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yrluvjane · 11 months

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𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅

[old money] James x fem!reader

《 Summary - After a coincidental encounter, James takes interest in one of his employees. 》

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Who didn't know the Potters, especially when they owned everything. From banks, houses, and yachts to mansions, planes, and private islands. The family was known for its wealth and power. Almost ten generations have come since their fortune was assigned and now they’ve reached the point in being one of the richest and influential families in Europe.

And it wasn’t every day James Potter, the only living heir, walked into a diner where he would only be served greasy fries and pizza. His perfectly tailored designer clothes made him stick out like a sore thumb no matter where he sat.

Sat on a table at the far end of the room, with a relaxing book in his hands and a steaming cup of black coffee on the table; James Potter’s eyes wandered from word to word and line to line, finding peace in between the letters. His eyes would raise temporarily every time the hanging door bells jingled to check if his company had arrived.

Despite the loud noise of chatter, the diner was mostly empty, only six tables were taken. The sudden and loud laughs of a group of women disrupted his reading, and James involuntarily swung his head towards them, confusion and curiosity swirling in his eyes.

There, by the booths, sat a group of five girls all cheering loudly for their friend. James guessed that the woman they were cheering for was engaged, his eyes slightly squinted at the lady as she displayed her hand on the table for everyone to see.

It's not long before he realizes he’s not the only one looking at them; an elderly couple next to him, smiled fondly at the ladies and laughed together after a few short-whispered words.

“Mr. Potter,” He blinked, refocusing his attention on the voice. He raised his head and found himself facing a young man in a wrinkled suit and skewed slim tie who was staring at him with a disturbingly wide smile. “An honor to have you here, truly.”

“Thank you.” James responded blankly hoping to return to his book as quickly as possible without attracting unwanted attention from other diners, but it seemed as though the man did not comprehend James’ annoyance and instead decided to invite himself at James’ table.

“My name is also James,”

The Potter one sent the man a tight-lipped smile. “I own this place, it’s actually my dad’s but I managed to sway him into giving it to me. So, yeah.” At that, the man had finally stopped talking and stared at James as though he was expecting the man to hand him an award and at James awkwardly silent response, the man threw his head back and laughed loudly.

James narrowed his gaze at the man from behind his glasses and levelled him with a silent look of judgement. Though James did not speak any words his eyes expressed his feelings towards the man perfectly. And this time the man was able to clearly make out James' unpleasant impression of him. "Not a man of many words, got it.”

“I’ll leave you to it then!” The other James said hesitantly, “If you need anything, and I mean anything I am right here!” The manager stood up and winked at him as he left.

James sighed tiredly as the man’s voice faded and had finally vanished from his view. It was not that James was rude, it was the fact he did not appreciate people trying to sway him while he was having one of his very rare moments of peace.

His life has always been open to the public, from press conferences and social events to having people stalk him to his home. And though James would have seemed rude he didn’t think the twenty-something year old boy would have anything to say that was worth listening to.

James would rather have this limited time to hear his own thinking without having everyone train their eyes on him and bug him with their opinions of his every thought.

And not a few minutes later, the door swung open once more, ringing the bells and allowing a cold breeze to flow in. James’ eyes followed the jingles as he raised his cup of coffee to his lips and when his eyes trained on the silhouette he was met with a surprising feeling of familiarity.

His hold on his book loosened, and he gently put the cup back on the saucer. He leaned back on his chair and narrowed his eyes at the woman, trying to make out where he could’ve seen her. By the style and quality of her clothes, he doubted they had worked together. And even if she wore something less normal, there weren’t many acquaintances he knew that would step into anything like this diner.

He let his eyes follow the lady’s figure all the way to the celebrating group of women, all of whom started beckoning her over once they saw her. The closer she was to them the clearer she became. Under the small restaurant’s soft yellow glow, he could finally notice her blue jumper and black trousers. She waved to her friends and walked to them, a black coat hanging from her arm.

Once she took a seat, she scanned the place; freezing once she laid eyes on him. Her eyes widened, blinking owlishly, staring at him with parted lips. She recognized him, yet he still couldn't make sense of who she was. A reporter? An ex? Maybe an assistant? An employee? His mind raced with possibilities and theories trying to guess or at least sense where he’d met her.

As time passes at the speed of a turtle, he can feel the young woman’s gaze at him from afar. Every few minutes or so she turns to him as though she’s expecting something to happen; he doesn’t dare look back but he does catch her eye once. He turns to his side, slightly annoyed and faces her, staring unashamedly.

Her face of curiosity morphs into one of embarrassment, and James finds himself breaking their little contest when the door swings back open again and his friend walks in, waving at James from across the room. He shoots the girl one last look but this time, it’s her back that’s facing him.

A week later, James is sitting on a lounge chair by the pool, hoping to get some work done. The sun shone brightly above him, and despite there being cool winds breezing by, James’ clothes still stuck to his skin through a layer of sweat.

“Mr. Potter,” Anders, the Potter's head butler, calls. James faces him, scrunching his face against the sun's rays and smiles.

“Yes, Anders?”

“I have Miss Page on the phone.” He states with a sympathetic smile, handing him the black land phone. James sighed, getting up and taking the phone, he sighs one more time, this time at his assistant’s name on the small screen. “Margret?”

“James! I called six times!” She exclaims, and he can hear the distracting background noises of ringing phones, chattering and pointy heels undoubtedly belonging to the woman on the phone. ”My phone isn’t with me.” James says after shuffling some papers and looking for it. “Why? Why would you not have your phone around you at all times? I mean, what if an emergency happens? Do I have to wait for Anders to pick up the phone after four rings?”

“Marge? I’m kind of busy here, too.” He says into the phone, stretching his legs by pacing around the large pool. The sun shines on the water so brightly that James has to have on his sunglasses just to not be blinded by the reflecting sparkles of light.

“Well you should thank me. I had the meeting on Tuesday postponed to Thursday, just like you asked. Then, I have Patrick bothering me about Jackson Mills. Things are heavy James, especially now with election season so close.”

“I’ll call Jackson today—”

“Great!” She cuts him off before he can even finish his sentence.

James chuckles softly as she moves on to the next thing on her list. Margret was a wonder truly, but don't be fooled she was direct and pointed as her heels.

“You have dinner at 6:30 on Wednesday with Delilah’s parents,” and for the next few moments the line is silent, “I can always tell them you got into a car crash, if you’d like?” She suggests, her voice much clearer now as the background noises fade out. “No, no, my parents have been pestering me about this for weeks, I might as well get it over with. Marge, the report for the new expansion project is on my desk, have Carter send them to me, please.”

There's a sound of shuffling papers before Margaret's voice appears once more, "It will be with you in 30 minutes."

As she continues, James looks down at his shoes in weariness, sighing, before raising his head up once more; movements by the bushes catch his eyes. He walks over to the end at the end of the pool, where he suspects the gardeners are working, his brows furrowing as he gets closer.

And when he finally reaches the fence, his lips parted in amusement and chuckles at the scene in front of him.

“James?”

“Sorry, Marge, you were saying,” James says, barely listening. His arms are leaned over the black fence that separates the pool from the gardens. There, on the ground, sat the woman from the restaurant. Her uniform was all muddy and stained with dirt and grass, her hair was pushed up in a messy up-do that was somehow being held up with a fork.

James laughs.

“Marge, I’ll call you later.” He says, cutting her off as he ends the call and stares at the woman. At the sound of his amusement, the young lady faced him with a perplexed expression. “Mr. Potter,” She addresses, eyes wide and strands of hair falling over her face. She huffs and fails to push them back with her arm. ”I’m so sorry for bothering you.” She said, “I can leave if you’d like. I’m done anyway.”

“No, no, there’s no need to leave.” He states, his eyes focus on her uniform, a question forming in his head. “May just ask, why are you working in the gardens if you're supposed to be working in the kitchens?” He asked, and he watched her squint her eyes and shade her view with with her arm.

“Tony, the usual gardener, his daughter, got in an accident. And since I’m done with my work, l told him I could take over while he went to see her in the hospital. I do hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no. But why not just call another one of the gardeners?”

“I…didn’t think of that.” She said, biting her lips and narrowing her eyes. “Mmmh,” James hummed, “So what is it you're doing exactly?”

“Oh I’m just potting these!” She said, pointing towards a bush of pinkish flowers. “Looks great.” He commented blankly.

“Think so? I’ve never done this before.” She pointed, getting on the ground once more.

“In the end of the day it’s them being judged, not your…limited knowledge in gardening.” He said and studied the woman as she laughed. “Oh you should see the Gardenia’s they've put by the gates! They’re gorgeous!”

“Do you like Gardenia’s?” He asks and takes off his shades as the clouds begin to cage the sun. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing back loose curls. “They are very pretty.” She notes, and James foresees the incoming 'but'.

“– But not enough to be your favorite?” He finishes and she looks at him and shakes her head smiling. “I can’t pick at all. They’re all so beautiful.”

“You seem to know a lot about flowers but so little of gardening?”

“When I was younger, my neighbor gave me a flower book. It had the names of the flowers and when they bloomed, and where they bloomed. That's all it said. ” She shares, "I didn't really have much to do as a child, so I took on reading. I enjoyed it for a while."

James squinted his eyes at her. Curiosity blooming in his chest. Taking a step back from the fence, he pointed towards his pool with his thumb. "What would you put here?" He asked.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, confused.

"The pool seems kind of bland, doesn't it? It's all plain and boring. We can do better."

"Oh," she asks and stands back up to look onto his side of the fence. James took the opportunity to clearly look at the woman as she dusted her knees and skirt of grass. She was pretty, that was quite clear. But it didn’t make that much of a difference to James; after all he’s had his share of beautiful women every now and then.

She walked forward and leaned on the fence, the smell of jasmine reaching his nose. It was a lot more welcoming and relaxing than the smell of chlorine the pool gave off.

His studied her face, her focused eyes, her bitten lips, and even the small hairs failing to be held up. "....You could go for the classics and pick some roses?"

He arched a brow at her, and she pursed her lips in response before facing the pool once more. "Angel's Trumpet?"

"Aren't they poisonous to the touch?" He asked, leaning back on the fence and giving her his most charming smile. "Right, I forgot about that." She mutters, biting the inside of her cheek, James smiles at her embarrassed expression.

She shifts from one foot to the other. James catches her fidgeting fingers and instantly feels bad for making her uncomfortable. He stands up straight as a frown takes on his face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put this on you. It's not your job,"

"Oh no, it's fine, really. I... Oh! What about Daylilies?" She asked. James looked at her in thought, "What flower would be on all your top favorites lists?" She tilted her head in thought, her arms falling to lean on the fence as she fixed her gaze on the pool.

"Jasmine's." She stated as she looked at him. Suddenly aware of how their elbows are touching and how small the space between them is, James's smile turned to a light smirk.

It seemed that she noticed cause soon enough she coughed and took a step back, apologizing. "It's fine." James replied. His eyes wandered over her figure one last time before putting a hand out. "James."

She stared at his hand as though she believed it might bite her. She looked at him, then his hand, and took a step forward, pushing her hand out and introducing herself. “An honor.”

“The honor is all mine.” James says, holding her hand in care as he raised it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. He watched her face break into a smile before she bit the inside of her cheek and faced James with a raised brow. James only smiled in return.

He wasn’t sure why but this woman had definitely caught his attention. “I should probably get going.” She said and leaned down to grab the leftover equipment and gave a hesitant wave.

“Good Bye” James said, waving back and watched as she disappeared behind the greenery of the gardens.

The next day you woke up with a striking headache and the usual urge to fall right back into bed. It took at least 10 minutes to finally convince the rest of your body that it would be for the best to get up.

And you eventually did, after having a nice warm shower to soothe your back and warm you against the coldness of your bathroom, you dressed in your everyday clothes and quickly made your way to the local farmer’s market, in hopes of getting there early.

The most distinctive smell was that of Olive oil, it filled the air and the closer you got the easier it was to make out the strong scent of spices. It was 9:15, the farmers were set up and there was a respectful amount of families and people buying fresh groceries. It didn’t take long for you to grab your things, as you’ve been coming here for years you were practically a usual so most of your orders were pre-ordered and all you had to do is pick them up.

By 10 you were outside the large black gates to the estate, a golf car awaited your arrival as to drive to the main doors, you never really understood why there was around a mile from the gates to the Manor. “Thanks, Robert!” You said, grabbing the bags and running up the steps to the front doors of the service enterance. Anders swung the door open just as you reached the last step.

“Morning, Anders.” You greeted me with a smile.

“Good Morning, Miss —” He was cut off with four men entering the large foyer. You trailed your eyes over their uniform, a dirt-stained grey jumpsuit with a green flower logo on their chest. ‘Gardens?’ You mouthed at the older man, he nodded back. “Yes, Mr. Fretman, if you will follow me, please.”

You snickered at Anders' tone of exasperation as he guided the men out. You managed to side-stepped all the priceless furniture that was in your way to the kitchens and it was no easy task. It was more like an obstacle course, especially with your sense of sight being blocked off by overly filled brown paper bags.

Potter Estate was the definition of over the top.

The Manor consisted of 16 guestrooms, 24 bathrooms, 2 kitchens, an indoor pool, an indoor sauna and jacuzzi, a music room, 2 library’s, the theatre room, a sewing room, 4 offices, a wine cellar and an attic, with lord knows what in it.

The outside was even grander, there was the stables, the shooting range, the lake yards of grass and fancy gardens, the greenhouse (Which no one really sat in except Mrs. Potter whenever she visited), the outdoor pool, the garage and lastly the old stable house (Which, according to Anders, was turned into a "bat cave" by Mr. Potter Sr. for his son and his friends when they were younger.)

You made your way to the end of the west wing, pushing the large oak door open with your feet and sliding in. The evident silence came as a surprise, you would’ve expected to hear shouting, yelling, arguing, the sounds of slamming cupboards and chopping knives, something. But it was completely silent.

You placed the paper bags on the large kitchen island, which was three times the size of your bed and began sorting the fruits, vegetables and cheeses into the fridge and anything else in a cupboard. Once done, you threw the brown bags into a trash bin before washing your hands.

Your mind wandered away, wondering what might have happened to the rest of the crew. You huffed and wondered if you should look for them or not. Maybe they all got sick? But they were all fine yesterday. They were called somewhere else? Anders would have told you to join them. You took a look around and pushed your hair back with a headband and slipped on a hair net. You took one hesitant look around hoping someone would walk in but after a long and silent minute of you leaning on the marble table, gazing at the overly decorated door, you turned your gaze away from the entrance.

You shuffled from one cupboard, pulling all sorts of ingredients; flour, egg, sugar, vanilla , everything you needed to make a batch of cinnamon buns. And in a few moments you had already begun the first step, humming as you kneaded the dough, gently folding it between your hands and letting it rest for a while after you had declared it ready. You moved to preset the oven and a small red bulb lit up as you twisted the knob, signaling it was on.

You yawned and your vision blurred as your eyes teared up from sleepiness, you really needed to get a better sleep schedule. Brushing the tears away with your arms, you pushed yourself up, putting aside your weariness and walked back to your cooking station.

It was almost half an hour later, when the doors to the kitchen swung open and you smiled up at Anders as he walked over to you. You were practically done, he had walked in on you smearing the icing on the buns. “They’re fresh out of the oven! Try one!” You offered, cutting him a piece and plating it. “Here, you can top it with whatever you like.” You pointed towards the spread of different sauces and toppings on the table.

“Thank you very much, Miss L/n. And I do appreciate this but sadly I did not come here by my own means.” He says with a soft smile and you unconsciously wipe your hand on a cloth before facing the man with confusion. “Has something happened? Is that why everyone is absent? Does it have something to do with Tony’s daughter? Is she—”

“No, no, no. Mr. Willfard’s daughter is being treated for a broken arm and bruised sides, it’s been confirmed that she will make a full recovery.” He says and you smile gratefully, the worry inside of you lessening, still there but much more eased.

“And about the others, they were given a day off by Mr Potter.” He says and you freeze on the spot. “Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’ and since we are on the topic. Mr. Potter has sent me to inform you that he is expecting you by the pool.”

Your eyes widened and so did your mouth, silent movements of your lips were targeted at Anders out of shock. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter? As in James Potter?”

“Are you acquainted with any other ‘James Potter’s?”

“No.” You answered hastily as you your mind racked to why he would want to speak with you and at the top of your head, and like a blaring siren, yesterday’s events shone. “Was he happy when he asked you to call me? Did he ask it in a ‘I just want to talk’ way or more of a ‘I’m going to fire you’ tone.” You asked and you instantly felt smaller under the blank and unimpressed expression Anders gave you.

“If you will follow me – What are you doing?” Anders asks, his brows furrowing and lips frowning. “Plating these! They must be served warm or else they’re not as delicious.” You whisper, rushing around just as quick the thoughts in your head.

He sighs and leans his hands on the table, watching as you took your time to gently pick each roll and delicately place them on a large plate.

Once you're done you move the dirty trays to the sink and wonder if you could buy yourself some time as you scrubbed the pans and dishes.

“Leave those and follow me. I’ll assign someone to do them later.” Anders says and you can’t help but butt in, “But everyone took the day off! Except me.” You mutter the last part in a harsh whisper and sigh, accepting defeat. You grabbed one of the pastry-filled tray and angrily hand it to the butler before grabbing the others.

It almost feels like forever as you followed Anders, your fingers were nervously tapping the silver platter. You took deep breaths and purposely slowed your pace. Anders didn’t even bother to look at you as he led you. You looked around you trying to make out where he’s taking you too. It came as a surprise when you had passed James' office but now you were completely out of the Manor.

“Anders, where are we going?” You asked, Anders didn’t turn to you but did slow down. “To the pool grounds.”

He was going to fire you. You admitted mentally. Should've kept your mouth shut! It is a known, unspoken rule that you should never share your opinions with rich people.

You should treat them like kids, don’t talk to them, don’t get in their squabbles and don’t tell them the truth cause it will make them pissed and emotional and then you will be forced to deal with their tantrums.

However you completely ignored that rule yesterday, when you shared your opinions with Potter of all people. Before you even reach the pool, you hear loud noises and shouts coming from its direction. One very distinctive voice was that of James Potter.

“Miss L/n.” Anders addressed and motioned for you to step ahead of him. You sighed and masked your face before climbing the short stair in quick steps.

The first person you were met with was James. He stood towering over a large group of men that were scattered across the pool yard. James’ is dressed in similar attire to yesterday’s clothing and you almost smile back when he turns to you with a grin. “Mr. Potter.” You greet with a strained tone, placing the tray of buns on a nearby table with harsh clack.

“Oh, how lovely. Anders, please pass them to the workers, will you? And please call me James. How’ve you been?” He asks, still smiling and you're not so sure of what to make of the man.

Anders agrees in his usual formal tone and you watch him with the corner of your eye as he picks up your tray and walks down over to the working men.

“I’m fine?” You reply hesitantly and thankfully he doesn’t notice your questioning tone.

“Well I’m glad. I’m sorry to strip you of your day off, I assure you, you can have tomorrow for yourself.”

Your brows furrowed as you stared at the man, you're quite confused and to add to it you almost feel ridiculous while speaking to him with his sunglasses on. “Take off the shades.” You order in a blank tone and you see James’ posture change as he takes a step back and pulls the accessory off. Before he can get the chance to speak, you cut in, “Are you going to fire me?” You ask, the smile completely wiped off your face. You narrow your eyes at the man and watch as he speaks to you in genuine surprise. “Why would I fire you?”

“Then why am I here?” You asked, your confidence slipping. “I’m not here to fire you,” he laughs, “I just wanted to show you this,” He explains motioning towards the pool. “...I’ve seen the pool before.” You say, this time your confusion is clearly plastered on your face. “I mean this.” He says and he guides to the side of the pool, where three men are potting some Jasmine’s. “You picked Jasmine’s?”

“You said it was one of your favorites, right?” He asked, and you faced him with a look of surprise. “You picked Jasmine’s cause they were one of my favorites?” The older man blushed and he faced you with wide eyes, “No! Yes, but not directly, I just picked them because I guessed they’d have to have been really nice flowers if they were on your favorites list.”

“Okay.” You said, still confused but you sighed and brushed it all away. James watched your face soften as you took a step closer to them. “They are beautiful, aren’t they?” You ask, your eyes trained on the small, delicate, white petals of the flower. “Yeah…and they smell nice too.” You laugh, turning to face him as you lightly throw your head back. “Yeah, that too.” You agree watching a soft smile adorn his face.

“Here,” James says as he walks over behind a table, you watch lean down to grab something and your lips part in awe as he walks over to you with a pot of Jasmine’s. “Mr. Potter, I–” You’re in shock and happiness. They’re is a small sickening feeling in your stomach and you do your best to try and avoid it.

“A thank you,” He says. “And as I said earlier, it’s just James.”

《 NEXT PART 》

Tagging: @sssstarstruck @cloudroomblog @ietss

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yrluvjane · 11 months

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𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑰𝑰

[old money] James x fem!reader

《 Summary - James deals with feelings, and you fall ill after hearing the rumours spread about you of the day before, leaving you under his care.》

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

As James sat in his office, surrounded by a sea of paperwork and reports, all waiting for his signature, he couldn't help but think about you. Despite the relentless pressure of the approaching deadline, you kept popping up in his mind like a persistent siren, demanding his attention.

There was something about you that James found intriguing, something that made him want to get to know you better, to understand what it was that made him feel this way. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about you that kept drawing him in - a spark, perhaps, or a certain sparkle that shone through in everything you did.

Maybe James was hallucinating, maybe it was just the rays of the sun shining over you but even then, he had met many beautiful women throughout his life, but there was something about you that set you apart, a certain inner light that made you special and captivating.

James had always felt like he was a passenger in his own life, watching the days and weeks and months go by with no real sense of purpose. He tried to go with the flow and make the best of what he had, but deep down he knew it wasn't enough. He longed for something deeper and more meaningful, but was too afraid to take the risk and step out of his comfort zone.

He was stuck in this limbo of uncertainty, unsure of what to do and who to be. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted something more, something different, something like you.

He remembered how your eyes shined in the afternoon sun, and the connection that he felt to you that he couldn't quite put his finger on. James' thoughts drifted off, lost in the memory of that day in the garden, feeling a twinge of regret for not pursuing things further.

He wondered what could have been, if he had been braver and taken a chance on you and he couldn't help but smile to himself, imagining what could have been, but before he could fully indulge in his thoughts, he registered the clicking sound of heels approaching his door. With a groan of resignation, he prepared himself to entertain another one of Marge's ramblings.

As the door opened, the noise of the crowded office poured in, threatening to disrupt the peace and quiet of his own space. With a deep sigh, he took a deep breath and listened.

“It’s your dad.” She says.

"Hello?" He says, a big smile spreading across his face. "Dad!" He says, his voice overflowing with joy. "How are you?" He asks, his mind already racing with all the questions he has for his father. James listens intently as his father speaks, taking in every word and relishing in the sound of his voice.

His father is always there for him, no matter what, and that feeling of connection and security is indescribable. Even now, when he is older and wiser, James can't help but feel grateful for his father's constant love and support, and he knows that he's lucky to have someone who has been such a guiding force in his life.

And so James decides to share his moment with you with his father, feeling a sense of relief as he does so.

The moment his son is done talking, Fleamont turns to his wife, full knowing she will be very interested in what he’s about to say. “What is it, Fleamont? Is he alright?”

"I think James fancies someone." he whispers, looking at her in disbelief. Euphemia's expression immediately softens and she breaks into a joyful grin. This was the first time Fleamont had witnessed his son developing a romantic interest, and it was a sight to behold.

Yes, James has had intimate relationships with women before but even though James didn’t admit to feeling something for this girl. Fleamont knew better, he can’t recall a time in his life where James had described someone in such a picturesque way.

"She's like a sunrise on a cold winter morning - she just lights up the whole room. Though very direct and sharp, definitely not someone you'd want to go head to head with."

"Ever smelled Jasmines before? Bloody irresistible. It's like she's walking around with a bouquets of them,"

Euphemia, not one to be kept out of the loop when it comes to her son's love life, immediately grabbed her phone and began to pester Sirius for information. She was eager to know who this girl was and how long James had been keeping her a secret. She knew that James held a special place in his heart for Sirius, the raven-haired boy who had been a constant presence in his life and was a brother to him and a son to her.

She was sure that if James were to confide in anyone about his romantic interests, it would be with Sirius. So you could imagine Euphemia’s surprise when she found out that Sirius was just as clueless as she was. Who was this girl that had caught James' attention? She wondered.

However, on the other side, James was completely oblivious to the fact that his previous actions would have an impact on your life. He never considered the consequences of his gestures, which would rather sooner than later turn your world upside down, leaving you to get burned and pick up the pieces.

The next day, you tried to downplay the whole thing when your friends had asked about him. They had seen the flowers and had immediately assumed that something more was going on between you. You had spent the better hour of an afternoon denying they were nothing more than that, Flowers.

They grilled you for hours, probing for any “juicy” detail they could get, and you truly did your best to avoid the topic. They continued to pester you about the man who butted himself into your life and you couldn't help but feel a sense of irritation.

In the end, you were left feeling exhausted and vulnerable, as though your personal boundaries had been completely trampled on by the curiosity of your friends. Your feelings towards James were a complex web of emotions, neither good nor bad, neither right nor wrong.

James was a charming and charismatic man, and so it was natural to feel a deep and intense attraction towards him, but at the same time, there was a sense of apprehension, a feeling of uncertainty that you couldn't quite shake. Your friends' incessant questioning only served to inflame that feeling of confusion and frustration.

And for some inexplicable reason, it felt as though James was a deeply private matter, and one that you, yourself, didn’t quite understand and would only be revealed on your own terms, when you were ready.

It felt as if they were pressuring you to make sense of something that wasn’t really there. So, you did the only thing you could think of - you changed the subject, or else found a way to distract them long enough for the topic to be forgotten.

The day after, when you walk into the kitchen, ready to start your shift, you can feel the tension in the air. There's an awkward silence when you enter the kitchen. You keep catching your colleagues exchanging looks and whispering to each other, but no one seems to want to talk to you and dismissive when you try to start a conversation.

No one speaks to you.

They avoid your eyes and whisper to each other in hushed tones. You try to break the silence with a cheerful, "Hey, good morning," but no one responds.

All they do is mutter and shoot you dirty looks and it may be the dramatic side of your brain talking but it almost felt like the whole world was against you, and you don't know what you did.

You move towards Tina, who was one the first people you met when you first started and as such you considered her a dear friend. She’s standing over the cutting board, busily preparing carrots.Her hair is pulled up in it’s usual tight bun. "Hey,," you call out quietly, hoping to avoid the attention of others, "Do you have a minute?" She looks up at you, her eyes cold.

"I’m busy." she replies, her tone sharper and more clipped than the pins used to keep her hair in place.. Your heart sinks, and you try to ignore the disappointment rising within you. Trying to keep your head down and do your work, but it's difficult to focus when everyone around you seems to be avoiding you like the plague.

It's like you're a ghost, invisible and repelling all forms of life.

You feel like you could scream. Why is everyone treating you like this?

All you want is some answers, and it seems no one is willing to give them to you. Feeling desperate, you decide to approach a more level-headed colleague, Mary. You approach her and try to appear confident, even though you feel anything but. "Hey, Mary," you say, trying to sound casual. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Mary turns to look at you, her eyes lighting up with kindness. "Of course, what's up?" She sends a soft smile at you, warm and welcoming a contrast to how everyone has been to you.

“Is it me, or does everyone seem a bit..closed off?” You try. And subconsciously take a step back when you see Mary’s smile falter for a second. Her brows furrow and it takes little convincing to pass off the look she gives you as pity. She looks at the rest of the crew who all seem to be eyeing her from the corner of their eyes, sending her warning glares like pariah’s eyeing their lunch. And in a fight or flight manner, you snap towards everyone with a glare, daring them to say something. Most go back to focusing on their own work, the minority left have the courage to look back at you and meet your stare.

“Need help with something?” You offer. If your voice was once a warm fire that encouraged laughs and jokes then now it was an icicle, just as cold, just as sharp.

Mary's expression softens as she sees the concern in your eyes, when you turn back to her. She takes a deep breath and tries to maintain a calm demeanor, even as her own worries begin to surface. "It's not just you," she says softly. "I think–" Her eyes seemed to lock on something and you watched her bite her lips. “Come with me.” She says, her eyes boring into yours as she sends a heated glare to someone behind you.

You notice the tension in Mary's expression and you start to feel a pit forming in your stomach. Her tone is crisp, and you can tell that she has something urgent to say. You take a deep breath as you follow her out through the corridor, away from the others. Her pace is quick, and you almost struggle to keep up with her as she marches ahead. "What's going on, Mary?" you ask, feeling a sense of unease washing over you.

“Yesterday, Mr. Potter gave you flowers.” She says and your eyes widen in shock. How did she know that? You wondered, it was definitely not the answer you had expected when you walked out here and when your lips parted so you could voice your thoughts, she spoke again, answering your question as though she read your mind.

“There are words going around,” she explained. “Some are saying you and Mr. Potter are…” Mary paused for a moment, “having affairs..” Her eyes are watching you carefully, as if searching for a reaction.

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure, and you look at Mary with a mix of emotions written all over your face. "Having affairs?" you scoff, your voice barely above a whisper. Mary pauses, her eyes locked on yours. After what feels like an eternity, she finally speaks, her voice soft and almost whispery. "They say that he favors you in an...intimate perspective." Her eyes seem to bore into yours with that, as though she's trying to see into the depths of your soul.

A strange fusion of guilt and fear wash over you. You can't even imagine what it would be like to be intimate with Mr. Potter, but the thought alone sends shivers down your spine. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and you hold her gaze, trying to be as calm and composed as possible.

"That’s bullshit," you say breathlessly, it almost comes out like a silent whisper, "Nothing happened. The flower pot he gave me was a leftover from the stock bought to decorate the pool."

You feel yourself getting more and more agitated as Mary continues to talk. You don't know why, but the idea that people are talking about you and Mr. Potter, saying that you're having affairs? Who says “having affairs”?! and even…you can't even bring yourself to finish her sentence in your head. If word gets out about this, that dream of getting fired might just come true.

At that you start getting dizzy, your heart is beating faster and faster, and you feel like you're about to pass out. Calm down. Take a deep breath. Everything is going to be okay. You tell yourself, trying to steady your shaking hands. In and out. In and out. You breathe in deeply, then let your breath out slowly, trying to calm yourself down. In and out. You don't even realize that you've started chanting those words to yourself, trying to ground yourself in the present moment.

"Mary, what are they saying?" you manage to say, your voice weak and hoarse. You know that they're talking about you, you can feel it. You can feel their eyes on you, their judgement weighing heavy on your shoulders. You’ve heard it once but you have to hear it again. It’s like your mind refuses to acknowledge this truth. You don’t want to believe this, you don’t even want to go anywhere near it, it’s like a nightmare. One you wish someone would wake you up from.

"What are they saying?" you repeat, this time a little louder, a little stronger. Mary squeezes your waist gently, as if to comfort you, and you hear her speak. "They're saying that you're having an affair with Mr. Potter," she says softly, as if it hurts even to say the words.

So you heard it right.

You feel a cold chill run down your spine, and you're not sure if you can handle this. You're not sure if you can handle this. The shame, the embarrassment. W-what would your mother say if she heard about this? You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "It's not true," you say this time louder. "I-I mean -They're lying!"

“I know.” She says softly into your ear.

You try to steady yourself, but the world is spinning around you and you feel as if you're going to collapse. Your vision is blurred, and you can barely see anything in front of you. You struggle to take a deep breath, but you feel as if you're suffocating. Mary’s voice rings out in your ears. You feel her arms wrap around you to help keep you standing.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, everything goes black, and you lose consciousness.

You blink your eyes open, and you feel a sense of disorientation as you try to adjust to your situation.

You lie in silence for a moment, drinking in your surroundings. You notice the large and well-appointed room. It was a beautiful room, with ornate wood paneling and large windows that overlooked a beautiful landscape.

The sun was low and shining through the windows, casting a warm and inviting glow onto the room. The bed is made with crisp white sheets, and the AC hums quietly in the background, cooling the air to just the right temperature.

You take a deep breath, feeling your shoulders relax for the first time in ages. You start to wonder where you are, how you got here, and most importantly: who brought you here? You sit up slowly, letting your eyes adjust to the soft lighting in the room as your brain tries to catch up to what's going on.

You're brought back to reality by the feel of a hand on your shoulder, and you jump, startled. You turn to find Olivia, standing next to you, her face a mixture of concern and relief. "You're awake!" she exclaims, and you smile, feeling a sense of warmth settling over you. “What happened?” You asked, clutching your head to try and prevent the brewing headache threatening to occur.

"Are you alright? Do you remember anything?" Olivia's voice was soft, her voice calming. She squeezed your shoulder. "You're awake, which is good. You've been unconscious for a little while, you passed out. Mary caught you before you hit the ground and Anders told us to move you here." She spoke with a comforting tone, her hand rubbing your shoulder reassuringly. “I should probably go and call for him.” She said,

You blinked owlishly as Olivia quickly excused herself, her pace brisk as she left to go and call the butler. Just as she closed the door behind her, you heard a knock on the door, and you looked up to see Anders enter the room.

“Hey, um...where am I?” You asked, getting up and lying back on a bunch of huddled up pillows. "You're in one of the guestrooms," Anders replied. "Mr. Potter asked to relocate you here after he heard of your fall. I must say, it was quite disturbing to see you like that."

You felt a sense of embarrassment at the thought of fainting in front of everyone, "Thank you for uhm-..helping me," you said."It's no problem. We're just glad to have you back. Are you feeling better now?" he asked, the concern clear in his voice and unintentionally reminding you that everyone is still talking behind your back and your little fainting spell would be like trying to dow out a forest fire with gasoline.

“Just tired.” You responded, laying a hand on your forehead and closing your heavy eyelids; hyper aware of how soft the sheets are and the warmth of the duvet draped over you; a sense of peace settling in.

You hear a soft knock on the door, and you groan and yawn as you roll over to your side, stretching like a cat as you rub the sleep from your eyes. You couldn't help but feel the usual sense of tiredness as you slowly started to rise; your body feeling sluggish and tired. You looked at the clock and realized that you had slept again and this time for hours and it was already the evening. “Come in!” You say, eyes trained on the ticking clock as you jolt up.

In walks Mr. Potter, tray in hand and look of concern etched on his face. His eyes softened with a sheepish smile, "I've brought you some tea and toast—not much, I know, but it hopefully will help you feel better." He sets the tray down on the small table by the bed, his manner warm and comforting.

"Take a bite. It might lift your spirit," Mr. Potter suggests, his deep voice carrying a tone of genuine concern. He hands you the steaming mug, his eyes locked on yours, awaiting your answer. You take the mug less out of politeness and more out of fear.

"How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you need me to call a doctor?"

Your words come out weak and hoarse, but you manage to get the message across. "No, I just... I feel dizzy, and my head hurts," you say, closing your eyes, hoping for the room to stop spinning.

He rushes to your side, helping you sit up, before gently stroking your hair back from your forehead, "Can I get you anything? Some water, maybe?" You can't help but feel a warmth spread through your chest as his hand brushes the hair away from your face. His cologne is strong and masculine, filling your nostrils with an addictive and sophisticated aroma.

Oh my God, stop it! You chastise yourself.

You sit up a bit, taking a sip of the tea and nibbling on the toast. The toast is warm and buttery, and the tea is soothing and calm. The warm brew soothes your throat and warms your insides, bringing a sense of calmness that you desperately need.

James smiles back, "I'm glad to hear that. Would you like anything else? Some fruit maybe, or some more tea? I just want to make sure you're comfortable."

"I’m good," you say, smiling awkwardly. "Thank you."

"Are you sure everything is alright, darling?" he asked, his eyes locked on yours. You felt your heart skip a beat at the nickname and of what he was going to ask. "Sure, of course," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

He raises a brow, unconvinced with your answer.

"Just some work-related stress."

James's gaze was focused on you, his face a picture of concern. "Well, if you ever do need anything, I'm here for you," he assured you, his voice soft and comforting.

“Thank you, Mr–”

“James...please. Call me James.”

"Thanks, James," you replied, a small smile crossing your face. "That ...means a lot." James smiled back, "Of course," he said. The sound of the ticking clock abruptly shattered the stillness of the room, causing you to gasp as you suddenly remembered the passing of time. "Shoot!" you exclaimed, frantically throwing the quilt aside and hastily placing the tea on the nearby tray. "I've got to go!" you added, your voice laced with urgency.

James stood up, bewildered by the sudden change in your behavior. “Why? Is something wrong?” he asked, worry clearly etched on his face. “It’s eleven! Why didn’t you wake me?” you exclaimed, eyes wide with shock as you began frantically running around the room. Scrambling to find your shoes, James watched with wide-eyed confusion, asking, “What’s going on? I’m so lost.”

"It's eleven! Everything is probably already closed now!" you said, desperation and panic evident in your voice as you searched for your shoes. Suddenly, you noticed that James was holding them, and you immediately let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you so much." you said, taking them from him.

"Is Anders still here?" You asked as you hurriedly put your shoes on. The sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears, drowning out the sound of James taking a nervous step forward. “Uhm no, he usually leaves at ten,” James replied, his voice barely above a whisper. You sigh in defeat and throw yourself back on the bed. “Can I ask why?” he continued, taking another step closer, his eyes searching your face as you covered it with your hands. “I was going to ask him if he could give me a ride,” you answered, your voice muffled.

"I told Anders you could stay for the night." James stated, a slight edge to his voice as he backed up a step. You bolted upright, eyes widened in horror. "No!" you cried, your words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "No, no, no, no! I can't stay here. The others, they..." Your words trailed off, the image of their judgmental frowns dancing behind your closed eyelids, threatening to send you spiraling into a coma before you could even finish the thought.

Despite your protests, James stood firm, "You're staying here," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument. Taken aback by the suddenness of the force of his tone, you froze, your mind racing as you tried to guess at his intentions.

With a heavy sigh, James continued, his voice softer now as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Look, I understand that this isn't ideal. But I promise you, you're safe here.”

"I- I’m fine," you stutter out, your voice barely louder than a whisper at his words, at the sweetness of it at the concern stretched between his eyebrows. James' brows furrow in discontent as he takes in your words, and for a moment there is a tense silence between you. But he quickly recovers, and his expression becomes determined.

"Then at least let me drive you home."

You are struck dumb by these words, and you don't move for a moment as you try to process what is happening. But before you have a chance to respond, you have given James your arm and you watch as he leads you rapidly towards the door. He's not waiting for an answer, he's making a decision for both of you.

And less than five minutes later, you find yourself standing outside, feeling the cold air brush against your skin. The night is quiet, truly silent. You can’t even hear the sound of traffic with how far you are from the town. You look up at the sky and at the stars, how they’re sprinkled like splattered paint over a black canvas. The sound of an engine in the distance breaks your trance and you look down squinting your eyes at the bright light shining from the car’s headlights.

The sleek black car glides into the driveway, its exhaust leaving a faint smell of fuel in the air. You watch as James climbs out of the driver's seat and walks up to you. He has his hands placed under both your arms, steadying you as though he was afraid you would roll down the stairs without his support. You mentally scoff, you maybe a klutz but even you won’t embarrass yourself to that degree.

He walks you to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for you. Your gaze is pulled back to the car itself, and you can't help but marvel at its beauty - probably at the cost of your entire apartment building itself. James seems to notice your fascination, and he gives you a small smile.

“It’s cold.” He whispers and you snort as you bow your head, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you as you enter the car and close the door behind you. The car's interior is warm and comfortable, and you sink into the soft leather seats with a sigh of relief. James enters, sending you the most adorable welcoming of smiles, as he pulls away from the extravagant driveway. You watch the streetlights fly by through the window, getting a sense of disorientation as the world around you blurs.

"Are you ok?" James asks, breaking the silence. His voice is low and concerned, and you can hear the worry in his words. You ask that alot you want to say but opt for a nod instead, not trusting yourself to speak, and he reaches across the car to pat your leg reassuringly, giving you a gentle squeeze. It's a small gesture, but it makes you feel a little better. You sit in silence as James drives, the only noise coming from the hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal.

The tension between you is palpable, and you wonder what James is thinking. Is he as nervous as you are? Is he trying to work out what to say to you?

James seems to sense your unease, and he breaks the silence with a sudden question. "So... What really happened today?" he asks, his voice low and curious. STOP asking! You want to yell, but you can’t really do that when the man is driving you home. You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts.

"I don't know," you reply, your voice wavered. "I found out about something and I just…" James nods at your silence, as if he understands. "I can understand that," he says, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Sometimes life can be a little overwhelming, can't it?"

You watch him through the reflection on the window and nod, feeling a sense of thankfulness towards him for not pushing. "Yes, it can be. Sometimes it feels like everything is just a little too much."

"I know what you mean," James says softly. "But you need to remember you're not alone. That there’s someone there, y’know. And if you ever feel overwhelmed you can come to me." You pull your head away from the window and face James with parted lips. His eyes seemed to be just as shocked as you are as he stared at you. He quickly faces the road once more and pulls in a deep breath.

“Thank you.” You say into the silence. It's a small comfort, but in that moment, it means the world to you.

Half an hour later, you find yourself pointing towards a building in the distance. The street is quiet and lifeless, with only a few distant lights to break the darkness as James parks the car in front of the tall building. You're not sure what to say, how to express the feelings that are swirling inside you.

"Come on," he says, "Let's get you inside." You want to object but the warmth from the touch of his hands is addicting. It has you leaning on him as he leads you towards the building. “Do you want me to help you up?” He asks and you stare at him with furrowed brows, parted lips and eyes heavy with sleep. You nod and James doesn’t even hesitate to have his arms wrapped around you as he helps you up each step, patient and alert as he guides you up the stairs and carries your weight.

However, he seems awkward now that you're outside the door to your apartment, it’s silent, and there’s no other sound than the rattling of your keys as you turn them and unlock the lock. “Wait here.” You say, and James blinks for a moment in confusion, tilting his head to the side before nodding, watching as you walk in and leave him outside. He’s nervous and sweaty, and he reeks of anxiety as he bounces his leg, rehearsing what he’s trying to say. When your door opens once more, you’re in a robe and holding a small transparent box of what looks like doughnuts.

“A thank you.” You say and James involuntarily smiles at the gift, shaking his head. “Can’t take it,”

“Why not?” You ask and there is a dopey smile on your face as you lean against the door frame. “Don’t deserve it.” He says and you snort, rolling your eyes and you push the box between his hands. “If you don’t take it, you’re practically insulting me and I don't think you can be mean to someone who was sick.”

“You passed out, out of stress and not illness.” He says grinning and you feel butterflies fluttering or biting in your stomach as he leans a hand on the door, so that his face is much closer to yours. “Same thing. Take the doughnuts, Potter, and say ‘thank you’. It’s not that hard.” You respond, taking a step closer and matching his smile.

James takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on the back of it, “Thank you.” He says and you immediately feel all hot and fluttery. It’s like you're wearing hundreds of layers of clothes on the hottest day of the year.

“You’re welcome.” You breathe out and even though the conversation is over, you both still stand there like birds on a traffic stop waiting for the other to say or do something.

For a moment, the silence is awkward, and you're not sure of what action to take. But then, James breaks it.

His voice is low and somewhat unsure, his previous confidence as solid as water as he stands tall once more; but he still speaks clearly and directly. You subconsciously stand straight as well, feeling as though this conversation was going to be serious.

"... I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I don't know why, but for some reason, I just am"

You listen intently, trying to process what he's saying. He leans down, placing the treats you gave him gently on the ground and You have no idea what's coming next, but then he surprises you by taking your hand in his. Your eyes grow wide and you can’t help but feel dumb and speechless as you stare at your joined hands. James looks at you, his expression serious and determined but there is a nervousness hiding behind his glasses. He takes a deep breath and then asks, "Would you go out with me?...On a date that is."

You're taken aback by the suddenness of the question, but you find yourself nodding slowly. "I'd like that." You can see the relief and happiness spread across James' face, and he gives you a warm smile. "I was hoping you'd say yes. You’re off on Tuesday’s, right? Can I pick you up from here at 6?" He asks and you nod again, feeling a sense of warmth and giddiness spread throughout your body. “That sounds great.”

As James takes another step towards you, you start to feel a mixture of excitement and unease. You want to be close to him, you do, you really do, but you also feel like you're on the edge of a cliff, like one wrong move could send everything tumbling down. The looks of your colleagues flash in front of you, and you involuntarily take a step back.

James senses your apprehension, and he stops in his tracks. He looks at you with a mixture of concern and understanding, as if he knows exactly what you're feeling.

"Is something wrong?" he asks gently.

You try to gather your thoughts. "I don't know," you say, your voice a screen to your worries. "I just feel... I don't know. Like this is all too much and…too fast, like I may not be ready for this type of thing." You're suddenly aware of your rushed agreement to his proposal, and the butterflies that were once in your stomach turn to poisonous snakes.

James nods, "That's ok," he says quietly. "We don't have to rush into anything. We can take it slow, if that's what you want."

For a moment, there is silence between the two of you, filled with a mixture of uncertainty and possibility. And then, before you know it, James is closing the distance between you once again, his fingers brushing against yours, his face just inches away from yours. You think that he might kiss you and you're not sure of what you’re feeling but you’re sure of the desire, the craving for his touch but at the same time the logical part of you is yelling for you to pull away to warn you that this was going to burn you in the end.

It's a moment that feels like an eternity and a heartbeat all at once, and just when you think you can't possibly bear it any longer, James leans in and kisses your forehead. It's a soft, gentle kiss, filled with a mixture of hesitance and care, and for a moment, the stress you’ve been carrying the whole day seems to melt away.

As he draws apart, you feel a sense of relief and happiness wash over you, like drinking chilled water after you've just finished a marathon.

“Feel better, okay?”

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