#honestly i think one of the reasons people have stopped mocking me for my features is simply because... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spencersawkward · 3 years

Note

i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

#matthew gray gubler #mgg smut #mgg oneshot #mgg x reader

522 notes · View notes

xxxsoukokuxxx · 3 years

Note

I want to hurt myself so- can I request for an angst scenario where Dazai finally opens up about his feelings with someone after a long time (bcz y'know) and they end up taking up advantage of it or using it??? If you want to add on something (not necessary) for Y/N's personality then I would say they're kind of like Nanno??? They give karma to people who have done bad deeds in the past. Thank you!! Sorry if it's too much, I just get excited

Character: Dazai x reader

Warnings: Depressing themes; mentions of self-harm; break-up; spelling errors/grammar errors

Notes: Hi there! Hope you're doing well. So sorry about making you wait so long, I've just been really busy, I hope you understand. Thank you for your patience. Okay, so I didn't know who "Nanno" was so I searched it up and it says something about her being the human embodiment of karma or something? I'll try to write something close to that

_________________________________________________

The Only Constant is Heartache and Emptiness

A lot of things change. People say that change is the only constant thing to exist in this world. But others may think differently and perhaps they're not far off from the truth. It's just that more often than not, it is them who are the ones who are the most misunderstood in this world.

Along with change being constant, there is also heartache and sorrow, insanity and hurt, sorrow and deep trenches of darkness. Quite frankly, Dazai thinks the same, and that true happiness would never last, and in happiness's place lies all these things mentioned.

But what if, somehow someone who coincidentally walked into his life and managed to change his perspective. What if you managed to make him see a glimmer of hope shining in the distance of the darkness he resides in? What if you were that glimmer of hope?

He doesn't know yet that he'd kick himself later for believing so.

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

You both by now were best friends, inseparable. Lying under the stars together was the usual, just like how you both were tonight. Conversation filled with laughter and curiosity about the bright orbs above went back and forth between Dazai and you.

A meaningful silence now filled the air as you lay side by side on the rooftop. The brunette turned his head to the side to look at you. You were so...ah how could he express what he felt? Mesmerizing? Beautiful? ...Warm?

Perhaps it was all of those things. He felt strange, you made him feel all warm and fuzzy. Sure it felt strange but he wasn't complaining. You realized he was looking at you and so you turned your head to meet his gaze. He smiled, genuinely.

Maybe, finally he'd be able to express to you the more...warmer side of his heart to you. All this time you've been his confidant as he expressed to you the dark and icy cold parts of his mind, the things that would drive him insane, he let you see the scars caused by himself and violence inflicted upon him by others. And you were there to hold him, to relieve him and let him have a taste of what true happiness is.

Whenever he expressed the warmer side of him, the softer more vulnerable one, it'd be genuine. He feels some confidence surge through him now.

Expressions and words of genuine love poured out from his heart through his lips. Oh how he'd think of himself a fool for ever letting himself be this vulnerable. You felt no sense of remorse for what you were doing to this man. You "accepted" his love tonight and honestly you've never seen him this genuinely happy.

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

He promised to love you like he'd lose you. And he did. He kept his promise and lost you too. Not in the way he thought however.

He had proved to you so many times that his love for you isn't fake. Dazai doesn't know how to express that warm and happy feeling in his chest bubbling to his throat. Honestly it was bliss. But perhaps he should have reminded himself that if he ever gets too happy, that happiness would soon be lost and everything will become nothing but shattered pieces of glass that he could cut himself on.

You came into his life in the form of karma. You were really going to break him, just as he did to those of his past. How could you hurt him? How could you hurt him after he got a taste of true happiness? How heartless you are.

Trust...yes. That's what it is. He trusts you. Why not use that against him?

Tonight it was just you and Dazai sitting lazily on the couch just enjoying the other's company. Or well at least he enjoyed yours. Perhaps now was the moment to strike, you had been lying patiently watching your prey and now it's time to make your move.

"I'm sorry." you muttered, emptiness visible in your eyes looking straight ahead of you at whatever was on tv.

His eyes widened, he was confused. He quirked up an eyebrow as he turned to look at you. "...sorry for what?" You glanced at him from the side of your eye, "Don't get offended but...I'm gonna be frank. I lied to you, I never really loved you." His brows furrowed and then...his expression became neutral and unreadable.

"You...you lied?..." he got no response for a few seconds. A dark shadow formed over his facial features, covering his eyes. "We just go our separate ways I guess..." you said as you stood up. He lifted his head, following your movement with his eyes. His heart sank.

"Why? Why'd you give me taste of what love really is and then leave me hanging? Why'd you make me trust again?...Why did you make me feel as if I had someone there for me!? ...why abandon me..." You could hear the hurt in his voice as he spoke, the last phrase he spoke was only a mutter.

"Why?" you mocked. "Perhaps you deserve it. You actually thought you deserved to be loved and be happy?" you slyly smirked looking at him. He didn't know what to do. Half of him believed everything you said while the other thought you were lying and that there was a whole other reason behind you saying this. Did you truly not love him? If not then what was all that you showed and gave him these past few months?

While thinking all this he didn't even realize you had walked out the door, he only heard it closing behind you. He was left there confused, empty and bereft. All that could be heard was the background noise of the tv. He couldn't even hear himself breathing. The brunette just sat there with his head hung low with an unreadable expression still on his face.

He feels so foolish. How could he have been so vulnerable? He felt so betrayed by both you and himself. How did he let himself again? How did you manage to break down his walls. And here he was proving that his love was genuine while yours wasn't.

All he had for company now was the emptiness surrounding him and making it's way inside him. His heart which started beating again when he met you has now stopped or at least he can't feel it.

"Why? Why'd you give me taste of what love really is and then leave me hanging? Why'd you make me trust again?...Why did you make me feel as if I had someone there for me!? ...why abandon me..."

"Why? Perhaps you deserve it. You actually thought you deserved to be loved and be happy?"

He didn't deserve it did he? He didn't deserve to be happy...to be loved. A soft defeated chuckle left his throat. Dazai sunk back into the couch. "It's always me that pays the cost...I should never trust so easily." he said underneath his breath. "You lied to me, then left with my heart around your chest..." he smiled and got up.

The brunette grabbed the bottle of sake from the table and left the living room. How foolish he had been...and how cruel you were.

#requests #kiyokoxd #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #angst #bsd angst #dazai x reader angst #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #scenario #ugh this is so bad #i tried tho #i am in this and i don't like it

157 notes · View notes

tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Meant To Be - Loki x Fem! Reader

Summary: Much to your displeasure, your parents have promised you away to the God of Mischief of all people.

Tags: Arranged Marriage AU, Light Elf! Reader

Warnings: Aside from Loki hating himself, nothing.

Words: 2878

I Masterlist I

A/N: Some good old-fashioned, ‘redeemed after The Avengers and the other movies didn’t happen’ Loki. Like, really cheesy, self-indulgent 2012 stuff. I just want to ignore all misery that happens in the series okay?

“Ew! Stop it!”

You were eight at the time when you and Loki first met, by means of negotiation between both your parents.

If only you knew that this encounter should be the first impression of what should be your husband in the near future...

Frigga and Odin could only plead for their son to be on his best behavior - but well, it’s the God of Mischief we’re talking about. Must be hard to inherit such a title from your very birth.

Just when you put the little bonquet of flowers he had picked up for you towards your face to admire it, several little spiders emerged from the blossoms.

“You’re no fun.” The raven-haired boy stood a safe distance away from you, arms crossed as his gleeful laughter turned into a broad sulk. "And your ears are weird.”

“I hate you!” you screeched in your childish rage, throwing the flowers to the ground and trampling onto them. “Where’s your brother? Thor is way nicer than you!”

“Well, why don’t you marry him then?!” he mocked to cover up his hurt pride, picking up a handful of dirt and throwing it in your direction.

“I don’t need any friends anyway...” the little boy whispered to himself, running away from the scene with tears filling the corner of his eyes.

“I don’t need anyone. I’m way better than all of them!”

Not even Frigga was fast enough to catch up with him, while Odin uttered some fake apologies to your parents, promising them that everything will go as planned.

You on the other hand were running towards your mother, tightly grabbing onto her dress. “He’s mean! I wanna go home!”

As Queen of the Light Elves, your mother was a being full of grace and composure - and you were hoping to one day become such a formidable person as well.

She bowed down to your height, petting your hair as you rubbed the mixture of tears and dirt from your cheeks. Just her bright smile alone would sometimes be enough to make you forget about your worries - but not today.

“My sweet child” she cooed, cradling you in her arms. “One day you’ll understand.”

However, this would be the last time you paid Asgard a visit - at least until now. Because no matter how deeply you wished to never meet him again, the words your mother spoke on that day haunted you all those years:

“For this is your duty as a princess.”

[Present Day - Asgard]

It felt so unreal when you stuck your head outside of the wooden carriage, the wind playing with your hair as your glare wandered over the rainbow bridge you were crossing.

Silence strained the air, your parents unable to do even so much as look into your eyes. Hel, how you wished this was only a dream.

Behind you was a whole company of Light Elves, transporting all of your belongings to what should be your homecountry from now on.

Now there was no way back, that much was sure.

You were supposed to meet your soon-to-be husband on that very same day, one day before your wedding to be precize.

One could only guess why you weren’t allowed to visit Asgard again for all those years, even though you were practically born just for this reason - for this person.

To become Loki’s bride was your involuntary purpose, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be truly free.

Maybe your parents thought the God of Mischief to have a bad influence on their growing daughter, pulling you into his harmless yet dishonorable schemes. Or they simply feared you to refuse marrying said man if you got to know him better, finding out just what kind of person you were promised to.

Not that your parents were pleased either...everyone in the Nine Realms knew the stories.

To Odin, there was no point in hiding the disgrace his adoptive son had brought over Asgard. Not only was he responsible for an attack on Midgard, sacrificing thousands of lives for his own sake, drunken by greed for power.

But all of you were shocked to hear that Loki Odinson - or rather Laufeyson - was never Asgardian to begin with.

A Frost Giant.

Among your kind, they were known to be one of the most terrible abominations in the nine realms, and murderer of countless of your kind - and this should be the father to your future children?

Only thinking about this cruel twist of fate made you want to vomit...

So why did you agree to proceed with the preparations as if nothing had happened? How in Alfheim’s name could you reject their offer to wed you to Thor instead of that lunatic?

Was it that through your upbringing and royal duties, you had lost your own free will? Or simply fear of stepping aside the path that everyone had prepared for you?

It was probably the fact that you didn’t want to get into true love’s way...you and Thor stayed in brief contact through Heimdall, and you just knew how much that human girl meant to him.

You were kinda jealous, though...the concept of being in love was foreign to you, having a vague idea of it from novels only. But real life just wasn’t meant to be that was, was it?

You couldn’t escape your fate, that was what it was - for this treaty would unite both kingdoms, bringing peace and wealth for all of their inhabitants.

No way you could be so selfish as to decline...even if it meant you had to suffer for the rest of your life.

“My Ladyship, we have arrived!” a guard spoke as he knocked on the carriage door, with your parents hinting that you needed to step out first.

The very same guard now yelled from the pit of his lungs, making you feel the whole Kingdom of Asgard could hear. “Now arriving: Lady Y/N Y/L/N, eldest Princess of Alfheim and heir to the throne.”

You heared the people whispering as you took your first, insecure steps, blinded by the bright daylight.

“She’s so pale, like ice” or “Why are her ears like that?” were rather nice comments compared to others plainly calling you ugly, scary or a ‘disgrace’.

Of course your Kingdoms had been in a war for several decades, but this was long in the past - before your very birth, even. So what’s the reason you should bear with such hostility in the place everyone expected you to call ‘home’ from now on?

One thing was clear from the very beginning: You would never belong here.

“May I?” a dark, husky voice interrupted your self-pitying. You blinked heavily, still trying to adjust to all those golden surroundings, until your blurry vision finally cleared up.

“C’mon.” The voice belonged to the man in front of you, looking gravely nervous with sweat dripping from his forehead. He was reaching out a hand for you to take, and you gladly accepted since you didn’t want to embarass yourself further by falling out of the carriage.

And still, you managed to somehow miss a step and fall right into his arms. “Oh my, so clumsy” the man snickered as he catched you, clearing his throat as you grabbed onto his chest to regain balance. "Not very graceful for someone of your status.”

“And you are-” The words got stuck in your throat when you stared back into those eyes, their emerald green awaking memories you’d rather forgotten entirely. “L-Loki!”

“Exactly, my dear. The one and only.” Smooth and calm, he pecked a kiss on the back of your hand, andyou couldn’t help but admire just how well he had aged: His wild locks were combed back, sharp features complimenting his face as he tried his best to give you his most innocent smile.

Yet you kept your guard up, always expecting him to somehow embarass you just for the fun of it. “When it comes to him, always expect the unexpected” Thor once warned you, and you won’t forget about it that easily.

“It’s a pleasure finally meeting you” was your firm declaration, only to be rewarded with a scoff. “You are speaking to the God of Lies, Lady Y/N - there is no use in trying to deceive me” he whispered into your ear, making you shiver in unpleasant anticipation.

“Carry her belongings to my rooms” he dismissed the servants with a simple gesture of his hand, offering his other arm for you to cling on as he escorted you through the palace.

The giant halls were almost empty, nothing like back on Alfheim where you and your brethren would enjoy each other’s company in midst of nature. A sole tear escaped your eye when you thought back to those carefree days, which are now over.

“Are you alright, m’lady?” Much to your surprise, your fiancé sounded honestly concerned about your well-being. “If you are tired, we can postpone our tour of the palace until you’ve rested.”

“May I speak from the heart?” You gulped after finishing that sentence, scaring yourself with all the stories you’ve heared about this mad troublemaker.

Somehow you had the feeling that if you were to overstep your boundaries with that brute, it would have consequences beyond your imagination. He might seem generous and polite right this moment, but what would someone like him do if you enrage him? Countless images were circling in your head, one worse than the other.

Loki furrowed his brows, exhalinge deeply. For him, your expression was an open book to what you were thinking right now.

“Y/N, my dear Lady, if you want it or not: Starting tomorrow, we share a bond. I am deeply sorry that a veritable flower as you are had to end up with someone like me, but I promise to treat you as well as possible.”

Turning around so you’d not detect how it hurt him to speak from the heart, he added with a shaky voice “Yet there is no reason for you to hold back your hatred for me. No harm will come your way, I swear upon the little honor I have left.”

Even though his words made you feel a deep sympathy with the god, you weren’t quite sure if you could decipher truth or deceit in them. Maybe he just wanted to lure you into saying what you truly thought of him?

He’s right - you will have to spend the rest of your life with him, so don’t mess this up from the very start!

“I-I don’t hate you!” was the first thing you blurted out, grabbing onto his cloak. Loki turned around, rising his eyebrow as he scanned your face for any hint of a lie.

Althrough it was the truth, at least to a certain extend. You’ve seen each other only once, when you were still little. The rest is all tales and rumours, but you personally don’t have a reason to despise him.

There was no way you could promise to accept his past or heritage, let alone forgive him - yet as long as he’d treat you with respect, you’d return the favour.

“T-There’s just a question on my mind this whole time...aren’t you mad? I-I mean someone like- well...like you...” you gestured around awkardly, almost making him crack a smile. “I mean...I thought you wouldn’t let your parents dictate your life.”

Another deep sigh escaping his mouth, this times with his eyes closed. “This isn’t about Asgard or my adoptive parents. I choose my own path.”

Suddenly, Loki wrapped one arm around you, flicking his fingers with the free one.

“Hold onto me” he ordered indifferent as he casted his spell, teleporting both of you away before you could even comprehend, let alone ask him what he was doing.

It happened in the fraction of a second, yet felt like hovering through an empty space for an eternity.

“Now open your eyes.” You hadn’t even realized that you squeezed them shut during the shift, slowly opening them while Loki lifted your chin with his index finger.

The environment was magnificent. Had you ever seen something this beautiful in your whole life?

Obviously you had no clue where you were, but this was the first time seeing so much untouched nature on Asgard. There were flowers blooming in all colours imagineable, clear rivers crossing the lands in between grassy hills, and animals nearby a small forrest.

“It’s not like I didn’t educate myself about the Light Elves and their way of living” Loki stammered, unconsciously intertwining your fingers with yours as he watched you admiring the view. “So I could make you comfortable here, I mean.”

He plummeted down on the grass, still a little wet from the morning dew, and gestured for you to do the same. It was weird, actually, but also somehow adorable - how the infamous ‘Silver Tongue’ had lost his ability with words. “I’ve done very little right in my life full of wrongs. Hurt a lot of people.”

“Mmmhh” you hummed approvingly, not knowing what else to say - yet for some reason, you didn’t let go off of his hand, squeezing it ever so slightly.

“And even though I can’t possibly redeem myself, I wish to change for the better.” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. “I just never knew how to start.”

Loki Odinson really was full of surprises. He was nothing like the child you’ve met long ago, and the complete opposite of what you imagined the ‘God of Mischief’ to be.

You had expected a power-hungry, selfish and cruel man to wed you - and yet there he was: Insecure and broken, only a shell of the person he once was.

Just what had you missed all those years? What things happened to break someone’s will like this?

And was he truly beyond repair?

“Those past weeks, I have visited Alfheim more times than you could comprehend” he giggled nervously, avoiding your eyes. “Concealed, of course.”

Well, that sounded kind of weird, but you knew better than to talk someone down who was just opening up to you. So your sole answer was “What for?”

“There was no way a criminal like me would still be seemed fit for this ceremony - and yet I was given this chance anyway. My mother told me that it was you who insisted on carrying on the arrangement, so...I just wanted to know what person would be willingly ruin their life.”

Something different was shining through the god’s orbs, and you couldn’t quite decipher it. Was it hope? Hope, that if you had given him a chance, his life could lead into a different direction? To change himself from the burden that was his birth title?

“I-I guess I don’t want to mess this up like I always do” he whimpered barely audible, before staring at you in shock and embarassment. Until now, he hadn’t realized just how vulnerable he made himself.

Just what the hell would you think about him now? You probably had lost any respect, or thought himself to be crazy. How weak...

So he was quick to put on the confident facade again, wearing his smug grin as if that all was just part of a big joke only he’d understand. But even though you barely knew him, he couldn’t fool you.

“Sometimes it’s enough just to try.” Your head turned from the sight of nature to your fiancé and back several times, before you brought up the courage and put a hand on his shoulder, whispering “So you can’t really mess this up.”

“Gladly you don’t seem to know yet just how much misery I cause.” He kept that thought to himself, to not scare you away.

“I am aware that you could never love someone like me, Y/N. But I can provide for you, dedicate myself to making you content with being my wife. My newfound purpose.”

The purpose of a war criminal - that sure put yourself under a lot of pressure. And still, it made you somewhat proud, and grateful as well. Because it was the first time someone valued you as a person, and not the princess of Alfheim.

Unaware of how much time had passed, both of you would get used to each other’s presence in silence, enjoying the nature while you processed this eventful day.

Exhausted from the long travel and all that rollercoaster of emotion, you soon found yourself dazzling into sleep onto Loki’s shoulder. If only you could see him adore you, staring in awe that someone could actually feel so safe in his presence.

Carefully, the god picked you up, gently lifting you on his arms to make your way back to the palace, where everyone was frantically searching for both of you. Well, Loki was used to trouble - but right now, it was worth it.

May it be right or wrong, and even though you couldn’t explain this sentiment, you had a good feeling when it came to the things that were just about to come.

“You won’t regret your decision, Y/N Y/L/N. On my side, I assure you a bright future.”

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki Odinson #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Friggason #Loki/Reader #Loki/You #Self Insert #Fanfiction #Arranged Marriage #Writing #Marvel #Asgard

280 notes · View notes

angelicyoongie · 3 years

Text

everything i brew, i brew it for you

⤷ 1.2k follower event request: Familiar!Seokjin x Witch!Reader + “I should’ve told you back then, but I didn’t want you to leave.” + Fluff/Angst ⤷ @softescapism said: seokjin x reader or OT7 x reader + prompt C8 + witch/familiar, fluff, sfw (hi! could you write a drabble/scenario/short fic for the follower event based on this, please? 💓) ⤷ word count: 2.1k ⤷ a/n: this is a little angsty in the beginning, but the ending is all fluff! i hope you like it!!

“There you are!” You grumble, snatching up a vial from the back of your cabinet. The little thing is covered with dust, the label yellowed with age and barely clinging on to the glass. But even then, there’s no mistaking the content. The shimmering pink powder inside makes you stomach flip uneasily, but you know it has to be done. You uncap the bottle before you can talk yourself out of it, carefully sprinkling the powder counter-clockwise into the boiling concoction in your pot. You can’t help but frown as it slowly turns from clear to bright pink, the stark colour mocking you as you throw in a pair of four leaf clovers with a little more force than necessary. The kitchen is quiet aside from the bubbling brew and the rhythmic tapping of your impatient fingers against the counter, your eyes resting nervously on the dark garden outside your window. You promised Seokjin years ago that you would never make this particular potion again, but you’ve run out of options.

You love being a potions witch, but truth be told, it’s probably the worst financial decision you could have made. All witches have to choose their niche the day they turn eighteen, and you, driven by the long list of potions witches in your ancestry, wanted to follow in their footsteps. What you didn’t account for however, is just how drastically the times have changed. Larger covens have started selling their potions online, making them in big batches to cut down on the cost and shipping them all across the country. There’s no longer a need for a town to have their own potions witch, not when you can get them delivered to your doorstep for a cheaper price. The mass produced potions are definitely not as potent as a singularly brewed ones, but it seems people care more about price than efficiency these days. Well, at least most people don’t care. And considering business has been dwindling so alarmingly fast over the last four months that you’re barely scraping by, there’s not a chance that you can lower your prices anymore than you already have.

You shake your head, trying your best to ignore the tendrils of guilt wrapping around your chest. As long as your familiar doesn’t find out about this order, there will be nothing for him to worry about. That's why you’re hunkered over the stove in the first place; desperately hoping that it will be done in time before he comes home. Tonight is Seokjin’s monthly familiar night with Hoseok and Namjoon, and the only window of alone time you have to make something like this. You murmur a quick incantation under your breath as you give the potion one last stir, watching as the pink brew slowly darkens to red. The sickly sweet smell that whiffs up from the cauldron almost makes you gag, but at least it tells you that the potion is almost complete.

You take a step back, throwing another glance towards the window as you count down the seconds in your head. Five minutes. That’s all you need. It’ll be finished, and you can finally hand over the love potion to your customer tomorrow. Despite your reservations and Seokjin’s hatred for that particular brew, it’s actually not that bad. It can’t force someone to fall in love, but it does make them more .. loose-lipped around their crush if they happen to have one. If anything, it’s honestly more of a rebranded truth serum. It does make you want to confess your feelings, and that’s also where the dubious morality of the potion comes in. Even if the person is already in love with someone, it still forces the recipient to act on emotions that they might not be ready to, or even want to share with their crush. You’ve turned down requests for this potion numerous times in the past, but this time, you truly can’t afford to. Seokjin might be older, but he’s still your familiar. Your responsibility. It’s not his fault that he decided to create a bond with you – a witch who can hardly sell enough potions to keep food on the table. You have honestly no idea how you managed to end up with a familiar like him, one that’s so utterly selfless and helpful. Seokjin’s guidance and assistance feels a little wasted on you, and you can’t help but think that your familiar should’ve ended up with a different witch. One that would actually be able to repay him properly for everything he does. You let out a deep sigh. You’ll just have to do better. Maybe you can try to set up one of those witchgram accounts Taehyung is doing so well on, after all, the ritual witch’s sales has been increasing.

The brew suddenly releases a puff of red smoke, signaling its completion. You hastily grab an empty bottle, scooping up as much as possible as you fill the vial to the brim. ”Shit, not yet,” You can suddenly feel the familiar itch behind your right ear, a telltale sign that Seokjin will be home soon. You scramble to turn off the oven as you hear your familiar open the back door, just about managing to shove in a cork at the top of the bottle and hide it behind your back as Seokjin steps into the kitchen.

”Hey! How was your night out?” You lean awkwardly against the counter, bottle digging into your back as you press it flush against your body.

”It was good,” Your heart flutters as Seokjin comes closer, the handsome features never failing to make your heart skip a treacherous beat. ”How was your night?” Your familiar raises an eyebrow as he takes in your awkward posture, the lingering scent of magic in the air betraying what you’ve been up to while he was gone.

”Boring! You know, just very normal and .. boring,” You wince. You breath hitches as Seokjin stalks closer, the frown tugging on his lips causing another wave of guilt to crash through you. You brain shuts down as he cages you in against the counter, and you swear you only blink before you find yourself staring at a red vial in front of your face, your hand grasping around air.

”I see,” Seokjin huffs, ”It’s so very boring and normal to brew a potion we agreed we wouldn’t sell.” As Seokjin stares down at the bottle with disdain before he places it on the counter, you can’t help but shrink against the wood, wracking your brain to figure out a good excuse. You can’t explain why you did it without exposing Seokjin to yourfinancial issues, and you have no plans of doing it – but, then you catch your familiar’s gaze, his kind eyes filled with saddened disappointment as he says, ”Y/n, why would you do this behind my back?”

The reason bubbles up your throat before you can stop it, the words bitter on your tongue as you blurt out a panicked, ”I had to! Business isn’t going well and we need the money, I couldn’t turn the customer away.” You register the flash of shock in Seokjin’s eyes, the purple tint around his brown irises brightening before he gets it under control. Your familiar runs a hand through his hair, leaving the dark locks messy and disheveled as he let out a deep sigh.

”For how long has this been going on?” You slump against the counter, adverting your eyes down to the floor as you mumble, ”Four months. I should’ve told you back then, but I didn’t want you to leave. I thought I could fix it before it became too much of a problem .. I just didn’t want to make you regret choosing me.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, an exasperated huff of air leaving his lips as he places his fingers under your chin, tilting your head back up. ”Y/n, I would never regret choosing you as my witch,” Your familiar keeps his gaze locked with yours, his eyes urging you to understand the sincerity behind his words. "I just wish you had told me, we could have worked this out together much earlier.”

”I didn’t want you to worry,” You frown. "You already do so much by making deliveries and gathering ingredients, and I didn’t want to burden you more." You feel your breath hitch as Seokjin’s hand moves from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch gentle as he runs his thumb across your skin.

“That’s what I’m supposed to do as your familiar, Y/n. I’m here to help you and guide you, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me when something’s wrong.” You know that, you really do, but it’s still hard to accept sometimes – the fact that you can’t solve everything on your own.

“I’m sorry,” You pout.

”I know,” Seokjin nods, a faint smile on his lips as he moves his hands to your back, pulling you into a hug. ”Just talk to me next time, yeah?”

”I will, I promise,” Your voice is muffled by the thick material of his sweater, but you know your familiar hears you as his arms tighten around your waist in response.

”Good,” Seokjin’s voice is fond as his fingers draw small patterns against your back. You feel yourself relaxing into Seokjin’s hold, your body melting against his as he rests his head on top of yours. ”How are we going to fix it though? I’ve tried almost everything I can think of. There’s nothing that beats low prices and convenience,” You sigh.

”Of course there is,” You pull back at the affronted tone in Seokjin’s voice, your familiar looking down at you like you personally offended him. Seokjin releases you from his hold, his hands flying up to cup his face as he says, ”I can beat that. This–” He points wildly at his face, ”–is sure to bring business in again. No one can resist the opportunity to glance upon this handsome face.” You snort at the expectant expression on his face, rolling your eyes so hard it feels like they’re close to popping out. As much as you like teasing Seokjin for his confidence, he’s not wrong. There’s no one in this town that can come close to Seokjin’s handsomeness, and well, everyone knows it. That’s the biggest reason you have Seokjin running errands and making deliveries, because it means he won’t have to deal with being ogled by all the customers that stop by. For all the banter and smiles he would flash at your customers, you could tell it made your familiar uncomfortable. You could see the way he gently tried to pull away when touches lingered a little too long on his arms, his ears stained a permanent red the days he worked out in the shop.

”Making money isn’t worth it if means you’ll have to do something that makes you uncomfortable,” You shake your head, ignoring the flutter in your chest as you grasp Seokjin’s hands, pulling them away from his face.

”I’ll be fine,” Seokjin says. It’s your familiar’s turn to roll his eyes as he sees the doubtful look on your face. ”I mean it. Please trust me just this once? I’ll let you know the moment it gets too much.”

You hesitate, using the extra seconds to search his face for any uncertainty. ”Fine,” You grumble. You owe it to your familiar to at least extend the trust he has given you back to him.

”Don’t look so sad Y/n, you know you’re the only witch that gets unlimited access to my handsome face,” Seokjin grins.

”Shut up,” You groan, pushing lightly at his chest. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck as Seokjin looks down at you, and you find yourself thankful that familiars don’t have enhanced hearing, otherwise your heart would’ve surely given you away years ago. Something flickers in Seokjin’s eyes, and your familiar’s grin turns heart wrenchingly soft as he ducks his head down.

”I do mean it Y/n, you really are the only witch for me.” You freeze as Seokjin leans in, your blood rushing in your ears as you feel your familiar’s plush lips press against the corner of your mouth. As your brain finally catches up to what just happened, Seokjin has already pulled back. The spot he kissed is burning against your skin, and you barely manage to make sense of Seokjin’s warm gaze lingering on your lips before his eyes flicker behind your back, eyebrow quirking as he says, ”Now, what should we do about that potion?”

Click here for the 1.2 follower event masterlist! Please leave a comment/reblog/like if you enjoyed :) If you enjoy my stories, you can support me here! 💖

#seokjin x reader #bts x reader #witch/familiar au #bts angst #bts supernatural au #bts au #bts fluff #bts fanfic #seokjin fluff #witch reader #familiar seokjin

405 notes · View notes

wroteasongabouther · 3 years

Text

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!*

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #boyfriend!harry #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles concept #harry styles prompt #1dff #cstsyl

725 notes · View notes

tsunderedoctor · 3 years

Text

What the OP Boys Would do if You Have a Bad Day

Part 1 for now

Part 2 in the foretold future (aka when I get the time to use my laptop-)

Monkey D. Luffy

Boy struggles with his self-hatred on important dates in time. Remembering past friends and family who passed is one of his biggest self-hatred motivators. So he does understand when there are times when you are down too! However, he also knows his way to cope might not be the same as how you cope, but it doesn’t mean he can’t try!

Will start by sniffing out the area thinking your feelings are coming from some unknown danger to him. If nothing on the outside around you seems off he concludes it’s something on the inside! After this he will began to come up with his own reasons why you are in a sad/sour mood: stomach ache, motion sickness, boredom, things that usually would resonate with him. If it’s none of those he will just point blank ask you at this point.

“Want some meat? You can wear my hat if you want. I can do an impression on whoever you want!”

Literally just naming out things he knows cheers people up and if none of them work he is stomped! Baby literally cannot process how to help you, will mostly just bug the hell out of you the entire time until you tell him how to help you-

So just tell him.

Roronoa Zoro

He can be observant when he wants to be (a man only motivated by alcohol and swords-), unfortunately he sucks at people skills-

He knows you’re upset/angry/sad, he just doesn’t know how to fix it. Would offer if you want to spar with him since that’s how he copes, if you are weaker however or don’t prefer fighting he would ask if you want to watch him. Would not offer you alcohol (both due to not wanting to lose his precious and not getting you used to coping this way-).

If he sees you cry the dude will lose it a mixture between “Who hurt you?!” and “Stop it!” Truly hates it when you cry because he feels he is failing at his job to protect you (even if you never told him to-). If you want him to do something for you, use this time wisely cause he will do whatever he has to in order to get you to stop crying.

Not the best at giving comfort, but will lend you an ear to listen to you rant. Would also give you advice to cut whoever hurt you. If you are having more self-hatred he would understand and embarrassingly admit his favorite parts about you in order to help you see how people care about you.

Vinsmoke Sanji

Would spoil you (more than usual) to make your day better! Compliments, gifts, food the whole galore! He can sense the moment you wake up that you were off mentally (Vinsmoke senses? Who knows-), will bust through the door and begging you to tell him how to fix it. Honestly you might not even realize you’re in a foul mood until he tells you-

Tells everyone not to mess with/tease you constantly- “They’re having a down day, so Luffy stop talking.”

Will make your favorites and force everyone to eat it/say how good it is- Will also tell you every reason why he loves you (even if they make no sense) and gets you flowers, chocolates, hugs just everything.

The man is like the king when it comes to comfort due to the fact he will legit do whatever you ask of him. “Tell me I’m pretty.” Done. “Am I a good person?” The best in the world. “What if I turn into a worm?” You can have a worm themed wedding-

Just a good puppy trying to please his master-

Trafalgar D. Water Law

The best (worst-) at handling you when you are having a bad day. Will totally doctor nag you the entire time.

“Did you drink water? No? That’s why you’re depressed.”

“Did you get enough sleep? You didn’t? That’s why you’re agitated-”

Will not feel sorry for you if it’s due to your own health neglect; however do not be surprised if after he lectures you, you find some onigiri left out for you or just a randomly placed hoodie you can take a nap with.

If it’s something more mental (as in someone hurt your feelings or you hurt your own feelings) he will just listen to you rant while wearing his usual grumpy facial features. In the inside he’s annoyed at who hurt you (even if you did it yourself-) and is contemplating on how to handle the situation. He won’t try to cheer you up and will give you some sound advice in the end, he won’t force you to take it either, you have to make your own decisions on that.

Is a sucker for tears though; oh boy it’s downhill now. Just in complete shock and can’t talk. Unlike Zoro though, he won’t do anything to make you stop crying. Will just throw a hoodie/Bepo at you and leave- baby can’t handle that-

Eustass “Captain” Kid

Comfort? Him? Okay maybe just a little-

A tsundere where it matters, but deep down cares about you, he just sucks at showing it (and without insulting you first-). Will mock you for letting things get to you, and let’s all be fair here; was probably the cause of your bad day.

Boy just loves to fight, gives him a rush to see you all pissed at him over something stupid he did or said. However, he will shut up completely once he sees even a shine of wetness in your eyes. All that adrenaline is out the window and guilt has overtaken his system.

IF by some chance it wasn’t him who hurt you and it was someone else; please expect to see them get their ass beat. He doesn’t give a shit who the person is either, if they made you cry, they lost all respect from him (which wasn’t much so-). Might have you watch him beat them too, or if it’s too much/you are in a state where you can’t handle it, will bring you a bodily souvenir.

Is the type to suggest you take out your anger in some violent way whether it’s breaking vases or faces, he doesn’t care. “Get the bat babe, we’re going out.”

Killer

He’s the Teddy Bear troupe kind of guy, fight me on it-

Is worried about you the moment you show any low level cues you are having a rough time. Will suggest things you have mentioned in the past that have helped you relax. If you can’t do any of those things or is too down to do anything he will suggest things he knows help him (usually cuddles-).

Will let you play with his hair while you rant about your feelings and how they came to be in that place. Isn’t as bad as Kid, but does imagine what it would be like to show you that you don’t have to worry about a person who upset you because they are dead (if you suggest it though, I mean he ain’t gonna say no).

Babe just wants you to know how much he loves you and needs you in his life; you helped and accepted so much of him he can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose you. So if you are having any negative thoughts, please be honest and tell him, cause he will make them go away in no time.

Also please tell him if Kid says anything mean to you because he has no problem kicking his captain-

Portgas D. Ace

A sweet pup who just loves to love you. Has no problems if you are having a bad day and honestly same boo, it be like that sometimes. I feel he is the most normal (well close to it anyway) on handling your bad day. Will suggest a few ideas and let you decide. If none sound good, then he wants you to think of something.

Will make jokes with you and try fun things to distract your mind. The type who doesn’t like to sit in the past and would rather see the future. So makes plans with you on random things to help clear any stress out of you.

If you are crying would throw his hat on you without saying anything and find the asshole who hurt you to talk to them. If it was something you personally feel will wait to you’re done crying and have the talk with you (Dateline meme “Take a seat”-).

By the end of the day, you honestly forgot you were even upset and that’s his main goal. He wants you to remember all the fun and great things in the world, rather than think about the negative parts we can’t control.

#tsunderedoctor #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #trafalgar d. water law #eustass captain kid #one piece killer #portgas d. ace #one piece #one piece headcanons #my thoughts #I had a stressful day so boys do your job and make me better plz

305 notes · View notes

viperbarnes · 3 years

Text

The Tie That Binds – [Three of Eight]

[B. Barnes, Soulmate AU]

Summary: HYDRA took everything from you, your life, your future, they even burned off your soulmark to make sure nobody would go looking for you. Now the man they forced you to fix reappears in your life, to make amends and to be ‘of service’.

You know that they made him do all those things, that James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is not The Winter Soldier, that he’s innocent. You don’t blame him.

But that doesn’t make seeing him again any easier.

Warnings: Panic attacks, language, talk and depiction of home invasion and abduction, canon level violence, HYDRA levels of torture, angst, fluff, slow-ish burn, friends to lovers.

Note: This is entirely un-beta’d so all mistakes are my own. Thank you for reading!

<- Prev / Next ->

You’ve just stepped out of the grocery store when you’re half-barrelled into by something big and solid. Instead of falling, like you expect, when the moment passes, you realise not only are you standing upright, but that your arms have been relieved of the two heavy paper bags you’d previously held.

It takes you second to fully process the situation, but when you do, you find yourself blinking up at the smug face of Bucky Barnes, your load now tucked easily under his arm, looking a whole lot smaller than when you’d struggled to pick them up.

“Wha– I thought you were away?!” You let yourself gasp in belated surprise, resting a hand over your heart momentarily. He wears sunglasses, which you find odd considering it wasn’t exactly bright out, but you’re still a little too taken aback by his sudden appearance to really make note of it.

“And miss our shopping trip?” He asks, voice filled with mock horror.

“You can’t shake me off that easy. I stick.” The smugness melts from his features, replaced by something softer as you shake your head at him, beginning to walk.

Almost a whole month and a half of these regular, strange meetings, and the two of you had fallen into something that felt a lot like friendship, but crucially, wasn’t quite. Usually he’d help you with your groceries, sometimes you’d corner him at a cafe and seemingly quiz him on aspects of HYDRA and your capture. It was… comfortable, and you hated to admit it, but you’d sorely missed actual human interaction.

Bucky moves to walk beside you on the footpath, and you eye him. You understand why he wears sunglasses now, at this angle you could clearly see the large purple and black bruise around the ring of his eye, and when you take a closer, less subtle look at his clothing, you realise he’d simply thrown on his heavy winter coat over top of what looked like a blue motorcycle jacket.

“You know I would have been just fine if you had somewhere else to be…” You venture, shifting your eyes away from him as you speak. Bucky glances down at you, and then at his attire.

“Just got back.” He says shortly, though you’ve come to know that was just his way sometimes.

“Most people might go take a shower… get some sleep… not go help some lady with her shopping.” You muse.

The slight smugness returns to his face and his gait and he swings his head to look down at you with a corny grin, only added to by the shades.

“Most people aren’t me.” He tells you cockily, leaning down slightly to emphasise this. He leans back again moments later, as if considering you, and you squirm a little under his gaze.

“Besides, I think you like having someone do the heavy liftin’.” It’s still part of his act, something halfway between a shadow of himself from a different time, and a romance lead perhaps.

You noticed he fell back on humour, on sarcasm or this faux personality whenever he felt like his true response wouldn’t be acceptable. Maybe most people wouldn’t notice the shifts so clearly, but you do. You did the same thing any time you had to interact with another human being.

Still, the way it makes butterflies appear in your chest sends you off kilter every time, not just because it was him, but because it had been a solid amount of time since anybody spoke to you or flirted with you like you were a halfway decent option. Especially someone who looked like Bucky.

You weren’t blind, you’d recognised his objective attractiveness long ago, somewhere in a dimly lit room, where tracing his jawline was a distraction from whatever else.

But it was different now. He wasn’t just the tragically beautiful assassin you were forced to work on, he was… Bucky.

An almost friend.

Bucky.

You scoff at his display, and at any fleeting notion that he’d even really look at you twice, and shake your head.

“I can’t say it doesn’t help on the days my hands shake too much… Lost one too many cartons of eggs to that.” You chortle at your own past predicament.

You miss the way Bucky’s smile falters, and his shoulders drop, and he forces himself to look away from you for several seconds.

“Where were you, anyway?” You ask, changing the subject as you come to a set of lights. Bucky shifts your groceries to his other arm and cocks his head at you.

“I’m pretty sure our deal was that I answer questions about what I used to do. Didn’t think my current shenanigans were on the table…?” You see an eyebrow rise above the lens of the glasses, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. I didn’t want to hear about your sidekick stuff anyway.” You turn away from him slightly only for him to step into your view again.

“Sidekick? You call me a sidekick?” Bucky sounds almost genuinely offended, and you scoff, leaving him trailing behind you when the walking light turns green and you make for the other side of the street.

“Please, you’re basically a professional sidekick.” You can’t keep the grin from your lips now as Bucky hurries to catch up with you, his brow now in a deep set frown.

“That’s unkind. That’s hurtful.” He tells you, truly, honestly pouting.

“I’ll have you know my sidekick stuff is extremely interesting.” He continues, sticking his nose up a little now. You shrug.

“Probably, but you didn’t wanna tell me about it so…” You spin to face him as you speak, stopping on your apartment buildings stoop.

Bucky still pouts as you blindly buzz yourself in, taking towards the stairs right away. Bucky follows, and you realise a little too late that he never usually came inside with you. He’d usually hand over your things at the door. Truthfully, as dismissive as you were being, you were actually rather glad he’d shown up, and you weren’t quite ready yet to part ways.

The rest of the climb to your floor is filled with Bucky huffing about how cool his job was, and you internally wondering if it was too weird to invite him inside. Your fear of the man had all but evaporated, despite the frequent dreams you’d been having, but you wonder if letting him into your home would change that.

Your apartment was your sanctuary. You had escape routes mapped just in case, you’d organised your things so that there was always some kind of makeshift weapon available to you in every room… considering these plans were made with his last break-in in mind, you’re not sure how your subconscious might react to having him physically within your space again.

You act as natural as possible, and when you do reach your door, you force yourself to steady your hand as you unlock it. Bucky had stopped even his playful whining, and you know he isn’t ignorant to the current situation.

Stepping inside, you hold your door open with your hip and casually jerk your head in the direction of your kitchen.

“That can just go on the counter.” You say, cursing the slight shake in your words. You continue ahead of him quickly, even as you hear your door close shut behind you, depositing your purse and coat on the sofa.

Bucky does as you say, and you turn in time to see him step back from the countertop, his eyes darting around the space quickly.

A different kind of anxiety rolls over you then, and you regret having not tidied up a little before inviting him inside.

“It’s a little messy…” You apologise, sweeping some dust from the nearest surface and scrunching your nose. Bucky blinks at you and frowns, opening his mouth, but you accidentally cut him off as another thought hits you.

“And I’m sorry about the cold… The window keeps breaking.” You gesture to the main window in your living space, rolling your eyes a little.

Bucky’s face morphs into a frown as he looks past you to the window in question, a plastic bag duct taped over a portion.

“Your windows broken?” He asks, concern filling his voice.

“It keeps happening. My landlord employs the cheapest handyman in the city, I swear to god…” You roll your eyes again and try to brush it off with a laugh, but Bucky’s face doesn’t change, even as he looks back to you.

“It’s the middle of winter.” He states, and then before you can reply, he straightens, his frown of displeasure shifting into one of determination.

“I’ll fix it.”

---

Bucky replays the clips on his phone one last time, making sure he properly understood the instruction, before he moves to copy it.

A short trip to the hardware store later, he’s back in your apartment, sat awkwardly on your windowpane as he finishes up replacing the lower piece of glass. He’d made sure the piece he’d bought was hardy, and unlikely to cause you future problems. He can’t imagine how cold it would have gotten in your place with a broken window, and tries not to scowl.

You linger nearby, having put your groceries away and offered him coffee, you now sit on your couch pretending that you weren’t watching him.

He doesn’t blame you for eyeing him just as nervously as you had on his first few visits with you. Seeing each other out and about was one thing, but he doesn’t underestimate the amount of trust you were showing in allowing him into your home. Hell, he doesn’t even think he’d be extending such liberties if he were you.

But he’s glad for it, if not only for selfish reasons.

It was easy for Bucky to pretend he didn’t know your status to one another. He’d ignored the little black mark long enough, ignored the urge to seek you out (before he knew you were you) so it really wasn’t that different for him. The only problem, and it wasn’t really a problem just yet, was that Bucky liked you.

He liked your jokes and your sass, he liked the way your expressions spoke louder than your words ever could, and how you didn’t even seem to realise you were making them half the time. He liked that you always seemed to have something interesting to add to a conversation, even on topics he wouldn’t have thought had much interest.

You were smart, and funny and cynical in all the same ways as him, and Bucky liked spending time with you. If he didn’t think it would make you uncomfortable, he’d hang around you a lot more.

Being friends with you was easy, in the same way that being friends with Sam was easy. He didn’t have to hold back certain information, or pretend he was something he wasn’t. You knew everything already, and for some reason, had decided you were okay with him sticking around.

“Do you think you’re going to find your soulmate?”

The question nearly makes him jump, as if you’d been looking right into his thoughts.

Bucky stops what he’s doing briefly and looks up at you. Your lips are pursed and your eyes move from his exposed wrist to his face. He coaches his face into what he might consider normal if the situation were different, and hums.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He clears his throat, and watches you shift your position on the couch, tucking your feet underneath you.

“I don’t know. It’s not really something I have to consider, so I guess I was just thinking about our situations… How it would feel.” You frown as you speak, and Bucky already knows you’re unsatisfied with how you’d answered. He stops completely and faces you, giving you his full attention.

“What do you mean?” He prompts. You think for a moment.

“I guess I just don’t know if I would.” You state, still frowning, though this time for an entirely different reason. Bucky feels something in his chest tighten.

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly the most normal person in the world… and I know your soulmate is supposed to be your perfect half, but there’s still choice involved, right? Not everyone chooses to be with their soulmate in the end…” Your eyes turn down to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers nervously.

“I’m just not sure they’d want me.”

Bucky’s stomach drops at your confession, something an awful lot like hurt shooting through him.

He wants to hurry and reassure you that you were wrong, that you didn’t have to worry, but he stops himself.

He reminds himself that your fears were his own, only he knew for a fact the answer.

“I don’t think you should spend your time worrying about that.” He says carefully. You stop fidgeting and look up at him. He swallows thickly.

“Your soulmate will want you, regardless of if you’re the most normal person in the world or not. And if they’re worried about your past, or the way it affects you now, then they probably don’t deserve you anyway.”

Bucky shrugs, and tears his eyes from yours to continue in his task, but stays fully aware that your gaze remains trained on him.

“If you found them, I’m sure they would want you.” He adds, almost anxiously, his mind buzzing with a million thoughts.

From the couch, you let out a short laugh, the tension in the room lifting a little. He spares a glance at you, unable to to stop the smile that creeps onto his face at the sight of your own.

“What?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Just never took the Winter Soldier for a romantic.” You tease, making him roll his eyes.

Bucky puts the last touches on your new and improved window and takes a step back.

“Would it shock you to learn HYDRA didn’t count it as a useful skill?”

If you like and enjoy, a comment or a reblog would be greatly appreciated!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you #story: tttb #soulmate au

180 notes · View notes

justcourttee · 3 years

Note

DAMINETTE BETROTHED AU DAMINETTE BETROTHED AU DAMINETTE BETROTHED AU there are not enough of these.

I tried to make it a little different than the ones I’ve read, so I hope it was what you were thinking about!

A Marriage Contract

“Being Guardian has been a shitshow on its own but now you’re telling me there are strings attached?”

Marinette crossed her arms in annoyance as she eyed the pair that sat across from her. She couldn’t be bothered to learn their names, after all, it took the council a year to learn her own. They seriously couldn’t expect to get by with barely knowing her and throw her into the arms of two strangers.

“Ahem, well, I suppose you could call them strings. I prefer to call it insurance.” The woman’s smile seethed venom. Marinette leaned forward, her eyes throwing daggers at the boy that sat beside the woman. It wasn’t that he was ugly, no, he was probably the most attractive guy she had ever met. It was the principle and a little bit of pride at this point.

“What is it, woman? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what exactly?”

There was a tense moment of silence as the two remained locked in a staring contest, both refusing to blink first.

“Oh come now child, this is beneath you.” Marinette couldn’t hold back her chuckle as she watched the woman’s resending hand. The boy’s daggers shifted to the woman as he gently rubbed the back of his head. “Besides, we haven’t sealed the deal yet. Miss Dupain-Cheng, I need you to solidify this contract.”

The piece of paper had sat so peacefully in the middle of the table, she almost hadn’t noticed it until the woman had shoved it in her direction. Her eyes lazily glanced over the terms and conditions. God, she sounded so replaceable. She could feel their stares as she lifted the paper closer to her face.

“It says in Section 4b that if we want to get a divorce both parties will have to participate in a death match for the reigning glory. Is that written correctly?”

“Of course, how else would it be decided who gets to reign both organizations?”

“Oh, yes, obviously.” Marinette bit her tongue from letting the next few words escape her lips. The guardians honestly expected her to sign her life away to these two strangers to ensure their safety. What a hoax. If it weren’t for her kwamiis, Marinette would have never agreed to attend the negotiations. “Now, what if he decides that he wants to attack the Order even though we marry?”

“Then we shall eliminate him ourselves, after all, we are a League built on the word of our ruler. If my son decides to ignore this binding contract, he is well aware of the punishment.”

Marinette allowed herself a glance at the boy. He hadn’t said much during the negotiations, perhaps he was just the same as her. A pawn for their leaders to use in this game. Setting down the paper, she gently reached over for the knife they had provided. Placing the blade on her palm, her eyes locked on the boy’s.

“Tell me,” instantly his eyes glanced to the woman, “No, keep your eyes on mine.”

The woman exhaled loudly as she waved his attention back to Marinette’s.

“What’s your name?”

“Damian Al Ghul Wayne.” Wayne. That sounded familiar. Wasn’t he a multimillionaire in the U.S.? Did he know his son was here signing his life away? Probably, after seeing the shit Adrien’s dad put him through, Marinette had no trust in the rich.

“Well Damian Al Ghul Wayne, do you think it is in our best interests to sign this contract?”

He looked hesitant, as if he wanted to say something, but he was unsure how to formulate the right words. It was taking every ounce of his willpower not to look at the woman beside him. His supposed mother bartering his life as if it was replaceable. Marinette had decided that she hated the woman from the moment they shook hands, but the longer these negotiations went on, the more reasons began to formulate backing her hatred.

“I think-I think that if you value your life and everyone in it as I do mine, we should sign it.”

The woman stiffened in her seat as if he had released her Ace. Marinette couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped. The boy looked mortified as her chuckle became more hysterical.

“God, you’re threatening his friends and family? You really are a piece of shit woman.”

Before either one could respond, Marinette drew the knife quickly across her palm. It stung, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. Picking up the small feather, Marinette dipped it in the pooling blood before gently placing the tip to the paper in front of her. Setting the feather down, she reached for the towel one of the Guardian’s had provided.

“Well,” the woman cleared her throat as she slid the paper to Damian. “As he signs this paper, the negotiations officially draw to an end. You will be married as soon as we finish preparations. Feel free to invite any friends or family as you please Miss Dupain-Cheng, after all, you only get married once.”

If Marinette had any strength to stand, she would’ve used it to deck the woman. Just once would have been so satisfying. The boy shot her a look that fell somewhere between pity and concern, but Marinette didn’t care. It was obvious to her that he had more at stake here and she was determined to change that for him.

As the woman stood to leave, her smirk floating behind her, Marinette reached out, grabbing the boy’s hand from across the table.

“What is the meaning of this?” The way her eyebrow rose in amusement told Marinette all she needed to know. With as much effort as she could, Marinette leaned against the table for support, shooting the woman the most menacing glare that she could muster.

“Until you set the wedding date, Damian will be staying with me under the protection of the Order of the Guardians. As will any of his friends and family that he pleases,”

“Oh? And what makes you think you have this kind of power child?”

Marinette felt the smirk pulling at her lips as she nodded to the paper that Thalia held in her hands.

“The fact that you and your son agreed to the terms and conditions gives me all the authority I need. As you can see, there is some fine print.”

“How did you-?” Marinette sent her a wink as Tikki flew out from her jacket, a small pencil clutched in their hand. The shock that monopolized the woman’s face was almost as satisfying as the idea of punching her.

“As stated in the recently added Section 6e, the boy and all of his people will be under the protection of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng and her kwamiis. So, if you’ll excuse us, Damian has a few phone calls he needs to make.”

Without looking back, Marinette dragged Damian from around the table and out of the room. The chills that ran up and down her back were no doubt the woman’s steely glare as they escaped the negotiations.

“Woman, I am not some damsel in need of your saving.”

“Can’t you think of a better pet name than woman my fiancée?”

As soon as their feet hit the fresh pavement outside, Damian roughly pulled his hand from hers, his stare filled with both contempt and awe as if she were some enemy he couldn’t wait to surpass.

“Just who are you?”

The smirk on her face felt like a permanent feature as she mock curtsied to the frowning boy in front of her.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, your betrothed.”

Without waiting for a response, Marinette slid the glasses from their position on top of her head to the bridge of her nose. Reaching back, she grasped Damian’s hand tightly, ignoring his tugging.

“Kaalki, full gallop!”

The struggling intensified as Marinette became sheathed in a column of light, only stopping when the transformation completed.

“What the fu-”

“Kaalki, a portal to Wayne Manor, please. I have business with this man’s father.”

Marinette ignored his protests as the air split in front of them, a gloomy sky shimmering on the other side. Stepping one foot through, Marinette put on her best determined look. After all, someone had a lot of explaining to do and Wayne was going to answer everything, even if she had to beat it out of him herself.

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb @glitterflowercat @ladybug-182

#maribat #daminette #betrothed

498 notes · View notes

herstarburststories · 3 years

Text

Calamitous Love

Paring: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Dean shows up at your house, but this is a calamitous love. Sooner or later, it's going to destroy.

A/N: I was based and inspired by so many things to get this ready, I can't even start pointing them here. This started as something and escalated to something else, and I'm immensely in love with how it is now. I'm posting a version of this through Dean's POV soon. The prompt is bolded and its for @tvdspngirl314's bday challenge! Hope you like it, honey! And happy bday.

Warnings: language, mentions of sex, fluff, angst, dean is a perv in a cute way, s1 dean Ily

Dean Winchester could easily remember how mad you were that night, after he purposely came to your party uninvited and stood on the porch talking to all your stupid friends. How the one you called the best out of them had wide eyes when she caught him there, and all the reaction she could get was him winking at her.

The man - who was more like a boy, really - with green eyes that matched your garden knew she would run and rush and breathlessly tell you that he was there.

Of course she did. Inez was never one for keeping secrets. He used to wonder if it was a matter of time for the blonde to spread yours.

Her loose lips were useful that night, though. He couldn't even finish his chatter about Chevrolet versus Toyota cars with that James guy before you bursted out of the door ferociously. Dean turned around and waited for many things; well-deserved slapping, indignated tears, a sharp scream strident enough to suppress the loud song which vibrated through everyone's skin like veins.

You surprised him once again.

You closed your eyelashes and took a deep breath, as if to control the burning fire behind your thoughts. The Winchester had seen her in arguments before, the whole ‘my mouth is a loaded gun without a trigger’ thing held an entirely new meaning. He knew you wanted to come at him, and Dean wouldn’t put any guilty on you for that. As you walked towards him, his brittle heart raced like one of those chick flick moments he always mocked about - yet, he couldn't help but stare. Your legs looked so good in that light, pretty ass that Dean loved to grab wrapped in a tight red skirt. You had a white tank with cleavage on and your hair was, as usual, free on its widest way. The hunter adored how your brown sea could never seem not to be a mess, and how you made chaos marvelous like a natural. He surely needed that in his life.

Isn’t it all you had been since the very beginning, honestly? Isn’t it what love utterly is when the lights are dim and the weather changes? Cutting right to the bone like a surgeon, you were that one thing, that one hand that would touch Dean’s weary head and make it rest, those unique lips who could whisper tales of hope in the backseat of his car and he could actually believe it. The one, you know, that one person who didn’t make the eldest Winchester feel like he cared more than he was cared for. He often experienced that math problem, dad never seemed to be satisfied enough to be proud of him, and Sam was always talking about how he wanted to leave someday.

‘’Dean.’’ You said and your tone was harsh, a single eyebrow arched with a quiet defying question. The green eyed man wouldn't be shocked if you had called him out before when he was too busy paying attention to you to notice. ‘’Let's go to the garden.’’

And then you grabbed his wrist, sneaking in through the rusting garden gates in the back of your house. Such mere touch put his skin on flames. So many others, mostly monsters or people who were really monsters at heart, already chained his hands and he always broke the cuffs. This time, in your hands, Dean almost wished he could stay put, grounded to something else other than bloody walls and oily guns. He missed you so much. The way your fingers felt on his cheeks, how you'd allow him to kiss every inch of your body, and how you seemed to understand.

Anyway, it wasn't time for him to turn sentimental just yet. Leave it to Sam.

Dean’s boots were cruel against the grass, walking side by side with your high heels ones. Above all the partying noise, they both were quiet for once, as if they were going into a clandestine meeting.

He hated it.

‘’What the fuck are you doing here?’’ you turned around in a swift move before crossing your arms. It took a lot of self control not to glare at your breast, which is why Dean didn’t. He pictured it wasn’t that bed since he was only glancing for a few seconds and the malicious smirk on his face faded into him licking his bottom lip through the memories of fucking, grabbing and playing with them. You rolled your eyes, impressed by my immature behavior. ‘’Winchester, I asked what you are doing here.’’

Always so dominant in every situation but in bed. He sighed to himself, man, I can’t lose her.

‘’Listen, Y/N/N, I’m sorry.’’

‘’You are sorry? You can take your apologies and put them in your sorry ass till’ they come out of your mouth, Dean.’’ And, of course, stubborn. Dean Winchester wouldn't be so attracted to you in any other way. Frisky women always had the best him.

He groaned, ‘’Y/N, come on, it wasn't like that--’’

You interrupted his reasoning with a laugh empty of joy: ‘’You left me. You just walked away. No calls, no texts, just left. You promised you wouldn't. You said I could trust you.’’

‘’And you can!’’

He wasn’t able to blame you for that. Still, it broke him to hear every casual syllable in raw honesty. Dean would kill for you, and you didn’t even trust him because he ran away without any note, or previous warning, or anything. If only he could do the trick of just opening his mouth and allowing his emotions to come arrive, like Sam did all the time. All he tried to be, his little brother was simply born that way. He could never be like Sammy and you deserved a guy like him. Yet, the bruised man - more like a scared boy, really - remained in front of you. Because, for once, Dean wanted to act selfish and get it what he craved for. Just this once.

‘’To leave? Sure.’’ Nonetheless, you never learned how to read his mind, so you just aim a wry smile at him. ‘’Sorry, pal. I already have my mom to do that.’’

In that moment, every word you said was a stone designed to shatter him, and it was working fatefully. Sometimes, the green eyed hunter wished he was the one being left instead of leaving people behind. But how could you know that? It's the job side effect.

Taking a deep breath, your name is leaving his lips calmly. The most calm he had ever been since my three childhood years. ‘’Y/N…’’

‘’No, Dean.’’ You spoke. Because his forest eyes matched a lot with the grass in your garden under that dim light, almost like he was made to be there and you didn’t think you could do it again; lose him. It was too much.

‘’Dang, woman. I'm trying to explain!’’

‘’No, you are trying to come up with a stupid lie to cover up whatever you were doing for two weeks! I'm not stupid and I know you.’’ You accused, exasperatedly slapping your own tights. You were right, he had showed up to your party with a dumb excuse on his tongue, ready to tell you anything but the truth. Fuck, how the short haired hunter wanted you to have the imaginary money to buy one of his cheap lies. ‘’Tell me the truth. Don't come up with my dad needed help with a car and all that. What happened to you, Dean?’’

‘’I can't tell you.’’ He shrugged in frustration.

I want to tell you everything, even the details in the corner, the monster in the forest.

You smile sarcastically, ‘’I don't see a fold on your lips.’’

But I can’t.

Dean huffed, pursing his lips. ‘’You would hate me.’’

You would think I’m a crazy liar.

‘’I already do.’’

You can be so violent when hurt. You both have bullets in different body parts, and there you are trying to shoot him. Modern Romeo and Juliet, a hunter romance; they try to kill each other instead of the evil thing.

‘’Y/N, you are gonna think I'm crazy.’’ He wiped his face, exasperated for you to change the subject.

Your lips were shut, the light reflected on you. Dean was glaring at you in a quiet desire for you to stay, to make him stay. But you stand still, looking away with delicate woe contorting your features.

It was clear after a hunt when the hunter should leave the town. And it was clear now that he killed any hope for them that Dean shall do what he usually does after a case. Nodding with a sigh, started to walk away.

But you stopped him.

‘’What are you doing?’’ You, in fact, sounded confused. Dean’s eyebrows knitted together, unsure if you two were having the conversation he thought you were not even one minute ago.

The answer resonated more like a question than anything: ‘’Leaving?’’

Your next words were the equivalent to the three ones he had never dared to say. ‘’I don't want you to leave.’’

Yes, the Winchester’s heart was pouring as fast as it was when he went on his first hunt. Yes, he could hear an old rock song playing when you have that look on your face. Yes, he knew he was acting like Sammy and all his cheesy discourses right now.

Who cares?

Apart from all that, Dean offered you a cocky smile. ‘’What do you want, sweetheart?’’

‘’Kiss me.’’

And he did. You trusted him in the garden and he got you back. Dean kissed you in the porch in front of all your stupid friends, too. And then he kissed you again in my car under the streetlight and in so many other uncountable places.

He was the person who got left a few years after that. As if his sorrow had become the prey for some cosmic joke. Sammy left for Stanford and it made his dad, well, more dad than usual. The weird thing was, inside of the grief of being left, Dean understood what he did to you. He had a lot of blood in his hands, enough to turn an ocean red if he ever tried to clean them, but I knew that leaving you was the worst thing that I had ever done.

Well, at least that was what two bottles of Whiskey helped him to get to.

Dean guessed he got what you felt on your porch that night as well. When he walked in, you knew you'd forgive him but you needed to sting back. As Sam left, his older brother already knew he'd forgive him, too. Dean fought about it, and I felt betrayed- wounded animals still attack. But he had forgave him the moment he missed him.

You forgave Dean too, and nowadays he resented for that with an insufferable regret. Because then he told you the truth about the world and showed you his scars. He kissed you, and your lips found every ugly in him. Still, they kept asking him for more. Your lips were the bed for my monster to sleep under.

Real monsters found them.

A few years later, the trio was in a town. You had a vacation from college - you dated a hunter with 5 bucks to his name, and you were studying journalism in a conceited university. It made no sense to Dean sometimes. All you asked for was to spend your free time with him and a call each night to make sure he was alive, which he gave you happily. Besides finding a way to go near your city at least once a month, more for himself than anything else. How did he get so lucky?

You liked certain aspects of the hunter life, surprisingly. The driving away, the creatures, even the restaurants. ‘’Come on, you guys hunt monsters. How cool is that? Also just driving, eating in a new place everyday. Did I mention monsters are real? You guys are like heroes!’’

He shook his head at your optimism, stroking your naked form gently that night.‘’We aren't here, Y/N. This life, it ends early and bloody. There is no place for white fancies and normal.’’

‘’Who said that I want that?’’ You mocked right before pressing your lips to the hickey on his neck, gaining a content groan from Dean. ‘’You monsters. As far as I'm concerned, you are a hero. My hero.’’ You add a subtle joke. ‘’Like a fairytale.’’

He scoffed and pulled you closer. ‘’More like a horror movie.’’

‘’Haven’t you read fairytales?’’

‘’No, but I did see the porn version.’’ Done with talking, he got on top of you, wearing that lopsided grin that started it all over again.

Years back, he asked you what you wanted. And you said, kiss me.

You kept saying that for a decade. Growing that calamitous love, feeding it with stolen glances and touches. If you knew what’s next, would you do it again?

Now you are laying on the ground as he got on my knees and pulled you closer. You are almost dead, a half lifeless body, but you hold on so tight to life, gasping for it. His stubborn girl who he loved so.

Your voice, usually so determined, is barely a whimper. ‘’Everyone wants a fairytale love.’’

‘��What? Don’t get sentimental on me, Y/N. You aren’t gonna die.’’ Dean says exasperated. It isn’t blind faith, unrealistic optimism or anything like this. It’s denial, one of the stages of grief he’s familiar with. It lives with him, as loyal as a dog, as present as a long lost mother’s love; he ignores the acceptance and hope, jumping right into anger, guilt, denial, and bargains with the devil. As if death is a champagne problem he can just drink and be done with because hey, if you can’t lose something, then you won’t right? Right? And if you do lose it, then you’ll just die too. Someone loses oxygen, they die. Someone loses too much blood, they die.

He will die if he loses you, he will. Dean is devastatingly sure of that. He can feel it in his bones. If you die, he dies. His body, his cicatrized soul was made out of in woe. That man - scared little boy like he was when Mary died, really -, He knows sadness like an old lover who always visits, and death is an old friend who always shakes his hands and appears without an invite. Dean Winchester knows pain, alright? Ask any person, he’s the Rome for men, built in ruins despise the beauty of good.

But this? No. He can’t survive. It isn’t possible that someone can hold so much suffering and agony. Skin and bone can only take so many hematomas.

‘’Dean, shut up.’’ You place your hand on his cheek and Dean can’t help but lean in. His green eyes are glistening, the memory of the garden reminiscing in the back of your mind. ‘’I’ve wanted a fairytale love since I was a kid and my dad used to read the books my mom left on the shelf for me. So, in my defense, I never actually read them.’’

‘’Is this what a fairytale looks to you?’’ The eldest Winchester asks, not missing how your touch is colder against him. Where’s Sam with the car? Where’s a miracle? Where’s the justice and fair things and anything good? Dying in his arms, sinking her fingernails into his skin.

‘’The original ones, yes. They are just like that.’’ You chortle, but what’s meant to sound like happiness develops into a cough. All the energy and strength you have are used to push the words. You need Dean to know. ‘’I don't regret anything. You loved me, and I loved you. This is good. I don’t want your silly little mind to think any other way. You aren’t the villain in my story, Dean. You are the…’’ You’re interrupted by your own body giving up on you at an alarming rate, more bloodstained coughing.

‘’Don’t speak, honey. You’ll be alright, okay? No goodbye, we don’t do goodbye. You’ll be alright. Just keep yourself awake, ok?’’ Dean doesn’t know what to do other than hold you. What does one do with all the throbbing aches? He can’t say he will see you in heaven if you die. Staying with you for ten years was heaven already and this is the price he pays. That’s like when the ocean drains in a flash right in front of your eyes and someone tells you to swim in the sky instead. He can’t jump high enough to get it, he isn’t tall enough to get it. But God, Dean can’t just give up, he can’t just let you go. You are bleeding out and he’s dying with you. ‘’Please.’’ The Winchester pleas. ‘’Don’t leave me. Please.’’

If this is how you die and you can only pick up some words to say, you need to spell love. You need Dean Winchester to know he was loved with your last breath, there’s no better use to life other than love. Therefore, it’s easy to know what to voice when you look into his eyes one last time. ‘’I love you.’’

Through the agony, Dean gives you the sort of smile... You know, the sort of smile that can only be described by I put my home on fire, so I could eat all the flames and all the bright blaze is in my teeth now. Because something is burning and you are becoming ashes, but you love this. You love that boy and he loves you. You’d do it all again. He rests his forehead against yours and you can feel his tears on your face, his hands holding you for dear life.

‘’I love you too.’’

It’s a good thing to hear as you close your eyes.

Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡ Tags in reblog!

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #allyswritingevent #dean x reader #dean x you #supernatural #spn #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagines #spn reader insert #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester imagines #dean winchester x you #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles imagine #jensen ackles imagines #dean is straight

187 notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 3 years

Text

Doing some writing today off and on between errands and work, and jumping around various Kings of the Sky installments, specifically Dick, Jason and Cass stuff, so probably gonna post snippets from a bunch of them as I go.

(Kings of the Sky is an AU that goes canon divergent from the point of Jason calling Dick for advice for dealing with Bruce after the Garzonas case and where things end up going dramatically different from that point on. Including Jason not dying, being part of his own lineup of Titans between Dick and Tim’s, Dick being adopted not long after the Church of Blood incident, Cass being the third Wayne kid to be taken in and adopted and with Tim and Duke being next and then Damian coming along later once they find out about him. This is basically my ‘the family’s alright’ AU with largely ‘Good Dad Bruce’ except for Dick and then Jason yelling some sense into him about the other, respectively, in the first two installments, just FYI).

Anyway, this bit is from a story called “In Their Shadows Grow Trees Of Good and Evil,” set about a year after Cass has been adopted, when she and Jason are both sixteen and Dick’s twenty-one. Also just FYI, because canon has never been specific about what ways Cass is neurodivergent due to the comic-book style ‘rewiring’ of her brain so that she could learn to speak later in life, I tend to go with her being dyslexic and having aphasia. She sticks exclusively to sign language and being a silent presence in her costumed personas, so that there’s no chance of people connecting the dots between Black Bat and Cassandra Wayne, as she mostly speaks verbally in her civilian persona and doesn’t hide her aphasia. The reason there’s not likely to be any obvious signs of aphasia in the snippets of her I post is because I wait until I complete something to choose words at random to replace with aphasia-born mixups, so its more realistic and I’m not gearing her dialogue towards deliberately placed moments. Just in case you were wondering.

In Their Shadows Grow Trees of Good and Evil

“Hey Todd,” sneered an exquisitely obnoxious voice. “Why’s your sister so fucking weird?”

Jason sighed the sigh of a soul a mere century into its eternity of damnation as he rose from the lunch table he’d been studying at and crammed the rest of his books into his backpack. Then he pasted a cheerfully bland smile on his face and turned around, geared for academia warfare (teenage prep school edition).

“Hey Craig,” he said brightly. “Why’d you come out of the womb so ugly your parents had to tie a piece of steak around your neck just to get the family dog to go near you? Mysteries abound.”

The advancing junior slowed a step, momentarily rocked by his truly impressive return volley. The grimace Craig’s already gargoyle-esque features twisted into made his face even more unpleasant to look at than usual, which was quite the feat. Jason would have applauded if just looking at it hadn’t already turned him to stone.

But the bargain basement basilisk kept on towards him rather than turn tail and skulk off to pop his emotional blisters, so Jason sighed a sequel to his first one. Looked like it was one of those days where Craig felt up to powering through. Guess someone had eaten their self-esteem Wheaties that morning. Joy.

“You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you, Todd?”

Jason shrugged. “I mean, to be honest I kinda have a one track mind, so right now I’m mostly just thinking about punching you in your mistake.”

“My what?”

“Your face,” Jason elaborated with exaggerated patience.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, I’m saying your face is a mistake. See, its not as fun when I have to stop and explain it to you. Ugh, you ruin everything.”

He neatly sidestepped the older boy as R2-Dumbass stayed frozen, smoke coming off of his internal CPU while trying to catch up. For a second Jason thought he was home free, but then he remembered the universe fucking hated him so haha, sucks to suck. Also, a small crowd had gathered to witness the verbal jousting match, and nothing invigorated an asshole like Craig more than an audience of like-minded peers. So there was that too.

“Whatever. Laugh it up all you want, you little shit,” the junior rallied. “But just remember, mocking your betters will never change the fact that you were born street trash and you’ll be street trash until the day you die.”

Honestly? Not his best effort. Jason almost felt bad using any of his good material. Seemed like overkill at this point. But he did have a strict Scorched Earth policy to maintain, so.....

“Yeah but my dad could buy out and ruin your dad so that means I still win, right?”

He smirked as the barb landed and Craig’s face set into a sunset vista of strangled purple and furious red. Bam. Direct hit.

“Listen, you - “

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it was rhetorical,” Jason interrupted. “I don’t actually care what you think even a little bit. Nobody does. You don’t matter. Please go be irrelevant elsewhere, you’re fucking dismissed, you loser.”

“Speak for yourself, charity case.” Oh goodie, Craig’s backup singers had finally arrived. Now if only he could remember to care enough to learn their names in the first place. Seriously, who told the extras they could have lines? “All the jokes in the world can’t change who and what you are.”

Jason shrugged and continued nonchalantly up the hill to where his sister was standing with arms crossed, staring down at something on the other side.

“True genius is never appreciated in its own time,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be immortalized in song eventually.”

The mob of morons deigned to let him go without further incident. Though he suspected that had less to do with his scathing wit and more to do with him being headed towards Cass. She was immaculately presented as always, wearing the Gotham Academy uniform like she was born to it despite hating its uncomfortable stiffness every bit as much as he did. But that was just Cass for you.

For all that she still struggled at times to engage verbally or speak up in social settings, her mastery of body language remained without peer. She could chameleon-camouflage her way into matching poise and posture with anyone - a skill that had allowed her to walk into school on her very first day with her head held high as though she owned everything in her sight. Exuding so much Queen Bee Intimidation Factor even the other hive queens were afraid to approach her themselves. Sending forth their drones to try and woo her into an alliance, only to see her remain oh-so-casually above it all, a slightly contemptuous smile adorning her lips.

Basically, she scared the shit out of their classmates without them having anywhere close to a true understanding of why, and Jason was outrageously jealous. Rude. Unfair. Why did his siblings always get all the cool toys when all he had was his rakish charm, scintillating intellect and debonair.....nah, who was he kidding. He was fucking awesome.

“Sup, sis,” he said, cresting the hill to stand beside Cass. “Just FYI, I just took a popularity bullet for you, which means you owe me your dessert tonight. Its a family rule that’s totally a real thing and definitely not something I just made up right now because Alf is making chocolate soufflé.”

She made no acknowledgment and remained stock still, a Colossus at Rhodes peering down into the shifting shadows of the parking lot below.

He peered down as well, though with absolutely no idea what they were looking at. Solidarity, yo.

“So are we staring fixedly at anything in particular, or should I just pick my own spot and commit?”

His humor was totally wasted on her as always. Instead of laughing and telling him what a lovable goof he was, she just inclined her head in the direction of a blonde girl where she was standing next to the driver’s side door of a Mercedes-Benz, dictating final commandments to her peons before departing. Well, probably. Jason was just guessing, based on his own body language reads, and like, general disdain for literally everyone at this school that wasn’t related to him.

He made a face. An extra special one reserved just for this classmate in particular. “Ugh, Madison Dunleavy? She’s the worst.”

Cass raised a cool eyebrow. “I thought Craig Hendricks was the worst.”

“He is. They’re both the worst. Its a hotly contested position here at Gotham Academy.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded back down at the Queen of Air and Darkness. “So. You know her?”

“Nope,” Jason said. “Come to think of it, I’ve actually never seen her in my life. No idea who that is. Can’t help you, sorry. Shall we go home?”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition speared him with clear intent. Who the fuck needed words when you could pack the Encyclopedia Britannica into a single facial expression?

Jason sighed gustily.

“I had a slight altercation with her freshman year that led to her declaring her undying enmity for me until the end of time. The word nemesis may or may not have been thrown around once or twice. I can’t recall.”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition lowered nary an inch. Ugh, she wanted more? Why did everyone in his family hate privacy, with the obvious exclusion of himself when snooping through Cass and Dick’s rooms for blackmail material, which was actually intel-gathering and thus another matter entirely.

“Okay so basically what happened was my first week here I overheard her talking shit about me and not even twenty minutes later she was pretending to kiss my ass in homeroom, like probably because of Bruce, y’know? So I just busted out laughing and told her to fuck off and die and she has inexplicably loathed me ever since.”

Avoiding further Eyebrow Inquisition-ing, he made a show of peering around aimlessly. When the silence extended and it was clear Cass was absolutely not going to break first, Jason waved a hand in dismissal and took to peering oh so casually at his fingernails. "I suppose I was less tactful back in those days.”

He chanced a look up, finally, and saw his sister’s eyebrow had somehow managed to mighty morphin power ranger its way into a configuration evoking both judgment and disbelief, with the latter perhaps aimed at the idea he was significantly differing in the tact department these days either.

“I don’t love the implications your face is making right now,” he told her.

She ignored him, because of course she did.

“Does she know Dick?” She asked instead. Jason shrugged.

“I mean, maybe? She’s probably seen him around at one of those stupid galas we have to go to, and actually I think maybe she has an older brother who was either in Dick’s grade or like, one above or below it? I don’t know.”

Now both eyebrows were doing the dance of disbelief. Okay, so maybe that was poor situational awareness on his part, since it wasn’t like Gotham Academy was a big school with a ton of other kids and also he’d only been in the same class as Madison for like over two whole years, but whatever. There were extingent circumstances.

“Look, she’s a total snob who’s always looked down on me and in return I willfully ignore both her existence and that of everyone and everything even tangentially related to her. Its called equality, Cass.”

She pursed her lips and went back to the peering, because of course in the mind of Cass it made total sense that the Grand Inquisition didn’t need to be followed up by any explanation on her part, what the hell. Like was he supposed to have inferred it?

“What’s this all about anyway?”

“I heard her talking about Dick earlier,” she said without peeling her eyes away from her personal recon mission. “I don’t know what she said though, I just heard her say Grayson, and then I was busy looking at what her body was saying. I know it was about Dick because she shut down when she saw me. And I didn’t like the way she....looked....before that happened. The way she was talking. It was.....”

Jason frowned but held back any follow-up questions while he waited - with total patience because he wasn’t an absolute cad, thank you very much - for his sister to find the word she was hunting for. It was a major source of frustration for her, that whatever neural map her brain followed put body language and spoken language in totally different regions of her brain, separated by a fairly great divide. Meaning she usually had to make a conscious choice to focus on body language or conventional languages - whether verbal or sign. But it tended to be one or the other; she’d yet to master taking in and comprehending both forms of ‘language’ at the same time. And none of them had quite figured out how to convince her that she wasn’t actually missing anything when she chose to focus on one specific form of communication - that she was still observing far more than most people ever would.

“Proprietary,” Cass settled on at last. She nodded her satisfaction with her choice of word, and Jason waited a whole two point five seconds before sticking his whole foot in his mouth.

“Proprietary?” He asked with a scrunched nose as he weighed that for possible context and implications. “You sure?”

She glared. He winced. It was a whole thing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, sorry, I heard it the second it was out of my mouth. We don’t actually have to experiment with the legitimacy of if looks could kill.”

Cass rolled her eyes, but eh. That could’ve gone worse.

Jason swiftly redirected attention anyway. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

“So. The Queen of Air and Darkness was talking about our big bro, and her mood was.....proprietary, huh?” He recapped while digesting the info like a boss. “Well. Definitely not loving that, I gotta say. Hold please.”

Pulling out his phone and pulling up his most recent texts, he began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” Cass asked.

“Texting Tom,” he replied, because duh. Hah, now it was his chance to have the answers that should be patently obvious and thus make with the ‘are you kidding me’ when she asked obvious questions she should know the answer to! How do you like them apples, sis?

“Why are you texting your boyfriend right now?”

Jason rolled his eyes, because fair is fair, but never ceased texting for a moment. Time was of the essence here, probably. Well, maybe. Okay probably not. But it’d still been like half an hour since he and Tom had last texted and that’s a very fucking long time in teenage years.

“To be our getaway driver tonight, obviously.”

She stared at him. He didn’t look up, but he could feel it anyway. He was very intuitive like that.

“What?”

Jason heaved another sigh, one keyed to tones of ‘oh my god, do I really have to spell this out,” exasperation. He was just racking up the bonus points here. It was really too bad this wasn’t an actual competition he could actually win and this was all just pettiness taking place wholly in his own head. Lame.

“Well, clearly we now have to go snoop in Madison’s house aka lair to see if its actually a house or a full on lair. Because she’s either a creeper or like, legit evil, and its important to know which one before we proceed, because obviously we can only bust her for being a weird creeper about our brother as Jason and Cass, whereas if she’s legit evil, that’s gotta go down as Robin and Black Bat. I’ll handle the snooping, you’ll take look-out, but we still need a wheelman and that’s why I’m texting Tom. This is all very mission-oriented, okay. I’m a professional.”

“Right,” she affirmed, while sounding anything but convinced. “Why don’t we just tell Bruce?”

Without looking up or breaking stride, he said: “I’m going to give you til I finish typing this sentence to figure out what was wrong with what you just said. Remember that we are talking about hypothetical danger to our brother, and also Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response to any of his children being in even hypothetical danger. And also our brother’s idea of a proportionate response to Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response. Look, you’re still new so I’m gonna need you to just trust me on this one. Its gonna be a no on telling Bruce without further intel.”

Cass said nothing in response to that, which meant that she was conceding the point and recognized the wisdom of his words. Or maybe that she was just gonna go ahead and do what she wanted anyway and just wasn’t bothering to fight about it, but it was probably that first thing.

“Well you better not just make out with your boyfriend all night,” is what she said at last, and that got his attention reeeeeal quick like.

“Umm. Wow. Okay. So, first off, you’re not the boss of me and who I make out with and when, so jot that down. And second, now I’m definitely going to make out with my boyfriend extra hard, with the exception of when we are actually on our recon mission because as previously established, I am a professional. And also, again, you’re not the boss of me.”

Jason ignored her Eye Roll With Extra Emphasis, and instead just held up his phone to Text With Extra Emphasis, as he read along with what he was typing.

“By the way babe, we have to make out extra hard tonight,” he said, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he dragged out his dictation with the kind of focus that usually led to Bruce asking why he couldn’t apply as much intensity to training as he did to pettiness. “Cass has suddenly decided she can dictate terms to me and I need to shut that shit down ASAP, so thank you in advance for your assistance in this matter. Smoochies and other gay stuff to the best boyfriend ever.”

Jason frowned as a response pinged back seconds later.

TheCatsMeow: ....the things I put up with for the sake of your weird family dynamics.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah, yeah. You’re a saint among were-panthers. Must you mock? Why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty instead?

TheCatsMeow: Sorry. Let me try again. OMG you’re so pretty Jase how did I get so lucky xoxo.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: No. Its too late. It feels forced and unbelievable now. You’ve ruined it forever.

TheCatsMeow: Got it. From now on I will only tell you that you’re repulsive and hideous.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: I’m breaking up with you.

TheCatsMeow: But after I help you with your mission tonight.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Obvsly. I’m a professional. Why do people keep forgetting this?

TheCatsMeow: And also the making out to spite your sister.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah we should do that first too. I mean we already penciled it in.

54 notes · View notes

kindofwriter · 3 years

Text

Just that bit of 177, but as a TV show script, because I have Ideas and no animation skills.

ID (unfortunately) under the cut, bc it’s literally thousands of words long.

ZOLF: Wilde, just talk to me honestly. Why are you... why...

WILDE: (ANGRY NOW) I'll tell you what: I'll talk to you honestly when you talk to me honestly

.WILDE snatches his hand out of ZOLF's.

ZOLF: (HESITANT) I am-

WILDE: (INTERRUPTING) Just say- Just say the words! 'Wilde, we need you to fix it again. Wilde, it's gone wrong, help! Wilde, solve this problem! Wilde; won't take long!'

With each sentence spoken WILDE's appearance changes: we watch him grow older. First we see him as ZOLF first met him: older, but still colourful and fresh-faced. Then we recognise his shorn hair and gaunt features from Damascus. Then, a flash of the man ZOLF has known for the past year: hair at an awkward, choppy length, practical clothes, tired eyes. And finally: thin and exhausted, with a jagged scar splitting across his face. He remains this way as he continues to speak.

WILDE: (ANGER BLURRING INTO UPSET) Just give me one of them! Just talk to me honestly, for the first time! Just, what is it? What- What needs fixing? What's gone wrong? What's on fire?

WILDE gestures, almost absent-mindedley, out of the window.

CUT TO WIDE SHOT OF ZOLF

ZOLF is silhouetted in front of the window, which no longer shows an idyllic Paris day, but is instead reminiscent of the riots and looting that ensued after Mr Ceiling. A plume of smoke curls up out of Eiffel's folly.

CUT BACK TO WILDE

WILDE: Who died? What do I actually need to fix here? Because right now, this is the first chance I've had in I don't know how long. I've got finals coming up-

Suddenly WILDE is young and irritated again.

WILDE: I've got all of the interviews that are lined up on top, and everything's piling up, and all I've got are people asking me to fix things, and I keep doing it, and I keep fixing everything, brilliant. So, tell me, Zolf, I thought we were friends, but no. What do I need to fix?

ZOLF takes one hesitant, shuffled step towards WILDE.

ZOLF: (GENTLY )You don't have any-

WILDE: (INTERRUPTING )Do you want to cheat off me? Is that it? It's fine. Cheat off me, like everyone else does. It's. Fine.

WILDE drops his gaze, turning towards the garden.

ZOLF: (ANNOYED NOW) You don't have uni! You don't have exams! You don't have interviews! You. Are. Dead!

WILDE turns slightly back towards ZOLF and strokes a finger along his face, where his scar used to be.

ZOLF: You have no responsibility anymore. And you don't need to have any responsibility anymore. That's okay. (SOFTER) But I'm giving you a simple choice: you come back with me, or you don't. That's it. There is no other motive.

ZOLF pauses as if he wants to stop, looking upset and annoyed, then forces himself to press on.

ZOLF: Yes, things are broken. And things need to be fixed, and things need to be sorted out, but that doesn't have to be on you. And it shouldn't be just on you.

ZOLF extends a hand again. WILDE doesn't take it, but he's taken his attention away from the garden.

ZOLF: We're all responsible, for everything. And you died, in pursuit of a fix. And it would not be fair for me to tell you that you have to come back.

ZOLF lowers his hand.

WILDE: So why are you here? What, what, what's your actual point?

ZOLF: (INTERRUPTING) To ask you-

WILDE: (INTERRUPTING) Why don't you just let it lie?

ZOLF: (SOFT AND GENUINE) To ask you if you want to come back. You didn't choose to die, but you can, right now, choose to stay dead.

WILDE takes a moment to compose himself. He suddenly remembers the drink still clutched in his other hand and finishes it, setting his glass on a table by the door. A breeze from the park ruffles his hair.

ZOLF: I know, better than a lot of people, that death ain't the end. Y'know, I'm a cleric for goodness sake.

ZOLF touches the space on his chest were his dolphin once hung, then quickly drops his hand again, as if he was burned.

ZOLF: So, there is a, a natural order to things. And people die, and they move on, and that's just how it works.

WILDE: I'm just tired, Zolf.

WILDE hangs his head, allowing his hair to cover his face in the same way he would do when hiding his scar.

WILDE: That's all. I'm sorry, I'm just- I'm just-

WILDE sighs. ZOLF takes another step closer to him.

ZOLF: I know, Wilde, I am tired too.

WILDE and ZOLF share a glance, one they've probably shared on countless late nights in countless safehouses. WILDE is the first to look away.

WILDE: Everyone thinks that they're carrying this, but they're not. 'Cause you know what happens if they drop the ball? I pick it up, and I pass it to someone else, and if no one else is there to take it I carry the ball myself. That-that's just how this works, and I'm just- I'm just tired. I'm just so tired, Zolf. I'm just. So. Tired.

ZOLF takes one final step; he's now right next to WILDE.

ZOLF: Do you really think you're the only person who feels like that? Everyone feels like that, all the time. Everyone's tired. And everyone has work to do. And-

WILDE: So, what? We just go back and carry on until eventually we can't? That's not-

WILDE sighs heavily, trailing off. ZOLF clenches a fist in frustration, but doesn't let it show on his face.

ZOLF: (WITH AN UPSET TINGE TO HIS VOICE, BUT KINDLY) Not necessarily. Not if you don't want to. I told you, when I first came here, I will turn around and I will go back on my own, and that is fine.

ZOLF grits his teeth a little as he says this: is is clearly not fine.

ZOLF: That is your choice. But I want you to understand the options.

WILDE takes a deep breath, then looks directly at ZOLF.

WILDE: Just give me a reason, other than because there's something that needs doing. That's all I need. Just one reason, other than 'there is another job for you, Wilde.' That's all I need.

ZOLF seems flustered under WILDE's intense gaze, and for the first time since arriving looks directly away from him.

ZOLF: Do you want there to be another reason?

WILDE: What did I just say? Obviously I do! Yes!

The tension is broken; ZOLF looks back to WILDE. His brow is furrowed slightly, and he looks like he's trying to hold back what he's about to say next.

ZOLF: (EXTREMELY SOFTLY) Fine. (FORCING THE WORDS OUT, BUT REALLY MEANING THEM) Because I need you, Wilde.

ZOLF reaches out a hand, but doesn't wait for WILDE to take it this time; he just grabs WILDE's hand in his own. A small smile twitches at the corner's of WILDE's lips.

WILDE: (SLIGHT SMILE BLOSSOMING INTO A GRIN) And there we go. An honest answer from Zolf Smith. I never thought I'd hear it.

ZOLF: (WITH RELIEF AND ANGER, BOTH MOCK AND REAL)You were just angling for that?!

ZOLF drops WILDE's hand in an over-dramatised manner. WILDE is chuckling slightly.

ZOLF: (GRINNING) You bastard.

WILDE: No, I wasn't just angling for that, but it's nice to know.

WILDE tucks his hair behind his ear.

ZOLF: Well, I didn't wanna say, because it wouldn't be fair.

WILDE: Oh, nothing's fair.

WILDE gazes over ZOLF's shoulder at something for a moment. The window reflects in his eyes, and there appears to be a figure stood on the balcony, dressed all in black, looking out over the city. ZOLF whips round to see what he's looking at, but there's no one there, save for the toe of a boot disappearing upwards, as if someone's climbing up to the roof. All this takes less than a moment.

WILDE: Look at it.

They're both looking out the window now - from a distance - watching Paris burn. ZOLF turns back to WILDE.

ZOLF: D- uh. D'you want to come back, or don't you? Like, yeah, uh, I-I've said it, I know. But it's still your choice.

WILDE: Here's the plan. We're gonna finish up these drinks, we go out there-

WILDE gestures to the doorway behind him, but as he does the already darkened park fades completely to black.

WILDE: We'll figure it out. We always do. It's fine. It's just useful to know I'm not just beating my head against the wall for no reason, Zolf, y'know?

WILDE smiles fondly down at ZOLF, allowing the backs of their hands to brush together.

ZOLF: Look-

ZOLF pulls his hand away, and for a moment WILDE looks hurt, until ZOLF grabs hold of his lapels and yanks him down to ZOLF's height. Their noses are almost touching. WILDE smirks coyly and ZOLF looks stoic, but both of their cheeks flush slightly from the proximity.

ZOLF: When this is all done we'll go on holiday or something.

A huge, Cheshire-cat-grin spreads across WILDE's face.

WILDE: Where?

ZOLF: (EXHASPERATED AND FOND) Oh, I don't know! I don't know where's gonna be left after all this is done. But somewhere nice.

WILDE: (WITH MOCK SINCERITY) Zolf, I won't come back with you until you tell me where we're going on holiday together.

ZOLF: Such a dick.

ZOLF lets go of WILDE, allowing him to straighten up, but as soon as he does ZOLF grabs his hand again.

ZOLF: Come on.

With one final shared smile, WILDE pulls ZOLF after him into the darkness.

END ID].

#rqg #rqgaming #the rusty quill gaming podcast #zoscar #zolf smith #oscar wilde rqg #rqg 177 #QPR baybee im living #author's note

171 notes · View notes

gwynrielsupremacy · 3 years

Text

Time to rest your weary head: Part 13!

IT TOOK ME LONG ENOUGH, but it is here!!! As I explained before, I was facing the last weeks of my semester, delivering final papers and such, but now I'm freee!!!! I thank you all for your patience and eternal support, really <3 hope you like this one! :)))

Also tagging some of my beautiful readers <3 @madie2200 @katiebellf @starbornsinger

Last thing: I wanna leave here my praise to all fic writers and fanfiction and headcanons I had the pleasure of reading on this website; you all inspire me so much, and I’m glad to say I am a part of such a beautiful net of sharing and reading other’s stories :) you are awesome and you inspire me to keep on writing! Thank you :)

Check out the Chapter List and Part 12 if you haven't read it yet!

It was late, but Azriel didn’t mind. He felt like he could explode: like all of a sudden, all his life made much more sense.

He had a mate.

That mate was Gwyn.

And Gwyn had kissed him.

As he jumped off the balcony at the House of Wind, diving fast before soaring, he couldn’t contain his grin. His heart hadn’t stopped thundering in his chest ever since he got to her door. They kissed, and he sensed her affection and desire as sure as she had felt his. He held her in his arms, just like he had that night all those weeks ago. And he had missed so badly doing so, he realized the second he felt her hand on his cheek, caressing him in a way no one ever had, before she enlaced her arms behind his neck.

He felt like a teenager, his Ilyrian hormones pumping through his body, making him restless and euphoric. He wanted so bad to go back, to just stay with her, to make up any excuse to see her, to wake her up, to lay down with her. To spend every second he had right next to her, learning all the different ways he could make her glow.

For so long, he deemed himself worthless; tainted and scarred and damaged. But now he could see that perhaps that wasn’t true. He was hurt, but he could heal; everyone had a past, and it shouldn’t prevent them from living their present. And Gwyn… She was the reason he started believing that. That he had hope left, and that maybe…. Maybe he could care about himself just like others cared about him.

It took a second to realize he was crying. Alone, just him and his shadows, as he soared and spun across the night sky, he was crying. Sobbing and laughing uncontrollably at the same time. He breathed in and out, trying to calm his racing heart, but he still let the tears flow; he still kept smiling, the image of Gwyn’s face never fading from his mind.

Feeling the cold wind across his face, he landed on the pathway to the River House. It was all dark, but he could see a dim light from one of the windows. Rhys’s study.

Rhys. He lowered his mental shields enough so he could voice his brother’s name. Are you there?

Silence, before Rhys’s voice sounded. Yes. Are you alright?

I need to talk to you. May I come in?

He heard footsteps approaching the front door, and then Rhysand was staring at him, violet eyes dark in the dim light. “Come in, brother.”

He was greeted by the image of Nesta facing him, that huge portrait that Feyre had painted some time ago, after The Blood Rite. The house was silent, and all he could hear was his steps as he followed Rhysand to his study.

When he closed the door, Rhysand had just sat down at his armchair.

“Are Feyre and Nyx asleep?”

“Fortunately. The kid’s been having some trouble sleeping these last few months, therefore so have we.” He snorted, but smiled fondly at the thought of his family. “Sit down, Az.”

He obliged, and felt the way Rhys sized him up, trying to decipher what was going on with him. And although Azriel’s expression yielded nothing, he didn’t make an effort to wipe away his tears from before; so his brother was probably putting up the pieces together by now.

Azriel didn’t leave enough time for him to do so, as he again talked to him mentally.

Gwyn is my mate. But I reckon you already know that.

I do. I suppose it didn’t go well, then.

And Cauldron-damn him if he didn’t start laughing at that. And not a bitter one, but a true, genuine chuckle that made Rhys’s brows shot up and a bemused smile appeared on his face.

“It went more than well, actually.” Azriel corrected, shaking his head as he looked to the ground, still smiling. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” His brother shifted in his seat, resting his elbows in his knees and interlocking his fingers.

So Azriel explained what Rhys needed to do for them. He honestly didn’t care if his family knew or not about their mating bond, but was well aware Gwyn might need some time to adjust – and the required privacy to do so. And that was fine with him; as long as he was able to spend time with her, he’d be happy. In any way she wanted.

When he was finished, they stood in silence for a couple of seconds.

“So, I see you have your shot at happiness in your hands at last, brother.” Rhysand stated, with a knowing smile on his face.

“I do.”

“She was very good at refraining from telling you. Of course, I didn’t mean to pry when I found out. But do you know why I read her thoughts that night?”

Azriel shook his head, and watched as his brother declared with a low tone.

“She was just sitting there, in a midst of people whom she didn’t have familiarity with, and you were by your usual spot, talking to Mor. And she was just staring at you, eyes full of an emotion I couldn’t decipher, but I knew what that gesture meant. She couldn’t keep herself from looking at you, just as you couldn’t stop from glancing at her time and time again during the evening: like you were drawn to each other. I was going to ask her if she needed to talk about it, though I knew it was none of my business and she was unlikely to do so, but then I read her thoughts about you being mates.”

“That’s why I didn’t meddle in. I was witnessing something way bigger than me, and I think you know what I mean.” He finished, and completed “That’s why I - and Feyre - kept quiet about it.”

All Azriel could do was laugh quietly again at the mention of his High Lady. “Of course she’d know.”

“My dear brother, I learned by experience you shouldn’t keep things from your mate, even if it is to protect them. You're supposed to walk through it together.” Regret crossed Rhysand’s face at that confession.

Azriel knew that although his brother claimed to hide the details of Feyre’s pregnancy from her not to worry her, it wasn’t exactly fair all the same.

“But I’m certain you’ll learn that with time.” He completed, leaning over to pat Azriel on his knee. “So, don’t worry. I will do as you ask.”

Azriel nodded his thanks and stood up, meaning to leave. But, just as he was reaching the door, a thought occurred and he turned again to his High Lord.

“Rhys” He kept sitting on his chair, staring at him expectantly “It took me long enough to realize, but I’m glad you stopped me that Solstice night.”

Rhysand let out a soft chuckle at that, and bowed his head slightly, raising his glass. Knowing well what Azriel had meant with that.

****

His shadows were restless. He barely slept during the rest of the evening, his mind too awake to give in to slumber. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was slightly nervous to see Gwyn again – and to see if they’re new acknowledged bond would stand out or if Rhysand’s spell would work. He wouldn’t doubt of his High Lord and brother, but still. He wanted to see it for himself.

He stood in the training ring ever since sunrise. Gwyn had gone to her usual morning service and he hadn’t seen her, only felt her absence in the House, both an effect from the mating bond and his shadows, since they were so eager to be around her. So he sparred for hours, waiting for the moment training began and he would see her again.

The priestesses started to arrive right about the time Cassian showed up.

“Morning, brother”

Azriel nodded back, and turned to arrange the practice swords and shields into place, preparing the room.

“How was last night?”

He could sense Cassian’s presence behind him, and the innuendo in his sly tone. Gwyn’s image appeared in his mind once again, her burgundy dress complimenting her body’s every feature. He could feel her in his arms, their proximity and heat, the way he kissed her with all need and tenderness he ever felt towards her, the small sound she made when he pulled her close, pressing their bodies together… He was cut short from his thoughts when Cassian cleared his throat, suppressing a laugh.

“I can scent everything went well, then.”

Fuck.

He started thinking about other things, anything at all, to cover his desiring scent. It wasn’t professional nor respectful to appear that way in front of the Priestesses, even though Cassian and Nesta didn’t seem to mind covering their own arousal multiple times during all these months.

It was right at that moment Cassian’s mate and Gwyn arrived, their voices filling up the air. Azriel was still with his back to the door, and counted a total of five seconds before turning around and facing the deep teal ocean that were Gwyn’s eyes.

Like the seas in Reyna.

His shadows whispered one of Summer Court’s many beaches, the quietest, most isolated and beautiful one. Azriel felt a subtle need to take her there someday, to travel around Prythian with her, to watch her explore and discover the continent, her face lighting up with each new sight.

He casually approached the two females, who were still talking while they began their stretching on the mats.

“Good morning.” He let out, dipping his head a bit.

“Hello.” Gwyn greeted back, meeting his eyes. He watched as she breathed, noticing every detail of her exposed neck and freckled cheeks before meeting her eyes. It was a monumental effort to not scan her entire body and take in all of her curves. She seemed to notice that, and with a thrilling sensation he watched her face blush.

“Good morning to you too, Azriel” Nesta mocked, interrupting their charged silence. “Did you enjoy your evening?”

She directed this particular question to both of them. Gwyn finally tore her eyes away from Azriel, doing nothing to conceal her flushed cheeks.

“Yes.” She nodded a bit timidly, biting down her lip to keep her from smiling further, and met her friend’s inquisitive stare with a sparkle that almost sent Azriel to his knees.

Damn. That female would be the death of him.

“We did indeed.” Azriel found himself agreeing, his voice rough all of a sudden. His shadows reached towards Gwyn, desperately trying to turn her attention to him, to them. He wanted to be lost in those teal eyes again, to be alone with her.

“I’m glad to hear that, Gwyn.” Nesta smiled kindly to Gwyn, honesty and pride in her tone. “Although you’re aware you’ll have to give me more details later.”

Gwyn rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, continuing her warm-up exercises while Nesta stood up. As she went on to stretch her thigh, holding it behind her back, she leaned on Azriel, placing one hand on his shoulder to steady herself and taking advantage of the situation by voicing quietly:

“You hurt my sister and I’ll make you regret it, Spymaster.”

His shadows protectively wrapped around his shoulders, but he was well accustomed to Nesta and they had developed a great friendship after all those months. He could always understand and read through her pain and aggressiveness, even when others didn’t. He did believe her words, though. She, pretty much like him, would do anything to protect the ones she loved.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He nodded once, staring into her piercing eyes, and she patted his shoulder once, seeming satisfied with his answer, before pushing back and striding towards Cassian.

Gwyn kept stretching on the floor, but he could see she heard everything they said by her amused smile as she watched her friend walking away. Azriel reached his hand towards her, and she faced him again and grabbed it, helping herself up.

They were standing face to face now, hands still intertwined. He could hear Cassian and Nesta organizing the Priestesses in the background, the rustle of robes and training leathers as they moved across the training ring. But he couldn’t care less, not when he was holding his mate’s hand, face mere inches from hers.

“It seems you just got intimated by Nesta, huh?” She teased.

He shrugged: “It’s nothing to which I’m not used to by now.”

She chuckled, her eyes crinkling and her voice a sweet melody to his ears. He couldn’t stop but join her, with a quiet laugh. He could feel both Cassian and Nesta’s stare on them, observing their every move. It didn’t seem like the couple caught up on the scent of their mating bond, even though that faint chill mist mixed with water lilies, the combination of him and her, was currently inebriating his senses.

“Could we see each other later today?” Gwyn surprised him by asking, her big bright eyes waiting expectantly for him to answer.

She took a sudden breath, like she was trying to capture the new scent they shared as well, and Azriel found his lips blooming into a smile, both at the thought and at the request:

“I’d love to.”

She beamed “You can meet me at the library, if you are free.”

Gods, she was stunning. He couldn’t stop counting her freckles, observing the way her ponytail twirled behind her back, marveling at how warm her hand felt against his. What a strange and powerful feeling, he thought; to miss someone with that intensity, to desire more than anything to be close to them at all times.

And Azriel wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’ll be there.”

***

And so he went. After successfully ignoring most of Cassian and Nesta’s teasing remarks through training and lunch, none of them, however, related to the mating bond, Azriel found himself heading towards the library.

He was greeted by Clotho as soon as he entered the space, her magic pen already moving.

Good afternoon, Azriel. What can I do for you?

“I’m looking for Gwyn.” He cordially bowed his head to the Priestess.

Do you want me to call her?

“Thank you, but there is no need. If you could just tell me in which section she is I’ll meet her there, if that’s ok.”

“Ancient hymns and rituals”, third floor down to the right. You’ll find her.

He swore something about the way that magic pen swirled at the last sentence had a tinge of cheekiness, mischief even. So he gave Clotho a soft smile and went into the depths of the library, descending the stars and carefully avoiding staring directly at any Priestess that walked by, only greeting quietly the ones he knew from training.

As usual, his shadows kept swirling faster and faster with each step closer to Gwyn, excited at the prospect of being alone with her. Well, not alone entirely, but Azriel didn’t particularly care at the moment. He knew the curious eyes directed at them would be much more discreet than the ones at training – or anywhere else, for a matter of fact.

He could hear her before he saw her, humming softly as she labeled and stored a few books back on their spots. His heart thrummed against his chest, and he leaned on a shelf across from where she stood, still absorbed in her task, humming the same sweet melody over and over again.

Before he managed to say anything, one of his shadows darted to touch her hand, and her eyes lifted from the book she was holding and met his, her mouth quirked to the side.

“How long have you been there?” She put down the book and crossed her arms in front of her chest, lifting an eyebrow.

His shadows had encapsulated her shoulders and hair now, in a way that she seemed to be the Shadowsinger, and not him. He commanded them to get back to their places, but in vain. He honestly didn’t know why he even tried anymore.

“Not long.” He finally pushed away from his place by the shelf and stepped towards her, while she did the same.

He grabbed her hand, his thumb feeling her soft skin. His shadows encircled them both now, creating a dark cloud in an already dim-lit room. Gwyn laughed at them; curiously following their patterns with her eyes, hand still intertwined with his.

“They never did that before, with anyone.” Azriel observed the way his shadows expanded and darkened around and above them.

“Well, as you said before, they like me. If I were you, I’d be worried they might run away and come to me. I wouldn’t mind at all. Curious little things.”

When he faced her again she was staring at him with such intent he drew a ragged breath, mind focusing only on the female before him. The poor lighting of this particular hallway made her eyes darken, her pupils dilate, mouth slightly parted. Her copper hair now a shade of deep red, like molten fire. He just wanted to kiss each and every one of her freckles, from her face to her neck and below.

The thought made his body ache for her, his pants growing uncomfortably tight. He breathed deep, once, twice, in order to calm his mind and thoughts, but was cut short when her lips met his.

His arms instantly found their way to her hips, gripping her gently. She tugged her hands in his hair, pressing herself against him as the kiss deepened, her lips parting wider to give him access. He enlaced one arm around her, keeping her close and placing his other hand in the back of her neck. He could hear a song, an ancient melody spreading from them, an array of strings and choirs.

When they parted at last, her eyes were wide.

“Did you hear that?” She whispered as they breathed in each other’s scent. Her hands were still on his hair, and he couldn’t take his hands off her just yet, placing them steadily on her hips once again.

He nodded, smiling, and she laughed silently before continuing: “It was magical.”

He leaned to kiss her once again, stopping for a brief second and silently asking for her permission to continue. She closed her eyes, lifting her face, and a soft sigh escaped her lips when they met his for the second time. It was softer this time, tender. Azriel didn’t know if something could ever feel better than this, than having his mate in his arms; than having Gwyn in his arms.

When they parted, he rested his forehead on hers, their breaths mingling. The scent of their mating bond stronger this time, only enough for them to sense it.

“Do you think they could feel it today?” Gwyn seemed to read his mind. “Our scent.”

He met her ocean eyes and shook his head: “Well, Nesta has a sharp mind, and Cassian knows me my entire life. They definitely suspect something.” He huffed a laugh “But not relating to the bond. They probably think is a crush thing.”

She laughed at him, teasingly: “Is it, Shadowsinger? A crush thing?”

“It’s so much more and you know it, Berdara.” He answered in the same tone, but he knew by the way she swallowed once that she heard the husk in his voice, sensing the promise in his words.

Someone is near. Priestesses.

His shadows curled around his ear and he retreated a step, just enough to allow a casual distance between them. Gwyn turned her head to the sound of robes shuffling by, and looked at him again. “Care to join me?” She offered, nodding towards the cart with a loving smile.

“Gladly.”

They fell into a comfortable routine after Gwyn taught him how to shelve the books she cataloged and labeled; sometimes she hummed or sang something to herself, and it was usually at those times when he paused what he was doing, bewitched by her voice. Even the movements of the other Priestesses seemed to still when Gwyn sang, the whole world going quiet. Usually, though, she noticed the subtle halt in his movements after a few moments, and interrupted herself by laughing at his reaction.

If Azriel could exchange the work he did as a Spymaster to just label and store books with Gwyn the whole afternoon, he would. Even if he knew the importance of his work, he would trade everything in a heartbeat just to be with her. Or perhaps he really needed a break.

There was a time in which he thought his spying to be the only thing that he was meant to do. And there was so much in it that he disliked: the torture, the gore. But maybe… Maybe it was time for him to start making some changes. For his sake, and the ones he loved.

“What are you thinking about?”

Her quiet voice distracted him from his thoughts. He shook his head, shelving another book, and turned to her, finding her kind eyes staring straight back at him. “It’s nothing.”

“Az.” Gwyn reached for him, holding his hand in hers “You know you can tell me.”

“It’s just” He gazed at their joint hands and sighed “I did such bad things in the past, and have been doing it for so long… I'm tired of it.”

She lifted a hand and brushed her fingers against his skin, meeting his stare. “You did a lot of great things too, Azriel. Like helping your friends, your family, your people… And me.” She smiled, reassuringly. “You were the one who saved me that night all those nights ago, and then helped me stand up back on my feet every morning after it. You helped me become who I am today.”

Her tenderness broke him, touched a place inside him he was just starting to realize he had, and he took a deep breath before he took her hands in his, lifting them to meet his lips. The only possible reaction he could have to all that gentleness without allowing tears to fall; and he prayed to the Mother it could convey everything he felt.

The way Gwyn smiled and leaned in to softly kiss his cheek gave him his answer.

#awwwwwww #sorry it took me so long #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel and gwyn #post acosf #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel fics #i live for gwynriel

96 notes · View notes