#and I am living very comfortably with a friend I love dearly
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The Alchemy
AU where Harry is the star quarterback at his college and y/n is an English major.
Based very loosely off The Alchemy by Taylor Swift
CW: Smut
Word Count: 6,871
Leaving my family to go to University was a bittersweet decision. My heart tugged at the thought of being away from them, but my passion for mastering the art of English pulled me towards my dream. My family had always been my biggest supporters and I wanted to make them proud by becoming an English professor. This meant leaving behind my comfortable life in a small suburban town in Florida to study abroad at one of the most prestigious universities. The campus was nestled in the very heart of where literary greats had once roamed and created their masterpieces. It was as if the walls exuded inspiration and creativity, urging me to chase after my dreams with even more fervor. Though I missed my family dearly, I knew that this journey would lead me to become the best version of myself and honor their unwavering support and love.
It was a whirlwind of experiences as I made my way through the unfamiliar streets. The currency conversion was a constant challenge, with every transaction feeling like a game of guesswork. And then there was the driving - on the opposite side of the road no less - which required all of my concentration to avoid any mishaps. But perhaps most daunting of all was the non-stop partying at pubs, a culture shock for someone like me who had grown up in a small town in America.
Thankfully, I was able to find a flat that was within walking distance from the school, and even luckier to have another American girl as my roommate. Mia was a sweet, bubbly girl from the middle of nowhere Kansas, embracing every aspect of British culture including the pub scene and the charming local lads.
Living with Mia meant constantly having people over, and it seemed like every night brought new faces into our home. I didn't mind too much, mostly enjoying the lively atmosphere and meeting new people. However, there were definitely some moments that tested my patience, like when one of Mia's friends named Arthur ended up getting sick and leaving his mark in our kitchen. Despite these occasional hiccups, I was grateful for this experience abroad and all the unique encounters it brought my way.
Though Mia's social butterfly nature could be trying at times, I appreciated her warm companionship in this foreign place. It was on one such night, after we had cleaned up the remnants of Arthur's ill-fated escapades, that we found ourselves cozied up with mugs of tea and watching the rain patter against the windows.
Mia was unusually pensive as she stared out into the drizzly Manchester night. "You know," she began softly, "sometimes I wonder if I'm chasing the wrong dreams. My parents wanted me to become a doctor or lawyer, something stereotypically successful, but I just wanted adventure. Now here I am, living it up in England, but it all feels...empty, like I'm still searching for meaning."
I nodded thoughtfully, sensing the vulnerability in her words. Though Mia put on a bubbly facade, there was more depth to her than met the eye.
"I think the great thing about being here is that we have time to figure it all out," I offered gently. "We're writing our own stories, not just following someone else's script."
Mia smiled, some of the spark returning to her eyes. "You're right. That's exactly why I love being here with you."
As the rain continued to drum against the windows, Mia and I sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Mia turned to me with a curious expression.
"Do you ever have doubts about your dreams, too?" Mia asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability.
I considered her question for a moment before responding, "All the time. Sometimes I wonder if I'm on the right path or if I'm just going through the motions."
Mia nodded understandingly, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of uncertainty. "It's scary, isn't it? The idea that we might wake up one day and realize we've been chasing a dream all along."
I placed a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder. "It is scary, but it's also part of the journey. We're allowed to question and evolve along the way."
She smiled weakly, her gaze drifting back to the rain-splattered window. "I guess that's what makes life interesting, right? The uncertainty of it all."
Our conversation was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Mia got up to answer it, revealing a group of our friends who had decided to brave the rainy night for an impromptu gathering.
"Come in, come in!" Mia exclaimed cheerfully, ushering everyone inside. The room quickly filled with laughter and chatter as our friends settled in.
As I looked around the group, my eyes landed on a few familiar faces who have crossed paths with me several times before. Among them was Arthur, a friendly face that always brought a sense of comfort and familiarity. As everyone piled into the room, my gaze wandered to him - Harry Styles, the renowned quarterback of our school's football team. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement at being in the presence of such a well-known athlete. When I first arrived from the United States, I had assumed the term "football" referred to what we call soccer back home. But as I soon discovered, American Football was just as beloved and popular in the UK.
Harry noticed me looking his way and met my gaze. There was an intensity in his green eyes that made me quickly avert my own, focusing instead on my friend Grace who was animatedly sharing a story next to me.
I tried to tune into her words, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome footballer across the room. By all accounts, Harry was cocky, brash, and a bit of a player. And yet, I couldn't deny there was something magnetic about him. He carried himself with a self-assured swagger, his athletic frame filling out his clothes in a way that betrayed his strength.
I scolded myself internally. Just because he's nice to look at doesn't change the fact that he seems like an arrogant jock. Still, when our eyes met again, I felt a flutter in my stomach I couldn't ignore.
Harry said something to his friend that made the group erupt into laughter. He flashed a crooked smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I quickly looked away once more, but the image of his smile lingered in my mind.
Get it together, I told myself sternly. Harry is off-limits. With his reputation, getting involved would only lead to trouble. I turned my focus back to Grace, pushing all thoughts of Harry's eyes, smile and broad shoulders out of my head.
For the rest of the night, I avoided looking in Harry's direction, though I could feel his gaze on me periodically as the hours wore on. By the time people started trickling out, I felt certain I had avoided any direct interaction with the dashing footballer.
That is, until I went to lock the door behind the last guest and found him standing there. He flashed that crooked smile again as he leaned against the door frame. "See you around, Y/N," he said, holding my gaze for a moment before disappearing into the night. I stood frozen, my heart racing as I replayed those five simple words in my head.
As I stood there in shock at Harry's unexpected presence, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling inside me. His parting words echoed in my mind, leaving me slightly breathless and unsure of what to make of the situation. Gathering my composure, I locked the door behind him and turned to find Mia watching me with a knowing smile.
"Looks like someone caught your eye, Y/N," Mia teased, nudging me playfully. "Harry Styles, huh? Quite the charmer."
I flushed slightly at her comment, trying to brush off any implications. "Oh, come on, Mia. It's not like that," I deflected, hoping to downplay the significance of the moment.
But Mia wasn't convinced. "Sure, sure," she replied with a wink. "Just remember, not all that glitters is gold."
Her words lingered in my mind as I bid her goodnight and retreated to my room. Sitting on my bed, I couldn't shake off the image of Harry's smile or the way he had looked at me in that brief moment by the door. The conflicting thoughts swirled in my head, leaving me restless and contemplative.
The following day at school, as I made my way through the bustling halls, I noticed a familiar figure leaning against the lockers up ahead. It was Harry, his usual confident demeanor on full display as he chatted with his friends. As our eyes met briefly, he flashed a grin in my direction before turning back to his conversation.
Feeling a surge of boldness, I approached him tentatively. "Hey, Harry," I greeted him, trying to keep my tone casual despite the flutter in my stomach.
"Hey there, Y/N," he responded with a smirk, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. "Didn't think you'd show up here again so soon."
I felt my cheeks flush at his words. Clearly he was referring to my abrupt exit last night after our brief encounter at the door. I scrambled to think of a clever response.
"Well, we do go to the same school," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice light despite the nerves I felt.
Harry chuckled, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he regarded me with amusement.
"True enough," he conceded. "But I got the sense you were trying to avoid me last night. Did I make you nervous?"
His bluntness took me aback. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Harry's eyes danced with mirth at my flustered state.
"Cat got your tongue?" He teased.
I took a steadying breath, determined not to let him get the best of me. "You wish," I retorted, hoping the bravado in my voice sounded more convincing than I felt.
Harry laughed, a rich warm sound that made my knees weak. Our eyes locked and in that moment, it was like the noisy hallway melted away and there was only the two of us.
"Feisty. I like it," he murmured. Before I could respond, the warning bell rang, snapping us both back to reality.
"See you around, Y/N," Harry said with a wink before disappearing into the swarm of students heading to class.
My body froze in place, heart thudding against my ribs as I gazed at the infamous Harry. He exuded an undeniable air of trouble, and yet, as our charged banter replayed in my mind, I couldn't deny the adrenaline pumping through my veins. With a determined stride, I made my way to class, refusing to let this boy be the cause of my tardiness.
I took a seat in my Studies of Shakespeare class, the one subject I truly loved. The works of William Shakespeare never failed to captivate me, and if you could understand the Elizabethan lingo, his witty humor shone through brilliantly. Unfortunately, this particular teacher seemed to have a talent for draining all the life and humor out of these masterpieces.
I tried to focus as the professor droned on about the themes in Romeo and Juliet, but my mind kept wandering back to my encounter with Harry. Something about our charged banter had awakened feelings in me that I didn't quite understand.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a folded piece of paper land on my desk as if taken out of a scene from a movie. I looked around furtively before opening it. In an unfamiliar scrawling handwriting it read:
"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." - H
I felt a thrill run through me and quickly tucked the note into my bag before the professor could notice. So Harry was in this class too? I scanned the room subtly until I spotted him a few rows behind me. He caught my eye and gave me a roguish wink.
I turned back to the front, trying to ignore the simmering exhilaration I felt. Over the next few days, the notes kept coming during Shakespeare class, each with a quote or two from the Bard himself. They were usually cheeky and flirtatious, hinting at some blossoming rapport between us.
I found myself anticipating each one, my heart skipping a beat when I would spot a new folded note on my desk. Our eyes would meet across the room, a hidden smile just between us.
After class one day, as I gathered my things, I sensed Harry approach my desk. "So when's our study session?" he asked nonchalantly, though there was a glint of something more in his eyes. I hesitated, knowing I should keep my distance, yet unable to deny I was intrigued.
I nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to appear nonchalant. "Well, I don't know... I've heard you're not the most dedicated studier," I teased, giving him a playful smile.
Harry chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong. I may not look like it, but I'm quite the Shakespeare aficionado," he replied with a grin.
I raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "Is that so? Well, I suppose we could arrange a study session... if you can prove your expertise," I challenged, a hint of challenge in my tone.
His grin widened, accepting the challenge. "Consider it done. How about we meet at the library tomorrow after school?" Harry suggested, his gaze unwavering.
I hesitated for a moment, the thrill of anticipation coursing through me. "Alright, it's a date then," I agreed, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him.
As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Harry flashed me one last grin before disappearing into the bustling hallway. My heart raced with both nervousness and exhilaration as I packed up my belongings, eager for our upcoming study session.
The following day at the library, I found myself anxiously scanning the room for Harry. My pulse quickened when I spotted him sitting at a table in the corner, a stack of Shakespearean plays spread out in front of him.
I made my way over to him, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. "Ready to impress me with your Shakespeare knowledge?" I asked with a teasing smile as I took a seat across from him.
Harry flashed me a charming grin. "Just watch and learn," he said confidently, picking up a copy of Romeo and Juliet and flipping to a random page.
As he began to recite lines from the play with passion and flair, I couldn't help but be captivated by his enthusiasm. His eyes lit up as he delved into each line, bringing the centuries-old words to life in a way that was both mesmerizing and captivating.
By the time our study session ended, I found myself completely enthralled by Harry's interpretation of Shakespeare's works. As we gathered our things to leave, he turned to me with a twinkle in his eye, he knew a lot more about the works than he let on to.
Harry turned to me, “So now that I’ve shown you i’m smart, I know Shakespeare, when are you coming to one of my games?” he asked confidently.
I was taken aback by his forward invitation. Attending one of his football games felt intimate in a way that made me nervous.
"Oh, um, I don't know..." I fumbled over my words, suddenly feeling shy.
Harry tilted his head, giving me a crooked smile. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'll even give you a personal tour of the field afterwards," he joked.
I bit my lip, considering it. There was no denying I felt drawn to him, despite trying to keep my distance. And the thought of seeing him command the field sent a little thrill through me.
"Alright, I suppose I could stop by," I finally conceded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously.
Harry's face lit up. "Brilliant! Our next game is on Friday. I'll leave a ticket for you at will call," he said eagerly.
I nodded, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. "Okay, yeah. I’ll see you then," I replied softly.
Harry gave me a dazzling smile and I felt my knees go weak.
Friday night arrived and I found myself filled with nervous excitement as I made my way to the football stadium. I couldn't believe I had actually agreed to come watch Harry play. As I approached the ticket booth, I gave my name and they handed me the ticket Harry had left for me.
I found my seat in the packed bleachers and waited anxiously for the game to start. When the players rushed onto the field, I immediately spotted Harry's mop of curly hair. He looked focused and determined as he took his position on the field.
As the game began, I was immediately drawn in by Harry's commanding presence on the field. His movements were fluid and precise, each pass and dodge executed with passion and skill. With each successful play, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, mirroring my own excitement. It was impossible not to join in, jumping to my feet and cheering for Harry along with everyone else.
At halftime, Harry made his way over to the sidelines, sweat glistening on his forehead and tattooed arms, his chest heaving from exertion. As he scanned the crowd for familiar faces, his eyes locked onto mine and a wide grin spread across his face. He waved enthusiastically, causing my cheeks to flush as I shyly waved back in return.
In the second half of the game, Harry's presence seemed to radiate even more brightly. With each touchdown he scored, his fists pumped triumphantly in the air. The crowd roared and cheered as he ripped off his helmet and hoisted it victoriously above his head, his teammates swarming around him in celebration.
As the stadium emptied out, I stayed behind with a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I couldn't wait to see Harry once again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he emerged from the locker room, his hair still damp from his post-game shower but his eyes shining with joy.
"So, what did you think?" he asked eagerly as he approached me.
"You were truly spectacular out there," I gushed earnestly. A wide grin stretched across Harry's face.
"Come on, let me give you that promised tour," he said playfully, offering me his arm. Laughing, I happily took it and followed him onto the empty field, my heart racing with excitement and admiration for the amazing athlete by my side.
Harry led me onto the empty stadium field, the night air crisp and cool against our skin. He pointed out spots on the grass where pivotal plays had happened, describing them with a passion that revealed his deep love for the game.
I found myself enthralled, leaning into him as we walked, his arm solid and warm beneath my hand. When we reached the middle of the field, he turned to face me. His eyes were soft, searching my face in the dim glow of the stadium lights.
"You know, I was afraid you wouldn't come tonight," he admitted quietly.
I tilted my head. "Why's that?"
He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "You never seemed to like me much before. I figured I wasn't your type."
Heat rose to my cheeks. He wasn't wrong - I'd unfairly judged him as arrogant and cocky. But tonight had shattered those assumptions.
"I guess I realized there's more to you than meets the eye," I said softly.
Harry's smile widened. He lifted his hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath caught at his touch. Slowly, he leaned in. I let my eyes fall shut in anticipation...
But suddenly, the stadium lights flickered off, plunging us into darkness. We jumped apart in surprise.
Harry laughed. "Guess that's our cue to head out."
He took my hand, interlacing our fingers, and led me towards the parking lot. I walked close beside him, hyper-aware of his palm pressed against mine.
As he towered over me, Harry's eyes scanned the street, searching for a car. "Where did you park?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.
I shifted nervously on my feet, avoiding eye contact. "Oh. Uh. I didn't drive. I just live around the street," I murmured, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The thought of navigating English roads was terrifying to me.
A warm chuckle escaped from Harry's lips as he looked back down at me. "I can drive you home, love," he offered, extending a hand towards me. His scent wafted towards me - a mix of cologne and something woodsy - and I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at his closeness.
As Harry and I walked towards his car, our hands still entwined, I felt a sense of excitement and anticipation build within me. "So, tell me more about this amazing game-winning touchdown," I teased, trying to break the silence that had fallen between us.
Harry laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced at me sideways. "Oh, you mean the one where I body-slammed the other team's runner into oblivion?" He pretended to flex his muscles playfully. "That was pretty epic, if I do say so myself."
I shook my head, feigning disbelief. "You're such a show-off," I said with a grin. "I bet you were the star of the school playground too."
Harry snorted. "Hardly. I was more of a loner growing up. Spent most of my time with my nose buried in books."
"Really?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And here I thought all jocks were brain-dead."
He laughed again, his laughter echoing through the empty streets as we walked towards his car. When we finally reached it, Harry unlocked the door and gestured for me to get inside. As I slid into the passenger seat, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly he filled the driver's seat - broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long legs. The image of him all sweaty and wet from a shower flashed through my mind, making my cheeks heat up again.
"So," Harry began as he started the engine and pulled out onto the road, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, "tell me more about yourself."
I felt myself blush even harder at his directness but decided to play along. "Well," I said slowly, thinking quickly. "I'm a huge bookworm too - Harry Potter is probably my favorite series ever."
Harry chuckled softly as he glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road. "I can see why you fit right in here in England then."
We drove through the quiet streets in companionable silence for a while before Harry spoke up again. "You know, you don't have to act all tough around me," he said quietly, his eyes still on the road as he slowed down at a stoplight.
I turned to face him fully now, surprised by his words. "I wasn't trying to be tough," I said defensively. "I just didn't want you to think that... well, never mind what I didn't want you to think," I muttered under my breath.
Harry's face softened into a gentle smile as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear once again - a gesture that sent shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the car interior. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly as he took my hand in his once more and squeezed gently before letting go when the light turned green again.
The rest of our drive was filled with more easy conversation punctuated by moments of awkward silence broken only by the sounds of our breathing and occasional traffic noises outside. When we finally pulled up outside my house I found myself hesitating before opening the car door knowing that this was goodbye.
Under the dim glow of the street lamp, I tentatively turned to face Harry. "Thanks for...for tonight," I stammered out, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze.
His emerald eyes twinkled mysteriously as he simply nodded and began unbuckling his seatbelt. His eyes never left mine, setting off a simmering warmth between us that was hard to ignore.
"I should probably walk you to your door," he said softly, accentuating each word with an inexplicably seductive lilt. My heart pounded in my chest as we exited the car and made our way towards my apartment.
Once at the front door, we stood facing each other in silence, the air around us thick with unspoken words and desires. I felt his strong fingers gently cradle my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. The intensity of this simple touch sent sparks racing down my spine, pooling heat in places I hadn't even known existed.
"Can I come inside?" His voice was barely a whisper but it echoed loudly in my ears.
My mind screamed caution but my body had other plans. “Yes,” I breathed out, unlocking the door and pulling him inside.
Inside, Harry's lips found mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His tongue teased against mine, creating a warm and delicious friction that sent shivers down my legs. As he pressed his hips against me, I could feel the unmistakable hardness growing between us. Our hands roamed freely over each other's bodies, exploring new territory and seeking pleasure through every touch.
Harry's fingers made their way to the waistband of my skirt, pulling it down over my hips and letting it fall to the ground. He lifted me up onto the edge of a nearby table, spreading my legs slightly as he stood between them. The feel of his fingers brushing against my inner thigh caused me to gasp and arch my back in anticipation.
Harry pulled back abruptly,“I’m sorry,” He started, “that was really inappropriate.”
As Harry apologized, his eyes were drawn to the hint of my arousal peeking out from between my legs. His hesitation vanished as his fingers brushed against my wetness once more, this time without pulling away. He groaned in approval and leaned forward, pressing his lips against mine once more. I craved him in the worst ways.
Our tongues tangled as he pushed me back onto the table, spreading my legs further apart. His hands found their way under my shirt, skimming over my stomach before lifting it up, exposing my bra-clad breasts. He took a deep breath, inhaling my scent and trailing his fingers lightly across one tight nipple.
"Harry," I moaned, cavinginto his touch. "Please don't stop."
He smirked wickedly down at me before pulling back slightly. In one swift motion, he yanked my shirt over my head, tossing it aside carelessly. Grabbing hold of both sides of my bra, he pulled it down too with such force that my breasts were freed from their confinement.
I gasped at the sudden rush of air hitting my sensitive nipples but before I could catch my breath, he took one of them into his mouth sucking hard while pinching the other between two fingers, teasing it mercilessly.
"Fuck," I whimpered, clawing at the table underneath me as pleasure coursed through me like lightning. The intense mix of pain and pleasure sent waves of desire crashing over me as I felt myself becoming wetter with every passing second.
Sliding one hand down towards his pants, I slowly undid the button and zipper before slipping my hand inside his boxers to grip him firmly around his growing erection. He groaned into my breast at the contact sending shivers down my spine.
"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered hoarsely against my skin leaving a trail of saliva along my collarbone as he ran his tongue upwards caressingly .
"Yes," I breathed out between parted lips unable to form complete words due to the intensity of emotions running through me.
My heart raced as his erection throbbed in my hand. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, mixed with the desire that seemed to emanate from him. His other hand slid down my back, over my ass cheeks, and gripped them roughly, pulling me closer against his hardness.
"Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are? You and your little shy good girl act" he growled into my neck, nipping at the skin there softly. With one swift movement, he lifted me up onto the countertop, pushing my legs apart with his hips. His mouth trailed kisses along my jawline, down my throat, and on my breasts.
I arched my back slightly offering myself to him more fully as he took a hungry mouthful of one of my nipples into his mouth sucking on it hard while pinching the other between his fingers causing a sharp intake of breath from me which made him smile devilishly before moving on to devour the other one.
My body trembled with anticipation as he bit my neck playfully, his rough hands sliding over my hips and ass cheeks before pulling me against him. His cock twitched against my wet core, making me whimper in want. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're so fucking beautiful."
"Harry," I moaned, my voice reduced to a desperate whimper as he continued teasing me with his words and touches. "Please..."
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with our ragged breathing and the occasional moan. I could feel myself getting lost in the sensations, my body responding eagerly to his movements. His hands were everywhere, tracing over my curves and gripping me tightly as he pounded into me.
My own hands were roaming his back, digging into his flesh as I tried to hold on to something amidst the overwhelming pleasure that was coursing through me. Every inch of my body felt on fire, and I couldn't get enough.
"Fuck," he grunted, his face contorting with pleasure. "You feel so good."
I whimpered in response, unable to form any coherent words as he continued to move inside me relentlessly. My whole world had narrowed down to this moment – his body against mine, the sound of our bodies coming together in a perfect rhythm.
My mind was blissfully blank as he increased his pace, his thrusts becoming rougher and more urgent. I could feel my climax building up within me, like a fire threatening to consume me whole.
And then it hit me like a tidal wave – intense and all-consuming. My back arched off the counter as I cried out his name, my body trembling with pleasure as every nerve ending exploded with ecstasy.
He followed soon after, letting out a loud groan as he spilled himself inside me. We stayed still for a moment, trying to catch our breaths and bask in the aftermath of our passion.
But eventually reality came crashing back around us. Panic started creeping up inside me as I tried to gather my thoughts and make sense of what had just happened.
As I lay there, my heart still pounding in my chest, he gently pulled out of me and straightened up. His eyes, dark with desire just moments ago, now softened with a mixture of tenderness and regret.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of our heavy breathing. "I shouldn't have let things go this far."
I sat up slowly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me – confusion, guilt, and a lingering sense of pleasure that refused to dissipate.
"It's not just your fault," I murmured, avoiding his gaze as I tried to gather my clothes around me. "I wanted this too."
He reached out a hand to touch my arm, but hesitated before making contact.
"We should talk about this," he said finally, his tone serious. "About what it means for us."
I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words settling between us. What had started as a moment of passion had now morphed into something more complicated, something that demanded attention and discussion.
As we dressed in silence, the air in the room felt charged with unspoken thoughts and emotions. The intensity of our physical connection lingered like a ghost between us, refusing to be ignored.
We began to gather our clothes from around the room, now tainted with the evidence of our reckless choices. Harry buried his face into his shirt before pulling it on, perhaps ruminating on what just occurred, or maybe trying to drown out the reality with the lingering scent of his cologne.
"Y/n," he started after a long silence, pulling his trousers up. His voice sounded strained, an indication that he was struggling with the right choice of words. "I... I didn't mean for this to... I mean, I like spending time with you." He sighed heavily, rubbing his face between his large palms.
I remained silent as I fastened my bra. The finality in his voice was suffocating, making it harder for me to breathe with each passing moment. I felt my heart thumping loudly in my chest – a crude reminder of the complication we had willingly dived into.
"I like you, Y/N," he said finally, his voice a hoarse whisper. The words hung in the air between us, hovering like a dense fog, obscuring any clarity that might lie beyond.
I stopped fumbling with my blouse, my fingers stilled by his confession. "Harry," I began, my voice barely audible. Fear clung to me, making my words tremble.
"I know," he cut me off before I could finish what I started. "I know we're both in different places... Me with football and you with your studies." There was a tingling silence after his statement, as if he was waiting for me to confirm or deny his declaration.
I sighed heavily, tugging at the hem of my blouse, feeling the cool fabric against my still heated skin. "It's not that simple Harry," I admitted, blinking back tears that had started to sting my eyes. "This," I motioned around the room, encompassing our discarded underwear strewn haphazardly around the room - a silent testament to the passion that had just consumed us, "this complicates things."
He ran his hand through his tousled hair and nodded solemnly. "I understand," he replied, a hint of resignation etching lines onto his face. His gaze was heavy with something akin to regret as it met mine.
My breath hitched in my throat at the intensity of his stare. I wanted desperately to reach out and ease the burden that seemed to weigh heavily on him. But reality was an insidious shadow that lurked in our midst, reminding us of the impracticality of our desires.
"I think it's better if we keep our distance for now," Harry broke the silence after what felt like an eternity. His words were like cold water dousing the fire that our bodies had kindled only moments ago.
A feeling of sudden emptiness clawed at me. His words, though probably said in goodwill, felt like a punch to my gut. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.
I nodded, unable to bring myself to utter a word. He stepped towards me and for a moment I thought he would pull me into his arms one last time. But he merely extended a hand that I shook lightly, the gesture felt impersonal after the intimacy we had just shared.
Without another word, he turned and left the room. I stood still in the silence that followed, the sound of his departing footsteps echoing in my ears long after he was gone.
Mia came home later that night, oblivious to the charged atmosphere that still lingered, suffocating and heavy in the air. Her chatter about an extra credit assignment she’d completed was a stark contrast to the silence that had enveloped the room just hours ago.
“Y/N, are you okay?” she asked suddenly, noticing my distant gaze. I gave her a weak smile in response before excusing myself to bed.
As I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Harry's words echoed through my mind. "I think it's better if we keep our distance for now." His voice was etched into my memory, roughened by regret and something else I couldn't quite place. His face bore an expression that told me this was as hard for him as it was for me.
The next day was a blur. My classes seemed trivial compared to the turmoil swirling in my mind. My interactions with others were mechanical and flat as if I was watching myself from outside my body.
Football practice was going on when I walked past the field on my way back from the campus library. My eyes instinctively sought out Harry among the sea of players. I found him focused on his game, every muscle in his body straining as he kicked the ball towards the goalpost.
His world seemed unchanged—still revolving around football—while mine felt like it had been knocked off its axis.
The following weeks were no easier. Everywhere I went, I could feel his presence like a phantom pain - a dull ache that refused to fade away. In every conversation, every song playing in the background, every corner of campus - Harry was there.
I knew we had made a rational decision, given our circumstances. But my heart couldn't comprehend what my mind had already accepted.
Months passed and winter set in, blanketing Manchester in white. Serene and beautiful yet so melancholy it mirrored my mood perfectly. The once familiar campus looked different under the soft glow of the snow as if to mirror the change that had occurred in my life.
One evening, as I was walking back from the library, I spotted Harry sitting alone on a bench, bundled up in a thick coat, his breath misting in the frigid air. His eyes were trained on the football field, currently blanketed by snow, and his hands were tucked into his pockets, his usual energy replaced by a pensive quietness.
I hesitated, weighing my options. We hadn't spoken since that night – the night when our worlds collided and then abruptly fell apart. But something drew me towards him – an inexplicable magnetism I had been fighting for so long.
Stepping tentatively closer, I cleared my throat to announce my presence. "Harry," I said softly, trying not to startle him.
He looked up at the sound of my voice, surprise flickering across his features before they settled into guarded neutrality. "Y/N," he responded with a curt nod, but made no move to invite me to sit.
Taking a leap of faith, I lowered myself onto the bench next to him, maintaining some distance while also bracing for the icy cold through my jeans. For several minutes we sat in silence, lost in our own thoughts as we stared out at the snowy field.
"I've missed you." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He turned toward me then, his emerald eyes soft and searching as they met mine. His lips opened as if to say something but closed again as if reconsidering his words.
"Y/N..." His voice trailed off and there was a long pause before he continued. "I’ve missed you too."
Relief washed over me at his confession but it was quickly replaced with a gnawing sadness as I realized that missing each other wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between us. Our realities were still the same - he was still the star football player with ambitions bigger than Manchester itself and I was still an English major trying to carve out a place for myself in academia.
“Do you ever think about…?” I started, swallowing hard as I tried to voice the question that had been eating at me.
“Us?” He completed my sentence, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was heavy but he held it steady, openly showing the vulnerability he usually kept hidden beneath his star athlete facade. “All the time.”
The honesty in his confession hit me harder than I expected. We were both stuck in our respective worlds, looking at each other from afar but never truly reaching out.
I took a deep breath, feeling the biting winter air fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. “We can’t keep doing this, Harry,” I said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen between us.
He looked at me then, his gaze filled with understanding and something else I couldn't quite place. “I know,” he replied softly, his eyes never leaving mine.
The future was uncertain and full of challenges. But if there was one thing I had learnt from this whole ordeal, it was that some chances are worth taking. No matter how daunting they may seem.
#harry styles one direction#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles masterlist#harry styles smut#one direction#harry styles x reader#hs live#otra tour#harry styles au#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles angst#harry styles fic#harry styles fluff#harry styles fan fic#harry styles fanfic rec#harry styles fandom#one shot#harry styles blurb#harrystylesau#harrystylesfanfiction#harry styles fanart#harrystylessmut
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when I took a month off work I was lowkey worried I'd come back and find everyone had been fine without me and I wasn't needed at all (because being terrible at every previous job I've had did some ✨damage✨ to my self confidence)
but that is not what happened
I have never encountered someone so fucking happy to see me as my boss' wife was on my first day back, her face lit up like it was christmas, she was practically jumping for joy because now that I'm back she doesn't have to do the ops team's fucking timesheets anymore
I have been told by one of the ops guys that my leave of absence had caused a genuine rift in the boss' marriage because his wife hated doing my job so much they were actively fighting about it
to be clear, his wife is lovely, she doesn't usually throw a shit fit about just anything, it was just that my job is just so fucking annoying that she hated every second of it, and that was the most validating shit I have ever experienced in my LIFE
and the reason she was pissed off at my boss/her husband about it is because he's too soft on his crew and doesn't make them all report their hours for the week
which, as you can imagine, makes building their timesheets extremely fucking difficult
it basically turns the whole process into a puzzle that I have to solve using roughly three different sources of information, one of which is the boss himself who isn't always easy to get ahold of when he's on a site
this puzzle is made even more difficult by the fact that a glitch in our form system keeps messing up the dates on the timecards, so I have to cross reference the time cards from the two (2) ops team members, who actually DO fill out their forms, with the roster, but my boss often changes the roster at the last minute without telling me or noting it down, so then I have to cross reference with the reports they have to submit for certain ongoing jobs because they'll have correct dates and also a list of who was present (if they were doing one off smalltime jobs that week I'll have no physical records and will rely entirely on the boss' memory to confirm dates and staff numbers, unless I can get ahold of one of the ops team members themselves and there's only one who will reliably communicate with me but only when he's not currently on a site)
I tried to explain this process to boss' wife before I left and, looking horrified, she asked me 'is there no way to streamline this?' I replied 'this is streamlined'
as far as I'm aware, as long as I've worked there, there has only been a handful of times people were paid incorrectly, and it was because I was not given correct information by the boss, in the time I was gone, his wife told me that she had incorrectly logged several pays because of this broken ass system
so, as you could imagine, my ego is through the fucking roof right now, I am GOOD at this bullshit job, I took an impossible system and made it work, I am playing on hard mode and killing it, in a field I had zero experience in before taking this job other than a natural inclination for organising and scheduling
and to be clear, I love this job, the boss is too soft on his staff but he's a good guy, he makes us all feel valued and appreciated, he paid me above my award rate, he's absurdly accommodating, and I have an insane amount of freedom to do what I want with company files
I may be working with a bullshit system but I can take naps in the office whenever I want and tell my boss off when he's being too soft (one time his wife literally started clapping when I told him off for sending clients their reports before they'd paid for them) and I get to control when I work, and whether I work from home or the office (which is GREAT when my back flares up)
I might not get many hours (only 16 hours per week) because the company is so small and I run out of things to do because I've streamlined everything (boss literally called me TOO EFFICIENT), but he'll give me those 16 even if I spend half of it playing solitaire and watching youtube
so just, yeah, it feels so good to be confident in my work, to feel valued and appreciated and like I'm actually successful at something after being handed dud jobs for years that I wasn't cut out for, and now knowing that what I'm doing is actually genuinely hard but I've been doing it anyway without fail, makes me feel good!
so tldr; taking a month off work taught me I have phenomenal job security because if my boss ever fires me his wife might actually fucking kill him
#lula's life#I have genuinely hit a point in my life I never thought I'd reach#I'm happy with my job#I'm not in constant pain#and I am living very comfortably with a friend I love dearly#I don't make a lot of money and still rely on government benefits but that's okay because I make enough to be comfortable#life is actually good I can't believe I made it
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𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕄𝕖 | ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕀𝕀: 𝕀 𝔸𝕞 𝕃𝕠𝕤𝕥, 𝔹𝕦𝕥 ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕀𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕦
Pairing: Neteyam x (f)Omaticaya!Reader
synopsis: in order to fulfil your revenge plans on Neteyam, you have to give up a lot of your life, including a future with a man who loves you dearly.
warnings: 18+ minors DNI, aged-up! Neteyam/Reader, enemies-to-lovers, angst (@lanasblood trying to be better about this), smut (fingering, orgasm denial), strong language, neteyam and reader being horrible to each other lol
wc: 6.5k words
a/n: things are starting to get spicy besties 😌 i have to admit, although i am a lot more comfortable with friends-to-lovers, or more angsty tropes, i adore writing the sexual tension that comes with e2l and i hope i did it justice and you enjoy this chapter. i can't wait to hear your thoughts, bbs and thank you again for all the love and support on this series xx (thank you very much also to @cinetrix for her amazing Neteyam art ily bestie x)
this is only half proof-read, so if you see any mistakes no you don't
na'vi compendium: yawne - beloved, Tsakarem - Tsa'hik in training, tìlor - beauty, txepvi - spark
: ̗̀➛ previous chapter (x) : ̗̀➛ series masterlist (x) : ̗̀➛ series playlist (x)
In a perfect world, I'd kill to love you the loudest
But all I do is live to hurt you soundless
Say you see I'm lying, babe, and let this go
I can never promise you tomorrow
The departing footsteps echoed through the forest as O'ì'en left you all alone, with a broken heart and the man that broke it, and the feeling left you empty, the hurt of what transpired, of what he did, what you did, how with each passing blow to each other’s lives, this was no longer just a petty rivalry but felt like so much more, like too much more. You threatened him, you spit all sorts of petty warnings about hell and burning - and in the heat of the moment, that sounded cool, and doable. Not anymore, as you stood motionless in the clearing and realised that Neteyam still had so much power over you, that his grasp on your life and on your heart was so tight, tighter than anyone else’s, tight enough to bruise and crush it with a tug of his fisted fingers. You removed yourself from his grasp like his touch burned you, which it felt like it did, and put distance in between your bodies, so that you could see him, so that you could clear your mind, so that his presence wouldn’t have the effect on you it always did, that you were sure was just your body recoiling in hatred, that always manifested itself in goosebumps and shivers down your spine.
“You’re such a fucking asshole.” The tears stung as you willed them back into your tear ducts. It’s been 7 years since Neteyam has seen you cry, and you’ll be damned if that would ever change, and especially right now, as you watched the smirk grow with every departing step, with every erratic blink of your eyes, as you tried to stop them from falling down your face, as he knew he got to you, that he made you pay for the words you uttered to him before.
“Oh, yawne. One day you’ll learn to not punch above your weight, and I guess since no one else is willing to, it falls onto me to teach you.” He walks slow, purposeful steps as he nears you once more, and his eyes boring into you, filled with intensity and a feeling you couldn’t quite place, that didn’t quite match the arrogance staining his lips like poison, stilled you in your spot, until he was so close, you could feel his warm breath and musky scent, until your heart boomed painfully in your chest, echoing loudly in your ears, marginally drowning out his next words.
“Did you really think you could threaten me and everything I’ve worked for, my relationship and the rest of my life, without any repercussions, huh? Did you really think I would go down without a fight?”
His hand raised and reached to push some unruly strands of hair out of your face, and you couldn’t look away from the soft glimmer in his eyes, that was so at odds with the rest of his face, you wondered if he even knew it was there. You wondered if he knew what it signified, because you didn’t. And despite your best efforts otherwise, you couldn’t deny the curiosity that deluged you, to try and find out.
The hint in his molten golden orbs dissipated as quickly as it appeared, and so did any middling emotion that tried you, as you once more found yourself reaching for your knife and unsheathing it, holding it in between both your hands, aiming for a shoulder… or a neck, and with a feral growl, you pushed your entire forced into the blow, and yelped in pain as one of his hands wrapped around both your wrists and twisted until the knife dropped pitifully on the ground with a loud clink. Tears threatened you once more at how futile the effort had been, how easy for him to overpower you like you were nothing more than a child, or a doll. He pinned your hands above your head and pushed you until your back collided with the bark of a tree and you felt the wind getting knocked out of your lungs at the contact.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk… why must you always resort to violence… yawne?” Your eyes widened as the hand that wasn’t holding you ghosted over your cheeks, tracing the air right above your lips with his thumb, and you were struggling, yet again, with the feelings that were plaguing you, that made burning appear everywhere his fingers were, burning the travelled down your body until they reached your core, that throbbed and clenched, that desperately asked you for something you would never, ever give it. After exploring your face, and tracing your jaw, his fingers finally settled on your chin, pushing it gently until your face angled upwards to meet his and no further breath could inch its way down your airways at the sight of him, at the way he looked at you, at the way it made you feel.
“You told me that you won’t mind burning in Hell as long as I burn with you. Well…” he broke eye contact to look around him at the forest surrounding you both. “Do you hear that, yawne? Fire is catching. And looks like we’re going to get to burn together after all.”
“Let me go. I told you what would happen if you ever touched me again.” His smirk never faltered, but only deepened as his eyes trailed over your body, settling on your lower abdomen.
“Mmm, yawne. I’m not sure you mean that.” It was your turn to reciprocate his guise, no ounce of shame or hesitation on your face.
“Let me go and you’ll find out whether I mean it or not.” his eyes widened, if only for a split second, and you felt like you imagined his grip on you loosening, or the fleeting sight of goosebumps peppered on his chest and neck, where your warm breath touched him.
“Are you really going to miss your chance to find lover boy and apologise like the good girl you like people to think you are?”
Your eyes lost momentary focus as he spoke. His words, although as cruel as usual, made guilt peak its ugly head over the thin-veiled curtain it was hiding behind, and you knew he was right. This was irrelevant. This whole fandangle of aggression and snarky remarks you always engaged in was not what should be occupying your brain, it wasn’t what mattered. O'ì'en mattered. Fixing Neteyam’s damage… and your own - that’s the only thing that mattered right now.
“Funny how quickly you seem to have forgotten about the one you supposedly love so much when I have your hands pinned above your head, isn’t it… yawne.”
His hands trailed over your arm as if on accident as he let you go and you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at his words, at his effect on you, at how hard you were fighting your own body and mind as they were struggling to regain composure from his touch, and his voice, and his presence.
Hate. That’s all it was. It consumed you, and you wish it didn’t, but at the end of the day, it was still just harmless, bona fide, unadulterated hate. You ignored the way your cheeks caught fire and burned beneath your skin as you ran towards the village, towards where you assumed O’i’en was headed, without sparing your biggest, your only enemy a second glance.
'Cause I have yet to learn how not to be his
This city will surely burn if we keep this as it is
You spent hours searching for him, but despite trying every place you knew he liked to frequent, all efforts proved futile. You knew he wouldn’t want to be found, but still, you held a glimmer of hope in your heart that at least subconsciously, he’d want you to find him, to allow him to explain what was mostly inexplainable and inexcusable - you couldn’t blame him for proving you wrong.
Eventually, as eclipse was nearing with each passing moment, defeated and regretful, you went to the nearby river, that was almost deserted due to the approaching evening, that you hoped would bring you some answers, or some solace… some strength. What were you supposed to do? Were you supposed to listen to Eywa, and your own heart telling you to go for this mateship that you knew was wrong, but felt drawn towards, for your own twisted, sadistic reasons? Or should you listen to your mind who told you to fight for what you knew would be a comfortable, healthy future, one that didn’t particularly enthral you, but hoped you could aspire to and embrace in time, with the insight that came with getting older? As always, the war between your mind and heart led to a painful impasse where both of them were bloodied and injured, but no discernible winners were left to claim victory on the choice, or on all the questions that plagued you.
You recognised Jake’s steps and his scent as he approached you, and you sighed. You were not in the mood for a lecture. Sure enough, he sat next to you, looking at the waterfall falling violently into the otherwise peaceful river, that rippled and bruised at the contact. It was funny to you now, sitting here, how that was a perfect metaphor for your relationship with Neteyam, how in his presence, you were just a river, and he was a force of nature, there to disturb and perturb, there to change you, so aggressive and formidable, and so strangely necessary. You were sad at how much his presence in your life mattered, how you knew that despite all the hurt and the pain, you owed him so much of who you were, so much of where you were. Because he pushed you every day, to be better, to strive for more, to want to be more like him in some ways, less like him in others - a better daughter, a better friend, a better sibling, a better soldier, a better warrior, a better clan member.
“Hey, kid. What are you doing here, eclipse will be upon us soon. You know the rules.”
“I know the rules, Jake. And with all due respect, right now, I really couldn’t care less about them.”
You turned to him and noted his expression melting from one of annoyance, raised eyebrow and an open mouth, ready to chastise you for your insubordination and recalcitrance, into a soft and pitying one, as he took in your tear-stained face and trembling lips. You never cried, not in front of anyone who mattered, so the fact that here you stood, so obviously distressed, concerned Jake more than he could say out loud.
“What’s wrong, baby girl? What happened?”
“I… I need to find O'ì'en… I’ve been looking for hours, but I can’t find him. Have you seen him anywhere?” Your sniffles and a hoarse, broken voice were more than enough to bring a grimace to the Olo’eyktan’s face.
“Oh, honey…” his arms circled your much smaller body and he squeezed, the much needed hug warm and very welcome. Your hand tightened around his forearm, and you started sobbing silently as he held you. You’ve always been immensely grateful for the Sullys and their patriarch, but especially so in moments like this, when his paternal instincts kicked in, a role he was much better at than he ever gave himself credit for.
“I ruined it… I ruined everything. I should have told him, I should have been honest with him. I should have come to you and asked you to free me of this responsibility that I never wanted to shoulder in the first place.”
“You can still ask, kid. We would never force you into something you genuinely aren’t comfortable with, and you should know that. In fact, you do know that. But you didn’t come. Why?”
You had no answer to that, because truthfully, you didn’t know. Getting revenge on Neteyam wasn’t a good enough answer, and more and more, you realised that - and you knew Jake would challenge you on it as soon as the words came out of your mouth. Getting revenge isn’t a good enough reason to sacrifice your own happiness, and liberty, your future as a warrior and your future with the man you wanted to want so badly. It wasn’t a good enough reason because it wasn’t the reason - not the only reason, not the full reason, but that was something you couldn't think about, you couldn't even fathom, not yet, so you didn't.
At your lack of response, Jake sighed and looked contemplatively at the river being perturbed by the waterfall crashing on it, at the way the water rippled and undulated, at the way the bioluminescent glow of the underwater plankton, that was visible now that eclipse settled over the land, warped under its force.
“Did I ever tell you I had this girlfriend back on Earth? This was when I was young, about your age.” You shook your head softly, not looking at him, still focused and mesmerised by the same view he was studying.
“She was amazing. So kind, and sweet, and beautiful… and good. Too good for me. And I loved her. She was the first girl I looked at and thought that maybe, just maybe, she would be the one. I used to pick her up after her classes were over and we would just drive in my car, just down the coast, in Anaheim at sundown, and I remember feeling so happy, thinking that I would feel this way the rest of my life.”
You thought about that, and about your boyfriend, who very much seemed like what Jake was describing, who brought you comfort and safety. You thought about walking with him in this place Jake called Anaheim, in a heavenly place away from hurt and pain, away from mistakes and fears, just two people who loved each other, who wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. You felt grief envelop you when the face that appeared in your visions wasn’t the one you wanted to see, the one you hoped you’d see, the one you needed to see. You hated your brain and your heart for not allowing you to commit to him the way you knew you should, in the way that would ensure you a future of happiness and peace, a love worth harbouring, a pure and kind love, just like the one Jake described.
“What happened? Between… you and her, I mean?” Jake shrugged, a small, content smile on his face.
“It just didn’t work out. I joined the military, she continued her studies. We would have never worked. I wasn’t good enough for her, and she deserved someone who could love her the way she was meant be loved. Anaheim is still a beautiful memory to me, and I’ll always cherish it, but it made way for something much, much better. For both of us.
I think sometimes we hold on to things we think we need, we want to want, but these things pertain to a version of ourselves that isn’t fully authentic. I think it’s easy to pretend when we’re with certain people that life is one way, that we could fit in it, in this world we’ve created in our heads, in the world that they inspire, but the sooner we accept the realities of our circumstances, of who we are and where we truly belong, the more time we have to enjoy life for how it’s meant to be lived: fully, wildly, being wholly ourselves.”
He stood up and headed back towards the village, not before giving you an affectionate pat on the head and a squeeze of your shoulders. His last words echoed in your ears long after he departed, leaving you with so much to think about, and so much pain at knowing he was right, and that soon, you’d have to break a heart and learn to mend your own.
“You can still ask, kid. I just think, deep down, Anaheim isn’t for you… just like it wasn’t for me.”
But I'd give anything to stop time
And drive around Anaheim at sun down
And teach my mind to put you first
It took the whole night, but you eventually found him, after a painful conversation with his mother, at a different river he used to love coming to as a little kid with his father, one much further away from the village. He was sitting on the river bank, lost in thought, his feet dangling mindlessly in the water that rushed downstream, agitated and tumultuous, much like your mind. You sighed deeply, trying your hardest to build up the courage for the most difficult conversation you’ve ever had, one in which you knew the end result was a broken heart, one that you caused, that you never meant to, that you would never want. You knew what it was like to be broken-hearted, sad and unmoored from the reality you’ve built up in your mind, from your hopes and dreams, from the future you were promised and now will never have again. But after the conversation with Jake, you knew it was the right thing to do. You loved O'ì'en, you truly did, just not enough to ever give him everything he needed and deserved, not for the rest of your life. You had darkness in you he would never be skilled enough to wander through, to bring light into, and you would never want him to try, not when it would dim his own light, that deserved to be nourished and heightened by someone, who much like him, was good and pure, and better than you’d ever be.
“O'ì'en…”
He wasn’t startled by your presence. His gaze didn’t shift from where it was intently fixed, and you knew you shouldn’t expect that it did. You wouldn’t want to look at yourself, either.
“You know, I watched for so long the interactions between you and Neteyam, and they always made me sad and uncomfortable. The hatred that I could not understand, that seemed to occupy so much of your time and space in both your minds, that consumed you both. I watched it, and I wanted to say something, but I never thought it was my place. It hurt me, seeing you suffer at his hands, and hurt me that you always reciprocated, that you never took the high road, that you always felt the need to one-up him, to give as good as you got. It was so toxic and unhealthy, and I hoped in time, you’d move away from it. I hoped I could help you. But now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to, not anymore. And I don’t know if I want to.”
Tears rolled down your face with every word uttered, with every sentence that cut deeper and deeper in you, until you were bleeding and bruised, until it all hurt, being here, seeing him, hearing him, the past and the future, the present and your actions, and Neteyam’s actions, and everything that lead to this moment. It was so much easier to get your heart broken, you realise faintly, than to break a heart. Heartbroken, you could pity yourself, victimise yourself, tell yourself and the world that it’s not you, but the other person, the one who instigated it. You can sleep at night knowing you were wronged, that if it wasn’t for the pain that someone else caused you, things would be different, easier. There was nothing easy about watching a good person suffer and knowing you caused it, and you wondered how you were ever going to fall asleep again, how were you going to be able to live with yourself.
“I didn’t choose this, O'ì'en… any of this. I need you to know this. Mo’at asked us to come to her as a matter of urgency the other day, she told us that Eywa gave her a sign, showed her a vision, and that by her will, Neteyam and I will have to become a mated-pair.” You felt bad about leaving out certain… extenuating circumstances, but you realise that sometimes, certain things are better left unsaid and once some words are uttered, some actions taken, they can’t be recalled, they can’t be reversed, they won’t dematerialise - their echoes will forever ring through time, leaving damage and hurt in their wake, and you didn’t want that - not for him.
“Have you told her you don’t want to? Have you gone to the Tsa’hik, or the Olo’eyktan, or the Tsakarem and talked to them, told them you are in love with someone else, that you made up your mind? Did you fight for us at any point? For me?”
Your eyes widened at his words, that had an edge to them you’ve never observed in him before, that you didn’t even realise he was truly capable of. The words stung needles on your skin and in your eyes, that had prickling tears still falling uninterrupted, like summer rain, soaking your heart and soul that hurt because you knew that you couldn’t give him an answer that would satisfy him… you couldn’t give him an answer at all.
“They look at you like you’re their daughter. They would listen to you if you asked. But you didn’t, did you?”
“I once overheard Lo’ak talk about you and Neteyam to his human friend. He was concerned about you. About both of you. But aside from that, he talked about you two like you were an inevitability. About passion that ran so deep there was no way only hatred fuelled it. That there must be something underneath it all. I heard this and it made me angry at the time… I thought that he was unreasonable and out of line. Naively, I took your affection at face value and never looked beyond. Until now, that is. When I realised that in our time together, all the time we shared, all the moments that were sweet and innocent and everything I’ve ever wanted, you’ve never once shared even a fraction of that passion for me.”
“O'ì'en, no…”
“I think, deep down, you don’t want to get out of this because it’s finally a way to bridge the gap that has existed between you and Neteyam for so long, a gap you secretly wished had never existed. I think you’ve been in love with him since you were children, and this was the perfect opportunity to change a path you thought was set in stone before. I think he’s in love with you, too. But both of you are too mean, too stubborn with each other to see past your differences. To talk.”
“You’re wrong.” The temper was rising in your chest as his head continued shaking, denying your statement, as his words were processing in your mind, the unbelievable, insane, unreasonable words that you couldn’t believe were being uttered right before you, not by him. You wanted to scream at him, to shout and tell him that it’s all wrong, all of this, everything is all wrong. That the passion he’s talking about is just intense dislike that was so grand, so overpowering, it couldn’t be contained inside your body, nor inside his. That you were not in love with Neteyam - you hated Neteyam. With every fibre of your being, you loathed the man that hurt you so deeply, so intimately, for so long, that forsook the past you shared and the memories you made and what you meant to him, or what he meant to you.
You wanted to tell him that he’s delusional in ever thinking that man could ever be in love with you, when all he did was find new ways to torture you, to belittle you, to make you feel lesser than him, lesser than anyone he knew. How could that ever be love? How could that ever work? This was love. What you had with O'ì'en. Pure and good and kind and easy. Love wasn’t supposed to hurt, right? Love was supposed to feel natural, like coming home after a long, exhausting day, it wasn’t supposed to be what made the day long and exhausting in the first place. He was so wrong.
But you didn’t find it in you to argue with him. Not with him. Someone else will have to bear the consequences of your repressed anger, but not O'ì'en, because he deserves better than what he got, and what you gave, and in truth.. none of this mattered anyway. Arguing would make no difference in this doomed relationship, so you calmed yourself for the time being and spoke in as even of a tone you could manage.
“O'ì'en… I think you’re wrong. But, it doesn’t matter. You’re right that I didn’t talk to Mo’at, and that I should have. Regardless of the circumstances that led to this, I am so sorry. I will forever be sorry for the way you found out, for the way this came to be. I’m so sorry you had to be collateral damage in a war that is only mine to bear. I had a whole plan about how to tell you, I had so many things I wanted to say to you. That I’m grateful to you, and that I love you. That I’m sorry it wasn’t the way that you deserve to be loved, but I do love you. That I will never forget you, and your affection that shone so brightly over me, that was a safe haven from the bad storms I’ve had to weather for so long. That I’ll be sorry every day that I wasn’t good enough for you, but am relieved by the notion that one day, you’ll find someone so much better than me, someone who will be able to give you everything you deserve and then some, and I’m relieved in knowing you will be thankful to have been rid of me.”
You decided this would have to be enough for now. One day, maybe you’ll be able to face him again. One day, maybe he’ll even be able to spare you a glance, or a smile. But not today.
“I hope you forgive me one day.”
“Me, too.”
But I'd give anything to stop time, commit to you and not crimes
Against your truth and lose sight of every divide threatening to undo this story
But baby, I'm so sorry, I don't think that I'll ever memorise this route
It was a long way back to the village, and with every step taken and every moment passed, the anger that you tried to stifle for his sake came back ten fold - the tiring days of fighting, of crying, of suffering, of uncertainty and rampant emotions all building up within you, all coming to a calamitous zenith that threatened to spill all around you, that begged and urged for revenge, for payback on the man that caused it all, the man that was at the centre of all your life’s woes.
He ruined your relationship? Well… let’s see how he’ll like a taste of his own medicine. You knew exactly where you’ll find him, because you knew he’d be in the place he knew he could pester you the most, in a place that’s supposed to be yours, that he tainted over and over, that you will make sure to conquer back from him, the way you eventually would all of the pieces of yourselves he’s taken from you through time.
Your tent was quiet and untouched, unlike the little nook behind it, that was completely segregated from the rest of the clan, an oasis of secrecy and privacy in an otherwise bustling environment. A place that should be yours alone, but now hid two Na’vi, one of them mewling softly at the actions of the other. Neteyam was focused on his mate’s neck, their make-out session so intense, they didn’t even notice you until it was too late, until you stood behind them, until your presence was announced by a deep sigh and a disappointed click of your tongue.
“Oh, how disappointing.”
The girl let out a distressed yelp at your voice and pushed Neteyam off of her, eliciting a deep growl from the man that was less than impressed by the interruption.
“Am I interrupting?”
You saw Neteyam’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, at the way he knew what was coming. You laughed at his expression. What did he think was going to happen after what he’s done? What did he think you were going to do finding them here? The evil smirk that possessed you reminded you of his, and you wondered if this is how panicked you looked, too, when you saw him approaching you and O'ì'en.
“You know, if you’re going to continue going against the Olo’eyktan and the Tsa’hik’s wishes and cheat on your mate, I wouldn’t do it… you know, right outside of her tent.”
“WHAT?!” The high-pitched screech nearly deafened you, but you didn’t let it show. Instead you just watched as Neteyam scrambled to get himself out of the eye of the storm threatening to tear him apart.
“Tìlor, I -“
“Ah, your boyfriend didn’t tell you?” Your smile was sickeningly sweet as you approached the couple, stopping right next to Neteyam, placing a hand on his arm, tracing the protruding veins that made saliva pool in your mouth, and you bit back a laugh at the girl’s rabid look, that looked a lot like she was going to pounce on you at any given moment - you hoped she did. Nothing would make you happier than to have an excuse to rearrange her braids. This girl that always looked down on you, that looked at you like you were an outsider or a freak, that never even tried to mask her jealousy, her disdain, her fear at the fact the Sullys preferred you, and always will.
“I will be your Tsa’hik soon. Isn’t that right… yawne?”
“So unless you want me to go and tell the clan leaders… and your mother… and your father, and everyone who matters that you’ve been fucking someone else’s mate and watch as little by little, your entire world falls apart around you, I suggest you realise this man right here, he’s not worth it. Not worth all the drama, not worth all the fuss. Just go, and find yourself a single mate, and give thanks to Eywa she’s rid you of him, cause damn, I know I wish I could be.”
The hatred in her eyes was slowly replaced with fear and embarrassment, and for a second, just a second - you felt bad for her. Because no matter how badly she’s treated you, how she’s adopted Neteyam’s behaviour as her own with no reason or rhyme, much like O'ì'en, she was also just another collateral victim in a war that kept claiming lives and hearts, and you wondered where, if at all, the line would be drawn, when, if ever, would enough be enough?
You watched as she scrambled to fasten her top around her neck properly and without another word, she was gone, leaving just you and Neteyam alone, with enough tension in the air around you to suffocate you, to feel like smoke from a fire so grand, you didn't know if weren’t skilled enough to put out.
'Cause I have yet to know how to be mine
You can try to unearth this soul
I swear you'll hate what you find
“Why?”
“You’re making out with someone behind my tent, knowing that would piss me off, after what you did yesterday, and you have the nerve to ask me why?” you threw your head back and laughed at the outrageousness of the question. Neteyam wasn’t stupid - far from it. He was also not naive, or oblivious, or harebrained. The question had no business coming out of his mouth, but yet it did. You didn't have time to ponder the reasons why.
“You see, Neteyam, I think you came here because you knew I’d come. Because you secretly wanted me to. Because you know deep down that this girl has nothing to offer you, and you just needed an easy way out to rid yourself of her, and you needed me to do your dirty work for you again. Well, you’re welcome, Neteyam. What the fuck would you ever do without me, huh?”
“You’re such a fucking hypocrite. All the theatricals of being heartbroken over what I did to O'ì'en and then you do the exact same thing to someone else, someone innocent.”
“Innocent, ha! You think I give a shit about your little girlfriend’s feelings, when you treated O'ì'en the way you did? He didn’t deserve this, Neteyam. Any of this. He’s good man, he respects you, and looks up to you. He -“
“He should have known better than to associate himself with you.” His bared fangs didn’t do as much to scare you, not nearly as much as his proximity to you did, at the way his eyes stared daggers at your face, that even in the heat of the moment, at the peak of anger and hatred, couldn’t help settle on your parted, wet lips. “He should have known better and realise that all you bring in people’s life is disappointment and pain. He also should have known better and realise you didn’t love him. That you never will. That you might try to act like it and convince yourself, but someone like him would never, ever satisfy you.”
“And who the fuck would satisfy me, Neteyam? You? That’s rich. I bet your poor little girlfriend’s happy she’s rid of you. Bet you haven’t made her cum once. Too busy thinking of training and ruining my life, too busy thinking about how great you think you are to make room for anyone else in there.” You poked him in the chest with your index finger, right over his heart. Your touch lingered on his body, somehow unable to bring yourself to stop, half in awe at the way his heart was racing, at the way yours beat almost in sync with his, at the way you tried to convince yourself it’s because of the anger you were feeling, and no other reason.
“Yeah? Is that what you think?”
And there he was again, once more grabbing you by your throat, and you wanted to object, and fight him, but you didn’t - you couldn’t -, not as you felt throbbing deep within you at the action, not as you had to push your thighs together to accommodate for the increasingly uncomfortable sensation, not as your loincloth was becoming more and more damp by the second. And you remember your words, and remember that you told him that if he ever touched you again, you’ll make him pay for it, but right now, in this moment, you couldn’t find it in you to speak a word, as the intensity of his gaze knocked the air out of your lungs and his fingers squeezed just enough so no more could get back in you. Your back scratched painfully against a tree as he pushed you into it, and you couldn’t help a small moan as his other hand pushed your loincloth to the side, brushing over your folds that were now sopping and swollen. He let out a soft chuckle as he felt you.
“If that’s what you really thought, you wouldn’t be dripping on my fingers right now, tsxepvi.”
Slowly, deliberately, he started exploring your heat, thumb ghosting over your clit as he watched you squirm under his touch, struggling between what you knew you should do, between your conscious mind telling you you were going to pay for this in tears and heartache, and your subconscious mind screaming to let go, to embrace the overbearing desire to give in to him, as you did in the dreams you convinced yourself in time were nightmares, but knew more and more each day that it was just another lie you told yourself to keep going.
One side of you won by a landslide, as he gently pushed two fingers in you, as he started increasing the pressure with which he was massaging your clit, and it felt so good, too good, better than anything you’ve ever felt before. You tried to contain the sounds coming through gritted teeth with all your might, knowing what he was doing, knowing giving him any indication of the pleasure he was giving you would mean another thing you’d have to pay for later, knowing you couldn’t allow him to enjoy this, you couldn’t possibly give him the satisfaction of knowing he could do this to you, but you couldn’t stop, not when his fingers curled in you and found the spongy part that made you see glimmering, blinding lights and his thumb circled your needy bud in the perfect way to heighten the sensations running through you, electrifying your every nerve. The moans turn into mewls as he increases the pressure and his pace, and you felt the pleasure in you reach a high that you were ready to ride out, your orgasm so close you could practically taste it, and you’re barely able to think about how fucking quick it was, how it took no time at all for him to get you there, how skilled his fingers, as they worked his ministrations on you. You had no will to think about what the fuck was happening, how weird it was, how the man you’ve hated for so long is doing this to you, before the feeling got too overwhelming to be contained anymore.
“Fuck, i’m gonna -“
“That’s right, tsxepvi. I can feel you squeezing my fingers. You want to come for me?”
“Argh, I-“
The moan you let you wasn’t of pleasure, it was of deep, throbbing pain as the emptiness overtook you, as soon as he removed his fingers.
He smirked, an evil smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as his fingers found his lips and he sucked on them, his tongue swirling in between them, licking every single drop.
“You taste fucking amazing, tsxepvi. Maybe next time, if you apologise and behave, you’ll actually get to cum.”
And with that, he was gone, living you an empty, horrified mess, as the high came crashing down violently and the consequences of the last few minutes replaced it to lead you in a spiral of mixed thoughts and feelings, each one more terrifying than the last.
'Cause I am lost, but not in you
Yes, I am lost, but not in you
taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif@randxmthxughts @xreadersstuff @sirezaya @kimberlyshailany-blog @gyuventure @jujudsmyst @kikookii @nxptury @nonniesworld @koing-slvt @bakugouswaif @isnt-itstrange @tpwkforevermore @alahamums @tallulah477 @gknj9495@aquamarine001 @itssomeonereading @yumimak @sweetbread-m @eqgroil @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @juneonhoth @yagirlheree @jackiehollanderr @legendarynoodlebowl @iameatingmyhair @justasimps-blog
#༊*·˚ andra's works#neteyam#neteyam x reader#neteyam fanfic#neteyam reader#neteyam sully#avatar#avatar twow#avatar fanfic#neteyam x avatar!reader#neteyam sully fanfiction#neteyam angst#awow#awow neteyam#sully family x reader#neteyam smut#neteyam x y/n#avatar way of water#neteyam x reader smut#neteyam x you#neteyam fluff#neteyam x reader angst#neteyam x omaticaya!reader#monster in me series
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february 2, @jegulus-microfic prompt: cheat. 589 words.
Regulus was reading rather peacefully(and simmering with bone-deep rage; he was practiced in multitasking emotions) by the Black Lake under a tree when James managed to track him down and sauntered over. James beamed down at him, smile shining brighter than any star Regulus knew about. James was brighter than any sun—and warmer, and closer, and he pulled Regulus to him like actual gravity; he was the center of Regulus’ solar system. Regulus ached from his proximity, soul reaching for soul, flailing in desperation, wanting to grab and cling to James and sink his teeth into him, making sure he couldn’t walk away unmarked, bone meeting bone and DNA intertwining until they were indistinguishable as two, but recognized as one. He was a bit insane about James Potter.
Regulus didn’t bother in acknowledging James, despite the visceral ache in his bones telling him to crawl into James like he could live inside his chest cavity, make a home between his ribs and make friends with his organs.
James tapped a foot against Reg’s leg. “Angel,” James whispered, and Regulus tensed, not expecting something so sickeningly sweet. The sugar coating his mouth was thick and tooth-rotting, so potent he could choke on it.
He didn’t acknowledge the name.
James folded down beside him, leaning against the tree and gently pulling Reg’s rigid body against him. James, the evil mastermind, was warm and comfortable and soft, and Regulus melted into him almost instantly. Regulus curled into James’ chest, head resting on his shoulder and breath tickling his collarbones. He was safe here, and every particle of his being felt it.
“Reg, baby,” James started, but Regulus interrupted with a complaining noise, digging his face into James’ shoulder.
James huffed a laugh.
“I’m going to be angry, Potter, and you’re going to let me,” Reg hissed, but his words lost their bite when he was attached so dearly to James like a barnacle.
“Angry Reg is my favorite, I’ll have you know,” James muttered.
Regulus didn’t deign him a response. They sat for a few silent, slightly tense minutes.
James broke the tension by slowly pressing gentle kisses along Regulus’ hairline, on top of his curls, along his jaw, on his neck and wherever he could reach. Regulus softened under the attention, turning his neck to give James more space to leave kisses, muscles relaxing and anger floating away with every other rational thought from his head. In James’ arms, Regulus typically found it very difficult to maintain coherence.
Regulus made a noise of protest, but didn’t pull away. “Jamie,” he muttered, no sting in his words. “You’re cheating,” he accused.
He felt James’ smile against his skin. “How am I cheating, love?”
He huffed. “You’re supposed to let me stay mad. How can I stay mad when you come around with all your warmth and lovely little kisses and your smile, Merlin, I can’t stay mad.”
James’ arms tightened around him. “All I’m hearing is that I’m irresistible,” he said with a grin that was far too cocky.
Regulus scoffed. “Whatever, you’re cheating with your little kisses. It’s simply not fair.”
“Fine, fine, Reg. I’ll take them away. No more kisses for—”
“Shut the fuck up and kiss me. I did not say I didn’t want them, I said you were cheating. And if you don’t kiss me I’m suing. Or committing a crime, against you, personally, and it’ll be very fucking painful, so you should just—”
James shut him up with a kiss. “Whatever you want, love.”
also found on ao3(multi-chapter microfic wip): february, i'm yours
#jegulus microfic#jegulus#james potter#regulus black#marauders#hp marauders#marauders era#starchaser#sunseeker#the marauders#the marauders hp#hp james potter#hp regulus black#fanfic#fanfiction#marauders fanfic#marauders fanfiction#ao3#bellaxis microfic#bella writes
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on the topic of people wondering What The Fuck Is Up with This Guy my friend knows (TOA Apollo), Asclepius having to explain his father to anyone is. Oh boy.
You could say Asclepius lives on Earth / visits Earth much more than he does Olympus because his domain is completely and wholly centred around serving people and helping medical research come through. Additionally because he still finds Olympus and all of its posturing jarring, and maybe finds comfort in helping people like he used to and has done since ancient times.
THIS COULD ALSO MEAN that he has. Mortal friends. Which also means he’s had to have told them about his dad at some point.
Asclepius’s friend: How come we haven’t met your dad yet? Is he a prick?
Asclepius: NO, no, my father was and is very kind and gentle to me, the problem is more that he can be rather… a bit much. He sometimes tends to be very… protective (VERY protective) of me (As in, the police get called). The problem is more that he can get a bit. Uppity? sometimes? He’s certainly been… cruel. More than his, or anyone’s, fair share of cruelty. But he’s improving?
Asclepius’s friend: Oh wow. That sounds really complicated. Well what about your mother?
Asclepius: WELL. YOU SEE. AH. OH GODS UHHHHHH-
They would make a conspiracy board for him being a gang leader (or something)! Because:
Had Asclepius’ mother killed (?!?! THAT’S HORRIBLE WHAT!)
Expressed deep, deep regrets and remorse about having Asclepius’ mother killed in a very “I was young, foolish and failed to think of anyone other than myself… I have worked with violence for a long, long time and have made many horrible, cruel decisions… I fear I am too long gone… but I wish to work with myself to be a better person, for my son whom I love dearly…” kind of way (in a mafia movie way).
Asclepius says he is in exile from his supposedly-infamously murderous family because they tried to kill him (and succeeded but SHHHHHH). And the one to order his death being his grandfather. Because he (vague conclusion through Asclepius being vague about his life) didn’t want someone to die -> didn’t want to kill someone? (“The pipeline is there!!” They say.)
Apollo going “ah yes I too share a great interest in medicine, like my dear son! Although my son is (proudly!) better at so than I am. Well, admittedly, I can sometimes tend to be, less focused on - y’know, helping someone injuries hurt less, you could say.” LIKE THAT’S VERY SUSPICIOUS.
(Ok but don’t worry Asclepius’ friends aren’t actually concerned about his dad being a mafia member at all because that would be actually Awful and Terrifying. This is an inside joke after Asclepius awkwardly explained his complicated relationship w his dad his friend was jokingly like “woah… that sounds like the backstory of a main character from a mafia movie…” and Apollo heard about his from the grapevine and immediately summoned like 20 identical cats for him to intimidatingly stroke.
The tone of the last section is making a fake BuzzFeed Unsolved / general conspiracy theory video w your friends about one of your friends. No one ever feels like they are in any danger and I imagine most probably know who and what Asclepius and Apollo actually are but tease them with this. BASICALLY THE JOKE IS THAT THEY’RE MAKING FUN OF MAFIA MOVIE STEREOTYPES AND THE WAY THE MAFIA IS DEPICTED IN MOVIES. WHICH IS VERY ROMANTICISED, OVERDRAMATIC AND SILLY.)
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I have been going back and forth in posting this, but want to have a clean slate and a clear mind going forward.
this fandom if I am being honest (and from experience in many others) has been the most roller coaster ride. it has been wonderful and blossoming, yet also, toxic and disheartening…
my current state right now, I feel as though I have been shunned from the community from all corners. stranded alone, with only a few friends (I could count them on one hand) to talk to and to trust.
I have been incredibly disappointed in this fandom by people I had considered friends, people that I believed to be sincere and kind, but over time showed a very different and ugly side.
I am not going to sugar coat this topic anymore… and be warned, I will call you out if need be, from this point on. I always had hopes that as a community mostly dominated by adults, we would act more like it, but it seems not. then accountability is necessary, because this school yard behaviour is not it.
I work most of the time, I barely even have time for a social life on top of personal things… tumblr is not my priority. but when I log in on here, I do wish and intend for this to be a space where I can relax and enjoy myself, to be creative and write and share my ideas and stories. to interact with people, to bond over characters and stories that I don’t ever get the chance to in real life, because I barely meet people with similar interests.
this is meant to be my safe haven.
recently it has been quite the opposite…
I have been gaslit, bullied & ghosted/neglected. as someone who genuinely struggles to put herself out there, I have made attempts that I am thankful for yet hurt by the experiences. putting myself in discord chats only to leave in the matter of a few days…
I have said this before and I will say it again. If I ever say anything to you directly or indirectly, and it doesn’t sit right with you. I am open to talk privately about it. I am not perfect, in fact far from it. I have flaws as do we all. I can make mistakes, I am human. if the matter can be resolved, amazing, if not: I don’t expect to get along with EVERYONE on this hellsite. the block and unfollow options are there for a reason!!!
regardless, I understand everyone has their own personal lives and issues… believe me, I DO! I am a huge advocate for life > tumblr. you need a break, take the break. you want to go on hiatus, go on hiatus. you do not owe anyone in this fandom shit, as I have reminded myself as of late. In saying that, showing people common courtesy and decency is not by any means a stretch, it should be the bare minimum.
showing support to your fanfic authors/gif makers and creators is valid and ideal.
I have taken multiple breaks because the stress and exhaustion from my work and personal life has been a lot, that I am able to remove myself from a situation, to not allow anyone else to suffer my ordeal. your actions have repercussions, and you will be held accountable.
to wrap it all up, I will continue to write my little, silly stories, I will continue to read fics. However, I have of recent been so turned off by some of the people in this community, that if I’m being honest (which I also strongly advocate for, and believe I owe whoever read this that), I have no energy to interact with people that have crossed me and made me feel less of the person I am at this point in time. my friends who I respect and admire dearly, know who they are, I don’t need to tell them twice.
when I feel comfortable with this fandom, my interactions may change, but for now. I very much enjoy my small number of friends.
thank you to those who read this entire mouthful, I genuinely appreciate the small things and taking the time out of YOUR day to read and listen to little old me, says a lot.
please take care of yourselves, and I hope that we can create a better more wholesome fandom space.
love always, Hel 🤍
#rant#personal#thank you to anyone who reads this entire thing#I hope you have a wonderful fucking day
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The guest PT 16.
Masterlist
It was a few hours later when Hetty arrived at the house. She said she was there to see you and was sent up to your room without question.
"Fagin has a plan. If it goes well then there will be a lot of money but he's coerced Jack into helping." She explained.
"How?"
"Something about his past, he wouldn't say exactly...and you."
"Of course Fagin would do that. It's Monks. I don't know what he has on Fagin but he's the one behind all of this. Monks must have known Oliver was involved in this." You say to her, "what's their plan?"
"there will be a distraction during dinner and Jack will swap out the keys."
"Okay, easy enough I suppose. Thank you Hetty. You've been a good friend to me. I don't deserve it." You pull the nurse into a hug.
"in all honesty you're the most exciting thing to happen to Port Victory in a long time." You laughed together before she left again. Not long after a maid came in to help you dress in a pastel pink ball gown, changing from your earlier pants and shirt ensemble. You try to ignore the stabbing pain in your chest, hoping it would go away quickly.
The guests began arriving around five pm the following day. Oliver of course, captain Gaines, the professor and Sneed. He was approaching you in the parlour until Belle slipped between you.
"Y/n you simply must try Fanny's fruit punch." She said handing you a glass, "Oh I'm sorry Rainsford I only brought over two cups, perhaps you could help yourself." She gestured to the crystal bowl by the window and you mouthed a thank you to Belle.
Jack appeared at the door, his body adorned in a black suit and silken ivory waistcoat. He looked devilishly handsome in the low candle light. Edmund cooed at you both and pulled you aside to his office.
"Congratulations to you both. Now obviously I will not have our Miss y/l/n living in the hospital, therefore I have acquired an apartment for the two of you. Nothing fancy but a comfortable place for a young family."
"Governor that is very generous I-" Jack started.
"And a salary for your work at the hospital, Doctor."
"I don't know what to say." Jack answered.
"well, it's no matter. I have come to think of y/n as another of my children. She has breathed a new life into this house and I am going to miss you dearly ." He patted your hand as he held it, "I will pay for the wedding as well."
"Thank you Edmund." You say and wrap your arms around him in a hug. He gives you a few back pats before clearing his throat and turning towards the door.
"Well, tickle my cheeks with a goose's feather!" Oliver laughed as he danced over to Jack. He shook his head vigorously, "and congratulations my friend." He said with a little glance to you.
"Thank you. It is good to see you Oliver."
The rounder man clapped Jack's shoulder a few times. You stood beside Jack, mostly silent as the gathered party chatted away.
There is a tinkling of a glass from a servant at the door. "Dinner is served."
You all shuffled into the dining room. You sat across from Jack beside Oliver.
"I'm intrigued as to how a man of your background, Mr. Twist, met a man of his." Gaines asked. Oliver's eyes shot straight to Jack's before moving to Lady Jane.
"Please, may I have some more?" Oh you couldn't help but giggle at those words. How often you had heard a young Oliver say them, bowl in hand.
"But of course. Your third helping." She remarked.
" I love the crunch of crackling. The whiz and pop in one's mouth." Oliver takes more crackling onto his plate and takes a bite. His eyes narrow in on his childhood friend. "Well, this is such an interesting story going back many years. Eh, Dodger?"
" I doubt they really want to hear about that." Jack answers.
" Probably not. Please don't let me stop you." Sneed rolled his eyes
" I'm most interested." Gaines interjected.
Jacks eyes could not stop flicking between Oliver and you. You had dropped your head down and breathed slowly.
"Well, in a time of great personal turmoil and peril, this man, but a boy then, took me in, sheltered me, saved my very life." Oliver's words were sweet and Jack took a sigh of relief.
"But why do you call him "Dodger"?" Gaines asked.
"I was just very quick as a boy." Jack answers, his eyes trained on you.
Your breath hitches and wheezes and you feel that all too familiar clench. As Jack watches you he sees how no one else appears to notice. This must be what Hetty was talking about. Jack reaches his foot across to touch yours and you look up at him. Your body seems to correct itself and you meet his eyes. Though your chest was still tight you felt a grounding having even just his boot clad foot touching yours.
Oliver fiddled with his food, before wiping his greasy fingers on the napkin and standing.
"I apologise. But I have to speak a truth I can no longer hold inside! It's only been a day or so, but I must speak the truth." He rounded the table as he spoke. You watch as fear paints Jack's face until Oliver takes one knee in front of Fanny. The younger woman shit up from her seat.
"Yes! A hundred times, yes!"
"I haven't asked yet." He laughed.
" Sorry, yes, go ahead."
"Lady Fanny I-"
An explosion cuts him off. You stand with the others and start trying to guide them all out of the room. Playing your part in the scheme. You rush with them up the stairs into one of the guest rooms. The strain is too much for your heart and your chest tightens harder than you'd ever felt it. your legs become weak and you drop to the floor.
"Y/n!" Belle grabbed for at the same time as Sneed. You shrug him off.
"Don't touch me." You hiss at him.
"Get her to her room." Lady Jane commanded. Belle and Fanny help you into your bedroom.
"Get this dress off me." You request breathlessly. Both girls work quickly together to pull the silk bodice off you and whip the corset off. Belle threw it to the other side of the room and helped to guide you onto the bed. She ran quickly back to her room and grabbed her stethoscope before rushing back to you.
"Let me listen." She says and you oblige her allowing Fanny to take your weight.
Belle's eyes fill with tears as she listens to the uneven pumping of your heart.
"It's my heart."
@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon @mydeputyghostwagon
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if you’ll have me (i) | c.yj
here’s (finally) the first part of the monster yeonjun fic I wrote in august, right in time for his birthday! happy birthday to the terrible wonderful human being who has given me the worst brainrot I've experienced in a while (second only to the rot brought on by one kang taehyun), and I hope you all enjoy this <3
Pairing: Yeonjun x fem!reader
Genre: fluff, angst, regency era!au, nobility!au
Warnings: mentions of past death, mentions of period-typical misogyny
Word Count: 11.3k
Yeonjun Choi, Duke of Hastings, is in want of a wife. Boxed in from all directions by the overbearing mamas of the ton, he begins his arduous search this season for not fortune, not love, but merely the perfect woman to succeed his mother's place. None of the daughters of high society manage to catch his eye, however, or fit his overwhelming list of standards—at least until he meets Miss Y/N L/N, the queen's diamond of the season, newly arrived in town from abroad and said to be one of the most accomplished women to grace the ton in a generation.
You, the eldest daughter and only child of the L/N family, just want stability. With your father dead and the estate passed to a cousin, leaving only your dowry and a small pittance from the inheritance left intact, you begin your search for a husband with money enough to keep you and your mother afloat. It seems like a miracle when, after being crowned the queen's diamond, the Duke of Hastings himself asks for your hand—but as you learn of his complete indifference to the concept of love, you begin to doubt yourself. Perhaps money is not enough to keep your hand—maybe you desired a true love match more than you thought.
Trapped in a marriage of convenience that everyone believes is a love story, you and Yeonjun find yourselves forced to reevaluate what you want out of this match. Between balls and promenades, dances and poetry, you begin to view each other beyond the pithy conversations allowed in the courting stages, learning to see one another not just as business partners, but perhaps friends as well. And as you begin to reconcile your needs and wants, your goals and desires, maybe, just maybe—
The ton's belief that you are a love match can find some truth, too.
Part 1 >> Part 2
TXT Masterlist
The minute Yeonjun enters the club, he makes a beeline for the corner where Soobin is sitting, two small glasses set on the table in front of him. He flops into a chair and downs one of them immediately. “I am so sick of debutante season.”
Soobin raises an eyebrow. “The season hasn't even started,” he points out.
“Exactly,” Yeonjun groans. “If it's this bad even before they've been presented to the queen, how much worse will it get when all the balls and courtships start?”
“It's kind of your fault,” Soobin says, picking up the other glass. “Maybe you shouldn't have announced your intention to find a wife so early on.”
“I didn't mention it,” Yeonjun hisses. “That rat bastard Wooyoung let it out before I was ready to say it publicly—”
“That's on you for letting Wooyoung hear you,” Soobin interjects calmly. And Yeonjun can't even argue with that—he loves Wooyoung, loves his friend dearly, but Wooyoung's loose tongue is arguably his worst trait—so all he does is slump back into his chair and raise a finger for another drink. “You're supposed to be comforting me,” he sulks. “Some best friend you are.”
“Well, I've made my opinions about your ways of getting a wife very clear, and you've elected to ignore every single one of them.” Soobin smiles. “Some best friend you are.”
“What's wrong with a list?” Yeonjun frowns, crossing his arms. “Every man—no, every person—has to have ideas about who their future partner might be, I've just written it out.”
“It's not the list that's the problem. Though I'm pretty sure not a lot of people would actually write a list, either.” Soobin finishes the rest of his drink just as Yeonjun's second one comes. “It's your requirements for the people on that list that is the issue.”
“What's wrong with my requirements?”
“They're so demanding.” Soobin places his empty glass down with a loud clack. “How many people, men and women of all ages included, do you think are actually fluent in all those languages you require? All those instruments? All that dancing? Impeccable decorum too, and on top of that, to have a proper, pretty visage of some sort—”
“That's not even a requirement,” Yeonjun argues. “My main goal is to try and find someone with a sound and clever mind to help me run the estate since my mother wants to retire to the country—”
“And that's well and fine, Yeonjun.” Soobin sighs. “My point is, your requirements are so stringent as to alienate every lady in this society from the prospect of marrying you.”
“Soobin, I hate to sound egotistic—” Soobin snorts, which Yeonjun staunchly ignores— “but they're literally leaping for my hand.”
“And you've turned away every single one who has dared to approach, as well as every single one you've invited for one of your little... interviews.” Soobin's nose scrunches, and it's not the nice nose scrunch. It's the annoyed one. Maybe even disgusted. “That's not how you get to know your life partner.”
Yeonjun rolls his eyes. “I'm not looking for love,” he snaps. “I'm looking for someone who will do her job as duchess. That's what I need right now, not love.”
“You won't be able to live well with someone you hate, regardless of how good she is at managing estate affairs.”
“I know. That's why a pleasant demeanor is also something I'm looking for.” Yeonjun snorts. “It's also why I won't be considering Mary Kim at all, no matter how much money her family might have.”
They both have to laugh at that. Mary Kim is a menace upon the ton's society—accomplished, perhaps, but completely unbearable in conversation. Yeonjun remembers saying before that he would rather cut off his hand than brave more than one dance with her. It wasn't a joke then, and it still isn't now.
“I just wish I was married already.” Yeonjun sips at his second drink, relishing the slight burn as it slides down his throat. “It would appease everyone—my mother wouldn't be hounding me anymore, Beomgyu would stop teasing me, and all the ton's mamas would stop trying to throw their daughters at me, too.”
“It's not that hard to get married,” Soobin replies. His eyes turn faraway, a little lovesick smile playing on his lips.
Yeonjun fixes his best friend with a deadpan glare. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance with a good, sweet, capable girl you've known since birth, Soobin.”
Soobin blushes, which Yeonjun counts as a win, but he doesn't relent. “You could really just loosen your list of requirements,” he says. “You're a duke, not a god.”
“I never claimed to be a god, nor do I think I want to be one.” He wrinkles his nose. “All those people who want to find the secret to immortality are idiots. Who wants to stay on earth forever?”
“I forgot how philosophical you get when you're tipsy,” Soobin mutters.
“I'm not tipsy,” Yeonjun protests. “I’ve only had two, and I hold my alcohol better than you. Anyway, it's not like my requirements are completely unreasonable. My mother could do all of this, and it's why my father decided to court her.”
“Oh, so it wasn't because of the fact that they fell in love, and your father would have no one else but her regardless of whether or not she was fluent in Latin and Greek?”
Yeonjun scowls. “Look, the point is, these skills gave my mother the ability to both be a competent duchess and be seen as one, as well. My future wife will have to maintain her image, and having these skills will only aid her in that endeavor.”
Soobin sighs. “You're not going to let up, are you?”
“No.”
“Well, you might have one stroke of luck left.” Soobin smiles. “I hear that the L/Ns are coming back into town. And that the eldest daughter of the family might be one of the most accomplished women to grace the ton in a generation.”
“The L/Ns?” Yeonjun frowns. “Why did they leave town, again?”
“The late lord died suddenly without a male heir, and in the wake of his death, the rest of the family went abroad.” Soobin accepts a refill of his small glass. “Some more gossipy people will say that it was because he spent too lavishly and left the family in a dire financial situation, but I don't think that's true.”
“Then what happened?” Yeonjun asks.
“My mother knew them somewhat well, I think. She said that around the time he died, his mother, who lived abroad, fell ill, so the family moved to take care of her.”
“Who took over the estate?”
“Some distant cousin. I don't think you've met him, and I don't know him very well either—he spends most of his time in the country and seems to keep to himself even when he is in town.” Soobin purses his lips. “I don't think he's necessarily hostile to the late lord's family, but they aren't close.”
“So will they be staying at the estate for the season, then?” Yeonjun presses. “And why are they coming back?”
“The late lord's mother died,” Soobin says. “There was no reason for them to remain abroad, so they should be returning just in time for the season. And I don't know for sure, Yeonjun, considering I'm not exactly privy to all of their plans, but I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t be staying at the estate. Not when there isn’t any obvious hostility towards the lord.”
Yeonjun cocks his head. Sips his drink. “I haven't met the daughter yet, have I?”
“Not closely, I don't think.” Soobin shrugs. “We were both at boarding school during the time she would have been growing up in town. I only know this much because my mother was close with them and has been in some contact with them since they decided to return.”
Yeonjun downs the rest of his glass. “And you say she has the ability to meet all of my oh-so-stringent requirements?”
“If what I've heard is correct, then I think she's the one who will ever come the closest.”
“Well.” Yeonjun smiles, standing up. “I think I've found my next target. I've got to go, but do inform me if you hear anything else about her, will you?”
“You haven't even asked for her name,” Soobin snorts.
“Well?” Yeonjun crosses his arms. “Then what is it?”
“Y/N.” Soobin's eyes glint. “Her name is Y/N L/N.”
. . . . .
Someday, when you die, you are going to scour heaven and hell to find the person who invented these ridiculous traditions for poor debutantes such as you and kill them again. In the afterlife. Just because they deserve it.
Which is not to say everything is wrong with the tradition. You don't mind the white dress, nor the tasteful jewelry Sakura helped clasp around your neck and wrists. The gloves aren't too bad—you've gotten used to how slippery they feel when you try to grasp things—and the shoes are manageable.
But the feathers.
The feathers.
As you step out of the carriage, all you can think of beyond not tripping over your feet right then and there is keeping your balance enough that the ridiculous headdress topped with a plume of long, white feathers doesn't fall. Once on the ground, you raise a hand to try and steady it—
“Don't touch it,” your mother hisses, batting your hand away. “It looks fine.”
You groan. “It doesn't feel right, Mother.”
“It never feels right.” She gives you a sympathetic glance. “But I promise you, dear, it looks fine. Trust me.”
“All right, Mother.” You sigh, resisting the urge to touch the feathers again.
“Good girl.” She smiles taking your arm. “Come now—let’s go see you off.”
All around you, girls in varying shades of white and gold and all those ridiculous feathered headdresses have begun heading into the palace. You follow the crowd, trying not to get swept up in it—your mother plays an important role in this, expertly chivvying the two of you between the families clamoring to reach the hall—all the while trying to catch a glimpse of the palace finery that seems to float past your eyes too fast for you to process anything.
“Now remember, Y/N,” your mother whispers when you finally reach the room where you will wait to walk. “Remember—stand tall, step proudly, keep your balance—”
“I know, Mother,” you hiss, clenching your fingers so they don't go up to try and rearrange the headdress that you're absolutely certain is starting to fall. “Are the feathers still in place?”
“Yes they are, darling,” she replies patiently.
A twinge of shame ripples through your chest—she's trying her best, you know, trying her best to help you in every way she knows how, and you just keep fretting about the stupid feathers on top of your stupid head.
Well, if the feathers weren't part of this tradition, they wouldn't be a problem, the nastier part of you sniffs.
“You look wonderful.” Your mother clasps her hands together, and—oh, dear, you can see tears welling up in her eyes and now you feel like you're going to cry too. “No, dearest, don't cry,” she says, visibly holding back her own tears as she pulls a handkerchief seemingly out of nowhere and dabs at her eyes, then at yours. “Don't ruin your makeup for this big day, yes?”
“I won't.” You laugh, choking back your own tears. “I won't, Mother.”
“You look wonderful,” she repeats, lowering the handkerchief. “Not even the diamond of my season looked quite as well as you. You’ve grown to be so beautiful and capable—your father would be so proud to see you here, now.”
“Mother, please.” You laugh again but it comes out a little wet, with the lump in your throat and the tears beginning to brim anew in your eyes. “You're really going to make me cry, now.”
“We can't have that.” She dabs at your eyes again before looking over your shoulder. “Oh, my—they're about to start!”
Sure enough, not a minute after your mother speaks does the footman at the entrance clear his throat. The crowd of debutantes and mothers and siblings falls quiet, the silence broken only by a periodic shuffle or whisper.
You try hard not to think about the feathers that feel like they're about to slip off the top of your head.
“Mary Kim”, comes the first announcement, “presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Lady Kim.”
You swallow hard.
And so it begins.
. . .
The room has nearly emptied halfway of debutantes, and still you have not been called.
You take back everything you thought about your outfit earlier. The feathers are still atrocious and you want to rip the headdress off right here and now, debut be damned, but your hands have grown sweaty under the gloves, the light makeup Sakura helped you apply feels like it's suffocating your face, and the dress that you absolutely cannot fidget with no matter what has started to dig into your skin. You take a deep breath, standing up straight in the hopes that the fabric will stop itching if you try to touch as little of it as possible—
“We're next,” your mother hisses into your ear.
You nearly choke. “What—”
The crowd of debutantes parts for your path as your mother forcefully guides you to the front. You stare at the doors that will open in seconds, praying, praying, praying you don't trip on the hem of your skirts or on some pebble on the floor or, heaven forbid, the air itself—
“Y/N L/N,” intones the footman, “presented by her mother, the Right Honorable Lady L/N.”
Your mother takes your arm, and as the doors begin to open, you force yourself to breathe.
Your body moves automatically, hours of practice showing their worth in your memory. Posture straight, head level, chin tipped up just enough to suggest pride, but not so much as to indicate haughtiness. Your feet step sedately, one after another, small, light steps to accommodate the dress, and the hand not taken by your mother lies against your side, uncurling from the fist it was in before. Your gloves still feel like they're about to slip off your fingers from sweat and the headdress still feels like it's going to fall off your head, but you continue forward even after your mother stops, one step, then two. Then you halt.
And begin to curtsy.
Balance, your mother's voice rings in your head. Grace will follow. First and foremost, keep your balance.
And you do.
You lower your head into the curtsy, eyes fluttering shut for one moment as you try to calm your breath. Behind you, your mother remains bowed and you take that as your cue to do the same, praying your legs don't begin aching so much that you fall.
For one moment, two, three, you simply stand there, breathing, counting the breaths, the moments until the queen will dismiss you. She has done nothing else yet, you're sure—according to your mother, you would've heard the gasp and perhaps applause if she'd crowned her diamond, and it doesn't seem as though anything untoward such as a lady fainting in her dress has happened either. You haven't tripped, you haven't fallen, and you can hear no giggles or whispers that indicate anything about your dress or feathers being in some sort of disarray, there’s no reason to think you won’t be dismissed without fanfare just as the other ladies have been so far, which is all you need in the moment, just a proper dismissal without embarrassment—
Footsteps sound on the long carpet, coming from the front. Where the queen was sitting as you walked down the hall.
A greater hush falls over the already quiet crowd. You don't dare to lift your eyes at all to see what you are beginning to suspect might be the case.
The footsteps come closer. Closer. You squeeze your eyes shut and open them again, just in time to see a dazzling pair of shoes and the hem of an opulent skirt enter your vision—
A finger touches your chin. Lifts it. Begins to pull you up.
And you meet eyes with the queen herself, staring at you with a benevolent smile on her lips.
Your breath catches in your throat. The eyes of everyone in the room must be on you, you're sure, but your mind is swimming and everything feels like a blur and the queen is in front of you, the queen is really in front of you, smiling at you like you might just be her diamond of the season.
Her finger falls away, but the smile stays. Your heart pounds against your chest, so loud you're sure she must be able to hear it as her mouth opens and she says—
"Flawless, my dear."
Whispers and gasps fill the room, punctuated by a squeal or two—you don't dare look towards crowd to see who it was—and it doesn't matter because you couldn't, anyway, not when the queen has taken your face between her two gloved hands and is now pressing a soft, dry kiss to the top of your forehead.
She rises. Turns. Walks back to her seat at the far end of the hall. Dimly, you remember that that must be your cue to rise as well and you do, taking the two steps backward to reach your mother, head still lowered. Next to you, she rises, and you lift your chin to see every eye in the hall still fixated upon you.
“Did that—” you breathe, forcing your lips not to move— “Mother, did that truly just happen?”
“Keep smiling, dearest,” she whispers, expertly taking your arm once more. One glance to the side shows you a brilliant smile upon her face, joyful yet not gloating, wide yet still gentle, but you can feel her trembling against you even as she steadily turns you around. Putting on a mask, you remember, forcing yourself to breathe once, twice—you need to do that too. Keep smiling, keep smiling, keep smiling. Because everyone's eyes are on you, now.
Y/N L/N, the season's diamond.
. . . . .
In another universe, Yeonjun thinks he could actually enjoy balls as a sort of fun event. There's good food, if not very filling, there's alcohol and lemonade, and usually he can find a few people with whom he is friendly and to whom he can speak. And even if there aren't, as his mother will say, he was blessed with a friendly exterior and an extroverted personality. Beomgyu once said he could make friends with a tree if he charmed it the right way.
Of course, coming out of Beomgyu's mouth, it sounded more like an insult than a compliment, but Yeonjun has long since learned not to give in to his cousin's backhanded mockery.
Put this way, balls could be pleasant. Fun, even. Yeonjun doesn't even mind dancing at all the way some of his peers do—in fact, with the right person, it can even be relaxing. But the problem is, balls are not simply social get-togethers with people his age.
They're marriage contracts. Or at least attempts at them.
The second Yeonjun steps into the Kims' grand home, immediately the lady of the house assaults him with her painted smiles and sickly voice. “Your Grace!” she simpers, taking him by the arm. “I've heard you have chosen to be active this season, is this true?”
Inwardly, Yeonjun spits all the curses he can at an imaginary Wooyoung dancing around in his head. Outwardly, he smiles back. “Your sources are indeed credible, my lady,” he says, laughing as he gently tugs his arm away. “What you have said is true.”
“Oh!” The feigned surprise on Lady Kim's face will always make his stomach churn no matter how many times he sees it. “Well, in that case, I must introduce you to my daughter, Mary—she just debuted this season, I'm sure—”
“Your Grace!” Another mother appears—Mrs. Jung, Yeonjun remembers just as she parks herself firmly by his side, cutting Lady Kim off. He has exactly one second to wonder whether it is a blessing to be torn away from Lady Kim and a potential conversation with Mary or a curse to be thrown into another determined mama's path before Mrs. Jung thrusts her poor daughter in front of him. “My daughter, you'll know, she just debuted this season—she's a wonderful dancer, anyone would be lucky to have her hand—”
A split second glance around the large entrance hall tells him no one he knows is nearby enough to save him from the madness. Already other mothers have spotted him, are snatching their daughters' wrists to come and bombard him with heavy hints at a dance and a possible marriage, so he quickly signs Mrs. Jung's daughter's dance card—he doesn't even know her name, she wasn't on his shortlist of possible future spouses and between all the hubbub he didn't hear Mrs. Jung introduce her if she even did—and then disappears into the crowd with a beatific smile in her direction, only breathing a sigh of relief when he reaches the open ballroom.
“Yeonjun!” Wooyoung comes bounding up to him in seconds, one glass of something in each hand. He hands one to Yeonjun. “How are you faring so far?”
“Not well, and no thanks to you,” Yeonjun hisses, taking a hefty gulp of the drink. There are more beady-eyed mamas and daughters glancing his way here, some who followed him from the entryway and others who have just noticed him. “Why did you have to open your big mouth about me seeking a wife?”
“Well, it seemed like something the ton should know.” Wooyoung shrugs, shameless as ever. “You're now the most eligible bachelor in the room, don't you feel popular?”
Yeonjun rolls his eyes, ready to snap back something sharp that Wooyoung will take in stride and laugh off, eventually making Yeonjun laugh too, but then his eyes are drawn to a crowd of people in another corner of the ballroom, almost exactly mirroring the scene on his side. Only there, it's a horde of men dressed dashingly in their black and white instead of women in their vivid colors, crowding around someone who can only be—
“The season's diamond,” Wooyoung chirps, following Yeonjun's gaze. “Miss L/N.”
Yeonjun blinks. “You know her?”
“Not well, of course.” Mischief glints in Wooyoung's eyes, and Yeonjun can already sense he's in for a bout of relentless teasing. “Are you interested?”
“Of course I am.” He sniffs. “Who wouldn't be interested in the season's diamond? Especially after she's been away for several years?”
“Well, if you are, I would go and try to corner a dance right now.” Wooyoung jerks his head toward the crowd of men. “Before I am forced to leave—hey, don't give me that look, I can't stay with you forever—and the other mamas manage to ambush. Or, heaven forbid—” He leans in close. “Her dance card is full by the time you find the courage to approach.”
Internally, Yeonjun groans. This is why he hates balls—it's always a chase of some sort, him chasing a wife or everyone else trying to chase a husband—but he has to do it. His mother has done her job as dowager after his father's death, and she deserves her retirement. It's his turn to step up and take charge of the estate.
And he'll need a duchess at his side for that.
Quickly he downs the rest of his drink, placing it on an empty tray nearby. “Wish me luck,” he mutters to Wooyoung before heading straight into the throng.
. . . . .
Before this night, your mother grilled you on what to expect as an accomplished debutante, as well as what to expect as a diamond of the first water (for that is what they're calling you, apparently, those who saw you walk down the hall toward the queen).
It still did not prepare you for this.
The second you step into the ballroom, having successfully dodged the worst of Lady Kim's simpering compliments that felt more like backhanded insults than anything else, too many eyes turn towards you. You can feel them raking over your entire body, studying your makeup, your jewelry, every stitch of your clothing, and even though the attention makes you want to shrivel up and curl into a ball, you have to keep smiling.
Remember, dearest, every eye is now on you. Your mother's words ring through your mind once more.
You stand on a pedestal now, after having gained the queen's approval. It is an honor to have been chosen, but that just means there is only a greater distance to fall.
Your fingers itch for a pen and paper, preferably your favorite pencil and worn leather notebook. There's poetry here in the irony of your situation, but between the flurry of teas and fittings and brief outings between your debut and this first ball, you have had no chance to let your thoughts out onto paper for several days. Just little bits of writing here and there, on scraps of parchment and scribbled onto your hands...
But you can't focus on that tonight, not on the words whisking into poetry and prose in your mind. You swallow. Your goal is to find a husband, to secure financial stability for your family no matter what it takes.
And from what you've gathered over the short course of your lifespan, most men don't exactly appreciate poetry from the women they seek to marry.
So you lift your head, taking care not to gawk in any direction (because for all you think the Kim family is a menace to society, they do have good taste in decoration), and paste your practiced sweet smile to your lips. Like any good debutante should.
Like any diamond of the first water should.
Your mother stays with you, thank the heavens, as the men begin to approach. She did not exaggerate, you think dizzily as one request after another comes for a dance on your card—they are clamoring for your hand despite not having seen you anywhere in society for several years. It doesn't matter to them that you've been abroad, taking care of your ill grandmother. It doesn't matter to them that beyond your dowry you don't have that much money to speak of, most of it having gone towards her care. All that matters are rumors—rumors of your intelligence, rumors of your beauty—and the fact that the queen has named you her diamond.
There's poetry there too, scathing and elegant and itching to flow from your fingers, but you will just have to hold it back for tonight.
You do your best to look through the suitors, politely making conversation with those you allow to catch your eye, carefully passing your gaze over those you do not know or those you have heard will not treat you well. Your dance card fills rapidly even before the orchestra’s preludes are over and you've had too many offers of lemonade to count, and you're about to look at your mother—who's been patiently guiding you through the crowd, thank goodness—for some sort of excuse to clear your mind before the dancing starts, but just as you turn your head, a pair of eyes catches yours.
Your mother's grip tightens on your arm. You don't even need her frantic whisper to understand just who has come to seek a dance.
Yeonjun Choi. Duke of Hastings. The most eligible bachelor in this room, in status and in wealth.
Newly seeking a wife this season.
He comes forth, moving through the crowd with surprising ease. The other suitors seem to part for him, though you can see a few throwing him annoyed glances. He's handsome, ridiculously handsome—tall, with lush dark hair and captivating eyes. Your heart skips a beat.
No poetry there. Just a cliche, and an overused one at that.
But so very accurate in this moment.
“Miss L/N.” The duke stops in front of you, a brilliant smile on his face. “I don't believe we've met.”
“Your Grace.” You dip into the curtsy that has now become second nature to you and your legs. “I don't believe we have. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Modest, I see.” The smile grows wider. “I have heard tales of your beauty and wit, Miss L/N. I see your beauty has not been exaggerated—” you have to try hard not to topple over right then and there— “and had hoped to experience the pleasure of your conversation for myself, if it so delights you.” He dips his head in acquiescence. “That is, assuming your dance card isn't already full.”
Oh, he's good. Knows exactly how to flatter just enough that it seems genuine, but not so much that it becomes overkill. Your knees feel slightly weak—if it weren't for your mother holding you up, you think you might have fallen in between his compliments and smooth words, and if he had, you're pretty sure the duke would have caught you in some suave, gentlemanly way—and that is absolutely not something you should be imagining because your face already feels too hot just from his stare and you have words that you need to say.
“You are too kind, Your Grace.” You bow your head in acknowledgement of the praise, thankful for the practiced smile that never falls from your lips. “I believe I still have a few dances left on my card, if you should wish to take one. Perhaps the quadrille?”
“That sounds perfect,” he agrees readily, lifting the card around your wrist and quickly signing his name. When he drops the card, you go to pull your hand away but he catches it before you can, grip gentle but unrelenting as you look up in surprise.
Your entire body seems to freeze as he gazes into your eyes, that gentle smile still present on his lips.
“Your dance card is quite full, Miss L/N,” he says, still not letting go. “Take care not to tire or injure yourself by the end of the night.”
You nod slowly, not trusting your voice to speak at all. If you did, you might squeak, or something equally embarrassing.
His smile widen. “Until our dance then, my lady,” he says.
And presses a kiss to your fingertips.
. . . . .
Straightening his cravat, Yeonjun looks in the mirror one last time before meeting his mother in the estate's entryway. “Shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm.
“Not so fast.” She pushes the arm away, levels a scrutinizing eye over every piece of his outfit, from his styled hair to the tips of his shoes. “Acceptable,” she finally says, though Yeonjun can see the pleased glint in her eye.
“Only acceptable?” he teases back, pouting his lips heavily. “Am I not the most handsome son a woman could ask for?”
“Of course you are.” The mock crotchety look on her face melts away, replaced with fondness that makes Yeonjun's heart ache as she reaches up to touch his cheek. “I'm so proud of you, my son. Look at you—you've grown up so well, and now you're on your way to finding a wife, too.” She sniffs, bringing out the handkerchief she always carries in her sleeve. “Your father would be so proud to see you now.”
“I hope so, Mother.” Yeonjun smiles, holding out his arm once more. “Shall we go now? We should take care not to be late.”
The carriage ride to the park takes place mostly in silence, his mother quietly speaking with her attendant on one side while Yeonjun stares out the window on his. Streets flash by and he takes note as they approach the park where the two of you are to promenade today.
Some part of him is relieved that you agreed to his invitation. Though Wooyoung was right—he was the most eligible bachelor through and through that night at the ball—it was hard not to feel the sting of competition as he watched you dancing throughout the night, seemingly never tiring even once as you stepped gracefully across the ballroom in the arms of so many men. Just by watching, he could tell you were an incredible dancer, and when it came his turn to spin you in the quadrille, his opinion of you only increased tenfold.
Yeonjun knows he's a good dancer. He enjoys it, really, in a way not many of his friends do—it's fun to whirl about the ballroom in these practiced movements—calming, even, when he doesn't have to worry about beady-eyed mamas trying to hunt him down every second. But you—you floated about the ballroom as though you were made of air, your dress rippling in the light as though it was made of water. Not once did you stumble, which Yeonjun could have forgiven once or twice given that you'd never danced together before, and not once did you falter in the conversation he kept up even though you'd been dancing for at least an hour already.
The praise heaped upon your dancing and demeanor were not exaggerated, not in the slightest. So he wasn't exactly surprised when he arrived at your estate the next day and found a clamoring of suitors lined up outside of the calling room, flowers in hand and sweet words on their lips. When it was his turn to meet you, all the blooms scattered about the room made something strangely akin to jealousy twitch in his chest.
But it was a good opportunity to observe you after having accepted so many calls. You were as fresh-faced as ever as you greeted him, took the flowers from his hands and gave him appropriate thanks before settling them carefully in a vase before you. Several servants were arranging flowers in other areas of the room, but you took his personally, and there were no other bouquets he could see that had been given the same treatment as his.
“Blue is my favorite color,” you had told him as you bade him sit. “Did you know this?”
No, he didn't. He'd admitted as much. “A stroke of luck,” he'd smiled, and the morning call went on much as he'd planned.
Perhaps he will truly be lucky in this, he thinks as the carriage pulls up to the park. Perhaps you truly will be the epitome of a duchess that his mother was, the perfect woman to stand by his side as his partner in marriage as he oversees the estate his father left him. Because just from your first two meetings, Yeonjun has already formed quite a good opinion of you that many of the other ladies this season haven't managed to reach despite him having known them, or at least known of them, for several years. You are polite, you are reserved, you dance well, you speak well, and most importantly, you know how to act. Though, to be fair, he's basing this last conjecture on the fact that you didn't react to him kissing your hand—physically, at least—after he'd asked you for a dance.
Which was a blow to his ego. Somewhat. Yeonjun does take pride in his ability to fluster people—not even just women, but sometimes his friends as well—but it's a good thing, in this case. It means that no matter what you feel on the inside, you are not easily swayed on the outside. You can hide your feelings, an essential skill for a member of the ton—especially for one of the duchy.
All this is assuming, of course, that she felt anything at all when you kissed her hand, an annoying voice that sounds a lot like Beomgyu reminds him in the back of his head.
Yeonjun shoves the Beomgyu-esque voice away. That's a thought he doesn't really want to consider.
He helps his mother down from the carriage when they arrive and begins scanning the park for you and your mother. To his luck, you're standing not far away, and he gladly leads his mother up to the two of you. “Miss L/N!” he calls, letting his usual smile fall quickly over his lips. “I hope we have not kept you waiting.”
“No, you're right on time, Your Graces.” You smile, bobbing a shallow curtsy. “We merely thought it prudent to arrive a few minutes early, as we didn't want to make you wait.”
“Allow me to make introductions,” Yeonjun says. “This is my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Hastings. Mother, this is Miss L/N and her esteemed mother, the Right Honorable Lady L/N.”
“Your Grace.” Both you and your mother dip into deeper curtsies, easy and graceful. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I see my son's praise of your manners has not been exaggerated in the slightest.” His mother smiles, walking up to yours. “Come, Lady L/N. Let's let the young ones go ahead—I don't think I'll quite be able to keep up with them on these old bones.”
“Mother,” Yeonjun protests. “Your bones are hardly old.”
“You don't know what you're saying,” she sniffs, winking at your mother. At her side you're stifling a laugh, and despite himself, Yeonjun can't help but feel a fond smile widening his lips. “Go on, you two.”
Taking his cue, Yeonjun offers you his arm, making sure to direct that fond smile at you. “Shall we?”
. . . . .
A week later, you stand in the same park, again waiting for the duke to join you on a promenade. He's not late, you're just early, but as your mother waits anxiously by your side, you take the few moments of silence to think.
The duke—he's never been anything but kind or pleasant in any of your meetings. He's a far cry from many of the more obnoxious suitors you've had to endure in the calling room, those whose advances you've declined while still trying to be as gracious as possible. And he is far and beyond the best option you have at the moment, and probably the best option you're ever going to get. He's a duke, for heaven's sake—the only way you could go higher than him would be if you married a prince, and you're not even sure you’d ever want to go that far. Living in the palace sounds like a dream, but there are already so many rules you need to follow as a mere member of the ton—life as royalty would be even more restricting.
But while there's nothing obviously off-putting about the duke, you can't help but want to pause a little, reevaluate this situation without him nearby to put your thoughts into a spin. He's handsome, he's kind, he's clearly intelligent, and you're sure that he will respect you even in marriage. Sakura has told you of some rumors of him being a rake, but those mostly seem to have died down around the time his father died, when he would have been assuming the role of a duke. Which means he has a sense of responsibility. But even then, it's just...
Some part of you, even though you know it's kind of ridiculous, still hoped for a love match. One like your parents had, the relationship you saw when your father was still alive. While you've often listened to your mind over your heart, your heart still has a voice, and it wants to love and be loved in return.
Perhaps the duke might give you love. You don't know. But it doesn't seem like a priority for him at all, based on your conversations at the now three balls where you've danced with him, as well as the one promenade you've been on so far. While your words flowed well and there was never a moment of truly uncomfortable silence, it didn't seem like he was interested in getting to know you. It was more like he wanted to... interview you for a job, or something.
Which is fair, you suppose. Being a duchess is a job, that much is clear. But you still hadn't expected to spend an hour detailing every piece of your studies, your knowledge of current languages and the classics, the tutors you had for music and dance and mathematics.
Love shouldn't be a priority for you. It isn't, not according to the list of requirements you have for a husband sitting in your brain. Money comes first, followed closely by a pleasant demeanor that you could live with, even if you could not eventually come to love. Yeonjun fits both. If he were to propose marriage, you are sure would respond affirmatively.
But some part of you would still scream to say no.
“Miss L/N!”
Yeonjun comes walking jauntily up, that unflappable smile still on his face. Time to stop thinking.
You force yourself out of your thoughts, dipping into a little curtsy as he comes to a stop in front of you. Your mothers immediately draw towards each other—they've become great friends as far as you can see, which is one good thing that has come out of this—and so you take Yeonjun's proffered arm with a smile and allow him to lead you onto the pathway.
He asks you the usual questions—how are you, how is your mother, nothing untoward has happened since we last met, has it? You respond in kind, mouth moving automatically through the pleasantries, and then a short silence falls.
It's hard not to fall back into your previous thoughts, with the duke right on your arm. Everything about your recent meetings suggests he will propose by the end of the season, and you should be glad for it. This was what you wanted, was it not? Financial stability, and a husband who would be kind, at the very least.
Maybe you didn't expect how clinical this would all feel. Or maybe you underestimated how much you really wanted a love match.
“You seem preoccupied, my lady.” Yeonjun looks over, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Is something the matter, Miss L/N?”
You press your lips together. You've honed the art of conversation for years, but right now, you're not sure if you should broach the subject of your feelings. It might not be the best idea—you don't want to turn Yeonjun away, not at all—but he seems like a straightforward person, generally. His little interview-conversation during your last walk only affirms that.
“During our last promenade,” you say quietly, nodding at a few girls who pass by. “I will be honest. It sounded more like a job interview, Your Grace—or at least what I imagine a job interview would be like. Not quite the conversation one would have on a simple walk.”
Yeonjun looks at you long and hard. For one nerve-wracking moment, he says nothing.
“Was it displeasing to you?” he finally asks. “If so, I apologize.”
“Not at all.” The dismissal falls easily from your lips, easily enough that you can almost believe it wasn't a full lie. “I suppose I was simply not expecting to be quizzed on my knowledge of Latin and Greek for an hour.”
The duke reddens slightly at that. “Surely I did not only speak of the classics for so long.”
“You didn't, Your Grace. I exaggerate.” You laugh a little. “I only wondered what exactly you were looking for in me during that time.”
“Would you like the truthful answer?” the duke asks, suddenly serious.
You blink. “If I were to say no, what answer would you give?”
He smiles a little. “Something flowery, perhaps. Something that would avoid the question and leave both of us unsatisfied. But you wouldn't want that, I think.”
“You're right.” He is. “I wouldn't want that.”
“Then I will be honest with you.” Yeonjun sighs. “I am a duke, and whomever I marry will be duchess. It is not a title to be taken lightly—we would be responsible not just for the estate, but also for the people of whom we are charged to take care. It is not the same as, perhaps, being the lord and lady of a manor. There are greater responsibilities.”
“I see.”
“There are two important things to being one of the duchy,” Yeonjun continues. “One is to be a good duchess—being able to run the household as well as assist me in any affairs that might need another hand, which in all honesty are many. The other is to be perceived as a good duchess. And that is where most of my questions come in hand.”
“I... see.” You slowly nod your head.
“My mother was one of the most accomplished women of her generation.” The two of you glance back at the duchess, who's still talking animatedly with your mother. “She knew all the languages that you do, could play the pianoforte well and even the violin, somewhat. Beyond the fact that my father loved her, she was also well suited to taking care of the estate, and she partnered with him well. She was seen as a duchess who was capable, and she proved it as well.”
Yeonjun turns back to you. “Miss L/N, forgive me for being frank—I have heard of your family situation. Correct me if any of this is wrong, but I believe that beyond your dowry, there is not much money left to take care of all of you without relying on others.”
You swallow. It was blunt, but he isn't wrong.
“But I am not looking for money. Heavens, my family has enough of that.” He laughs a little. “I am looking for someone who can be that partner for me, and based on our meetings so far, I think you are the only one of the eligible ladies this year—possibly in several years—to be able to handle all of this.”
Your head is starting to spin a little. Everything he's said so far makes sense, and you understand where he's coming from, but it's starting to sound—it's starting to sound like he's proposing to you right now—
“I will be honest in that I am not looking for love. If that is an expectation of yours, I will not be offended if you choose to seek someone else.” He pauses on the pathway, fixing you with his gaze. “But you are, I believe, a partner with whom I could be satisfied in navigating the rest of my life.”
He said so much. You took in everything that he said. But for some reason, the only words that continue to bounce around in your head are I am not looking for love.
Which is—ridiculous. You aren't looking for love either—at least, you shouldn't be. Your first priority is to secure financial stability for your family. Anything beyond that would be a plus. But you can't deny the slight sinking of your heart, the way you can feel all of your childish, sappy little daydreams sinking to the bottom of your skull...
You take a deep breath, force a lightness to remain in your tone. “Your Grace, this is beginning to sound like a marriage proposal.”
The duke's gaze doesn't waver. “If you'd like it to be, then it is.”
You're still holding his arm. It's all you can do to keep from clenching his elbow with a vice grip because you really think you might fall. You've gotten a marriage proposal—from a duke—in a matter of days—
“Allow me to be honest as well, Your Grace.” You swallow hard. “I am not looking for love either. My primary interest is securing a source of financial stability for my family, now that we no longer own our estate. It is not to look for love.” It's not a lie, you tell yourself even as the words burn slightly on your tongue. At least not completely. “However, while our values do seem to align, and I am extremely flattered by your proposal, I will ask that you wait a little longer for me to give you an answer. We have only known each other for the best part of three weeks. I would simply like some time to get to know you more.”
“That is a fair request.” Yeonjun inclines his head. “Don't worry—we do not have to treat today's conversation as a proposal at all, Miss L/N. If it so pleases you, I will ask again in a few weeks' time. Until then, please only think of our words today as a suggestion or an explanation of my thoughts, not as anything concrete. Your answer when I ask again will be the only one I consider.”
It's a better reply than you expected. He doesn't seem offended at all by your hesitance, and he was honest. There isn't much more you could want, not from a man such as he.
Part of you knows that if he'd demanded an answer right now, you would have said yes. That same part of you knows that your answer isn't likely to change even with a few weeks—this is the best offer you will receive, from a man who is both respectful and handsome and doesn't care about your relative wealth status compared to his. But it's fast, you think, too fast—you can't sign your life away after only knowing him for less than three weeks.
It has absolutely nothing to do with the twinge in your chest whenever you remember he has no intention of marrying you for love.
“You are very kind, Your Grace.” You smile at him. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Of course, Miss L/N.” He smiles back, oblivious to the thoughts still spinning around your mind. “Shall we continue our walk, then?”
. . . . .
When Yeonjun wakes up, there's a sense of urgency in his chest that doesn't match the lazy light beginning to filter through the curtains against his window, a slight nervousness that doesn't quite make sense. His eyes blink blearily, searching for the clock—it's only eight. He hasn't missed anything important. His first engagement won't even be for three more hours, he can close his eyes and sleep for a little longer—
Engagement.
His eyes snap wide open.
Today is the day he's going to propose to you.
Heart hammering, he sits up in bed, shaking loose strands of hair out of his eyes. Quickly he dresses, all the while trying to think of everything he'll need for tonight and coming up with absolutely nothing except for the ring, which is snug in the pocket of his pants. He pulls it out, holds it up to the light.
Polished gold, a set of pearls laid into the metal surrounding a single small diamond. It has been in his family for generations—his mother had worn it until a few years ago, when she had decided that Yeonjun needed the reminder that he was to choose a wife soon. He stares at it, watches it shine in the early morning light, before sliding it safely back into his pocket. Nothing will happen to it, he tries to reassure himself. Absolutely nothing.
And nothing does happen to it throughout the day, thankfully, not during his meeting with the solicitor, not while he flips through finance sheets at his desk, not while he dresses once more for the dinner your mother has invited him to tonight. He'd spoken with her a few days ago, called on her in private while he knew you would be busy at the modiste, and asked for her permission to formally propose. She was the one who'd suggested the dinner as a way for him to ask the question to you in a somewhat private setting.
There should be no problem. All through the carriage ride to your estate, Yeonjun tries to calm his beating heart as his mother gazes at him amusedly from the other side. “Stop looking at me like that,” he finally says. “Mother.”
“I can't stop looking at my only son right now,” she scolds. “Not when he looks so handsome and ready to propose to his future duchess.”
Future duchess. Yeonjun takes a breath. Yes, you're to be his future wife and his duchess. The thought is surprisingly nerve-wracking.
It shouldn't be, though. He's had his mind set on you since that first conversation with Soobin at the club, since he met you at the first ball of the season. He's done everything this season with you in mind—he should be used to the idea of standing by you as your husband, you as his wife. Him as your duke, and you as his duchess.
His heart begins to calm. Yes, there's no reason to be nervous. The only reason you put off the question when he first suggested it was because you felt it was too early, and that's understandable, given it had only been three weeks and Yeonjun hadn't even meant to propose, really—it had just sounded like it, and you, ever perceptive, had picked up on it. It's been four weeks now since then, and he's danced with you at seven more balls, promenaded with you five more times, and you've already dined once at his estate with some of his extended family. He's asked your mother for permission. Everything will fall into place.
“Do you think she'll like the way I look?” he asks, winking obnoxiously at his mother.
She laughs. “There is no way she could refuse you. Why, if she isn't already in love, she'll have fallen for you by the end of tonight.”
The smile freezes on Yeonjun's face. Love, yes. The very thing he hasn't been focusing on at all when it comes to you.
You'd agreed with that. He'd suspected you would, given your tenuous finances—not dire, not yet, but still not stable. Besides, love is rare. You are practical. You know that. Most marriages are of convenience. You didn't express any sort of hurt or abandon when he'd given you his honest thoughts.
But his mother... maybe she wants him to be in love.
“Yeonjun?” She leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is everything all right?”
He blinks. “Of course,” he replies. And just then, the carriage rattles to a stop in front of an estate that has by now grown familiar, giving him the perfect excuse to avoid any other questions she might ask. As soon as he can, Yeonjun hops down from the carriage and holds out a hand for his mother to take. “Let's go, Mother.”
. . .
The dinner goes well. Your mother placed him next to you, and the two of you speak amicably through the evening as your mothers chatter at the end of the table. With every word that comes out of your mouth, every little laugh and witty jab, Yeonjun only grows even more sure that you are the one who should share the duchy with him.
When the dessert has finished and the last plate cleared away, your mother coughs subtly at the end of the table. Yeonjun takes the hint as they all rise from the table, turning toward her with his sweetest smile. “Lady L/N, I was wondering if you would allow me to solicit a private audience with your daughter. Just for a few moments.”
Her eyes sparkle. Yeonjun really wouldn't mind having her as a mother in law—she's dutiful, patient, and truly loves you in a way that is rare in this society today. “Of course, Your Grace,” she says, inclining her head. “Come, Your Grace—we will have some entertainment for ourselves in the sitting room. Please, the two of you, do join us when you are ready.”
Everyone else filters from the room, leaving it empty save for you and Yeonjun. Even the servants have gone from their silent posts around the table.
You look at Yeonjun quietly. Not a word passes from your lips, though there is a question in your eyes. Actually, perhaps not really a question—there's no way you don't know what is to happen in a moment. It's an invitation in your gaze instead, an expectation of what will come.
Yeonjun takes a deep breath. “A few weeks ago, I suppose I... unintentionally proposed to you on our second promenade.” He smiles and so do you, your eyes crinkling at his choice of words. He internally pats himself on the back for it. “You asked me for time, and I have given it. I suppose what I would say now is much of what I said then—I am looking for a duchess, a wife who can stand by my side as a partner in this marriage, who will help me in my affairs with ensuring the people of my land are treated well.”
You nod. “I understand, Your Grace.”
“It has been over a month since we met, nearly two.” Yeonjun swallows. “In that time, I have truly determined you are one of the most gracious, capable women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I believe you will be the most able partner I could have in my journey of dukedom.” He pulls out the ring, letting the gems sparkle in the candlelight as he holds it out to you. “Will you do me the honor of being that partner, of becoming my wife and the Duchess of Hastings?”
For a long, long moment, you don't respond. Yeonjun counts the moments, counts the breaths—one, two, three, four—his heart beginning to thud the longer you go without speaking.
Finally, your gaze lifts from the ring to his eyes. “I have one stipulation in this proposal, Your Grace,” you say. “My mother—she believes... she believes we are in love.”
Yeonjun tilts his head. “I see.”
“She wants a love match for me. Always has, just like her and my father.” You heave a small sigh. “I am impartial, Your Grace. Love matches such as my mother's are rare, and I am more interested in securing the practicalities of my marriage. As we discussed before, I do not expect love from any relationship we have, but I will ask that... we pretend. In front of her.” You swallow visibly. “I don't want to deceive her, but I would rather do that than upset her.”
Yeonjun pauses. Thinks. Your mother won't live on your estate—nor will she be over often enough for acting to become a full time ordeal. You have a small home in the country, you have said, one your distant cousin has said you are allowed to live in, and while it is not far from his lands, it is not close, either. This stipulation shouldn't be an issue.
“I understand,” he says, smiling easily. “I will agree to this... act. Truth be told,” he continues, “I think my mother would like it if I were in a love match, too. Perhaps it will not just be your mother that we should act around.”
You nod once, slowly. Your throat bobs. For a moment it looks as though you have something else to say, but your expression clears so quickly that Yeonjun is sure he imagined it.
“So will you do me the honor, Miss L/N?” he asks again, taking your hand. The gold of the ring sparkles against the silk of your gloves, shimmering and pristine. “Of being my partner for life?”
You take a breath. Yeonjun watches your chest rise and fall once, twice.
“Yes, Your Grace.” You nod, and relief cracks deep and full in Yeonjun's chest, warmth rippling through his body as you smile. “I will.”
. . . . .
It hits you, exactly what you’re about to do to your future, when it's already too late.
The morning has been going—by all accounts of the situation—fine. You woke up early. Washed. Stared at your notebook that you haven't written in for two weeks, not since poetry stopped flowing from your fingertips in elegant lines and became stilted, choked, singular words instead. Tore your eyes from the leather cover and the pencil still lodged between its pages—it's easier not to question everything when you can't write about it—and left the room for a bite of breakfast before being whisked back to your room to dress.
Everything is—fine. It's fine. Everything is perfectly fine. Sakura helps you put on your wedding attire, settles the dress against your body, the gloves on your fingers, the jewelry around your wrists and neck. Light makeup dusts your face, reminiscent of what you wore to the first ball, and an elegant little flower crown adorns the top of your head. In the mirror, you look beautiful.
Or you would, if not for the fear you can see rooted deep in your eyes.
Your mother exclaims when you enter the room, hands gripping your arms as she looks you up and down. The servants stare in wide-eyed awe as you walk down to the entryway. You try hard to hide that fear from yourself and everyone else, settling into the carriage with only a wide smile on your face, and you force yourself to wear that smile the entire way to the venue as though pretending pure happiness will make it true.
You're whisked away immediately to freshen up once more. Sakura touches up the makeup, straightens the flower crown on your brow. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror for fear of anyone—most of all yourself—seeing the truth in your eyes. Someone hands you a bouquet of flowers that compliments your gown and you thank them as best you can without losing your mind completely. Time passes, somehow, and then someone has dragged you behind the doors at the entrance of the hall where you wait for your cue.
It starts. Music begins to play. You stand behind the closed doors, fighting for breath. Yeonjun will already be at the altar, you know, his family and friends on his side of the pews. Next to you, your mother counts down the seconds, dabbing tears from her eyes when she thinks you aren't looking until she gets to one and the doors begin to swing open.
One foot in front of the other. The muscle memory that you drilled into yourself for your debut—was that just three months ago? Really only three? It feels like it's been years and at the same time it feels like it's been days—returns, and your chin lifts slightly (just enough to suggest pride, but not so much as to indicate haughtiness) as your eyes settle on the man you are to marry at the end of the hall.
The man you are to marry.
Your foot falters. You almost trip. Your mother tightens her grip on your arm and you can see her glance at you worriedly but you force yourself not to look, to keep stepping forward—it wasn't much. It didn't show. It doesn't matter, it doesn't mean anything—
Yeonjun gazes back at you from the altar, that sweet, charming smile on his face. He looks like the epitome of the perfect husband—handsome, gentle, loving.
Loving.
If only.
Your mother lets go of your arm. You both curtsy to the dowager duchess on her side, who smiles widely, and then she steps back to take her seat, leaving you to make the rest of the journey alone.
One step, two steps. The short distance up to the altar feels like it takes an eternity but once you're there, you wish it had taken longer. Heaving a silent, shaky breath, you turn to face Yeonjun.
The smile is still on your face.
Someone begins to read something, onerous and steady and sounding like utterly nothing as it passes through your head. Your fingers are sweaty and your gloves aren’t absorbent—you can feel the silk sliding against your palms as you try to readjust your grip on the bouquet, all the while staring into Yeonjun's eyes. His smile never falters.
Neither, you hope, does yours.
There's a pause in the reading. Someone appears with rings. You take one and Yeonjun takes the other. The words continue, pounding through your head, and try as you might, you can't understand a single one even though you can speak four languages—
“Do you, His Grace Yeonjun Choi, promise to take Y/N L/N to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?”
Your heart stops. That part you can understand.
“I do.” Yeonjun's voice rings loud and clear, not a note of uncertainty in his tones. The two words echo in your ears long after he has slipped the ring onto your finger, even as the priest turns to you next.
“Do you, Miss L/N L/N, promise to take Yeonjun Choi to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death?”
Every eye in the room turns to you. It's like you're in the queen's hall again, about to step backward and ask your mother if that really just happened, if the queen really just named you her diamond, but where that happiness filled your heart in that moment, you can't name what you feel now.
Or maybe you just don't want to name it, for fear that you know what it is.
And that's when you realize.
You don't want this at all.
You don't want to marry Yeonjun. You don't want to tie yourself down to someone who can't promise to love you. You don't want to be married to someone who can't even promise to care for you in the way your father did your mother, the way your mother cared for your father—you don't want it, you don't want it, you don't want any of it at all—
But you promised. Even now you wear the ancestral engagement ring on your finger, pearls and diamonds that glint in the sunlight through the windows. You are engaged. You promised yourself to Yeonjun. You told him you wanted it, that you agreed with his opinions, that you wouldn't expect anything more of him when it came to your partnership.
You blink once, twice. Picture your mother and Sakura sitting in the pews. The two of them want this for you. The two of them need this from you.
And you know you would give your life for them, light yourself on fire for them, burn to ashes for them. It's why you studied for so many years, burnt the midnight oil hours after everyone had gone to bed to make yourself the best debutante who would ever grace society—it was for them. Always for them.
Slowly, even as it gets harder and harder to breathe, you swallow. Stand up straighter. Glance down at the flowers between your sweaty hands, then back up at the man to whom you're about to sign your life away.
Your voice rings out, clear and sweet, the way a diamond of the first water should speak. It doesn't tremble once. Doesn't falter at all.
“I do.”
If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3
(1 reblog = 1 hug for mc. she’s kinda going through it)
#ficscafe#txt#tomorrow x together#tomorrow by together#txt yeonjun#yeonjun#choi yeonjun#yeonjun x reader#yeonjun imagines#yeonjun scenarios#yeonjun fluff#yeonjun angst#txt scenarios#tomorrow x together scenarios#yeonjun oneshots#yeonjun fanfic#yeonjun au#txt fanfic#txt oneshots#txt yeonjun x reader#fluff#angst#regency!au#nobility!au#cw past death#if you'll have me
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HAIKYUU HEADCANONS 2
Daichi Sawamura
Daichi "the greatest school dad" Sawamura
- Definitely a flower boy. If he sees a flower and it reminds him of one of his friends, he will buy them a bouquet of said flower. (You get one of these and you know you are his friend!)
- We all know the way Daichi sleeps. He definitely has his hands on his stomach. He likes to feel his stomach moving. I bet it is really comforting to him to know he is breathing.
- For all his close friends he has a playlist for them. Filled with songs that represent the person and their friendship. The team would go through them sometimes or just randomly play one on a long drive to another school. He would explain why he picked the songs and the team would give him their full attention because it is really interesting.
- Never forgets important dates. The day Hinata and Kageyama joined the team, birthdays, when he, Sugawara, and Asahi became friends. He remembers it all. He likes to keep track on how many years it has been, so get ready for him to say happy anniversary on a random Wednesday, got the whole class thinking y'all dating.
- As you all know the other leaders are basically in love with him in some type of way, so I bet he lives for compliments. No matter what “gender” the compliments are designed to be for. Call him pretty and he will give you his winning smile. He compliments people all the time just so they would feel comfortable complimenting him back.
- Definitely pets heads as a way of saying good job. Started with the first years, later turned into everyone. The first time he caught himself doing it was to Yachi when he visited her in her classroom to give her some papers. He was very embarrassed, but it stuck.
- Kinda sad but I bet he has nightmares of all the times he has been hurt on court. Ido not think he jumps up out of the bed in fear, but I bet he opens his eyes and just stares at the ceiling like, “Damn. That shit really did hurt.”
- He has control over his emotions. As much control as a teenage boy could have. I got this from how quickly he can switch between happy and playful to a serious leader. People do not talk about this element of him of lot. Can definitely calm anyone down, he just has such a calming vibe.
- Daichi is the definition of a nice guy. I swear he would never say or do something that would purposefully harm someone. If he is in a group of guys and they try to talk crap about girls, gays, or other guys he would definitely walk away. He wants no part of any of that mean shit. He is definitely the highlight of his class. I bet all the boys try to act like him or befriend to get game with the ladies.
- He loves his friends dearly. They are more important to him than himself. He is a very friend-oriented person (because I am, so he has to be as well). The idea of betraying a friend is very foreign to him.
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TIKTOK MENTION
“Daichi does not update his phone until like months after they come out (Suga might steal his phone and update it for him).” -cantdecideonausrname
Other HEADCANONS: Akaashi,
#haikyuu#anime#anime and manga#headcanon#haikyū!!#shifting#shifters#reality shift#shifttok#karasuno#sawamura daichi#yachi hitoka#hinata shouyou#kageyama tobio#sugawara koushi#asahi azumane
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A reading on
Marilyn Monroe
Channeled messages:
"I prefer to be called Norma."
"Being Marilyn was devastating for me."
"I was enriched with the pleasures and joys of the world, but I could only be Marilyn, not Norma."
"I created an identity to escape my sufferings, but only to be faced with more."
"I miss my friends dearly."
"My beloved ___ (she doesn't wish to state who)."
"It's just a dress. She (Kim 💀) did me a favor by ripping that old thing."
"I appreciate others caring for my memory, but they can honor me differently (she's saying don't be weird fr)."
"I have plenty of other dresses that are far more beautiful."
"I actually didn't care for dressing up that much, I preferred to dressed casually and comfortably!"
"At first I was hurt by the movies they made about me, now I just laugh, they are obsessed with me, it's ridiculous."
"Oh, yes... *grins* (I asked is she at peace now that she's passed)."
"I am finally a happy old lady with wrinkles! I'm glad!"
Marilyn's past life lessons
Norma was a master manifestor. She had a powerful subconscious mind and was able to visualize her desires into her reality. Norma wanted change and she got it. Creating a new reality for herself as "Marilyn Monroe", when she previously used to be "Norma Jean". "If I could go back I would have healed first before focusing on pursuing my dream." By manifesting her dream as an actor, this also expanded her consciousness to a higher level. Norma was highly intelligent and spiritual. When she made it to the top, she had regrets regarding her past, her choices, and her loved ones. "I abandoned someone dear to me and I miss them so much, my heart aches for my babies." I think out of everything Norma regrets was her miscarriages or inability to be pregnant full term, she very much so wanted to be a mother but it just never happened. Despite this not being her fault, she feels to a point it was. "I had to mourn the loss of my children and the person I loved the most, I was not well." Her health decreased greatly in her acting career (mentally and physically). "I was being treated worse than a dog. Everyone only liked me to laugh at me, to fantasize about me. At least a dog had a place to go home to, what did I have left? Nothing." Towards the end of her life, she took it upon herself to take many risks and challenges. "I was going to get my freedom whether other people liked it or not. I am in control of my life, no one else." There is some sort of building that's significant or needs to be addressed, but I am unsure of what that place is or what it means 🧐. The events leading up to her death 😳...
I'm just gonna leave this here for interpretation 🙋🏽♀️
Marilyn's passing - what is her goal for the afterlife?
Norma does have plans to reincarnate. "I want to be reunited with my children." For her next life, her life lessons will be to learn how to trust others, discover what makes her happy, and to be more disciplined. "I can say I have done things I have shouldn't and I am terribly sorry for. I want to make it up to the people I care about if they will let me." Norma will live a more simpler life and as a way to give her a break from her past life's suffering, the universe could provide her with a happy and healthy family, or she will have to take the steps to get that wish fulfillment, but I do believe it will be possible. She will have to take responsibility for her actions, do something that is a good cause for others, and be empathetic to those surrounding her. I believe in Norma's next life she could work with children, perhaps a teacher? Or participate in a cause that helps with children. If she is unable to have a full term pregnancy, she could resort to adopting kids or being a foster mother. Norma will be more accepting of the challenges that come with this next lifetime and is already aware or prepared for it. "The past is the past and I am ready for my future."
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to be irish is to leave -
i know this, i’ve always known this. i was raised on stories of emigration and of new dreams: american, english, australian, dreams of a house of your own, cities bigger than anyone could imagine, a career you’d never get to have at home. the songs sung at the end of the night in cosy pubs were always lamenting - songs grieving those who left and never returned, songs that told stories of what it means to be irish: to leave, to build a new life elsewhere, and to still be irish at your very core. because we leave, we do, but we never shake off our irishness, finding community in corners of the world filled with other irish people, thousands of miles from home but finding solace amidst your loneliness with the neighbour who grew up ten miles down the road.
it’s no country for women - that’s what they used to say, why they left. it’s no country for young people, now. we say it, over and over - with your family, as they welcome you home for christmas. with your friends, over christmas pints, the conversation always turning to emigration - she’s left too, you know, to sydney, and there’s a gang of them in london, and he’s gone to canada. our hometown is quiet now, a generation emigrating all over again. they say that leaving is in our blood but it’s not there out of a joy travel and a desire to see the world - not just that, at least. no, no, leaving is in our blood because this country we love so deeply doesn’t love us back.
this country raised me - the green fields and rolling hills and waves crashing against the shore are all embedded deep in my DNA, the very core of who i am. this country raised me, it shaped me, it’s one of the biggest parts of who i am - irish, i say, when i’m asked when i’m from, even though i haven’t lived here since i was 22, even though i have built a life in another country and i don’t know if i see myself coming back. we all feel it - raised to so fiercely love a country that doesn’t love us back. “i’ll never afford a house here.” “i didn’t think i’d be living with my parents this close to 30.” “it costs too much to build a life here.” “if i want my dream job - i have to go.”
i have to go, i have to go, i have to go - i knew this from the moment i settled on a dream: a career i could never pursue in ireland the motivation behind the one way ticket i booked all those years ago. i love this country - we all do. i fought for the betterment of this country, i marched and i led campaigns and i voted over and over for a better future for the country i love so dearly: and still, i ended up standing in the airport, suitcases in hand, and i got on a plane and left. because to be irish is to leave - and so i left. i left, and built a life elsewhere, gave that love and passion to another place, and the ache for ireland lessens, day by day, but i still ache for home, ache to be able build a life in the land i love so much.
ireland will always welcome you home, is the thing - with wide open arms, and a bright smile. this year marked the seventh christmas i arrived home to a choir, to news cameras, to a rapturous reception of carols and clapping, strangers happy to see ireland’s children return home. ireland will always welcome us home - but she waves us off just as enthusiastically. january comes and the airport is full again - tearful goodbyes, suitcases of presents and all the home comforts you never learned to live without, and the plane always leaves: taking you back to the place you’ve built your new life, ireland in the rearview mirror.
you learn to live with the homesickness, rugby matches in irish bars and monthly drinks with familiar accents a salve for the part of your heart that will always ache for home: because to be irish is to leave, yes, but to be irish is to leave and to always long to come home to ireland’s shores. and to be irish is to know you might never come home at all.
#in which i ramble#me and my complicated feelings about emigration are back#my writing tag#complicated feelings i say as if anger isn’t the clear emotion in this
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oh my gosh okay first of all happyyyy wednesday (it is wednesday in my timezone hehe) to everyone !!! today i hit 1k followers after having this blog since october 2022, and i feel ever so grateful for all of you, mutuals or not, for supporting me throughout this wild ride <//3 i'm currently in exam season (i'm crying inside) so i haven't been very active this year but i am still so happy and excited and ahhhh!!!!!! this means so much to me and honestly i can't even believe that we're here in this moment but wahshjdfhgjshd thank you all soooooo much <3 to celebrate, i decided to write mini email looking notes for some of my mutuals! please don’t be offended if i didn’t write an email for you; if you would like an email and we are mutuals please send me an ask and i will 100% write you one!!!!
to: miru ( @rosiesared )
subject: my fav yunjin stan
MIRUUUUU <3 i still cannot believe we’ve been friends for almost two years. you are genuinely one of the kindest people i know and one of the most genuine ones i know. you’re always there when i just wanna talk and ramble and we ramble together and i adore you for that 🥹 i remember us meeting and me being intimidated as fuck by you but u are the sweetest and have the most amazing personality 💖💖💖💖 i’m so proud of you always I LOVE U TO BITSSSSS
to: isai ( @solojihyo : @yosang )
subject: jihyo’s wife ( real !!! )
MY CLUMSY BLOB <3 hi my love!!! you are someone i love and hold so dearly to my heart <3 you’re someone i can talk to at my happiest and my worst, and you help me become a better version of myself. you’re so sweet and lovely and such a genuinely wonderful person and i appreciate you being in my life these past couple of years. i adore you!! love you sooooooo much my fav horanghae lover (btw i walked into a pole again yesterday. i didnt hurt myself dw) (also thank u for convincing me to download the cracked ps from the link you sent in the server) (i lov u)
to: michaela ( @mandu : @thefeelz )
subject: jennie’s loml
when you followed me i was so sure i was in a fever dream. i’m pretty sure i blinked at my screen like 200 times. ANYWAYS you are literally ,,,,, i think the only way to say this is so fucking cool . although we don’t talk a lot, seeing u on the dash is always a sure way to make me smile <3 i love youuuuu
to: zay ( @jeonwonwoo : @kimsdahyun )
subject: jeonghan’s bff
HI MY MOST BELOVED ZAY !!! over the last couple of months we’ve gotten sm closer and i just love hearing ab u talk about our fav sebongs and ps stuff && everything you’re passionate about. you’re genuinely one of the most fun and funny people i know and i adore you so much <3 love u love u love u jeonghans wife 💖💖💖💖 MY MOST AESTHETIC PRETTIEST QUEEN !!!!!
to: dana ( @lesseraive )
subject: chaewon = loml = the only girl ever
dana!!!! i still cannot believe its only been … a little more than a year? since we became mutuals 😭 you’re the best. i love shittalking w you, talking about our girls (jangchae) and how izone deserved and deserves better (we miss u izone) (u are forever) (never izgone) . you’re like an older sister to me and i feel like i can talk to you about anything. thank you for being here and being my friend, i love youuuu <3 jeonghyeon p01
to: elv ( @seokmins )
subject: seokmin’s pizza girl !
elvvvvv <3 tbh we’ve talked to about this before but i think the most funny part of our friendship is me not remembering how we met HSKFBSJSK i know that we were both mutuals in laws through isai but honestly it feels like we’ve been mutuals for like ….. ever. you are so sweet and lively it feels like we are just two sunshines together in a field of sunflowers whenever we talk 😭 you make me smile whenever you come up on the dash and you deserve all of the love in the entire world <3 sending my squishiest hugs your way! 💗
to: mini ( @venompinks )
subject: #1 blackpink lover
MINI MINI MINI !!!! hi beloved <3 tbh ive always seen u as like an older sibling to me. you have rhsi comforting vibe that just emulates love & support and i adore that. i love seeing ur creations && support towards ur favs (esp the pinks hehe) and ur so so so lovely!!!! sending u all the squishiest hugs in the whole wide WORLD !!!!!
to: theo ( @lovebitxx )
subject: chaer’s #1 <3
THEO THEO THEO THEO !!!!! i remember you following me during your lixblr era and feeling so :OOO bc that was pre gg blog and i was like wowowow bc all of your creations are so pretty 😭😭😭 im so happy we’ve gotten closer and u always make me smile and just seeing u on my dash and talking to u makes me so happyyyyy!! you’re so passionate about your favs and its always so nice to see you get excited about them ): i love youuuu so much 💗
to: daisy ( @svmit )
subject: juhyeon’s bf ( REAL ! )
MY DAISYYYYY i love you!!!! getting to know you have been soso fun and im so glad to know you 🥹🥹🥹 you’re genuinely so sweet and adorable and i want to squeeze u into the tightest hug 🫂 my fav lightsum && ptg stan 4ever!!!!! 💞💞💞
to: shreya ( @fawad-khan : @kiimtaehyung )
subject: tae’s wife & hyunjin’s gf 🎀🎀🎀
my most beloved shreya!!!!! hi akka i love u to the moon and back and beyond 💞💞💞💞 its kinda crazy to think a year ago we barely knew each other and now we’ve both celebrated our birthdays and waaaaaa it feels insane. i feel like. you’re genuinely someone i see as my older sister and i want to hug you so bad and. YEAAAA the momo to my sana i love youu <3 also thanks for teaching me that andrew garfield is a real person 😁 mwah
to: theo ( @toplines )
subject: best jeongyeon stan!!!!
HI MY LOVELIEST THEO!!!!! I ADORE U HEHE thank u for being one of the silliest most funny most genuine people in my life u are quite literally the kuromi to my melody, the jeongyeon to my sana and i lov u lots!!!!! u are the best ever and u deserve all the love and moreeee 💞💞💞💞 hehe ALSO U ARE THEEEE GFX ICON OF ALL TIME
to: lau ( @saerom : @127s )
subject: saerom’s biggest fan (real)
HI LAUUUUU hehe i know we havent been close for that long (i think we met in userps i dont even remember if im being honest) but you’ve always been someone i look up to. you have this ability to like. stay calm and handle difficult situations with ease and are so funny and fun to talk to!!!! ilu a lot and u are genuinely the sweetest ever <3333 also u are THEEEE URL QUEEN !!!!! never forget !!!!! hugs !!!! 💞💞💞💞💞
to: hales ( @3rachaas )
subject: changbins wife confirmed!!!
HALES HALES HALES HI !!! u are the funniest person ever actually genuinely seriously 100%ly (how many more adverbs can shri use,, more at ten) u are my east coast bestie and i love playimg games with u even if u win every single time 😓😓😓 ILY SOOO MUCH i wish i could hug u sososoososososo bad <////3 mwah!!!! also u are my fav 3racha stan 4ever (edit i hate tumblr ANYWAYS i miss our uno game nights can we have one again) (also hales edit era we miss u) (ilyilyilyilyily)
to: lee ( @komca )
subject: komcanation ‼️ mark’s wife
hi mother 😁😁 u are my favorite mark stan 😁😁 i lov u 😁😁 no in actuality i love u sm lee u are one of the most understanding kindest most funniest most amazing person ever u just. deserve all the love in the world!!!!! i love ur markisms and ur love for rnb and just how passionate u are about ur hobbies and interests!!!! adore u to the moon and back I LOVE U SMMMM HEHE MY ILICHIL LOVER IN CRIMEEEE 💜💜💜
to: naina ( @tutontawan )
subject: sakura’s wife 💞
sunshine wifey! HI MY FAVORITE PERSON EVER the hello kitty to my melo, kkura to my eunchae, gaeul to my wonyo, i adore u sooooo much u are quite literally my twin in every aspect and i love uuuuuu!!!!!! u are just the most sunshiney person to ever sunshine and never fail to make me smile and happyyyy I LOVE UUUUU MY FAV i cant wait to meet u one day <3
to: ace ( @ajusnice )
subject: my maknaez in crime <3
ACE ACE ACE ACE ACE ACE HELLO HI my fav gose watching partner hehe <3 no but actually its kinda bizarre how we havent been friends for a year but it feels so much. longer idk 😓😓 thank u for being sososoaoao supportive u always make me laugh and whether its u berating me over using light mode or screaming over junshua its never a boring day when we talk 🥹 im glad to have u as my friend and ILYSM!!!!!! 💞💞💞💞💞
i hope all of you had the happiest new years and hope that 2024 is our best years yet!!! love all of you sooooo much and thank you once again ♡♡♡♡♡
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hey um I saw requests were open and I really wanted to ask if you could do a yandere homicidal liu with a chill cannibal s/o. I'm sending all my love and positivity have a amazing day/night
Much love
~plushy anon
okok so first off, i am so so so sorry that this took me forever. I just strugged with coming up with an idea of what to actually write, and then a whole bunch of shit went down that helped to induce some writers block and mental health struggles, and so writing got put on the backburner for a while (RIP to my good boy, you are dearly missed and i hope youre getting all the good milkbones in the dog afterlife) so this is a little shoddy but i did my best. also plushy anon is such a cute tag i love it and i hope you don't mind the length and formatting!
Personally, I feel like Liu would be very reluctant to do anything to hurt or to scare you. He would if he absolutely had to, but I feel like he would try to just court you like a normal person would first. And if you need some more convincing after that, well then he would cross that bridge when he came to it. He would most likely just bump into you and if you got talking, that's when he would begin to form an attraction to you. I think that more than anything, Liu wants a normal life, even though his biggest chance for having one after growing up with a normal childhood were stolen by his brother. He wants a small house with his darling where they can try to lead somewhat normal lives and maybe have a family, if his partner is comfortable with it. If they don't want kids then i think he would talk them into getting at least two pets. He doesn't want to feel isolated or alone. He just wants to give love and to receive some love.
He would pursue you the same way any normal person would. A flirty talking stage, some dates, he's very chivalrous, and quite the gentleman when he wants to be. He would bring you flowers and hold doors open for you and pull out your chair, and take your jacket when you enter his home. Once the two of you were official, he would begin to stalk you, subtly of course. He just wants to ensure your safety (he's lost everyone he loves, after all!) and he also wants to know everything about you so that he can be the best lover that he can be.
I see Liu as being delusional, yet also very self aware. He is capable of understanding that what he's doing is wrong, yet he is also able to twist it in such a way that he convinces himself that he can continue. This is probably how he would find out about the cannibalism thing. As someone who knew and lived with several cannibals (mansion au is dear to my heart okay leave me alone) for a while, he would probably not be that thrown off. I don't think that he would really want to partake in the eating bit, but I can definitely see him asking some of his cannibal friends (most likely EJ, but maybe one of the others) about different ways to prepare a meal, and little tips and tricks.
Once he was fairly comfortable in the relationship, after the two of you were quite serious, and he truly trusted you. I feel like he would put all his cards on the table. He's probably one of the mildest yanderes when it comes to toxicity and/or abuse. He'd sooner kill himself than willingly hurt you, though even if you wanted to, I don't think you'd be able to leave, you will always find yourself coming back to him.
I feel like he would show his cards to you by prepping a meal for you. A meal of "your tastes" if you catch my drift. He would prep a separate meal for himself, but that would be his way of showing you that he accepts that part of you, and also letting you in on some of his more questionable behaviors (like stalking his partner??) overall, he would treat you the same way he would treat a non-cannibal darling, and would just think of your preferred tastes the same way as how some people do like chocolate and some don't, it's just a food preference. it doesn't matter much to him.
He would be so sweet throughout the whole relationship, and would very rarely have to manipulate you or be forceful, his nature just makes him very agreeable, and very few of his qualms would actually be with you. He might not be happy if you want to do something dangerous, and would insist of accompanying you, but that's about it. And if someone flirted with you, he would kill them. It wasn't your fault, and he can't blame you for being so perfect and attractive, it was your pursuer's fault.
Honestly, Yandere!Liu is just very clingy Liu. He just wants to be with you all the time c:
#creepypasta#homicidal liu#homicidal liu x reader#homicidal liu x you#homicidal liu x y/n#liu woods x reader#liu woods x you#liu woods x y/n
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hiii!!!! may i request vincent edgeworth x reader relationship hcs or victor blake x reader relationship hcs? (btw i dont mind what pronouns u use for the reader im fine with anything) THANK YOU A LOT ^ _ ^
Hihi!!! Welcome!! And heck yeah my favorite boys!! (I have favoritism.) Also I'm so sorry for not doing this earlier!! (I have testing coming up so..) but happy Vincent crash day!! /Ref
Type: relationship HCs!!
Ship(s): Vincent x Reader & Victor x Reader! (Separate) (ROMANTIC!)
Pronouns: He/Him for Vincent and Victor, "You" for Reader!
Owner information: I am speedrunning. With Owl City on my side. (The Tornado for Vincent 🫶)
CW?// Smoking, drinking alcohol(?) In Victor's, Vincent's backstory, me being too tired to mention Chapter 4, Depersonalization (both)
🍸Vincent Edgeworth⚖️ × Reader in RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS!
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Okay, where to start with this man?
You were his next door dorm-mate in college, you were probably also Victor's friend. So you were often over (even when Victor wasn't at the dorm)
So he often tried to chat up a conversation when he wasn't doing work. (Keyword "tried".)
It's awkward. Very. He isn't very a very social but he tries
If you weren't Victor's friend ; you were probably one of his academic rivals.
You two probably got into mockery battles. As in like bragging about grades and stuff, and insulting each other.
But either way; you meet again years later and chat again.
Your first date was probably at a cat cafe ; with hot cacao and petting cats (if you weren't allergic.)
The second was at a library, reading random books and giggling
Then you two were official!
He isn't one for PDA. Nor touch really.. He's more a private and vocal affection with his love language being spending time with you
He does overwork himself so you just coming in to remind him to stop makes him feel warm ; unlike no others have done for him.
You gave him a reason to continue.
Even when he was trapped, he was thinking of you. Wondering how you were. Wondering if he'll see you again... He hoped he would.
Once he escapes, he instantly goes to you. He holds you tightly once he does.. he doesn't want to lose you.
Once Draco was made, he made sure to add some of your features onto him and make sure to make Draco trust you as deep as he did you.
He loved you dearly.
Drinking dates are to be expected, even tho he doesn't "need" to.
He definitely reads you to sleep, since again; he doesn't "need" to. But he loves you and wants you to be healthy and living, even if he isn't.
He definitely needs comfort at times due to the depersonalization feeling of not being whom he was before and the memories before ; so please do comfort him during those episodes.
Overall ; 8/10 in my opinion
🍸Victor Blake🚬 × Reader in RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS!
✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯
You probably met at work tbh. You were new and he decided to invite you to some drinks for the newbie
He made some good drinks for the both of you! Wether it be alcholic or not
He was quite the smoker but he wouldn't smoke around you, knowing second-hand smoking isn't great for either parties.
Him and Vincent are good friends and he probably asked Vincent some things before asking you on your first date
Your first date is surprisingly(/j) not at a bar. It's actually also at a cafe! Just a normal cafe
Your second one is at a restaurant, probably like a McDonald's (not because he's being cheap or anything but because he forgot you guys had a date and he was hungover from the night before)
Then you were official!
Unlike Vincent; he was the opposite! He loved PDA and uses physical affection instead! He uses gifts (like a crow) as his love language
When I say like a crow ; he literally gets you some things you might like and gives you it on your doorstep. It's weird when he doesn't tag it from himself...
Let's get one thing straight; He can't swim, both because of his childhood and because of his arms. So if you go to the beach or pool, he'll just be watching you.
His arms and eyes are a difficult topic for him, even for you. So he probably won't tell you until he's ready. (Since he's had these arms and eyes during the flashback of party)
But he does have depersonalization episodes due to it, having to remember it and just hating it and not remembering that it's himself. He'll need comfort but they hardly happen anymore
He does also talk about how his parents always wanted him to be in RMU and were pretty much strict and unloving. You and Vincent are the only people who know....
He loves sharing the cats with you! And sharing anything with you, wether it be talking sharing or clothes.
He does try to quit his smoking for you if you're uncomfortable with it... He will always make sure you're comfortable and okay!
Overall ; 8/10
I dislike how short I made them but I'm in a rush and studying.. but I'm changing the profile style soon!! Expect more fandoms for options too!! <:3 I apologize deeply for being so late. (I love VTSOM requests sm.) But this was fun, and as always; you can request more and if you want anything changed, tell me!!
#vtsom x reader#vtsom vincent#vincent edgeworth#Vincent Edgeworth x reader#vtsom victor#victor blake#victor blake x reader#mizuki.text#menu.order#menu.anon#vtsom#happy april 30th!#<- when the nightmare started#<- <- (/REFERENCE TO CHAPTER 2)
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I tried looking for some advice/opinions about this on reddit, but couldn't find anyone going through a similar situation.
my boyfriend and I are getting serious. he's a wonderful guy, but he's a religion/ethnicity that is considered to be directly against mine. neither of us are religious or have any conflicts within the relationship. my parents like him too. however, my parents are immigrants and their entire community and social circle from the last few decades is people within my religion. as my boyfriend and I have been getting more serious, they've been getting more and more worried about the backlash, criticism, and mockery they might face from their community. it's easy to say that they should make new friends, but this is all they know.
I don't plan on living near them for long, so I won't face this myself. I'm worried that I'm being selfish for choosing my boyfriend. they don't ask me to break up with him because they see how happy he makes me and how much healthier my life is. but I really worry for them.
it's not fair for me to hold the burden of their relationships and friendships, but at the same time, am I a terrible daughter for continuing to be with someone that could cause them a lot of pain, ridicule, and possibly isolation?
should I bite the bullet and end my relationship before more people get hurt? my parents have given me everything and I love them so dearly. but I really can see a wonderful and loving future with my boyfriend. I don't want to hurt my parents, but I don't want to regret not giving my relationship its best chance. I'm so torn and it's really been eating me up lately :/
Hi OP- sorry for the delay in replying to this.
I'll start by saying that I don't have experience in this area, so if anyone knows more than me or feels the advice I'm giving is bad or harmful, please do step in and say!
The only thing I am fully confident in saying is that you are not a bad person and you are not a bad daughter. You are allowed to love who you love. Other people will always judge you for things, in a myriad of ways at a myriad of times. It is unfortunate that your relationship may make things harder for your parents, but that is not a good reason to deprive yourself of the things and people you love. Do not let hate be stronger than love.
I don't think your parents are silly for having the concerns they do, and I absolutely will not minimise their experiences and fears. My partner's family are immigrants and I know a huge part of their social circle is people from the same background/ country of origin. It would be incredibly hard for them to lose that. I can only imagine how hard that idea of losing valued friends must be for your parents, especially when you take into consideration the racism/ xenophobia they may have faced living in a country that they were not born in, and how much support and comfort they may have gotten from their current social circle.
But at the same time, a form of support that would exile members because one of their children dated someone from an opposing religion is a very conditional form of support. There is a part of me that wants to say "anyone who would abandon a friend because of who their child chooses to date is not a friend worth having", and whilst I understand it's somewhat dismissive, I do think there's truth there.
I notice a lot of language like 'may' in your message. Is it possible the people in your parents' lives may be more forgiving or understanding than they anticipate? It's easy to dwell on what if it goes badly, but I think it's worth acknowleding that it's not guaranteed. It could go well! It could go average. We can't predict how other people respond to our actions; all we can control is our own actions, and how we take steps to shape our own lives.
It is okay to want things. It is okay to want people. It is okay to live your life for yourself, and not to please others. It is okay to make choices to maximise your own joy even though others disapprove. You do not need to live in shame or grief or guilt or turmoil. I promise.
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Creations AU, But I obnoxiously over explain it PT 2
Ahh Creations AU
My sweet sweet FNAF AU.
Oh how I love you dearly despite your doofy old art. ❤️
Jeremy and Mike continue their conversation,
Jeremy mentioning Michael's "Dad" as an important figure in the pizzeria and someone who wants to keep secrets about shading happenings down below.
Who is he to Freddy's?
WE DUNNO.
We already know deaths take place here so shady things going on down below aren't out of the realm of possibility.
Bonnie proudly proclaims HE knows what goes on as a friend of his occasionally visits the surface, seems like Bonnie is just friends with a lot of Freddys.
Michael's sister died at a location called "Circus Baby's pizza world" now a rental place that houses the same animatronics down below. Jeremy refutes this as nonsense.
Bonnie is firm in it being true.
Mike is shocked.
Jeremy and Bonnie continue to bicker and Mike feels solidly like he isn't in the loop about things here.
Jeremy wants Bonnie and by proxy Mike to leave so they do. Their shifts end at 6 Am.
Mike is now very curious about what else Bonnie knows and hasn't spoken about. For obvious reasons.
Bonnie feels he doesn't owe Mike information, which it seems Bonnie has a wealth of. Apparently Bonnie just, knows a lot about people around here. How does he get this info?
Do people TELL him this or does he get dirt on people?
Mike continues to use bribes to try and get what he wants.
Leading to the conformation Mike in fact: Does NOT smoke...
Which leads to the question: Why was he carrying cigarettes?
There's two explanations:
Be bought them specifically to bribe Bonnie after he saw Bonnie smoking on night 1.
He had them before that for some reason.
Bonnie continues to show he has no regard for other's personal space or comfort in the way he takes the cigarette from Mike.
Is Bonnie this personal with everyone or....? He seemed uncomfortable with Freddy invading his personal space earlier but that just could be because of where Freddy was positioned.
Bonnie why do you incessantly keep patting Mike's head. I know his hair is a complete mess but that's not gonna fix it. XD
Jokes aside: Bonnie's alright with spilling more of Michael's past as long as Mike doesn't say it came from him.
Michael's dad who we now know as "William Afton" (Conforming Michael's last name is Afton) has lost three of his children due to incidents at Freddy's.
Bonnie details how they died, but Mike is particularly disturbed by ONE in particular...For some reason.
If yall have read FSR and it's over analysis ya might have remembered me mentioning suicidal shit is a THEME in my work?
Yeaaaaah our boy Mike is flirting with death and doesn't care if he flirts back.
Makes sense, he seems to know what kind of place this was as he wasn't phased by walking talking robots.
Bonnie's weirdly optimistic here asking "Why not fight for a future?"
Bonnie's the type of guy who fights for shit he wants. Clearly. Man is stubborn.
Mike brings up he has one thing left to accomplish and said thing will happen if he dies or not. As if his mere presence here will do SOMETHING.
Aparently Bonnie has been a source of joy despite their seemingly unpleasant interactions. Likely for whatever reason Mike recognizes him.
Bonnie seems to feel a little guilty due to his actions but Mike assures him being insulted by his "Favorite" animatronic is funny.
Bonnie seems to be rather happy with being someone's favorite robot. This is a high honor evidently.
Maybe a little embarrassed too, dragging Mike along until they reach the backstage room.
Lamenting Mike should at least ACT like he wants to live.
Mike just cozies up into his hug without a verbal response. He doesn't mention he'll try which is kind of sad.
For whatever reason Bonnie is a literal comfort character to Mike.
Talking about actual comic development for a sec: You can usually tell which segments I started or stopped at. "Chapters" if you will. But the size of them VARY. Again, indie comic creator privileges.
Either way Mike rambles his plans to befriend Michael as a "Next step" he seems to have a plan in action...for something we aren't privy too for whatever reason.
This comic doesn't like to explain ANYTHING to you. Which confused a LOT of people. You gotta pay attention which is smth people HATED doing specifically on Webtoon.
A LOT as I've gone over is paying attention to dialogue from the characters as THEY reveal things about other characters which open up the story.
Knowing GENREAL Fnaf lore HELPS but a lot of people couldn't FULL detach what they knew and ended up confusing themselves by not applying "This is an idea not a firm cannon in this comic" approach I was going for.
Example: Robots are possessed thing I mentioned earlier.
In CANNON games: The FNAF 1 gang are possessed by kids.
In Creations: They are still possessed but not all of em are by kids. You can tell through context clues which ones aren't for sure based on their habits: Such as Bonnie smoking and Freddy being a sex addict.
So the IDEA of robots being possessed was kept but isn't a 1 to 1 reflection of the games.
People did not get this and it infuriated me. :)
There's also a prevailing THEORY in the fandom Michael and Mike are the same character.
Often they wouldn't use CANNON Fnaf material AT ALL to try and figure out Creations weird story: They'd pull from fan theories and FANNON/other comics.
Why? I could not fucking tell you. It makes no damn sense to me.
This comic lays a LOT out if you just read it at it's indented pace and not scroll a million miles a minute.
It's a slow burn. We establish a LOT before we get to the balls to the wall insanity. Because we're building unease with everything we learn about everyone in this building and even Mike himself.
NOBODY IS TRUSTWORTHY, NOT EVEN MIKE as Mike is clearly an unreliable person for information as the audience at least for now, considering he is a manipulator. Maybe we can trust Bonnie. But even then, Mike trusting Bonnie might be a character flaw of his attachment to the character and NOT a rational decision as we've seen he gets weird about this character in particular vs the other people and robots.
Anyways, as Mike explains befriending Michael is a good idea, Bonnie knows friendship isn't this guy's real goal and Mike is like
"Well no shit"
Bonnie's apparently "No snitch" which explains why everyone tells him things I suppose.
Well well well.
Mike's investigating this twisted place. Makes sense.
Mike self proclaiming himself "brave and stupid" is funny to me. Bro fully admits what he's doing is stupid as fuck and I love that he's self aware. X'D
Someone is established/implied to be helping Mike. So I'm sure we'll see them eventually. For now whoever Mike's working with is a faceless entity of unknown status or power.
Is Mike with the police, a private investigator...Who is he still???
This doesn't truly answer who he is FULLY here...
Either way Bonnie doesn't pry. But this establishes Bonnie isn't all muscle and no brain. Since he picks apart Mike IS working with someone with little to no info.
So right off the bat:
This is a clear lie from Bonnie. We KNOW Micheal has disclosed info with Bonnie that Bonnie hasn't yet shared with Mike. From Bonnie's little rant on "Not owing Mike info" and knowing things Jeremy Fitzgerald, who is ALSO implied to be Michael 's close friend DOESN'T KNOW.
Why is lying? Well could be for many reasons?
He doesn't wanna drag Mike into this further due to his obvious struggles with his mental health.
He doesn't want Mike to use Michael.
Either way he concedes to getting Michael to meet with him. Because a character flaw Bonnie has:
He will sell you out for things he wants.
Again we are warned about the danger of the Circus Baby's rentals animatronics specifically Michael's "Friend".
Bonnie adding quotation could mean a lot of things, but it comes off as he doesn't consider this "Friend" to BE a friend. Which could tell us a lot about how Bonnie feels about this "Friend".
And we get to see Michael we know it's the next day from Bonnie's instructions on where to meet him.
And he looks...interesting...
If ya thought Mike's pale skin tone was odd this man is lilac with purple eyes. And a a goofy hair cut. It does get better I promise.
Mike...Ya seem a tad distracted buddy.
This is Michael! Introduced properly. His name tag indicates he's also called "Mike" on occasions.
He's tall (At least compared to Mike) and is apparently friendly.
Also fun fact:
The first draft of this comic was a shitpost comic that got lore when Michael came in. Michael's OG concepts got mostly abandoned but ONE aspect of him has stood the test of time.
Bonnie seemingly has introduced Mike to Michael as somebody who wants to be his friend...
Perhaps a little white lie on Bonnie's end.
Mike says another of my favorite lines "Yes, I'm very lonely" which just sends me whenever I see it because, fuck it's funny what do you want from me? X'D
And they swap numbers.
Smth some Fnaf fans got hung up on was the technology in the AU:
It's an AU. Fuck off. X'D
They have smart phones because I said so. The robots are technologically insane what makes you think a smart phone couldn't exist??? X'D
Micheal "Talks to robots" quite frequently. William's apparently built nearly everything in the building.
Neat.
Michael wants to follow in his footsteps. How sweet.
Mike is STILL asking questions helpful to his investigation if you notice, also intentionally wording himself in a way that makes Michael and his experiences sound familiar.
Mike is clearly being a fake bitch here which I find funny. Micheal obviously can't tell as he overall comes across as naïve and eager to make friends.
Makes sense since 3 of his siblings are dead and he almost exclusively talks to robots outside of Jeremy Fitzgerald it seems. Wonder if he had a good relationship with them before they died...
Mike is shown to be genuinely uncomfortable by the mention of "Fredbears" for some reason. They both share a fondness for the Bonnie line of animatronics specifically.
They decide to meet up later outside of work.
Oh my.
You can tell I liked drawing this animatronic because these pages have BUDGET.
This thing clearly isn't a fan of Mike.
Could this be the "Friend" Bonnie warned about?
Goodness me that's a big ol animatronic. It's stripped bare of any plating so it's just an endoskeleton comprised of twisted cables... It uses said cables to it's advantage so it's comfortable with it's body. It was presumably spying on the conversation by hanging on the celing this whole time...
Did Michael know it was here?
It only wears a mask with segmented face plates. One of it's eyes appears to be completely malfunctioned. It's clearly meant to be a clown. Very different style of robot from the ones we've seen so far: Being it's a HUMANOID one...
It also skips threats and goes right to direct violence towards our boy Mike.
Which he responds too with...
THAT.
A reaction that seems to wig the robot out.
Still offput Mike makes a goof first impression, to "Ennard". Michael's "friend".
Something from older concepts from this AU:
Mike was a "badass" (Not even my words lmao readers thought he was badass. X'D I have to agree Mike's awesome I love him.) dude could go through a lot with a blank expression.
Though here he smiles and looks kinda, dead inside. But what's new.
Despite it's power Ennard appears to be insanely childish with their speech. Calling mike a "Jerk".
Ennard repeats a similar sentiment to Bonnie when Mike responds with THE MOST BADLY INTURPRETED LINE IN THE ENTIRE COMIC SO FAR:
People genuinely did not understand this scene.
"Thanks I love you. Bye. Tell 'em I said hi"
If you didn't catch WHY Mike said that:
He's clearly disassociating right now because of how much REAL DANGER he is in. You can tell from the way he slowly just stops looking AT Ennard and kinda through him. Mike's like, not fully home.
That response, is the kind of thing you'd say to someone while ending a phone call as quickly as possible with a family member or something.
It's a response that doesn't match A SINGLE THING THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT and shows an ODD amount of familiarity with someone he literally doesn't know. And it clearly flusters Ennard because he has no idea what Mike is talking about because this whole response is very weird without any prompting.
It's like something he defaults to when he can't deal with who he's talking to and wants to get away.
And he does. Leaving through the door.
Mike seems satisfied with himself as he goes back to whatever he's doing.
Michael clearly is someone of importance if he has a freakin' giant body guard.
Mike's working night shift again.
That is his job...And he sees a child on one of the cameras.
Weird.
He's probably sleepy from working a bit into dayshift.
Oh. Somebody's watching you buddy.
Could it be...the same golden bear that was a giant floating head in the hallway?
They match his steps as he walks down the hall staying just out of site of the viewer AND Mike.
Huh.
So Mike knows ANOTHER person here...That kid is familiar.
He's still being shadowed.
Aw.
A little baby.
"You" is apparently just who this is.
Do you know their name Mike?
Chasing chasing
Oh hello Bonnie you're getting touchy with Freddy huh?
The stage seems to have a door on it...For some reason.
Well shit Freddy you didn't have to say it like that.
HUH.
So Bonnie can't see this kid. Weird.
Again Bonnie showing concern about Mike because he's cool.
Oh my.
Oh dear.
PICTURE LIMITS ON TUMBLR I'M SCARED TOO MIKE
Jokes aside. What a cliff hanger.
The art style looking wonky there...
Wonder why Mike ran into the break room...What's in the break room buddy?
#fnaf creations au#fnaf au#fnaf comic#fnaf fanart#fnaf art#fnaf 1#five nights at freddy's#fnaf#jeremy fitzgerald#mike schmidt#bonnie#freddy fazbear
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