiding your sour expression in front of your dear father, who was sitting before you inside the small space of the closed carriage. “Now, Y/N, we would not want to be tiresome to Mr. Jeon, do we? Not when we are already a mere walks away.”

“Mr. Jeon would not be troubled by his own occupation,” you reasoned, but the debate was settled because as though your father was lenient and doting towards you, his only daughter, he was a sensitive man who considered the welfare of all those that surround— that included Mr. Jeon, the primary coachman of your estate.

Mr. L/N had never failed in being quick to catch your subtle tells, and this moment was no other. He saw your parted lips breathing out a sigh, your gaze in a faraway spell to the open window, and shoulders slacked in despondency.  “Eyes up, my little birdie,” your father called out. “I am aware that it is most upsetting for you to have lost a dear friend to the covetous hands of wedlock, but this excursion would prove to be a remedy for your mourning heart! Have I ever told you about kind Mrs. Lee and her children? Mrs. Lee, I have known far before you were born, but I have never been lucky enough to be acquainted with her children yet. Though I hear that they are quite pleasant fellows.”

The word pleasant simply grated your annoyance further. There was no such thing as pleasant when all your heart could feel was the grief brought about by the marrying of Miss Anna— your governess slash mother figure slash best friend— a week prior to today’s present. You had no pleasure in calling her Mrs. Qian, because quite frankly, you were still lamenting over the great sorrow of the loss of such a dear and close person, catalyzed by very much your own urgings and schemings.

It was an ideal match, her and Qian Kun. Highly congratulated and expected. A happy wedding for both parties except your own.

“Oh dear, how affected must you be for tears to well up,” your father cooed, leaning forwards to wipe away your cries with his handkerchief, to which you simply insisted him to sit back down as you had your own. “Miss Anna is in a very much happy disposition right now, my dear Y/N. And I predict that she would want the same for you.”

Your intellect was not ignorant of that fact, but your emotions pressed on to ignore Miss Anna’s wishes. It would take more than three-and-twenty excursions to Hollybrook Farm in order to fill the missing gap of one most cherished.

Mr. L/N’s heart was weighed heavier from having a front seat to your sorrows, and a thought came to him. A thought that he wished to never have thought of at all. “My dearest daughter,” he started in a shaky voice. “My only daughter. You aren’t going to leave your poor father this soon, are you not?”

“Oh what nonsense, papa!”

Your abrupt refute sang in line with yet another bump on the road, though your tenor was much less unaffected from your impenetrable indignancy.

“Such unthinkable, ineffable nonsense!” you cried in your seat, the lines of your embroidered handkerchief crumpling from your tight grasp. “I love you much too dearly to even ponder on marriage. You need not to fear that moment else you will only worry yourself into sickness.”

Your father’s silly notion had managed to ease you momentarily, allowing you to breathe and admire the natural scenery in a way that you were not able to a minute prior. Although that brief moment of serenity only lasted until the end of the ride. The ground crackled when you dropped down from the carriage, and you were once again hit by the wretchedness of the three or four realizations as you stood a reasonable distance from the farmhouse of Hollybrook; the first being the fact that Miss Anna will never be reverted back to maidenhood by a trivial excursion, or any excursion for that matter. The second, how shabby the presenting structure of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s home appeared before you. And third, the idea that you were to stay here for an entire night and two half-days.

It was tortuous.

“Mr. and Miss L/N! How grateful we are to have you company! Oh, come, come, please do come in!”

Half forced was the smile that you willed to your face as you passed through the fence that surrounded the wide vicinity of the family’s land. Mrs. Lee was a rather chipper lady, having none to not talk about as each second her lips were steadily moving, and though she was polite, pleasant, and very much hospitable, you found her incessant speeches far too tiring to stand. “Mr. Lee is unfortunately not with us today for he and my eldest had business to be dealt with in town, but please oh please do not fret! My three sons and I will be sure to provide a pleasant enough company for the both of you.”

“It is you that must not fret, Mrs. Lee,” you smiled at her. A pleasant smile. Mildly forced. But politeness was a must. “My father and I are sure that our stay here will be much enjoyed considering how amiable the lady of the house is.”

“Oh, Mr. L/N. Your daughter is as much of a charmer as you are,” the lady guffawed at your remark, a fond smile on her weathered features. “We will forever be indebted to your kindness! If it weren’t for you, we would not even have a house to live in. Though brief— I do hope you enjoy your stay here at Hollybrook.”

As the two chatted away along the cobbled path, you took the moment to study the sight before you— a large house, not as large as yours at Whitland, but large enough to fit a family of six or seven. The grey brick walls were infested with an overgrowth of vines, painting it with a green that matched the surroundings of grass that stretched farther than you could see. It was a very pleasing structure if it weren’t for the muddy windows, wheelbarrows unkempt, and the evident disarray of shoes that you were welcomed with at the entrance. That enough was telling of the people that lived here, and though you disliked holding prejudices, it was something that you could not control.

You breathed in, drowning out the unwavering voice of Mrs. Lee in the background.

A less than pleasant afternoon. You could only hope for a more pleasant evening.

“Mark! Please do check on the oven— Jeno! Be a dear and set the table for our guests— oh my— Donghyuck!”

A snort of a pig.

“How many times must I tell you; do not bring Kosher into the house!”

A door slamming to a close.

It was far from a pleasant evening. In fact, it was even less pleasant than the afternoon, yet your father seemed to be pleased enough with the mess that was dinnertime preparation, even laughing along as he aided Donghyuck in luring out Kosher back into his pen. All you could do was sit in your chair at the very far corner, recollecting all the information that you have thus far observed from your new acquaintances— which only brought about a bitter taste of cold, chilling, malcontentment. Mrs. Lee was quick to judge, and so were her four sons; though one was absent, for you it was easy to formulate your discernment of his character— not quite concrete, but concrete enough to know that the eldest Mr. Lee was a hardworking whose sphere of concern is limited within the family, and the family only.

Quite an amendable quality so long as you were in the sphere. Not when you were a guest. He could have spared some time to accommodate you and your father, but as he did not wish so and so he did not.

Next in line was Mark Lee. Handsome, well-mannered, well-spoken— exemplary despite his upbringing, but the boy was lacking the respect of being the standing eldest of the three with his brother’s absence. Poor Mark was being buried in all of Donghyuck’s chores without his concurrence, but without any protests.

Jeno Lee was objectively the handsomest of the three, and arguably the most agreeable. He would be rivalling Roselake’s Jaemin Na in terms of manners, politeness, and overall gentlemanly constitution. If only it weren’t for his regretful fear of women, then he would have been a chivalrous candidate for marriage. He was inherently unable to send a glance at your way without wearing the prettiest shade of red on his personable features.

Lastly, Donghyuck Lee was very much like his mother— exceptionally good-humored, exceptionally unwavering, and exceptionally tiring just as she. You could not handle a minute of his presence and you were yet to arrange a plan on how to exactly to last the entire dinner alone. The deafening of one of your senses was enough to blind the other; it was truly a shame as he was both handsome and intelligent, too. Well, it did not matter since marriage was a bleak concept for you, but you could have set him up with someone you knew.

Dinner, which was supposed to be a quiet occasion with light and educated conversation, was beyond what you had prepared for. And as if Mrs. Lee’s and your father’s chatterings weren’t boisterous enough, as if the three brothers’ over the table deviltries weren’t rasping enough, your dinner was further intruded by the irksome knock of the door.

“Oh, dear Mark, would you please answer the door? Hurry, hurry!” at his mother’s command, the clattering of utensils was heard, and following after was Mark’s hurried steps. “How I have completely forgotten from all the frantic preparations— Miss Y/N, you have room for one more acquaintance, no?”

You were not given the proper opportunity to react— only enough time or you to open your mouth in preparation for speaking, yet you could not. It was either from your voice momentarily dysfunctioning, or perhaps from the inhibitions attracted by the intruders attendance. Though the most plausible conclusion would be both.

Both. Indeed it was both. How could one even think to speak when brought before the presence of such a man.

He caught your stare. You forced your mouth to a close.

“Jaehyun, how was the delivery? Oh, I hope the journey wasn’t too fatiguing.”

“Madam, fatigue is but a distant cousin that I have never come to know in years,” the man known as Jaehyun smiled, causing distinct indentions to sink on his cheeks. He diverted from your sharp gaze. Handsome, you drew, continuing to eye him as you took a subtle sip from your water. “The delivery and transaction went as usual. Though I would appreciate if you weren’t to worry each time,” a laugh— even his laugh was handsome. “Shall we sit, Mrs. Lee?”

The three sons cheerily greeted Jaehyun as he sat amongst them, though not before aiding the older lady to the seat of her own. Perfectly handsome, perfectly mannered, perfectly agreeable; never in your life had you been beheld to such a perfect subject of a man. Though his clothes were wrinkled and skin dusted, those measly details were little enough to be overlooked by his overall disposition.

He was almost far too perfect to be deemed true.

“Miss Y/N, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Jung Jaehyun—” nods and smiles exchanged across the table right before Mrs. Lee continued to speak. “He is almost like my own son after living with us since he was four! Now three-and-twenty and has grown into such a fine gentleman indeed!”

Ah, you clicked your tongue. There it was.

But an unknown background was something that you could work with.

“May I inquire your opinion on something, Mr. Jung?”

He flinched midway eating his meal; expectedly so since the first words you’ve spoken to him after all those unwavering and calculative stares was something so bleak and ominous. He gingerly settled down his spoon, replacing it with a napkin to wipe his greased lips. One look at him was impossible to discern his upbringing of being a farm boy. “Please refer to me as Jaehyun, Miss Y/N. That enough is all right.”

Your lips quirked into a smile.

“Never have I met someone so politely hypocritical,” you hummed. He simply pressed his lips into a thin smile. “Very well then, Jaehyun. How do you feel about daisies?”

Daisies. A quizzical question that entranced the entire dinner table— though the subject of your question did not take long to think and utter out his answer.

“Well, a small bouquet of daisies would be sufficient enough to comfort an ailing friend,” Jaehyun thought out loud, then a flash of concern flitted through his eyes. “Are any of your friends ill, Miss Y/N? I know of a nearby patch where you could pick them.”

It was a different kind of triumph that you felt when you heard of his practically perfect answer; the notion of is character to be knowledgeable from the brief explanation of flower, the poignancy from the thought of a misfortune of a friend of an acquaintance (not even friend of a friend), and the unconditional, compassionate offering a service.

At that point you had decided.

“Oh, not at all, Jaehyun. All of them are perfectly healthy. Thank you for providing a response,” picking up a fork, you sent him a full, satisfied smile. “Anyhow, I believe that is enough conversion for one night. Let us dine, shall we?”

That a man such as Jung Jaehyun does not deserve to be bound inside the fences of a farm, for the world has much more to offer.

It was without precariousness and uncertainty that you, Miss Y/N L/N, sole heiress of Whitland Estate, can conclude with no much further deliberation required, had not, in fact, slept a single wink.

Even Kosher the pig might have slept more soundly than you.

“Mrs. Lee, I’m going out!” you announced from the door. “Please tell father in case he looks for me when he wakes up!”

It was thirty before six, and since there was no hope for you to rest atop the rock hard bed that you were provided, you ultimately opted to take a walk outside for some early exercise. (Frankly, it was not that hard— you were simply not used to beddings apart from your own inside your estate. You didn’t blame the Lee’s for your inability to adapt). A heavily clouded sky met you outside as it had showered a few hours prior, therefore you took it upon yourself to watch your step so as to not slip and fall.

Despite the unclear sky, there were moments where sunlight had just managed to slip past the cloud, allowing for a brief moment of golden rain. You anticipated the said occurrence during each moment of your walk.

You were forced to a stop upon being met by a downhill slope, and there you realized that Hollybrook Farm was quite actually much larger than the front had presented itself to be.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N! Jeno wishes you a good morning to— hey! Did I say something wrong?!”

Your laughter was unprevented due to the younger boys’ antics. They were rather lively for it being too early— though they were probably used to waking at such a time, perhaps even earlier due to their responsibilities in the farm. Undeniably, your initial impression of the lot was quite critical and nit-picky, but you had no doubts on them being pleasant fellows (as long as Donghyuck does not speak a thousand words a minute, of course).

Smiling, you hurriedly trekked towards the two boys who were still quarrelling among the flock of sheep, and so you momentarily forgot about the rain that had occurred prior, subsequently forgetting about the risk of slipping on the soft dirt.

Therefore the next event was to no one’s surprise but your own.

A misstep. You let out a scream as you slid down.

With your eyes squeezed shut and with the wind racing past you in such a terrifying speed, the fear of crashing down was numbed by the adrenaline that coursed through your veins, and all you could was wait for the imminent impact that—

You squeaked.

—that never seemed to have come.

“O-oh,” your breath staggered, eyes lost from the heat of the moment, and your slanted figure was caught by an arm that caged you, serving as a barrier between you and the mudded ground. In an instinctive motion, your head snapped up, meeting the eyes of the one who had just been in time to save you. It was Jaehyun. “I—”

You did not know what were the appropriate words for such a situation, and apparently neither did he because all he did was stare at you wide eyed with mixture of worry and panic and relief, making you believe that he was just as frightened as you because of the fall. An exchange of eye contact; blinking and unblinking. Jaehyun released a sharp huff of relief, and quite unexpectedly, he lifted you off the ground and into his arms in a bridal carry.

Your heart stirred in bewilderment.

“Ex—excuse me, Jaehyun, but it is less than appropriate for a man like you to be—”

“I apologize, Miss Y/N, but I am less concerned with propriety and more so with the possibility of you sustaining an injury,” he declared. “I cannot allow you to walk.”

None more was said after. You were left to ponder on your thoughts.

Jaehyun had his nose pointed forward as he carried you, eyes ahead and shadowed by the tufts of his hair; a manly disposition overall in addition to his declarations prior. Your admiration was simply stretched further. Though, it was not an admiration that strung one’s heart in fleeting motions; rather it was a type of admiration that an aesthete would hold towards a work of art, unaffected and untouchable— though still open to refinery. Jung Jaehyun was indeed a walking piece of art.

It seemed as though you were not the only one to agree, because as you passed near the fence, still in his arms, you caught sight of a group of young girls. You inwardly scoffed. It was obvious that they were here to admire the boy. It was also obvious that they had to be content with merely admiring, as a single step closer would be an insult to Jaehyun. He deserved someone of the same degree.

Wait.

“Miss Y/N, I will be setting you down, now.”

You were far deep into thought to realize that you had settled into the barn, quite frankly in a daze when Jaehyun gently placed you atop a squared hay bale. He made sure not to linger his touch on your skin for far too long, but also making sure to not be hasty— treating you with such a delicate care that made you think: Mrs. Lee raised him well. Far too well.

“I apologize for my rudeness,” you said. “I haven’t even properly thanked you for saving me.”

Jaehyun squatted before you, wordlessly asking permission to check on your ankle, and you gave him a wordless response in return. He pulled your boots off of your feet. “Please do be careful next time, Miss Y/N. The soil gets slippery when it rains,” he mumbled. “Does this hurt?”

“Not at all.”

He sighed in relief. “All right. But you should remain inside to rest for the time being. I am afraid I would not get any work done if you remain. I would be far too worried.”

You appreciated the addition of the last sentence.

“Allow me to repay your kindness one day, Jaehyun.”

“There is no need, Miss Y/N. I just— ah, allow me to help you.”

Jaehyun did not even let you get off of the hay bale on your own despite your countless assurances that you could walk as fine as any other, but he insisted on escorting you outside of the barn, extending until the door of the farmhouse, and even when you mounted the carriage as you and your father were already to make your leave. You feared that your father might actually pass if you tell him about your accident, but luckily Jaehyun was there to assure him of all his worries.

He certainly deserved someone of the same degree.

“Please do visit again soon!”

And unlike when you arrived, the departure was far more pleasant. Because as you were gazing outside the window of the carriage with your countless thoughts, you had come up with the perfect match that was fitting for a man such as Jung Jaehyun.

The moon had already replaced the sun when you and your father returned to the estate, and there waiting was Johnny Suh— a close friend of your father despite being years and years younger. You did not view him as a friend; he was much like a fond annoyance that you perceived as familial at best, and nefarious at worst. Your ideals simply did not align, and more likely than not, it was the prerequisite for all of your arguments. Though, you would be lying if you said you did not find joy debating with him. The joy being found in his defeat.

“Mr. L/N,” Johnny started. The three of you were sitting around in the manor’s reception room, the usual tea and chat taking place. “If I were to be honest, I did not expect a trip to the countryside would do your daughter’s selfish grievances any better, but perhaps miracles do exist.”

You sent him a sidelong glance as you took a sip from your tea. Johnny returned it with a charming grin. The nerve.

“What makes you say that?”

“You left looking like a widower and returned looking like a newlywed. That is enough for me to draw my conclusions.”

A wispy laugh was released by your father, and for a moment you felt betrayed. You elicited a cough, placing the cup on the saucer that was held by your other hand. Johnny looked at you expectantly. “But is that enough for you to draw the reason as to why I’m in such a happy mood?”

“Unfortunately not. But I do have a bit of an idea,” he answered “You are scheming again, are you not?”

You smiled innocently. “What could you possibly mean?”

This was not an unnatural sight in the estate, seeing as your father was simply reading in silence as he listened to your back and forths. Johnny was not by any means amused by your lack of definitive response. He really wanted to know what, or who brought your spirits to such a high considering that you had practically been weeping not even a day ago. You would not simply let go of Miss Anna unless you found a new occupancy— and something like that was unlikely to be found at a farm.

“Oh? You feign ignorance when not even a month ago you were rejoicing your victory of finally getting Mr. and Mrs. Wong to be wed.”

“Ah, I simply pulled a few strings here and there.”

“And what about Taeyong and Doyoung?”

“They would not have gotten together if it were not for me mediating between their stubbornness.”

Johnny exhausted a sigh. “Y/N, you are quite frankly the impossible woman I have ever met.”

“I do not believe you have met enough women to surmise such a deduction.”

He was getting annoyed. You could tell from the way his jaw clenched. He ignored your quip and instead shifted back to the topic beforehand. “You are still acting innocent as if you are not scheming something when you are practically incriminating yourself by evidence that came from none other than yourself. Who is it this time?”

“I am not scheming, Johnny,” you pressed on, choosing to ignore the last question. “A scheme is something grand— elaborate. I am not even lifting a finger.”

“You never change,” he huffed. “Still as proud as ever.”

“Of course, as there is undeniably something to be proud of when you help in watering love to bloom,” you reasoned, and a subtle smirk glistened on your face. “Well, your indifference is quite understandable. A man that is five-and-twenty and unmarried would never—”

“Coming from someone who declared herself to be an old maid,” Johnny proclaimed in a loud voice, a glare shot into your direction. “You should be more sensible in who you point your fingers at.”

You scoffed. “That is a completely—”

“Y/N, my dear!”

It was fortunate that your father had interrupted before the both of you could verbally rip each other’s throats apart from a distance. You and Johny visibly calmed down, a simultaneous, unspoken truce as you breathed in and relaxed in your chair.

“Are you still to continue your hobby in matchmaking?”

Completely ignoring Johnny’s dirty stares and incoherent mumbling, you spread your lips into a bright, wide smile. “Why of course, dear papa! Vicariously romancing through the lives of others is the only way a destined old maid such as I could feel the profound experience of falling in love. There is no reason for me to stop, there not?” a  choked out laughter is heard from across the room, unmistakably from Johnny, but you simply responded by a threatening gaze, to which he promptly shut his mouth. “Oh, by the way, father. When is our dear, little Hwayoung returning from boarding school? Has she sent a letter, by any chance?”

Johnny chuckled, bringing the teacup to his lips. “You still call her little when she’s a mere year younger than you.”

“Then shall I call you uncle as you are four years older than me?”

Sohn Hwayoung was the daughter of a merchant in Roselake; a very pretty, very charming, and a very chipper young lady that had always followed you like a baby duckling since you were thirteen. She was like a little sister to you— always heeding your advice and exemplifying you as “Miss Y/N can never be wrong”. Apart from Miss Anna, you had always been especially fond of Hwayoung, and therefore you were devastated when you found out about her leaving, just as you were during your governess’ engagement. But now it was summer. She was to return to Roselake on any day this week.

Your father wore an approving smile, and you clasped your hands together in hopeful expectancy. “She is to return this Friday.”

A bright, beaming grin splendored your face, squealing, and you nearly jumped out of your place.

“Oh, what a joyous occasion! Shall we celebrate her return, papa? It has been far too long since a ball was held in the village.”

“I do not suppose why not,” he chuckled. “I will be calling Mrs. Qian for the arrangements.”

“Thank you so much, father!” you ran over to embrace him, to which he returned with one of his own. “Also, Mr. Jeon— will he be off tomorrow? You see, I would like to send a letter.”

This particular statement piqued the interest of Johnny, as he sat up in his seat with a n air of attentiveness and curiosity. The man was as sharp as ever, but you knew your way around him. “To Hwayoung?” he inquired, the subtle cock of his brow, but you simply gave him a secretive yet knowing smile.

“No,” you replied. “Not to Hwayoung.”

The streaks of sunlight leaking through the open window would have woken you from your slumber if it were not for Mr. Kim, a servant of the house, waking you up by a loud, hollow knock on your door in such an urgent manner.

“Miss Y/N, a visitor has come. Please hurry down.”

You were rather alarmed when that was the first thing that greeted you the moment you woke up, but a side of you somewhat expected this sudden visitation. Quickly, you raced down the halls of your manor, passing by lines and lines of windows, paintings, and statues in such a pace that did not allow you any moment to admire their intricacies. Mr. Jeon had departed yesterday to deliver your message— and it appeared that it was properly relayed. You were still in your nightwear when you had passed through the arch that led to the entrance hall, a shawl draped over your shoulders. When your eyes landed on the visitor that came in such a short notice, you couldn’t prevent the winning smile from replacing your previously drowsy expression.

He never came to disappoint.

“Miss Y/N!”

Jung Jaehyun sprang from the long sofa, a bouquet of daisies in hand, in such a frantic resolution that nearly made you feel guilty.

“Is everything all right?! Are you hurt?! Did you— wait, hold on, why are you standing? Dear god, did you walk all the way— you— you should not be—”

“It is quite appreciative that you have responded to my invitation with such an exemplary promptness, Jaehyun.”

He blinked at you, mouth opening and closing in a confused, convoluted manner that was almost comedic if you weren’t the precursor for his distress. You simply stood in front of him in the middle of the room with a fixed smile on your face. He was lost, disordered. And it reflected on the dirt on his clothes, the dust clinging onto is skin, and the tousled nature of his hair.

“I thought— I thought there was an—”

“There was no accident, Jaehyun. That was simply made-up.”

“But you said you were—”

“Alive and well, as you can see.”

“Then why did you—”

“Simply because I wanted you around,” you perked, eyes twinkling and hands politely folded behind your back. “You would not have come otherwise, am I correct?”

Prior to writing your letter to the Lee’s, you had come to a realization that a responsible man such a Jaehyun would not just abandon his duties at Hollybrook for something as trivial as tea time. You had to come up with a different reason— a more urgent, pressing, and important reason— even if that reason was a mere fabrication. Jaehyun seemed to have only realized it now. He was made to believe that you have gotten into an accident much worse than yesterday’s.

He flushed scarlet.

“Well—” Jaehyun stammered, embarrassed, unable to meet you eye to eye. You pressed your lips together in the hopes of preventing an amused smile from forming in such an inappropriate situation. But it was difficult with his ears getting redder by the second. Honestly, considering the situation, it was you that should have been the shameful one, not him. “If— if that is the case then I believe it is only right for me to take my leave.”

“On the contrary, I believe you should stay,” you quickly strided when he turned away and ready to leave through the doors, blocking his attempt of escape. “Apart from the—” you coughed. “—red herrings in the letter. Your presence is still highly welcome in the estate. How about extending your stay until tomorrow?”

Jaehyun let out a strangled cough at your suggestion. “I am afraid that would be highly inconvenient for you, Miss Y/N, as I have brought nothing but myself.”

“Well, you certainly brought along these lovely daisies with you,” he forgot about those, and you took the bunched up flowers from his right hand, the faintest brushing of your skin, and you smiled at him when you brought them up to your face to smell the grassy, earthy scent. His ears became redder. “Come. You need not to worry about clothing, toiletries or essentials, as the L/N residence has more than enough to provide. You do not have to worry about the farm either— I will be sending another letter to Mrs. Lee about your temporary absence. She would be delighted to hear that you will be staying a few days here.”

From how determined you were, there was no hope in objecting, but Jaehyun still had yet to try. “Miss Y/N,” he began, following your back as you started to leave the entrance hall. “I simply cannot be intrusive to your hospitality. I do not wish to be a burden.”

“Nonsense, Jaehyun!” you suddenly swiveled, meeting him face to face, the bouquet pointed against his nose. He swallowed hard. “I lured you here and therefore it is only rightfully so that I redeem myself by treating you as an esteemed guest.”

You carried yourself with such a confident and dignified air that Jaehyun simply cannot help but consent. The scarlet rouge seemed to have no intention of leaving his face— only darkening and growing warmer. You hadn’t judged him to fluster easily, but perhaps the hot weather was a contributing factor. You paid no mind.

“Well, anyway,” you hummed in satisfaction, leading him deeper into the manor. “Would you prefer a view of the front garden or of the back garden?”

After an entire day in Whitland, Jaehyun had proven himself to be even more agreeable that you had accounted for, which brought about no regrets in your decision of bringing him here to Roselake as it was the utmost sense of pride that you have ever felt. Not only was he such a fine dancer, he knew how to play the pianoforte and was highly cultured in music altogether. He even knew how to cook. And above all— he collected all sorts of poems, riddles, and charades that he penned in a small notebook, which simply accentuated your making of a good character for him. You had made no errors when you judged that he belonged in high society. He would fit right in.

All that was left was to do something about those drab costumes of his.

“Is it really all right for me to wear such an expensive attire, Miss Y/N?”

You had invited him for breakfast together as your father and Johnny went out into the village, and you simply did not like solitude when there were others around. He sat before you, across the table, squirmish and unsure. You frowned. The both of you were seated in such a beautiful spot inside the house— right beside the large window that opened to the gardens. This was no place for negativity.

“Why, surely!” you bellowed. “Would you rather run about uncovered, Jaehyun?”

It was instantaneous how he reddened.

“But of course, if that is what you wish, then—”

“Miss Y/N!” he stammered indignantly, his palm heavily dropping onto the table, causing it to rattle. “I— I had never expected vulgarities of any kind to be expressed by lips such as your very own.”

His flustered outrage was very much obvious by the way exhaled in such an exasperated manner, looking away into the window because it was far less perilous to eye the rose bush peeking from the glass. The red roses matched his face. “I believe this is not an appropriate topic to be discussed over a meal,” he sounded. “It is ill-suited in general.”

Jaehyun was unfortunately unable to catch the glimmer in your eyes. “You seem to boast a deep knowledge about vulgarities, yet you do not know that it is vulgar to speak about a lady's lips without her discretion,” he would not have choked on air if he had caught it.

“Oh my,” Your chair grated against the floor as you stood to help him, but he waved you off back to your seat “I was simply teasing, Jaehyun. I apologize, I really could not help myself.”

He drank from his glass of water, still rather ruffled from the event. “You seem to find a lot of joy from teasing others, Miss Y/N.”

“It is a lot of fun,” you agreed. Thankfully, Jaehyun seemed to have recovered now. “I would recommend the activity to you but I’m afraid you are far too nice to enjoy it.”

“Oh?” he pondered, a raise of a brow. It was about time that he took a bite from the prepared breakfast as he did not want to invade any further, but he was worried that it would be a waste. He took a fork from the table and started to eat. “How are you sure that I would not enjoy such a thing?”

Was he trying to challenge you? You chuckled. He may have seemed tolerant and forbearing over anything based on the air that he bequeathed as he went, but perhaps he hasn’t chosen to forgive you yet for pulling such a jest— he was extremely flustered, after all. You wouldn't have forgiven yourself, either. “It is a first that I have met a gentleman as constitutionally juxtaposed as you are. Are you upset that I teased you?"

“Not at all,” he said. “It would be rude for me to think ill of my host. I simply wonder how you’ve made so quick of a judgement when we've only met twice."

“Oh, judgement is arbitrary, Jaehyun. I draw conclusions as I wish and change them as I wish. Yet so far my impression of you has not changed one bit.”

He was silent for a moment, looking at you so intently that you could hardly recognize him as the same blushing boy as earlier. “Will I ever expect a change, Miss Y/N?”

This caught you by surprise.

It was vexing— how you had no theory on what prompted such a question, and what exactly kind of answer was he expecting and what he was to do with it. Jaehyun appeared to be anticipating your response; he stopped the clattering of utensils altogether and instead waited for you to speak in patience. You had no choice but to simply answer honestly.

“Oh, do you wish for it to change? But I believe my judgement of you is the best judgement one could ever make from a man,” you replied. “Well of course, that depends entirely on you, Jaehyun.”

You couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or less than, because all he affirmed with was a puzzling, thin smile that showed his dimples, followed by a reserved  “I see.”

Throughout the stretch of the day, Jaehyun had continued with his odd, dilapidated behaviour which brought you to the paramount of confusion, irritation, and inadmissible fluster. You could quite confidently assume that his sudden coquetry as you made a turn around the garden, his uncalled for compliments and comparisons, was to prove his insistence that he did, in fact, enjoy a little tease.

Gentlemanly yet competitive, you took note. He is such a character.

Jaehyun only stopped when you admitted defeat right before sunset, but you defended that your initial perception of him had still yet to change because he was still as contradictingly confluent as he was during your first meeting, and you were sure that it would never change. Confusing enough, he visibly dampened when you made him know of it, and you did not understand what was there to be disappointed about. Was he that bent on changing your idea of him? But you assured that your idea of him was nothing but agreeable.

It followed you until dinner with the three men, and by then, you had not the slightest idea that all it took to completely silence one Johnny Suh was a Jung Jaehyun. The reason why, you did not know and you did not care. You should invite him as often as you could.

“I sincerely apologize for my daughter calling you here under the guise of an injury,” your father sent you a berating stare through his glasses, the rhythmic sounds of knives and spoons and forks and plates filling in between the gaps of the conversation. “I hope it has not troubled you so, Jaehyun.”

“What would have been so troubling, papa?” you spoke up, switching your concentration into someone else. “Is Roselake not such a welcoming place, Jaehyun?”

“Well, I have only toured as far as your estate, so I have none much to say regarding the entire village. But you see I have this belief that a part greatly represents that of the whole,” a charming smile was flashed. “If Whitland is already this captivating, then Roselake might be all as well.”

There was a cough from the other side of the table— Johnny— and it stirred Jaehyun’s and your father’s concern. He assured the two that he was fine, but you didn’t fail to catch his expression— one that he always wore when held knowledge of something you did not know of. You opted to fish information from him after dinner.

“Such a well-spoken and well-mannered boy,” your father hummed, reaching out for a dish on the table. Jaehyun politely passed it to him. “Do stay as long as you wish, son. There is no such thing as overstaying your welcome here at  Whitland.”

“Oh, sir. I simply cannot abuse your hospitality.”

“Nonsense!” it was a familiar reckoning— your father’s remark. Jaehyun now knew where your persistence came from. “You would not have travelled all the way here if it were not for Y/N’s scheming. Please, Mr. Jaehyun. We are very much indebted to you.”

“Jaehyun,” you interrupted, smiling piquantly. “I would love for you to extend your visit until Friday.”

At that juncture, Johnny abruptly stopped his meal after spending the rest of it in silence. He shot you a look, to which you gave the look back. He was not even saying anything yet his peace was enough to be an annoyance. You really needed to have a word with him after this.

“Oh, that is right! We will be holding a ball on that very day, Jaehyun. It would be such a shame for you to miss out an occasion while you are already here.”

Jaehyun opened his mouth in an attempt to refute, but he caught your expectant gaze— the evidence of you looking forward to his attendance stopping him from saying what he had planned on saying. “If that is the case, then I suppose why not.”

“Excellent! You need not worry about your departure, son. I will prepare a carriage for you first thing on the seventh if you need to leave hurriedly.”

“Papa, how about inviting the Lee’s, as well?”

Jaehyun brightened at the mention, and your father was in no objection to accede.

Dinner had come to a close with a pleasant mood, and you went off to chase after Johnny who disappeared into the terrace right as the meal struck to an end. He thought he could run away from you. The nerve. You still had a bone to pick with him.

“Johnny Suh,” you announced your entrance, and he simply sighed without even turning around to acknowledge you. “What was that during dinner?”

That being, but not limited to, his constant, incisive stares directed to Jaehyun, his uncharacteristic quietness, and of course the moment he coughed in the middle of the scene which would have been dispensed by you if it were not for that irksome, knowing look on his face quite immediately after.

“Why do you not join Jaehyun and your father in the lounge?” he dodged.

“They are talking about farming," you grimaced. "Your presence is more welcomed than that. But anyhow—” you huffed, taking a stance right beside him. He was leaning against the railings in such an easy manner that annoyed you to bits. “Why do you not tell me what you have in mind?”

A moment of silence. He smiled at you knowingly.

“I have faith that you would know in due time.”

What?

“Johnny, I do not—”

“Moving on,” he brushed you off. You glared indignantly. The absolute nerve. “Hwayoung and Jaehyun?”

Ah.

Your eyes twinkled, your temper subsided. He looked at you with curiosity. You pursed your lips into a smile. “A good match, are they not? I believe this would be my greatest one yet,” you confidently declared and you had expected him to agree, to provide support despite his disagreements towards your pursuits as he usually did, but all you got from him was a painfully insulting laugh; sounding nothing but impertinent ridicule. If murder were not a crime, you would have pushed him off the balcony at that very instant.

“Miss Y/N, take this advice from a friend,” he breathed out in between chortles, needing to switch around his position as he was nearly stumbling in his own twisted amusement. “Do rethink your decisions. I am confident that this match will not go the way as you are used to.”

“Dear John,” you spat, venom lacing in each utterance. “You and I both know that I am miles closer with each of them than you are, I am more sympathetic towards the emotions of others than you are, and therefore it is not impetuous for me to conclude that I am a more fitting judge to this match’s success than you are.”

“And that is exactly where you fail.”

You blew a hot breath, appalled. Was he simply doing this to prove his superiority? To gravel you to the ends of the earth with a much more severe attempt?

“I am not saying to challenge you, Y/N. Do as you wish, I assure you that I will not go against,” he stated, ready to make his leave, walking from the railings to the terrace door, and your eyes followed him all the way through. Though before he left, he made sure to make one last testimony. “But do know that there are some things that can only be seen from afar.”

It was safe to say that this was the second night that you had not managed to fall asleep, but this time was for a different reason. That being the fact that Johnny’s words ceaselessly, obnoxiously echoed inside the taverns of your head like a damned curse in frequent enough episodes to drive to the very brink of insanity.

You were about to go insane— proven by the fact that you were quite literally mumbling to yourself inside the public space of Roselake Tailler Shop.

“That man speaks nonsense! Nothing but utter, indisputable, ridiculous nonsense! He thinks he’s sharper than me for simply being a few years older, when really he is none the wiser! Gosh, that stupendously arrogant—”

“Miss Y/N?”

A soft voice broke through. Dear lord, how you have forgotten.

Prior to your episode of madness, you had shoved Jaehyun into the hands of the dressmaker to fit his suit for tomorrow’s ball. It was on quite a short notice, but luckily you were acquainted with the owner, and that she already had a select few that suited Jaehyun’s frame and face with only a few alterations needed. Now, Jaehyun had emerged from the back of the shop, donning a dark tailcoat, cravat in a stylish ruffle, and bottoms that perfectly accentuated his tall height. You had nearly forgotten all your distresses from earlier.

“Is this all right?”

Yes, he was absolutely dashing, but could he please momentarily keep it down for the sake of your gradually withering rationality?

“My god, Jaehyun. That is by far the most foolish thing that I have ever heard you say.”

You marched up to him, evading the rolls of cloth and stands that littered the place, up until you found yourself standing right before him. His cravat was in a slight mess, and so you silently took it upon yourself to fix it, not realizing that you were far too close for Jaehyun’s comfort. You did not notice the way his eyes widened, the way his breath practically stopped when he could see how your lips pursed in concentration as you were very very close to his face. But what you did notice— albeit only when you looked up for a fleeting second— was that his ears were very much tinged red.

Johnny’s words echoed once more. You squeaked and stumbled away.

He is just poisoning your thoughts, that damned rat.

Unfortunately for you, there was a dress form right behind, and from your stumbling, you had almost fallen over it, setting off a disastrous domino that would have led to an absolute mess inside the shop. But of course that never happened. Jaehyun had not let that happen. He was just in time to catch your fall, arm steadily hooked around your waist, the other swiftly moving to balance the dress form, and his handsome face just as close as ever.

“You seem to have an inclination for situations where you are destined to fall, Miss Y/N.”

Your mind was yet to fully register your current situation, yet your heart was already far too many steps ahead with the sudden flushing of heat, darting of your nerves, and sporadic fluttering of your eyes.

Oh dear god.

With a cough and a huff and a stutter, you hopped back onto your feet. “I—It is not like I deliberately put myself into these situations. I assure you that I am not as clumsy,” you straightened yourself, a stern look on your features, though somewhat forced. Johnny was the cause of this pitfall; had he not rooted those ridiculous notions into your head, this never would have happened. “Please put your hair up on the day of the event.”

He smiled at you. “Ah, I will keep that in mind. Thank you.”

You blamed Johnny for all the palpitations that you have endured and have yet to endure within your presence of this deadly man.

Easy, Y/N, easy, you inwardly sighed as the both of you finally left the shop, entering the main streets of the village. The tailor said that his suit was to be delivered later in the day. Everything will fall into place by tomorrow— this is simply a test of your fortitude.

Your assurance was generously granted as you and Jaehyun strolled through the streets of Roselake on the way back to your estate, because in every side and every corner, from passersby and lingerers, people seem to have been magnetized towards your companion. You smugly smiled in voluminous pride. A head turner was he indeed, though he seemed to pay no attention to the stray stares. It was either he didn’t know or he didn’t care, but you were granted to believe that the former was far too unlikely.

“Jaehyun,” you roused. “Are you aware of the attention that you’re garnering?”

“I am aware that people have been looking this way since earlier,” he sent a polite smile to a nearby group of young ladies that were sitting at the side, right before bringing his attention back to you. With how the rays of gold were showering atop his dark hair, highlighting all the high points of his face, one might believe that even the sun was magnetized by him. “But I believe it is you that they are looking at, Miss Y/N.”

You laughed. “Please do not impart with me your false modesty, Jaehyun. Even a child is enamoured by you.”

“You are far too kind.”

At the suggestion, a little girl had walked up to him along with her sister— Miss Hana, you had recognized. It was an endearing exchange, Jaehyun and the little girl, and though you were willing to wait, Jaehyun had cut the acquaintanceship short, much to Miss Hana’s dismay. Perhaps it was not only the little girl that was enamoured.

“It is simply the truth, yet you insist on pretending,” you sighed, lamenting. He only chuckled in response, striding beside you as you crossed the busy street. “I can already see it, Jaehyun. Almost everybody at the ball tomorrow will be wondering who is this esteemed gentleman that Miss Y/N L/N had brought along to Roselake. Why, dozens will be vying for your favour.” It was unusually crowded today, possibly due to the event tomorrow. All of Roselake was to be invited, after all.

“It is nice, but I do not necessarily seek the good favour of everyone around me. Your father, your good friend Johnny, Mr. Jeon, and you, Miss Y/N,” a horse carriage interrupted your walk, the vehicle passing just inches away from your side. Jaehyun gallantly pulled you away, his hand on the small of your back, and it elicited a quiet gasp from your part. You landed on his chest, and he looked you in the eye. “It is your good favour that I deem more important than those of a nameless dozen.”

Had you not been devoted to your pursuits, you as well would have been enamoured. He did not care about making a good impression on others, but unconsciously he is doing so.

You quietly thanked him, pushing yourself away once the street was once again cleared. “That you need not to worry about, Jaehyun, because I have assured you many times already. We must hurry if we wish to return to Whitland before sunset; there are still plenty of preparations, after all.”

The evening of the sixth was as lively as the stars in the sky.

Whitland estate was not shy of inviting guests, and just as you had anticipated, almost if not all of Roselake have welcomed themselves into your manor. Visitors and guests flooded inside the ballroom and out, the gardens and yards littered with the jubilant merriness of conversations and introductions. You gratifyingly smiled as you stood at the center of the ballroom, underneath the striking chandelier, and you greeted people as they came and went. The current guest being Mrs. Qian— who lended a generous hand in preparation for the ball.

“You have always had an eye for the littlest details. It is quite thanks to you that the mood is pleasantly heightened,” you said with great praise, yet your former governess simply laughed it off in modesty.

“Dear Y/N, none would be merry making right now if you had not designed the entire event,” she rebounded, the liquid in her glass swaying in tune with her movements. “You are most fitting to be the lady of the house, Y/N. All that is left is to marry, but of course, you have no plans in doing so.”

“I need not a man to run the estate, Madam,” you mused, not adding anything further thanks to a new presence arriving. “Oh, Mr. Qian.”

You humbly bowed, and he followed suit with a drawing smile before he took place beside his wife. “I apologize, Miss Y/N, but allow me to seize my wife for a moment.”

“No apologies needed, sir. You are very much inclined to do with her as you please.”

Your teasing remark elicited a hearty laugh from the couple, and right after they disappeared into the crowd. It was quite strange how unaffected you had become to your dear friend and governesses’ marriage despite being wholly wrapped in grief only a week ago, but perhaps it was about time that you had come to its acceptance. You were very happy for the two’s union, and happier when it was, of course, orchestrated by your command. You could not have thought of a better ending for the both of them.

Moments later, you had retired to a separate room which was far quieter primarily because there was a dance going about. You would have joined, but there were not enough willing men who wanted to partake, and that at every second there seemed to be a guest that wanted your conversation. You had just sent away Mr. and Miss Yoon because the daughter’s father could not stay up for too late, and despite it being already hours into the ball, you had still yet to meet Jaehyun or Hwayoung.

Perhaps they found themselves to each other, you jokingly thought as you readied to come inside once again. No matter how unlikely, that instance is still very much welcomed.  

Just was you crossed the frame of the open door, a voice called out to you.

“Miss Y/N!”

It was impossible to hold back a smile.

“Oh, Miss Y/N! Oh, how I missed you so!” in came Hwayoung running into your chest as she buried herself in a tight, gripping embrace. You laughed, caressing the crown of her head while she went on with her declarations of much she longed to see you while she was away. She turned her head up, a blooming excitement on her face.

“My sweet blossom!” it was against your better judgement how you decided to squeeze her plump cheeks in between your palms, planting a tender kiss on her forehead. You really could not help but to coddle the younger girl. “Are you well? Was the trip pleasant? Oh, I should have sent over one of our carriages so you’d been of best comfort.”

She managed somewhat of a response, though it was barely coherent (“ish okay!” she tried to say, but at least you understood). Prying your hands away from her face, she beamed at you, excitingly swinging your arms back and forth. “I am very happy to be back again!”

You smiled at her fondly. “I am very happy to have you back again as well, Hwayoung. Come, let us get inside.”

As you two passed by the many guests with Hwayoung clinging onto your arm, she had told you how it was like at the boarding school— her storytellings had always been convoluted, going back and forth from one scene to another, which was a fitting reflection of her bright and youthful nature. Though, when the both of you squeezed past the energetic dancers, the topic had shifted; and you more than welcomed the change of subject.

“Miss Y/N,” she started, a large, curious smile on her face as she talked. “I had been talking to Miss Hana as I walked toward the manor— oh! This was before I managed to find you— well anyway. She had told me that you had been acquainted with such a handsome gentleman while I was away! She says that he is more handsome and agreeable than Mr. Taeyong Lee which I found really surprising because Mr. Lee is quite the most dashing fellow I have ever seen! Is it true? Did you really meet such a man?”

Hwayoung looked at you with her big, round eyes with such an adoring enthusiasm that you could not help but release a chuckle.

“One at a time, one at a time,” you tapped her nose. “I cannot say whether he is more handsome than Mr. Lee,” you smiled, “I will leave you the judge of that, Hwayoung”

“Oh my, Miss Y/N!” she gasped. “Are you allowing me to meet him?”

“If that is what you wish, then who am I to say no?”

“I would love to, Miss Y/N! I should better express my thanks to him as he kept you company while I was away, even if it was only for short. I could only imagine how devastated you must have been with Miss— oh rather, Mrs. Qian marrying. You were not too lonely, were you, Miss Y/N? Oh, I do hope not; the very thought makes me so sad because Miss Y/N is far too great of a deal to ever feel sorrow.”

You did not have the heart to tell her that you had indeed been inflicted by troubles. You had many acquaintances considering your status in society, and you have indeed busied yourself with the company of Miss Jihye Kang from Hartlace, and sometimes even Mr. Renjun Huang whenever you were sick of the emptiness of your drawing room. At one point you had even invited Mr. Jaemin Na to your estate— which was quite unheard of because once the public had made news of you and him being in the same space, rumors were sure to arise and you simply found it far too cumbersome to deal with for the mere sake of having company.

Yet despite all these many acquaintances, none could take the familial position of Mrs. Qian’s wit and wisdom, nor could they rival the fondness of your dearest Hwayoung. It was blasphemy to even compare. But you didn’t have the heart to admit this to the girl.

Well, a thought flickered. There is one.

“Miss Y/N?”

“Oh, not at all, Hwayoung,” you flashed her a smile. “Come, let me introduce you to him.”

Jaehyun believed that he was struck with bad luck the moment he had entered the ballroom, because somehow, despite all of the odds (that were quite frankly stacked against him), there was not an instance where he had caught you alone. You were always with a person or two, never by yourself.

Was he to suffer the entire night?

“Miss Y/N—” you were skewed away by a Miss Kwon.

“Ah, Miss Y/N—” Donghyuck had decided that it was the perfect time to drag you into a dance.

“Miss—” he could not interrupt while you were so amiably conversing with a couple, could he?

He could not.

Once again, he could only sigh as he witnessed your retreating frame, presumably accommodating two of the guests who were ready to make their leave for tonight. He could not even garner the chance of telling you how beautiful you looked in burgundy and gold. He had come to accept that he will never get the chance to tell you.

“This is not an event of frowns, Jaehyun. Are you not enjoying the party?”

Mark, who was alone at the moment as the rest of his brothers were running about, had come to approach his evidently despondent friend with a drink in hand. If he could read his friend’s thoughts, which he could not, he would be able to hear him lamenting over the fact that he even styled his hair up tonight just as you had asked him to (with the assistance of Johnny, of course. The two got along quite well). You would not even be able to see it.

“I am just tired, Mark. No need to worry,” he pressed his lips into a thin smile. “And you?”

“Very much so!” he nodded. “Donghyuck seems to be in his element here, and Jeno has finally come out to join a few others after hiding behind the statues and pillars— Miss Y/N’s earnestness managed to force him out of his shell and— oh!”

Mark lit up in the middle of his thoughts, while Jaehyun only dampened at the mention of your name. Even Jeno had an opportunity to talk to you.

“Please do send our thanks to Miss Y/N for inviting us here! And of course, my gratitude is with you as well, Jaehyun. If Miss Y/N did not like you as much, then I believe we would not even be—”

“What?”

If Miss Y/N did not what?

“What are you saying, Mark. Miss Y/N simply views me as a friend.”

Mark knitted his brows in confusion.

“Oh, does she? Did I misunderstand? I thought she fancied you, really. She would not have called for your presence all the way here, in Whitland, in such a short and desperate notice if she did. Even insisting on your extended stay,” he drank from the glass, shrugging. “But I suppose I was mistaken.”

“Uh—” arranging his thoughts and words in a coherent manner was quite impossible considering his physical state and state of mind— his usual tells being reflected by his ears and Mark did not fail to notice but he remained quiet as he waited for Jaehyun to operate again. But out of further misfortune because his bad steak still had not yet come to an end, he saw you, unmistakably so, approaching him from a distance

The one time he wished not to confront you had to be the time that you decided to confront him.

Fate be damned.

“Jaehyun?”

He sped off in a rush and panic that hesitation could not even catch up.

Mark could not comprehend his friend’s sudden actions, but he could not go after him because at that very moment, you had decided to show up right in front of him.

“Was that Mr. Jung just now?”

Hwayoung asked, confused. You answered her, just as confused. “Indeed. I’ve no idea as to why he ran away, though. Mark?” your eyes flicked to the by who seemed to be in a trance. “Is there a problem with Jaehyun?”

“I’m not too sure either, Miss Y/N,” he answered, still dazed.

“Well,” you clicked your tongue, looking towards the entrance where he disappeared off to. An idea ventured inside your head. An opportunity just presented itself. You looked over to the younger girl. You inwardly smiled. “Hwayoung, would you mind checking up on the lad? He probably went off to the fountain.”

“Oh, should you not be the one to check on your friend, Miss Y/N?”

“Perhaps I had done something to upset him as he ran away the moment I approached,” you sighed in dismay and Hwayoung's expression was tugged down into a frown. “I believe it would be best if I leave him for the time being. But I do not wish to simply fester his constitution further.”

A look of concern shrouded Hwayoung. “Oh dear, that is most unfortunate! Would you like me to talk to him, Miss Y/N? To find out why he might have not wished to see you?”

“Such a kind girl, but there is no need,” you lifted your hand to her head in an affectionate pat, smiling. “I ask you to be in place of me, dearest. Your social gallantry will be sure to bring his spirits up.”

“Are you sure, Miss Y/N? Would it be all right to leave you alone?”

“Mark shall keep me company,” you beamed in assurance, grabbing the unsuspecting boy by the arm, who flushed scarlet at your sudden action. “You may go, Hwayoung.”

Now ascertained, Hwayoung nodded in determination. “Understood! I will be sure that Mr. Jung Jaehyun returns to Hollybrook without any misery or grief. Then I will be off, Miss Y/N!”

You sent her off with the fondest expression that you could ever manage. Mark was about to ask you of something, but the boy was far too slow to speak a syllable because not long after Hwayoung’s departure, you discreetly went off as well to follow her with a considerable enough distance as to not be noticed. Intrusive inquisitiveness was not your proudest trait, but you could not help yourself.

There, through the window, you watched as Jaehyun and Hwayoung animatedly conversed under the shining moonlight, and a smile stretched by triumph displayed on your features. You did not miss the way Jaehyun's eyes disappeared mid laugh from something she had said. It was far too impossible to not love a lovable girl such as Hwayoung. Things had been going just as you had predicted as the two seemed to be enjoying each other’s company, but of course your judgements were always correct. It was inconvenient that you couldn’t hear what they were conversing, but knowing their more than pleasing introduction to each other would suffice for now.

Introduction meant acquaintanceship, and acquaintanceship to friendship. All knew what came after next.

The morning after the ball, all the guests including Jaehyun, Hwayoung, and the Lee’s have left Whitland with as much pleasure as when they have arrived. You had not woken early enough to interrogate either of your two subjects on the happenings of last night, and therefore you had arranged a tea party with the both of them at their earliest convenience— which happened to be Wednesday of the next week.

It was for tea on the invitation, but of course you had other motives at hand. Johnny simply ridiculed you when you had told him. That was to be expected, but you only told him because you were determined to prove him wrong.

“She is quite the beauty, is she not? well-mannered too.”

You took a small sip from the teacup, eyes following the excitable girl as she collected flowers from the shrubs as you had instructed. It was at the back garden that you had arranged the small gathering. Hwayoung was not fond of tea so she went off to gather flowers for a new drawing of hers. You knew that of course. How could you not. You specifically settled for a tea party because Hwayoung would have still chosen to come, though she would simply not join you. That was the perfect opportunity to figure out what kind of opinion Jaehyun had for the girl.

Perhaps Hwayoung had noticed your stare, so she momentarily stopped picking the fresh blooms to send a bright smile and wave to your direction. You returned the gesture with an air of fondness.

“Although I have to say— she is a tad slow and air headed at times. But rather it adds more to her charm than making it fall short,” with a clang, you replaced the porcelain onto the saucer. “Do you not think so, Jaehyun?”

No answer. Your eyes flickered over to the boy.

“Jaehyun?”

“O-oh! Yes— uhm,” his gaze wavered, visibly startled unlike his usual disposition. His ears were pink. A shameful pink. As pink as the carnations decorating the table. Your curiosity was drawn. It was a relief that him running away from you during the ball was only a one time occurrence; you were afraid that he wouldn’t take your invite, but surprisingly he answered with much promptness and without any complaints or excuses. “I apologize, Miss Y/N. I admit that your words were not completely received by me.”

Your lips quirked upwards. That was easier than you had thought. “It is all right. Enjoying the scenery, perhaps?”

“The scenery,” he coughed out. “Indeed. A lovely scenery, indeed.”

“Is such a sight present in Hollybrook?”

“Unfortunately and quite fortunately not,” Jaehyun replied, the blush that had been painting his fair skin now fading but not completely subsiding, and his usual, dimpled smile taking place with an air of charm. “Such a sight can only be seen here.”

The smile on your face grew triumphantly wider, and your eyes directed back to the flower-picking Hwayoung, who had already filled the basket to the near brim. The summer leaves fell perfectly into place and you needed not to even intervene. It was only a matter of time until another successful match was to bloom thanks to your favor.

“As expected. Then I shall leave you to admire the scenery further, Jaehyun.”

He simply nodded, but you weren't looking at him to see.

Unbeknownst to you, Jaehyun's attention had been long riveted to the same spot ever since. He simply wondered how long it would take for you to notice.

To say that the next few days were eventful would be an understatement.

Your determination in getting them together alone in contrast with Jaehyun and Hwayoung’s insistence in keeping your company did not come into confluence, much to your frustrations and disheartenment. They are very clearly enraptured by each other— you were not amiss to the smiles they shared, to their heightened enthusiasm for the others’ presence, and the confirmation that you sought for was already given by Jaehyun during your time at the garden. But if they were far too shy to take their steps towards each other, you were left to take it upon yourself to string them together under the impression of destined, fated coincidence.

Today was also one of your devices.

“Mr. Jaehyun, I am very honored to be bestowed upon an opportunity to make a round in your lovely farm— granted it is my first time to visit one, but Hollybrook is a very refreshing spot to visit around the summer! I might have to schedule another trip here,” Hwayoung revelled in the natures of the area in the countryside, as she and Jaehyun strolled along the dirt path underneath the shade of the tall trees.

Jaehyun mirrored the younger girl’s smile. “I am glad that you think so, Miss Hwayoung. But it is quite a coincidence that we have been frequently running into each other as of late,” though welcomed, he had not expected Hwayoung’s arrival, as it was fully unannounced.

“Oh, but it is for sure such a delighting coincidence!” she beamed. “Miss Y/N and I were supposedly meeting here today, but quite unfortunately and on such a short and sudden notice, Mr. Johnny had come to visit. Poor Miss Y/N really did wish to come.”

Wait a minute.

Jaehyun stopped walking. “Miss Y/N asked for you to come here?”

“Why, yes. I had already departed when Mr. Jeon came and made news to me that she was not to come anymore. Oh, did you perhaps wish to see her? I believe she would not mind an unannounced visit if it is from you, Mr. Jaehyun.”

Miss Y/N had declined his letter of visiting Whitland earlier today, saying that she had somewhere to be.

Hwayoung had grown concerned at her companion’s sudden silence, but Jaehyun was yet to be ready to resurface from his thoughts. He was aware that this had not been the first time you had brushed him off, that you had deliberately made way to erase yourself from the narrative just so he and Hwayoung would be alone. Many a times have you invited him over only to be met by your absence, times that you left in a hurry over reasons that were questionable yet he did not choose to question. He was neither blind nor stupid nor unaware.

He simply did not linger for he cared too greatly about your opinion.

Even when that opinion was evidently unreciprocated.

“Mr. Jaehyun, did I say something wrong?”

But even if that was the case—

“Miss Hwayoung,” he started. Hwayoung was surprised by the sudden volume and seriousness of his voice. “I am afraid I must take my leave.”

“You slithering snake.”

Johnny simpered, looking you in the eye as he toppled over your King on the chessboard.

“It appears you still have a long way to go, Miss Y/N.”

You were starting to regret your decision of inviting Johnny over for a game of chess, but it was a very much needed excuse in order to make sure that everything was to work. From your calculations, Hwayoung was probably with Jaehyun at Hollybrook right now, as Mr. Jeon had already earlier in the afternoon from his task of making her know of your absence. You did not enjoy lying to any extent, only bending situations into your favor, which is why you were led to the very invite that you were oh so desperately trying not to regret.

This was the third game that finished with your defeat, and this was definitely not the last as you two decided to set up the chessboard once again. You were far too stubborn for a defeat. “Please,” you scoffed, lining up the pawns indignantly. “I have far too many thoughts running about inside my head at the moment, and it is not to my surprise that you have won this game by chance. I will win the next one.”

“Y/N, we have played chess many times in the past and never once have you won against me. But it is all right. I will pretend for the sake of your satisfaction,” he codded. “Do some of those thoughts involve Mr. Jaehyun and Miss Hwayoung, perhaps?”

“A grave majority, Johnny. Not some.”

“Well,” he had a rook wedged between two of his fingers, his chin resting on the same hand as he looked at you smugly. You rolled your eyes in preparation for whatever ridiculous chide he had in mind. “From that statement alone, then I assume that your plans are not going as smoothly as you would like.”

You scoffed, raising a brow at him. It appeared that the next game was already to be postponed.

“Quite the contrary, actually,” you refuted, taking the fallen knight into your hands. “The past few days have been going exactly in my favour. Before you make any hasty conclusions, Johnny, I suggest that you see how the two are undeniably so perfectly enraptured in each other’s company. Hwayoung had always looked forward whenever Jaehyun was announced to be visiting, and Jaehyun had always been especially attentive to the girl. And my, and this very moment, they might already be professing their ardor for each other, just about—”

“Lady Y/N.”

The doors to the drawing room swung open, prompting your attention. Mr. Kim had made a sudden entrance.

“A Mr. Jung Jaehyun.”

You dropped the knight to the floor. A hollow sound echoed inside the room.

“Well,” Johnny hummed and you abruptly turned to face him, eyes widened. “Are you still to continue with your speech?”

You did not, for there were no words that your throat could manage.

The clattering of your heels through the empty hall, the tranquil air of the clear afternoon sky, and the faint brustling of the wind through the opened windows did not resemble the thundering storm of disorder that you carried inside your head as you chased towards the manor’s entrance.

Mr. Kim took much effort in running after you because your pace and temperament was just as fast as the throbbing of your heart that rang inside your ears like a tempest coming to whisk you away. You were wildering.

“Lady Y/N, please wait a moment. Please—”

You pushed the doors open without a moment to waste.

And there stood, a mere few meters away, was Jung Jaehyun.

What could he possibly be here for?

“Jaehyun, what are you— why are you here? Were you not with Hwayoung? What are you—”

“Miss Y/N, it is with great displeasure that I admit that I perhaps am not worthy of your good merit seeing as you are quite in shock and disappointed from my untimely arrival— but I am afraid that I cannot hold it off any longer,” he was breathless as he spoke, and he spared no breath for you to release either as within seconds of his speech, he took his place before you, clutching both of your hands, desperate and rattled, and you could feel it through his pulsing veins. “Therefore before I begin, I would like to ask for your permission.”

You looked up to him, eyes wide and tongue tied. His chest was rising in falling, heaving during the moment of brief pause, and you could not even bear to uncover the emotions running in troubling circles in his dark eyes. You nodded wordlessly. He swallowed.

“I am not as naive as you may believe me to be.”

You could hear your heart pounding.

“I hope that you would not be too gravely burdened by the next words that I am to say— that would be the least of my desires. Instead, I would rather you be freed from the burdens that you have been carrying onto yourself since the moment we first met. Would you like to hear it, Miss Y/N?”

Once again, you nodded.

“I like you.”

For a brief moment, you felt yourself slipping away, or so you thought because once again you were met by the reality of Jaehyun’s fervent confession as he was still holding into your hands with no less desperation as he had since the very first second. It was difficult to breathe at that point. He too, was experiencing the same, but that did not stop him from pouring all the depths of his senseless sensibilities, out of regret that he did not do so earlier.

“However I do not wish for you to be afflicted by affections as heavy as mine, because the mere fact that you are not turning away from my touch—”

There was a pause. Your eyes followed how he lifted your hands to his lips, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss on your knuckles with enough warmth to send your entire being ablaze. He looked at you. How he had never stopped looking at you.

“—is enough to satisfy my yearning heart for now. Good day, Miss Y/N. I bid you well.”

And with that, he left. He left, but not without leaving a memory of him behind closed eyes.

I like you.

It rang inside your head.

I like you.

Once more, it rang.

I like you.

It rang until you were already underneath your covers, the moonlight leaking into the window, but you could not sleep because closing your eyes would mean the recollection of Jaehyun’s ever enchanting visage as he repeated those words in your head until you became sick of it.

Jaehyun liked you. Not Hwayoung. You.

It did not make sense.

Did you mistake his kindness, courteousness, and attentive generosity as something it is not? You had been wrong? That was impossible. He had been far too kind, courteous, and attentive to Hwayoung for you to perceive it as anything else. There was always a special kind of thoughtfulness when he uttered a word to her, presented by his moments of contemplation just before making his utterance. A kind of thoughtfulness that you had only seen in gentlemen who wanted to assert a good impression on someone they liked, yet he decided that he liked you instead of her, which the very idea carried a great amount of absurdity because not once had you caught a subtle hint, even a mere glimpse from him that he carried such— such ineffable feelings for you. He never showed that he did

“Did he?”

Would you have been this heavily affected if he had not?

The moon outside your window had been calling you to sleep, and you deduced that it was about time that you did. You only hoped that your dwellings would cease to transpire in line with the moon, but the opposite occurred, because when the sun had come to rise, so did its never ending repetitions which you had finally come to terms with.

Jaehyun liked you.

This new mantra stretched until early noon, and Hwayoung had come to visit, just before it had started to rain.

And at that very moment— as you both sat in the middle of the drawing room— it occurred to you.

What about Hwayoung?

“Miss Y/N, you never told me that Hollybrook was such an enjoyable farm!” the girl gushed in such a cheerful radiance that contrasted your own casket-ready appearance. How were you to break the news to the poor girl? “The meadows and fields were all so very pretty and— oh! I had met with Mr. Jaehyun for a very brief moment, but he had to leave for reasons I do not know. He seemed to be very shaken, yes, so I assume it was urgent, but I do not hold it against him that he rushed to leave. He is a kind fellow, and how lucky was I that Mr. Lee— the eldest Mr. Lee— was there to—”

“Hwayoung.”

She stopped talking, taking notice of your grey countenance, dazed and unfocused, and she immediately grew worried.

“Yesterday—” you breathed in. “Yesterday a very puzzling thing happened.”

“Oh my, what could it possibly be to have troubled you so much, Miss Y/N?”

“Jaehyun came by.”

Hwayoung’s mouth dropped, pleasantly surprised. “Really? Is that why he left yesterday? Oh, what did he—”

“He says he likes me.”

There was silence. You drew in a deep, regretful breath. “Hwayoung, I—”

A squeal.

“He— he says he likes you? Mr. Jaehyun? He likes you?” she repeated it just as many times as it haunted you leaving you unable to speak or even think for that matter. “Miss Y/N, oh my— oh my, this is—!”

Your younger friend was practically bouncing in her seat from the joy and celebration but you did not understand. Heartache and sighs and despondency— that was what you had expected. But the response that she came up with was enough to somewhat bring you back to your senses.

“Hold on, should you not be upset?” Hwayoung deemed the confused bewilderment crawling onto your face ill-suited for disposition. She grew confused as well. The gap between you and her as you sat across each other seemed far wider than it actually was.

“Huh?” she blinked, cocking her head. “Why should I be upset when this is wonderful news?”

“He says he likes me and not you!”

The volume of your cry caused her to flinch, and you gasped, covering your mouth with your fingers. “Do you— do you not like him?”

“Why, should I not be the one to ask you that?”

“You do not like him?”

“Miss Y/N, you are being rather confusing right now.”

You blinked, mouth hung open in shock. You were wrong. Very wrong. You could not have been more wrong in your life.

“Mr. Jaehyun is a very nice, very good looking, very agreeable man, but I do not like him in the way that I believe you are asking. Not at all,” Hwayoung politely replied, her hands resting on her lap. You had only realized now that the rain had grown stronger. “I do not like him, But you, Miss Y/N.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet hers.

“Do you?”

Did you like him?

It was a difficult question, far more difficult than anything you had ever encountered because you had never— not in your twenty-one years of life— liked anyone in a way that Hwayoung had suggested. How were you to know something you feel when you have never actually felt it? How were you to be sure that this feeling is actually romantic when your emotions themselves cannot judge it? Perhaps this was why you had misjudged Jaehyun and Hwayoung’s opinion on each other; in actuality, you knew nothing of love. You simply did not know.

“Do I like him?”

“Oh dear, why are you asking me, Miss Y/N? It is you that should know the answer.”

But you did not

How did Mr. and Mrs. Qian come to know that it should be each other that they were destined to marry? How did your father come to realize that it was he and your mother that were meant to be? All these people knew what they were feeling, knew who their hearts were set out to, but you—

“Miss Y/N, what are— oh my!”

“Hwayoung.”

All of a sudden, you leapt from your chair and onto the floor right before the poor, startled girl without much of a warning for her to be prepared. You knelt right in front of her, quickly snatching her hands and placing the right on top of the left side of your chest. You looked at her with so much conviction and earnestness that she had no choice but to go along.

“Is my heart beating fast?”

“Yes,” she stuttered. “Quite fast.”

“Hwayoung.”

You had wasted no time to transfer her hands to your face, pressing both of her palms onto your cheeks.

“Is my face getting hot?”

“Yes, quite hot. You are getting quite— wait,” she knitted her brows in dumbfounded perplexity. “Miss Y/N, is this a physical examination? Are you feeling okay? Should I—”

Once more, you had changed the position, with you now holding her hands tightly on top of her lap. Hwayoung stared at you, wide eyed, and perhaps waiting for the next question that you were about to ask.

“Hwayoung.”

You started.

“Could you ask me who I am thinking of?”

“Who…” she echoed, slowly and surely. “Who are you thinking of?”

“Jaehyun.”

You answered at once, looking at her, but your eyes felt like they were looking elsewhere. The rain continued to fall— stronger than when it had started.

“I am thinking of Jaehyun.”

It was against your better judgement to run into the wind, rain, and mud with nothing but two thin layers, but all your judgements thus far have been proven to be false anyway, so who was to say that you were wrong? Hwayoung had called out to you to return to the manor, but you were already far too lost in your thoughts, and too far for your ears to hear because you had already slipped past the gates of Whitfield to your unprompted journey to Hollybrook.

It did not matter if your hem was six inches stained with mud, if you were wet, disheveled, or far beyond propriety’s sake, because all that mattered was for you to tell him about your far too late realization that you, more than you could quite possibly know, liked him.

Him. Jung Jaehyun.

And so you ran through the dampened dirt path, past the daises and all the trees and the linings until you were met by the looming visage of the farm house, breathlessly standing before the fence, until your eyes landed on the familiar figure of a boy sitting underneath the porch, who immediately stood up upon seeing you from a distance.

He was looking at you.

And you were looking at him.

There were no words nor time wasted when he ran up to you, fighting against the onslaught of raindrops to swing open the fence gate, grab you by the arm, and lead you inside the house where the rain was no longer. He sat you on the sofa while he went off to get something to dry you off with, and when he returned, a large cloth towel offered to you, he turned over to the unlit fireplace to start the fire. You had not even realized that you were shaking.

“Miss Y/N, I have not the slightest idea on what is your motivation for running into the rain and mud despite the risk of catching a cold,” he started with a sigh, back faced towards you as he crouched before the now kindled furnace. “But unfortunately if it is the Lee’s that you have business with, they have sadly left for a wedding in Oldham just this morning. I am sorry that your journey to Hollybrook has led to such a waste—”

“No,” you said. “Not a waste at all seeing as you are here.”

He stood up, turning around. The rain was muffled inside the walls of the house, so he could very clearly hear what you had just said.

“Jaehyun, I—”

You felt yourself withering under his stare when you looked up to talk to him, words choked up inside your throat because of his appearance; his hair, face, and skin drenched from running into the rain because of you, yet even with the disheveledness of his constitution, still nothing could compare. You pressed your lips tightly in guilt.

“I have been very, very stupid.”

“Please do not speak ill of yourself, Miss Y/N. You are—”

“I am!” your outburst caused him to flinch, the crackling of the hearth filling the momentary silence. “I am possibly— no, without a doubt the most foolish, stubborn, and idiotic person that you are most unfortunate enough to like because not only was I blind to the feelings that you garnered for me, I was also blind to the feelings of my own.”

He almost doubted the next words that fell from your lips.

“Jaehyun, I like you.”

He had to take a moment.

“Perhaps— perhaps I mistook my admiration for you as simply pragmatic because I had never, for the life of me, harbored any feelings of the sort but that is besides the point because I was very very wrong. I was wrong about a lot of things,” you were stammering, your usual air of self-reliance unable to be found by Jaehyun's eyes. It was a different disposition. He did not mind either one. “But this time—" your breath wavered. "This time I am more than certain that I like you.”

Somehow the rain kept coming, the fireplace kept crepitating, and Jaehyun spoke after a moment of silence.

“Are you sure?”

You looked at him, blinking, unable to decipher his expression. You let out an incredulous breath.

“After all I have said, that is what you respond with?” you huffed, standing up from your seat and marching up to him with heavy steps. ”Jaehyun, what more do I have to say and prove that I really do— oh!”

Too burdened by your indignation, you did not pay much attention to your surroundings, and this you tripped over your own dress that was given more weight after being soaked in the rain. You fell forward with a shrill scream, and just like the past few instances, Jaehyun had been there to catch you, an arm securing your waist, a hand holding your wrist into the air. Startled, you were fixed on him, and you had only caught the subtle grin on his face of amusement, ever charming and directed to none other than yourself. How had you missed it?

You batted your eyelashes. He intertwined your fingers together.

“Then, I am glad.”

This time, you did not miss the twinkle in his eyes, to which you responded with a flustered dumbfoundedness. Heart racing, you tried to push yourself off of him in mere embarrassment— you had completely forgotten how much of a mess you looked, all wet and muddy. But Jaehyun seemed not to care because the moment you let go of his hand and attempted to back away, he simply pulled you closer to him with a more humored expression. You squeaked when you hit his chest once again with a thud.

“What are you doing?” you exhaled, still dazed. He simply hummed with an airy laugh.

“Something I have been meaning to do for a while now.”

You could not even question. You did not get the chance to ask him what exactly he meant by that, but it was not any more needed because Jaehyun’s answer came in the form of a kiss that snatched the air out of your chest within seconds.

It was sudden, how easily you gave in, how within seconds you found yourself slowly slipping away from his touch, how any semblance of elegance, manner, and respectability was disparaged into nothingness in between tangled limbs, shallow breaths, and feverish lips on the cold, wooden floor that you had fallen onto. You gasped, positioned in between his legs and right onto his chest, pulling away to take a moment to stare at Jaehyun’s face, heated under the glow of the fireplace. He hummed a fluttering smile.

“Are you all right with this, Miss Y/N?” Jaehyun asked, running his fingers down your cheek, falling underneath your chin as he planted yet another kiss without a warning. You breathed out a staggered breath. “If you wish for me to stop, please say it now.”

“Is it not far too late for such a question?”

He mused, his hot breath tickling your skin as he drew near to your neck. “Are you sure?”

“You are such a tease.”

“It was you who refused to believe that I am,” he mumbled in between his wet, fleeting kisses all over your bare neck and chest, hands peeling away at your dress that stuck to your body from the rain and you had done nothing but gasp helplessly underneath him. You held onto the hope that he was giving you a moment to compose yourself, that was until he dipped down in between your thighs. “Must I prove it to you at once?”

“I—”

You had not prevented the moan from slipping past your lips as you unconsciously threw your head back when he started nipping on the skin of your inner thighs, his hot tongue darting over your sensitivity without much to hold back. His darkened eyes flickered over to you. “What was that, Miss Y/N?”

You were unsure how you were to last the entire night.

The rain had stopped when the next morning came.

It was thankful that the Lee’s were not yet to arrive until the afternoon, else they would see you and Jaehyun on the floor, in front of the dead fireplace, a mountain of blankets covering your huddled figures with the early sunlight showering over you from the windows up above. Jaehyun had long woken before you, yet he had not moved an inch as your head had been snugly resting over his arm for the entirety of your slumber.

There was a fond smile on his face as he watched you writhing, wanting to run away from the bright, morning rays in your sleep and he couldn’t help but release a laugh. Your eyes fluttered open momentarily after.

“Good morning,” Jaehyun mumbled into your hair, still half asleep when he decided to rest his large hand on your forehead. “You had not caught a cold, have you?” you stared at him, blinking, detached, until all of a sudden the events of the night prior crashed onto like yesterday's rainfall. Jaehyun figured that you had finally woken up when you let out a gasp of realization and attempted to self-consciously bury yourself under the covers.

“My, you are far more innocent than you presented yourself to be, Miss Y/N,” he chuckled as he caged you in his arms from behind, rendering you unable to run away. You squirmed when he tickled your fevered skin with a million kisses. “You may only run away once I am done with you.”

It was far too early in the morning for you to be breathless. You turned around so you could glare at him.

“I tell you that I like you once and now you believe that you can do with me as you—”

“Twice,” he cut you off with a kiss, noses touching, an annoyingly endearing smile on his face. His skin glowed underneath the streams of light. “You have told me you like me twice.”

You could not bear to continue with your indignancy.

It did not take you more than five seconds to bury yourself in his chest with a sigh, to which Jaehyun welcomed you with a fluttering laugh, gently running his fingers through the disheveled state of your hair. “You know, I was very worried yesterday,” you murmured. “I had not the slightest idea on how to tell dear Hwayoung that her feelings were not reciprocated. Only to find out that there were no feelings in the first place.”

“Y/N.”

You looked up to him.

“How am I to tell you that never once had I felt that your friend had liked me of any sort. I believe all knew that my eyes were set solely on you since the beginning.”

“Was I… the only one who did not know?”

“I believe so.”

A sound of anguish left your lips in the form of a defeated groan, burying yourself further into nonexistence. Had Johnny also known? That would explain everything, then. You could only sigh upon realizing how much of a clueless fool you have been— going after the pursuit of something that was already deemed futile before it even came to exist. You could have kissed Jaehyun earlier if only you were not so dense; his words, his actions, and all of the subtle hints that he had been leaving had clarified themselves to you now. It was ridiculous.

“But now you do, so there is no need to be upset,” he chuckled, brushing away the fallen strands of hair from your face. “Shall I accompany you back to Whitland?”

“No, my father will have your head the moment you step foot into the estate.”

You answered without even batting an eye and thus Jaehyun had to believe that you were being serious. You were serious. Your father would have the entire village after him. “Tomorrow,” you had come to a conclusion. “Can you wait until tomorrow?”

Jaehyun smiled at you, daylight not shying away from kissing his soft features. There was not a sound to be heard inside the near empty house— only the ticking of a grandfather clock and the chirping of birds that flew past the window. It was the most pleasant of mornings.

“I can wait until as long as you wish, Miss Y/N.”

© hannie-dul-set, 2020.