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maretinelli · 2 days ago

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OUR SWEET LITTLE, NINA

Dad!Lewis Hamilton X mom!fem!reader

Summary: When Lewis's one-year-old daughter first appears in the paddock to watch her father race.

Words: 3.8K+

Warnings: Mom and Dad, super cute baby, Carmen and George being godparents, races and just cute things that make you want to have a baby haha.

Author: English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes you may have. And I always say and repeat, I love reading/writing Lewis father🥹 And he is the father of a girl, yes!

MASTERLIST

Marina Hamilton – Or Nina, if you prefer. She was a sweet, charismatic, affectionate and very kind baby. Little Hamilton arrived in the family a year ago, bringing joy to the busy lives of Y/n and Lewis.

She is the perfect copy of her father. Only with some characteristics of the mother's genes. But she was definitely a daddy's girl. And Lewis was VERY proud of that.

Ever since she was in her mother's belly, Hamilton dreamed of the day when she could finally show up in the paddock to watch her father race. He would talk to Nina while she was in his belly, telling her every detail of what life was like on the grid. Y/n smiled as she saw her husband burst with love.

That day had finally arrived, Marina was old enough to attend her father's races and the madness of the press.

As they got out of the car and started walking towards the paddock, the murmur of journalists and photographers turned into a deafening commotion. Cameras started to snap frantically, trying to capture the moment when Marina Hamilton, for the first time, stepped into her father's racing environment.

Y/n adjusted her sunglasses on her face, holding Nina's little hand, who was walking excitedly along the path. The girl's little white all-star made slight noises against the floor, while she absently chewed on a piece of apple that she held in her hand. The little blue dress swayed slightly in the wind, and her dark curls, like her father's, reflected the sunlight.

As a seasoned former journalist, Y/N knew exactly what the reception would be like, and despite the uproar, she maintained her composure.

With a calm smile, he bent down to pick Nina up. The little girl, oblivious to the commotion, babbled incoherent words and pointed at the cameras and the surrounding environment, enchanted by so many new things.

Arriving at the corridor that led to the paddock, the noise of photographers and fans increased. "Nina! Nina!" some fans called, trying to attract little Hamilton's attention, while others asked for a photo with mother and daughter.

When they get a little closer to take a photo with a fan, Nina gives the girl taking the photo a toothless smile.

"Hi, you're so cute, you know?" The girl is kind, as she looks at Little Hamilton in her mother's lap. Y/n smiles, seeing her daughter being kind to her fans, like her father always was.

In a cute gesture, Nina stretches out her little arm, offering the apple she was eating.

"Want?" She says in her baby voice. And the girl and Y/n can't stop laughing at Nina's gesture.

Y/n smiled politely, stopping briefly to take care of a few other requests. Nina, curious, stared wide-eyed at the flashes, letting out a surprised giggle with each new click.

When the commotion had died down a bit, Y/n placed Nina on the ground, making sure there was no danger.

The little girl hesitated for a moment, looking around at the crowd, but soon began to walk slowly ahead of her mother, exploring the surroundings with her natural curiosity. The contrast of her tiny figure in the middle of that crowd was charming.

"Y/n?" A familiar voice caught her attention. Looking to the side, Y/n saw a former colleague and coworker waving at her with a warm smile.

The eldest smiles broadly and then holds her daughter in her arms again.

"Hey, honey. Want to do an interview?" Y/n asks smiling, and Marina, not yet knowing what an interview was, just nods in agreement and eats the last piece of her apple.

"Look who's in the paddock for the first time. Little Hamilton!" Exclaimed the journalist, Y/n's friend, adjusting the microphone to start a short interview.

Y/n looks at her daughter in her lap, smiling, who was absentmindedly playing with the buttons on her mother's shirt.

"Well, time flies, doesn't it? It seems like yesterday I was covering races. Now, I'm here as the mother of a future passionate fan," Yin replied with a smile, while having a camera nearby, filming her and Marina.

"And how is this experience, bringing your daughter to the paddock for the first time?" the journalist asked, pointing the microphone at Y/n.

Y/n placed the little one on her lap, while Marina looked curiously at the microphone that the journalist was holding.

"It's exciting. Ever since she was born, Lewis has always talked about the day he could bring Marina to the paddock. He told me so many stories while I was still pregnant, imagining what it would be like, and now that moment has arrived. It's special for all of us." Y/n couldn't stop smiling, now with Marina looking intently at the journalist's microphone.

"That must be an amazing feeling!" The journalist smiles. "And how does Lewis feel about that?"

"Oh, he's completely over the moon," Y/n replied. "He keeps saying that he has his biggest fan here with him now. In fact, I think he's more nervous for her than any race."

The two laugh, and then the journalist notices Nina's attentive eyes on the microphone. And then she decides to ask the baby a little question.

"And you, Nina? Do you want to give a message?" She jokes, stretching the microphone in front of the curly-haired baby.

Little Hamilton holds the microphone with her tiny hands and starts babbling. "Daddy...hi daddy" She says, making both of them and those nearby laugh.

"Well, I think that was a great message to dad! Isn't that right Nina?!" Y/n commented, laughing, as she watched the baby hand the microphone back to the journalist.

"Definitely. I think we have a little star here in the paddock," concluded the journalist, smiling. "Thank you for talking to me, Y/n. It was lovely meeting little Hamilton in person. I'm sure everyone will be keeping an eye on her and you today."

"Thank you. Always a pleasure," Y/n replied, as Nina awkwardly waved at the camera, more interested in the action than the words.

With the interview over, Y/n thanked her once again and started walking towards the Mercedes garage, with Marina still waving to the photographers and fans.

For her, the day was already full of incredible discoveries, but the best part was yet to come: the moment when she would see her father in action.

The movement in the Mercedes garage was intense, but nothing could take away the shine of Nina's arrival. As soon as they crossed the main corridor, several heads turned to little Hamilton, who was on her mother's lap, observing everything around her with wide, curious eyes, tightly holding her mother's silver necklace.

Which had been a gift from Lewis, as soon as the baby was born. It said Nina, with some shiny stones.

"Y/n! Nina!" Toto Wolff's deep, familiar voice caught their attention. The Mercedes team boss walked towards the two with a big smile, alongside his wife, who seemed equally excited to see the baby.

“Look who’s here in the paddock for the first time,” Susie said, stopping in front of the two. She lowered her head slightly to get closer to Nina and gave her a warm smile. “Hello, little Hamilton! Are you ready to cheer for Daddy today?”

Nina, still a little shy, buried her face against Y/n's shoulder, but soon turned to Toto and mumbled something that sounded like Dad and car, making them smile.

"She's already learning the right words," Susie commented, laughing, before looking at Y/n. "Can I hold it?"

"Sure, she'll love it," Y/n replied, smiling.

As soon as Susie held out her arms, Nina, as if she already trusted the woman completely, reached out her little hands to her with a charming smile. Susie held the baby carefully, while Nina laughed as she played with the earring Susie was wearing.

"She's absolutely adorable," Susie commented, looking at Toto. "And apparently, she's very sociable too!"

"She definitely is." Y/n put her hands in the pocket of the jeans she was wearing, and looked with shining eyes at little Hamilton in Susie's lap.

While Toto and Y/n talked, and Susie entertained Nina on her lap, they didn't see George and Carmen appear in the garage. Until the woman gave an excited scream when she saw Marina there.

"My princess is here!" Carmen practically ran to them, with George right behind, laughing at his girlfriend's excitement.

"Look who decided to show up for the paddock debut," George joked, pointing at Nina, who was now smiling at Carmen.

Y/n greeted Russel and Carmen with a brief hug, even the woman with the hair brunettes asked Susie if he could steal Nina off her lap for a bit.

"Come here, my sweetie!" Carmen said, holding Nina carefully, while the little girl laughed, lightly squeezing her godmother's nose.

"Don't you think you're a little too excited to see our goddaughter?" George teased, with a mischievous smile, holding his goddaughter's hand.

Carmen gave him a playful look. "And don't you think you should be more excited to finally see her in a race? Look, George, she looks so stylish in that little blue dress and Converse!"

They laugh at Carmen's excitement, looking over their goddaughter and saying how excited they were to see little Hamilton in the Mercedes garage.

"She definitely takes after her father. I just hope she doesn't take after her mother's driving skills," he joked, winking at Y/n, who rolled her eyes humorously.

"Funny" Y/n replied, laughing.

Little Hamilton's presence seemed to bring an even more special energy to the garage, and everyone seemed to be infected by Nina's joy and curiosity.

Carmen was sitting on the couch with Nina, while she played absentmindedly with her goddaughter and talked to Y/n, who was leaning against a counter with her arms crossed and a smile on her face, looking at her baby.

The hustle and bustle of the garage continued as Lewis entered, adjusting the cuffs of his overalls with a smile he couldn't contain. He knew Y/n and Nina would be there, but seeing them in person was something else.

His eyes immediately found his daughter on the couch, playing with Carmen.

"Nina!" he called, his voice full of joy.

The little girl turned her head quickly, recognizing the familiar voice. As soon as she saw her father on the other side of the garage, she smiled brightly and let out an excited sound, as if she was calling out to him.

Lewis immediately crouched down, spreading his arms.

"Come here, my love!" he said, encouraging his daughter.

Nina got off the sofa with Carmen's help and began to walk or rather run with clumsy steps towards her father. The scene was adorable, and Carmen, always witty, didn't miss the opportunity to comment.

"She's definitely daddy's little girl. You only carried her for nine months in your belly." She turns to Y/n, who watched the scene with a sparkle in her eyes.

"I don't have much to do." She shrugs, looking at Carmen and laughing.

Once she got close enough, Lewis lifted her into the air, spinning her around slightly before bringing her into a tight hug.

"Hi, my little angel! I've missed you so much," he said, as Nina hugged her father tightly and began to babble happily and gesture with her tiny hands. "Really? Seriously?" Lewis replied, pretending to understand every word his daughter said and nodding enthusiastically.

He approached Y/n, still holding Nina tightly in his arms, and gave his wife a quick kiss on the lips.

"You have no idea how happy I am to have my girls here today."

"We're happy to be here too," Y/n replied, smiling, returning the kiss.

Carmen got up from the couch and greeted Lewis with a quick hug, and held her goddaughter's hand with a smile.

"She's been so excited and so big since the last time G and I visited her." Carmen touches her goddaughter's nose, making Nina laugh.

"Yeah, my little one is getting huge. I can't believe it." Lewis looked at his daughter as she played with the strings on her father's dark jumpsuit, making his smile grow wider.

George walked over after a quick chat with his engineer and spotted Nina in Lewis’s arms. He smiled as he held out his arms to his goddaughter.

"Out Hamilton, my turn now" he joked, drawing a laugh from Lewis and the two women who were there.

Nina, curious as ever, went into George's arms without hesitation, holding his overalls with her tiny hands. Russell began to talk to her, as if it were an adult conversation.

"So, Marina, what's the strategy for today? Do you think I can beat your dad? Any advice?"

Nina responded with excited babbles, ruffling her godfather's blond hair. George made an expression of mock astonishment. "Really? More speed on the curves? I'll remember that!"

Everyone laughed.

"I knew she was the real strategist around here!" Carmen, who was standing nearby, commented with a smile.

Lewis watched the scene next to Y/n, with a smile that didn't leave his face. He put his arm around his wife, pulling her close as they both looked at their daughter, who was interacting with her godparents.

"She's so comfortable with them. Do you think she knows how loved she is yet?" Lewis asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the baby.

"She knows," Y/n replied, resting her head on his shoulder. "With you as a father, with them as godparents... there's no way she wouldn't know."

"And especially you as a mother. Who always does everything to see Nina well. So yes, she knows she is loved" Lewis concludes, kissing the top of his wife's head.

"Sorry to interrupt the family reunion, but we need you two at the pre-race briefing," Toto says, gesturing to Hamilton and Russell.

Lewis sighed, but nodded. He leaned into Y/n, giving her a quick kiss. "I'll see you guys before the start, I promise."

Then he approached Nina, who was still in George's arms, and caressed her little face affectionately.

"Bye, princess. Daddy's going to work for a bit, but he'll be back soon, okay?" He placed a kiss on her forehead before walking away.

George handed Nina to Carmen and waved to them both before following Lewis.

"Don't let her give Daddy all the advice before me," he teased, winking.

They laugh.

With the two drivers on their way to the briefing, Y/n, Carmen and Susie, who had just arrived at the wheel, decided to show the race cars to Nina.

The baby's eyes widened with curiosity as she saw the big shiny cars and the sounds around her, pointing and babbling excitedly.

"She's already in love with it all," Carmen smiles.

"You know, we could watch the race from the VIP room. It would be calmer for her and away from the hustle and bustle here," Susie says. "Since it's her first time, she might get scared by all the noise."

"Sounds like a great idea," Y/n agreed, looking at her daughter on her godmother's lap. "She'll love watching it all, but without so much noise and commotion."

"And if you want to stay here with Lewis, I'd love to stay with her," Carmen added, looking between her friend and the baby. "I swear, she's got me with every giggle."

Y/n smiled, thinking about how lucky she was to have so much support in the paddock for Nina's first time there.

Lewis always made sure to have them around, checking on them, and Carmen and George were always willing to spend time with Nina.

But what made everything easier was how calm and peaceful Marina was. She is a baby who rarely cries, only when she is sick or something is bothering her, other than that, she lives with a sweet smile on her face.

After some time in the garage, the increasing noise and movement made Y/n decide that it was time for them to go up to the VIP room.

As they went up to the VIP room, Y/n sent a quick message to her husband: 'I'm taking Nina to the VIP room, the noises started to make her more agitated. See you before you enter the grid, we love you daddy!'

'Meeting almost over. I'll stop by to see you. Love you, my girls.'

As soon as they arrived at the VIP room, Y/n placed Nina in a small children's armchair that had been prepared especially for her daughter, and sat down next to it, relieved by the calm and comfortable environment.

The room was spacious and sophisticated, with large glass windows and a balcony that offered a privileged view of the track. There was also a discreet buffet with snacks and drinks, as well as a large screen showing live images of the track.

Nina, however, seemed more interested in Carmen's presence than in her surroundings. The baby was in her chair, laughing and trying to grab the woman's hands, who was patiently playing with Marina, who was sitting on the sofa in front of her goddaughter.

"You're getting more beautiful every day, do you know that?"

Y/n, sitting next to them, watched the interaction with a smile. "She really loves you. I think if she could, she would spend the whole day in your lap."

"And I wouldn't complain one bit," Carmen replied, laughing. "She's an angel, so calm and sweet."

A few minutes later, the door to the room opened and Lewis walked in, already wearing his full racing suit, with his helmet under his arm and a smile plastered on his face. He walked straight to Y/n, leaning in to give his wife a passionate kiss.

"Good luck, love," she said, caressing his face.

"With you guys here, I have all the luck I need," Lewis replied, smiling before turning to Nina, who was in her highchair.

The baby, upon hearing the familiar voice, immediately looked up at him and smiled broadly. Lewis bent down to his daughter, gently holding one of her little hands.

"Behave yourself with mommy, okay, my princess? Daddy will be back in a few laps." He said, his voice full of tenderness.

Nina smiled again, mumbling something that no one understood, but that made Lewis laugh. He kissed his daughter's forehead, caressing her little face before standing up.

After one more quick kiss to Y/n, he gave a final wave and left the room, heading back to the garage.

A short while later, Y/n picked Nina up and walked to the balcony of the VIP room. She pointed to the grid below, showing the cars lined up.

"Look, my love, that's daddy's car. Do you see it?"

Nina looked curiously at the movement on the dance floor, but started trying to remove the sound muffler that was in her ears. Y/n gently held her little hands.

"Leave it there, honey. It's too loud, you don't want to hurt your ears, do you?" The little girl reluctantly lowered her hands and wrapped her little arms around her mother's neck, resting against her.

Y/n smiled and hugged her, enjoying the moment.

As the race began, the cars sped off and disappeared around the first corner. Y/n walked back into the room with Nina on her lap and pointed to the big screen, which showed the positions in real time.

"There's Daddy, my love. He's going really fast! Isn't he?" Y/n said, explaining things enthusiastically, even though she knew Nina was still too young to understand.

••••••••••••••••••••••

As the race progressed, the noise of the cars, which had previously made Nina attentive, no longer seemed to bother her. On lap 23, the little girl had settled into Y/n's lap, resting her head on her mother's shoulder. Slowly, her little eyes began to close, until she finally fell asleep, oblivious to the adrenaline that pulsed through the circuit.

Y/n smiled, observing her daughter's serene little face, and Carmen, beside her, whispered: "She really is a little angel. She doesn't even seem to care about the chaos outside."

Carefully, the two improvised a small bed for Nina on the living room sofa, using soft blankets they found. Y/n arranged her baby with great care, making sure she was comfortable and warm.

Meanwhile, the race continued, and the two women turned their attention to the screen.

When the last lap arrived, Y/n could no longer hide the tension. Lewis was in P2, but Lando Norris was dangerously close, just four seconds behind.

She bit her lip, holding her breath at every turn, her hands clasped tightly on her knees.

However, Y/n only relaxed when she saw her husband's car cross the finish line, securing second place. She and Carmen celebrated discreetly, raising their hands in a small gesture of victory, careful not to wake Nina.

"He did it!" Y/n whispered, a wide smile lighting up her face.

Y/n couldn't contain her emotion. The pride she felt for her husband was immense, and she knew how hard he had worked for that result.

As Carmen tucked the blanket over Nina, she offered, "Why don't you go down and see Lewis? I'll stay here with Nina. She won't even notice you're gone."

Y/n hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure? I don't want to overwhelm you."

Carmen smiled, nodding. "I'm sure, Y/n. Go ahead. You two deserve to reminisce about old times without interruptions. I'll take this little princess."

She strokes the baby's dark curls.

With her heart full of gratitude, Y/n quickly hugged her friend.

"Thank you, Carmen. Really."

She practically ran out of the room, running down the stairs in a hurry, but also feeling a flood of emotions.

Pride, relief, happiness and a little anxiety mixed together as she approached the garage. The sound of applause and radios celebrating the race echoed through the paddock, increasing her excitement even more.

Arriving at the garage, Y/n saw her husband getting out of his car, while celebrating with the team. He was sweaty, exhausted, but radiant. When Lewis saw her, an even bigger smile lit up his face, and he opened his arms, inviting her for a hug.

Y/n practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. "You were amazing, love. Nina and I are so proud of you," she whispered against his chest, feeling his heart beat faster.

"Having you here makes everything more special," he replied, pulling her close. For a moment, the noise around them faded, and it was as if only the two of them existed there. "And where's our little angel?"

Y/n pulls away from the hug a little and looks at her husband, who now has his braids loose.

"She's been sleeping in the VIP room for about an hour." She laughs. "Carmen volunteered to take care of her while I'm here. She said we should catch up on old times."

Lewis smiles mischievously, looking deep into his wife's eyes. "Old times, huh?" he teases. "Then come here!"

In a quick gesture, she leans her wife in and kisses her deeply. Making her let out a scream before laughing and melting into her husband's lips, listening to the fans and crew scream euphorically.

Just like the old days.

Author: I have the impression that Carmen is a great person. Kind, friendly and polite. And so I want to put her in all my stories hahaha. I think Lew gets along well with G, so I'll continue writing about them being good friends.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #lovers #marriage #imagines #one shot #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #formula one #formula 1 #drive #mercedes #fem reader #lewis hamilton x reader

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alewritesfics · 2 days ago

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Bridging Realities

ℑ𝔙. 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤..... 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

The morning sun streamed through the windows of the Featherington estate, casting a golden glow over the lively preparations for the day ahead. You were seated at your vanity, Varley fussing over your hair with more vigor than necessary, muttering about how even a race required proper presentation. You nodded absently, your mind far from the conversation—or even the impending event.

You were dressed already, the soft, pastel blue gown fitting you comfortably as you stood and moved toward the window. You still wonder how on earth you got port- mama, to agree to buy new dresses and with different colors this time, although you think it mostly has to do with the arrival of the new featherington lord and how it meant that they no longer needed to worry about money much.

The bustle of the household faded as you leaned against the frame, gazing out at the beautiful house across the street, in which you could swear you see movement in.

It should’ve been a simple day—a moment to enjoy the festivities, the thrill of the race, and the chatter of the crowd. And yet, the weight of your thoughts anchored you in place.

The question swirled relentlessly in your mind. What do you do next?

The story you knew so well—the love story of Kate and Anthony—was already beginning to take shape. You’d seen the tension between them last night, the sharp glances, the lingering stares. You knew the moments that were meant to happen next.

But at what cost? Edwina’s heartbreak? Anthony’s stubbornness that was the whole reason people got hurt in the first place? Was it even your place to intervene? A few days ago you didn’t even exist in this world, so how could you?

Your gaze drifted to the bright sky, searching for clarity. And yet, another thought began to creep in, unbidden but persistent.

What if you didn’t step aside?

What if you let yourself want something—long for someone—for once? Anthony Bridgerton wasn’t just a name on a page, or a face in a show anymore. He was a man, flesh and blood, with flaws and feelings. And you… you weren’t just a bystander that dreamed to be in a love story like his. Not anymore.

Your fingers tightened on the windowsill as your heart warred with itself. To let the story unfold as it always had or to take a leap into the unknown, to risk selfishness for the chance at something real.

And then again, maybe you were meant to change things? Why on earth would the universe transport you into the world you’ve always dreamed of if you weren’t meant to?

“Miss Y/N?” Varley’s voice broke through your reverie, startling you. “The carriage will be ready soon. We mustn’t keep the others waiting.”

You straightened, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you turned back to the room. “Of course, Varley,” you said, your tone steady even as your thoughts churned.

As you left the room, you resolved one thing: Today, at the races, you would make a choice. Whether to follow the script you knew so well or to write a story of your own.

“Why did I have to accompany you?” you asked as you walked behind Penelope as she entered the drawing room of the Bridgerton house

She ignored your words, approaching Eloise from behind “Is that a copy of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope asked

“It is” Eloise answered, putting down the paper

“I thought we were done with her” Penelope said

“Do not discourage her, Penelope” Lady Bridgerton said “If she has taken an interest in Lady Whistledown again, perhaps it means she’s interested in what she has to say about the season’s available gentlemen too” She turned towards her daughter

You chuckled, swallowing down your nerves as you approached her mother “If Eloise has anything to say about it, Lady Bridgerton, then no” You said

“See, even Y/n gets me” Eloise huffed, turning to face Penelope

You smiled, looking at what you hope will be your future mother in law “Lady Bridgerton,” you greeted

She stopped her embroidery, looking up at you with a smile “Y/n, dear, it has been a long time since you’ve visited” Violet said

You blinked before you realized that perhaps you had or well, the past Y/n Featherington had visited the Bridgerton home before with Penelope.

“Yes, it has been” you nodded before sitting on the chair next to her “artist Bridgerton brother,” you greeted Benedict with a smile

He chuckled “still calling me by that, poet Featherington sister?” He teased back

You looked at him lost “Poet?” you said confused

“yeah,” he brought down his sketchbook “Don’t you remember when you recited on and on about the color of Anthony’s hair, his mesmerizing eyes?”

What?

“Oh, yes, I remember that as well” Lady Bridgerton chuckled “It was sweet seeing how enamored you were with Anthony when you were little, of course, it never went far as you were only three and ten years old when you decided you wanted to marry Anthony and he was well off into adulthood”

Your face froze as Lady Beidgerton’s words sank in, your heart skipping a beat. What?! You laughed nervously, trying to mask your shock. “I—well, I suppose teenage girls are prone to fanciful ideas, are they not?”

“Fanciful indeed,” Violet said, smiling warmly. “Though, I must admit, it was endearing. You followed him about during those visits, asking the most peculiar questions about the responsibilities of a viscount. You were so earnest, poor Anthony didn’t know what to do with you!”

Benedict smirked. “Oh, he certainly knew what to do—run off to the study and hide.”

“Benedict!” Violet scolded lightly, though her tone was still amused.

You felt your cheeks heat, and for a moment, you were lost for words. Of course, the past you would have been a lovestruck teenager, completely unaware of what that might mean for your interactions now.

You cleared your throat, your mind racing as you tried to compose yourself. “I assure you, I’ve outgrown such girlish infatuations. Besides, Anthony and I have hardly spoken more than a few words to each other recently.”

“Oh, but that could change,” Violet said, her tone light but laden with meaning. “Anthony needs a steady hand, someone with wit and charm to keep him grounded.”

Benedict leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at you knowingly. “And who better to manage his chaos than someone who once planned her entire future around him?”

You shot him a pointed look, though your lips twitched upward in a small, reluctant smile. “I believe we’re getting far ahead of ourselves.”

“Perhaps,” Violet said with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, “but it’s always nice to see old friends rekindle a connection.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the weight of their playful remarks mingling with your own uncertainty. You had come here prepared to make a choice, but now it seemed as though fate—or the Bridgertons—was nudging you toward one particular path.

“I believe we were never friends, Lady Bridgerton, it was just a childish infatuation on my part,” you say “I believe Anthony has his eyes set elsewhere right now”

Violet raised an eyebrow at your comment, her expression thoughtful. “Perhaps, but you’d be surprised how easily one’s eyes can be redirected when the right person is in view.”

Benedict chuckled, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Oh, this is far more entertaining than I anticipated. Please, do carry on.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart was beating faster than ever. “I assure you, Benedict, there is nothing to carry on about. Anthony and I barely speak, and whatever childish notions I had are long gone.”

“C-colin!” you heard Penelope exclaim, You stood up as the rest of the bridgertons embraced the newly arrived Colin, watching with a smile as they greeted him

“And where, may I ask, is our intrepid viscount?” Colin asked looking around his family

“He is-“ Anthony stepped into view as Lady Bridgerton spoke “back from courting already”

“Colin, you are back, even better” Anthony said as he saw Colin “Family, I would like you all to-“ his eyes met yours, making him go silent

“Y/n…” he spoke “i-I did not know you were here”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, Anthony cleared his throat, his eyes leaving yours “i-I would like you all to ready yourselves for the races today, we will be attending united as one” He finished saying to his family

You stayed next to him as his family went off to get ready “I’ll be there in a bit” you say to Pen as she looked at you expecting to leave, she nodded before she left the room

Your eyes flickered back towards Anthony, finding him looking at you, you smirked “You’ll escort me to the races, won’t you?” you say boldly, having decided to not step aside and instead make your own choices.

Anthony’s eyebrows furrowed at your boldness, his usual composed demeanor slipping ever so slightly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly weighing his response.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched thin, and you could see the flicker of hesitation in his dark eyes. His gaze shifted briefly toward the door, as though calculating his options.

“I… had intended to accompany my family today as a united front,” he said carefully, his voice measured. “There are certain… expectations that must be upheld.”

You raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Expectations?” you repeated. “Anthony, are you saying that escorting me would somehow disrupt your plans?”

His jaw tightened, and he glanced away, his reluctance palpable. “Not disrupt,” he clarified, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. “It’s simply that…” He trailed off, clearly unwilling to elaborate.

Ah. So this was about Edwina. You felt the pieces fall into place with startling clarity. Kate’s refusal to let him court her sister must have spurred Anthony into finding another way to gain the Sharma family’s favor—an approach steeped in duty and strategy, as expected of a viscount.

But you weren’t about to make it easy for him. Especially not after what you had decided and you’d be damned if you were losing without a fight.

“Anthony,” you said, stepping closer so that he couldn’t avoid your gaze. “If your goal is to show yourself as a responsible, family-oriented man, what better way than to escort an old family friend?” You let your tone turn teasing, though your eyes stayed sharp.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse outright. Then, with a soft sigh, he turned back to you. “You do have a way of making things sound entirely reasonable,” he admitted, though his tone lacked its usual confidence.

You smiled triumphantly, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. “Then it’s settled,” you said brightly. “We’ll make quite the impression, won’t we?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flickering briefly toward the door again, as though still calculating his options. But then, he nodded, his movements stiff but resigned. “It would seem so,” he said finally.

As you walked together toward the carriages, you could feel the weight of his hesitation lingering between you. Anthony Bridgerton was a man bound by duty and logic, but there was something else simmering beneath the surface—a conflict he hadn’t yet resolved.

But that was fine. You weren’t looking for perfection. You were looking for an opportunity to remind him that life didn’t always need to be dictated by duty and expectations. If you were rewriting this story, you weren’t afraid to challenge the characters along the way.

Even if one of those characters was the man you’d been dreaming of for years.

You smiled, satisfied with his answer—for now. Today was only the beginning, after all. If you were going to rewrite the story, you intended to do so on your own terms. And Anthony Bridgerton? Well, he would simply have to keep up.

You looked around the field filled with people with a smile, the sound of horses galloping resounding nearby. Your eyes searched for any familiar face nearby but hard to see with so many people around.

You turned back to look at the man beside you, his eyes searching as well. You held back a scoff as you knew why, “Whatever plan you had for today, it would have only ended up hurting people” You stated, looking back at the field.

Anthony turned to look at you, your arm intertwined between his “What do you mean?” he feigned innocence

You looked at him once again “You mean to tell me you didn’t plan on elaborating a grand scheme so the eldest Sharma would leave you alone with Miss Edwina?”

Anthony’s gaze narrowed slightly, though there was no malice in it. “And what, pray tell, do you think I’m planning?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” you said, glancing toward the arriving carriages. “You intend to use today to make a grand show of your family’s unity and charm, all to prove to the Sharmas that you’re the perfect match for Edwina. Am I close?” You didn’t want to mention his plan to get Thomas Dorset to woo Kate.

His silence was answer enough.

You sighed, releasing his arm as you turned to face him fully. “Anthony, I know you mean well, but this… performance? It’s not going to end the way you hope it will.”

He frowned, his jaw tightening. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re not being honest with yourself,” you said simply. “About what you want.”

His expression darkened, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I am entirely aware of what I want,” he said stiffly.

“Are you?” you challenged, stepping closer. “Because it seems to me you’re more concerned with what you think you should want. There’s a difference, Anthony, and if you don’t figure it out soon, you’re going to hurt a lot of people—including yourself.”

The words hung heavy in the air between you, his gaze locked on yours as if trying to decipher your meaning. For a moment, you thought he might push you away, dismiss you like he did everyone who dared to question him.

But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You make it sound so simple,” he said quietly.

“It’s not,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “But it’s worth it.”

Anthony’s gaze lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you. Then, with a subtle nod, he extended his arm to you once more. “Shall we?”

You smiled, slipping your arm back into his. “Lead the way, Lord Bridgerton.”

As you walked toward the crowd, the weight of your words seemed to settle on him, though he said nothing more. But you could feel it in the way he held himself, in the quiet moments of hesitation that punctuated his otherwise confident demeanor.

“You should let things flow the way they’re supposed to,” you pat his arm “If there are things impeding you to court Miss Edwina…..perhaps you should give up” you say selfishly

Anthony glanced at you, his brows knitting together as he processed your words. “Give up?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “You would have me surrender so easily?”

You met his gaze steadily, though your heart raced at your boldness. “Not easily, Anthony. But if you’re only pursuing her because you think it’s the right thing to do, rather than what you truly want, then yes. Why waste your time—and hers—on something that isn’t real?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d pushed too far. But then he sighed, the tension in his features softening ever so slightly. “You speak as though you know my heart better than I do.”

“Perhaps I do,” you said, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Or perhaps I just see things more clearly because I’m not the one caught in the middle of it.”

Anthony didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting to the lively crowd ahead of you. The sounds of laughter, conversation, and the occasional cheer for a victorious horse filled the air. You could see his family mingling in the distance, their bright smiles a sharp contrast to the weight of the conversation between you.

“And what about you?” he asked finally, his voice quieter now. “You speak of honesty, yet you remain shrouded in mystery. What is it that you truly want?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you faltered. How could you explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had brought you to this point? How could you tell him that you weren’t just another Featherington, but someone who had seen his story unfold in ways he couldn’t possibly understand?

“I…” You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the ground. “I want to live a life that feels real. Not one dictated by expectations or duty, but one where I can make my own choices. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

Anthony studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint smile, he shook his head. “You’re a peculiar woman, Y/N Featherington.”

You laughed softly, the sound tinged with relief. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” You looked at him “Besides…. I’m already fighting for what I want” there was something unreadable in your eyes as you looked at him

Anthony’s smile faltered ever so slightly as your words hung in the air, their weight settling between you like an unspoken challenge. His dark eyes flickered over your face, searching for something—clarity, perhaps, or reassurance—but all he found was a quiet determination that seemed to unnerve him.

“Fighting for what you want?” he repeated, his voice careful, measured. “And what is it, exactly, that you want, Miss Featherington?”

You tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk gracing your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The teasing lilt in your voice did little to ease the tension that had crept into the conversation. Anthony’s hand shifted subtly where it rested on yours, as though he were considering letting go. His usual air of control seemed to waver, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something unfamiliar in his expression—unease, perhaps, or uncertainty.

“Miss Featherington,” he began, his tone carrying the weight of a man accustomed to steering conversations in his favor, “it is not often I find myself at a loss for words, but you seem intent on ensuring I remain so today.”

You chuckled softly, though your gaze remained steady on his. “Perhaps that’s because you’re not used to being challenged, my lord.”

Anthony’s brows furrowed, and he looked away briefly, his gaze scanning the crowd as if seeking an escape. When he looked back at you, his composure was intact once more, though there was a faint crease in his brow that betrayed his lingering nervousness.

“You speak with remarkable confidence,” he said, his voice cooler now, as though attempting to regain the upper hand. “But confidence can be a dangerous thing when wielded carelessly.”

“Only to those unprepared to face it,” you countered smoothly, the edge in your tone softened by a smile. “But don’t worry, Lord Bridgerton. I have no intention of unsettling you—too much, at least.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze dropping briefly to the ground before meeting yours again. “You have an uncanny ability to make a man question himself,” he admitted, his voice low. “I wonder if that is your intention.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “And if it were?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions neither of you dared to name. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh.

“Then I suppose I must brace myself,” he said, his tone laced with reluctant amusement.

You smiled, your grip on his arm tightening ever so slightly. “Good. You’ll need it.” You say “Just like you’ll need it when I say that High Flyer will be the winner today and the horse you bet on, Nectar, will not” you smirk

Anthony stopped in his tracks, turning his head to look at you with an expression of mild disbelief. His brows arched, and for a moment, his usual composed demeanor gave way to something closer to exasperation.

“You’re challenging my judgment on horses now?” he asked, his tone laced with incredulity.

“Perhaps,” you replied breezily, your smirk widening. “High Flyer has a higher chance to win, the track is soft and hot thus Nectar will have a great disadvantage as he’s not as swifter and lighter as High Flyer. A rather unfortunate trait for a racehorse, wouldn’t you agree?” you use your knowledge of this episode

Anthony blinked at you, his lips parting slightly as he processed your words. “You’ve been studying the horses?”

“Is that so surprising?” you teased, tilting your head. “I’m merely preparing for the inevitable moment when you’ll have to admit I was right.”

His gaze narrowed, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. “You’re rather confident for someone who has yet to see the race.”

“Confidence, as you’ve pointed out, can be a dangerous thing,” you said, echoing his earlier words with a mischievous glint in your eye. “But I’m willing to take my chances.”

Anthony shook his head, though he couldn’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Very well, Miss Featherington. If you’re so certain of your prediction, perhaps we should make this more interesting.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you proposing a wager, Lord Bridgerton?”

“I am,” he said, his voice gaining a touch of his usual commanding confidence. “If High Flyer wins, I will publicly admit my error—and you may choose a forfeit for me, within reason.”

“And if Nectar wins?” you asked, folding your arms as you regarded him with playful suspicion.

He looked in thought for a minute “Then you will meet me tomorrow morning when you come to my home with your sister” he said smoothly, his gaze steady on yours. “Just the two of us. No Penelope. No excuses.”

The boldness of his proposal took you by surprise, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words, feeling your breath catch in your throat. But then you smiled, the thrill of the challenge sparking in your chest.

“Very well, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, extending your hand to him. “You have yourself a wager.”

He clasped your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Then may the best horse—and the best gambler—win.”

As the two of you continued toward the racetrack, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. This wasn’t just a wager; it was a game, a dance, a challenge—and neither of you intended to back down.

“You were saying?” you turned to look at the viscount smug as High Flyer won first place in the race

Anthony’s expression was unreadable at first, his gaze fixed on the racetrack where High Flyer had just thundered across the finish line. The crowd erupted into cheers, but the Viscount’s focus remained solely on you.

“I believe I was saying something about confidence,” he murmured, though there was a faint edge of resignation in his voice. His eyes flicked back to yours, narrowing slightly at the smug smile that curved your lips.

“You were,” you said, tilting your head. “Something about it being dangerous, wasn’t it? It seems my confidence wasn’t misplaced after all.”

Anthony exhaled sharply, though you couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sigh of defeat. “It seems not,” he conceded, his tone reluctant. “I suppose I owe you my public admission of error.”

“Oh, there’s no need for dramatics, my lord,” you said, feigning modesty. “A simple acknowledgment that I was right will suffice.”

He arched a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he were fighting a smile. “Very well,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Miss Featherington, you were right. High Flyer was indeed the better horse today.”

Your grin widened, your victory made all the sweeter by his reluctant but good-natured capitulation. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering so that only you could hear. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with something deeper, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Perhaps,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a glint of mischief. “But don’t forget—this means you’ll have to endure my chosen forfeit.”

Anthony’s smile finally broke free, a rare and genuine thing that made your heart skip a beat. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said. “And I’ll face it with as much grace as I can muster.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the lively crowd around you fading into the background. There was a spark between you, unspoken but undeniable, a sense that this was more than just a game.

“Well then,” you said, breaking the spell. “I look forward to seeing how well you handle it, my lord.”

Anthony chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “And I, Miss Featherington, look forward to our morning meeting—when Nectar’s loss will no longer matter.”

His words left you breathless, your retort caught in your throat as he offered you his arm once more. “Uh, you lost, how is the meeting still in place when I won?” you asked

Anthony smirked, his expression that of a man who had been waiting for this exact question. “Ah,” he said, his tone deceptively casual, “but the terms of our wager never explicitly stated that the meeting would be void if High Flyer won. I simply said I would admit my error. And I did.”

Your eyes narrowed, your hand tightening slightly on his arm. “That’s not how wagers work, Lord Bridgerton,” you countered, though there was a flicker of amusement in your tone. “You can’t twist the terms to suit your convenience.”

“Twisting?” he echoed, his smirk growing. “Not at all. I am merely exercising the same cleverness you demonstrated in predicting the race. Surely, you wouldn’t begrudge me that?”

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the urge to smile.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he replied smoothly, his gaze flicking to yours with a glint of challenge.

You let out a soft huff, trying to suppress the fluttering sensation in your chest. “Fine,” you relented. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for losing.”

Anthony chuckled, his voice low and warm. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Featherington. I’ll accept whatever forfeit you impose. But I do hope you’ll keep it… reasonable.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said with mock seriousness, pretending to consider all the humiliating possibilities.

As you walked together, the playful banter between you was laced with an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore. You might have won the wager, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Anthony had been the winner in the end.

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

Taglist:

@heyyitsreign

@imafangirlofeverything

@stopeatread

@smartiepants217

@magical-spit

@ifilwtmfc

@kitkat27

@electronicexpertshark

@annareidprofiler

@zestygingergirl

@noirrose21-blog

(last minute tag. Hope you'll enjoy!) @ericityyy

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #violet bridgerton #daphne basset #kate sharma #edwina sharma #lady mary sharma #lady danbury

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unknownperson246 · 2 days ago

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a/n: can you write modern izzy x reader where the reader is a guitarist and she's playing a small venue with her band and izzy is there with a friend, her playing reminds him of the good old days (the 80s) and he decides to hang around after the show and talk to her.. he's super interested because she's young and she got the 80s sounding just right

Hiii babes so so sorry it’s late but I hope you love itttt ❤️❤️

Modern Izzy Stradlin: The Glances:

Words: 645

Warnings: *slight smut*

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.˚✮✮˚.⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.˚✮✮˚.⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You were playing to a small crowd. The audience was just about fifty people and you could see everyone and everything so clearly. While you were playing you found this handsome tall man with a chiseled face and brown hair covered by a hat staring at you.

“No, he can’t be staring at me. To be fair everyone in the crowd is staring at us.” You said to yourself.

You started blushing because you were attracted to this mysterious man. He looked like he was fascinated by you playing guitar. His eyes just had a mesmerizing glance towards you. You had to admit it was just a tad bit creepy but he looked like he was stuck in his thoughts.

Maybe he was remembering old times. He was there next to a man. You recognized that man's friend. He had fiery red hair and clear pale skin. His hair was set in cornrows. You were plucking on your guitar and you were playing away. It was your music and it was inspired by the 80s glam era.

After the show, your whole band was exhausted. Their eyeliner smudged and was droopy from the sweat that made their skin glisten. You all looked like you were crying on stage when the cameras recorded your rosy face. The man in the suit unexpectedly came over with his friend. They were probably just admirers you thought to yourself.

“Hi,” the tall man said.

“Hi,” you gave him a small nod and a small smile. You were a bit skeptical.

The tall man looked even more handsome when he was closer to the eye.

“My name is Izzy.” That’s all he said.

His friend who had fiery red hair also introduced himself.

“I’m Axl,” he said with a grin.

“Holy shit you're from Guns N’ Roses” one of your band mates blurted.

Izzy and Axl seemed surprised that they got noticed at a small venue you were playing at. Izzy and Axl signed your bandmate some autographs. While Axl decided to talk to all of your band mates you and Izzy were sitting on the couch as the introverted quiet people you were.

“So uh” Izzy started to speak.

You looked over at him and locked your eyes with his hazel eyes.

“I saw how you were playing your guitar up there. Every band I’ve heard hasn’t gotten the 80s sound right. You on the other hand are amazing. You have a true 80s sound to you.” Izzy looked over to your face. You could tell he was shy.

You started to blush.

“Well thank you I appreciate the compliment.” You started to look down because you were getting nervous.

“All the young people I’ve seen can’t get it right. You know how to play” Izzy complimented your sound again.

He looked like he was into you. He didn’t seem talkative around his friend Axl. You got on his lap straddling him.

“I’ve been waiting for someone like you.” You lightly nipped at his ear.

Izzy held onto your hips. You were careful about everyone paying attention to something else. You were shy about having sex in public and this was your first time attempting it with a rockstar who has seen unimaginable things. As soon as Axl finished talking to your band mates he came over to Izzy. You got off of his lap. You were panicked and scared so you got back on your spot on the couch and pretended you and Izzy were still talking.

“Did I miss something?” Axl said, smirking.

“You missed nothing.” You said quietly pretending to play with your hair.

As soon as everyone looked away Izzy whispered sweet words into your ear.

“Maybe next time sweetheart.” He winked at you and got up to get his guitar.

He went to the rest of the group so he could jam with everyone.

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mxnhoo · 3 days ago

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like you! (n. rk) playlist

READ THE FIC HERE!

CAUTION this will contain spoilers from the actual fic, so if you haven't finished it, go read the actual fic first! (unless you don't mind being spoiled)

EXTRA NOTE lots of the scenes are actually inspired by specific song lyrics!

"Would it be a stress if I asked you to try again? I'll be patient I swear I'll even count to ten. One two three four five- fuck it."

✎ "Shut up! The countdown is starting!".

You choked out, not being ready to confess your very feelings.

"10.. 9.."

Fuck fuck fuck, you weren't ready!

"8.. 7.."

Fuck it. Fuck it!

"6.. 5.."

You didn't even have time to plan how you were going to say it!

Y'know what?

"4.. 3.." you chanted alongside with him, "Actually, y'know what? Fuck it! I like you!".

"In the midst of the crowds, in the shapes in the clouds, I don't see nobody but you."

✎ ..and as soon as he was about to call out for you, he heard it.

Your laugh.

He turned his head to the same direction and he spotted you. In his eyes, it was almost like a spotlight was shone directly at you from the way his eyes focused on you and you only. Ni-ki stared at you with his jaw dropped as he watched you laugh to another girl, the melody of your laugh sounding like music to his ears.

"No one's gotta know, just us and the moon 'til the sun starts waking"

✎ "Check this out," he finally spoke, breaking the silence between the two of you. He continued, "You mentioned once you wanted to see the ocean in the beach in the middle of the night..".

He cleared his throat, continuing further, "So here we are".

You remained silent, completely moonstruck by the view as you watched how the waves flowed, and hearing your silence, he was about to nag you for not thanking him until he saw your dazed look. He sighed, taking your dazed look as a 'thank-you', "You're welcome".

"You remembered," "What?" "You remembered that I said that.."

He smiled, "Why else would I bring you here?".

"Ooh, but this is all that I am. I only show you the best of me, the best of me."

✎ "Look, on a serious note, I feel like I'm not good enough for you, but I'll be better for you, I promise," he pulled away, holding your shoulders and grinning at you.

"I would love just to be stuck to your side, not with anybody else, anybody else. It's enough just to keep us occupied, please don't go."

✎ "Was I not the partner you wanted? Is that why you're like this?".

"Absolutely not!" you shot back immediately. "It's just.." you tried to find words to explain yourself without giving yourself away, "you look really ugly right now".

He scoffed, but instead of continuing the banter with him, he only sighed and patted your head, "There she is, welcome back".

You looked into his eyes and saw his soft gaze, causing your heart to skip a beat. You immediately frowned and sucked one side of your cheek, turning your body away from him. "You're so annoying".

"And you're weird as fuck. This is exactly why I 'shit-talked' you that day," he giggled.

"Hey! That was really mean!"

"How could my day be bad when I'm with you? You're the only one who makes me laugh, so how can my day be bad? When it's a day for you?"

✎ You were having lunch, laughing as per usual with the others when Ni-ki suddenly leaned into your ear and whispered, "I like you".

Your face immediately heats up and your chest tightens, your untensils dropping as you smack Ni-ki's chest for teasing you, "Shut up!".

He laughed at your reaction, finding you adorable as he leaned on your shoulder, "I love you, Y/N".

The others rolled their eyes and pretended to puke and gag, finding the whole lovey-dovey situation disgusting and you sighed, not being able to resist him.

"I love you too".

"You're driving me crazy but I like you! You're driving me crazy but I like you, oh! I don't like your eyes, nose, lips even your jokes, I like it, only me."

✎ He was rooted to his spot, completely in awe as his gaze was locked on you. You weren't even doing anything, you were just laughing, wearing your stupid black hoodie and being the dork you were, but it made his head spin.

If only you knew how you made him feel.

"Don't like anybody, tell me why it's different with you? Don't believe in love, but no one makes me feel like you do. I don't say it much 'cause I just always thought that you knew, oh. It's what you do to me, I'm wrapped around around your finger and I can't stop You know, I've got a soft spot for you."

✎ He sighed and leaned back on the bench. "Do you ever wonder why I haven't dated any of the girls you mentioned?".

"C'mon, if you're gunna reject me just directly say—" "Because I like you!"

Features of shock immediately took over your face, not believing what you were hearing. He.. liked.. you?

"I liked you the entire damn time! Even before we became close, okay?!" he ranted, his voice sounding desperate as he confessed to you.

"Remember that time I was 'shit-talking' you in the field?! Thankfully you missed out on the part where I said I liked you!" he continued, his anger spilling out.

"I was hanging with you and then I realised, I didn't think it was true - I was surprised when I found out I'd fallen for you."

✎ "From this, I feel like.."

You looked at him attentively, anticipating to his words.

"You like him. Love even," he broke the news and you shouted in shock, causing him to cover your mouth with his hands.

"No way! Me?! Loving that dork?! As if!" you denied, feeling your cheeks heat up as you grew more irritated for an unknown reason.

"You can believe what you wanna — but you definitely love him".

You pouted as your chest tightened, the weird feeling coming in again as you thought about him.

You? Loving Ni-ki?

I dunno...

Maybe.

"I'll leave my heart with your air, so let me fly with you. Will you be forever with me?"

✎ "What's so funny?! What, now are you rejecting me?!"

"Dork," you teased.

"What?" "You're a dork. A dork for me," you teased further and you watched as his face grew red.

"You never know how to shut your mouth!"

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beef-brisket · 2 days ago

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The whole crowd was infatuated with Adam's voice, and that included Lucifer.

The song started slow with lyrics that broke the crowds heart, all of them relating to the heartbreak and betrayal Adam was signing about.

Even as the tune picked up and people started dancing, the lyrics were still somber.

Lucifer was the only one in the crowd not moving, completely floored by the song. How could Adam be this hurt? Or have such bad luck in love? Was this Lucifer's fault?

Once the song ended and Adam walked off stage to everyone cheering and clapping, he went to the designated drinks table and started to mix himself something. He was thriving off the buzz of being on stage, but he almost wanted into the blonde man behind him.

Adam: Oops- sorry man.

Lucifer blushed, mustering up the courage to talk to Adam, but before he could get the words out, a large man made his presence known and asked Adam for a dance.

He couldn't believe this. Can't this guy see Lucifer's trying to do something here?!

Adam: I'd love to!

Lucifer: I-.

Hank: Sweet, babe. Let's show you a good time~.

Before Lucifer could even understand what was going on, Adam chuckled as the man took his hand gently and led him into a crowd of people.

Sighing, Lucifer knew it was almost impossible to talk to Adam here. He's a catch! And everyone in this damn house knows it.

Poring himself a strongly mixed vodka, Lucifer found a railing on the second floor that overlooked the party. Sitting down, he slotted his legs between the balusters.

His eyes scanned the crowd for Adam and the man, and of course, he found them quickly. They were dancing, Adam leaning against him. The man's hands on his hips as they slow danced to the song. Adam looked like he was enjoying himself.

Lucifer should feel happy for him, but there was a part of him that was furious. How was he meant to make it up to him if Adam was actively going after other people?

Verosika: Hey.

Lucifer jumped and looked up: Uh-.

Verosika: Nice costume, ever think you should put on a human disguise when coming to earth?

Lucifer blushed: I just-.

Verosika chuckled and sat next to Lucifer: Do t worry about it, your highness.

Lucifer: Wait-! You know?!

Verosika rolled her eyes: Obviously. Apart from the demon form, you have the same hair and everything. I know it's a popular look, but fuck shorty, you were staring at Adam with such intensity, I'm surprised he didn't burn up.

Lucifer: ...Everyone's looking at him. How am I different?

Verosika: Because of HOW you're looking at him. Your minds are running a mile a minute. Everyone else only looks at Adam with one or two things on their minds. You on the other hand? You've got a lot going on, huh?

Lucifer sighed: You've got no idea...

Succubus au

@beef-brisket

@fanofstuff01

(This au was originally on @things-aren't-what-they-seem66blog and was originally thought of by an anonymous ask)

The roaring of the crowd and the playing of his guitar deafened his ears but the incubus didn't care. He loved the way they cheered his name while he shredded on his axe. With one final strum, his song was done. He raised his arms and gave the horns, to which his fans reciprocated, and bid them all goodnight. He walked away his hands still raised until he was out of sight from them. Adam sighed heavily and wiped the sweat with his forearm as he made his way to his dressing room.

Once there he flopped onto the couch and groaned. Though Adam loved being a rockstar and having adoring fans, he wouldn't lie to himself, each performance, especially concerts, can be quite draining since he always had to prepare with mic checks and making sure he sounded right. Steve, his producer/manager/on-and-off-again fling, always assured him that these were mandatory. Just one of those sacrifices that come with being a star. Still, Adam felt a little like shit and he needed a drink, a hard one. Unfortunately, his evening wasn't quite over yet as knocking was heard from the other side of the door then a voice called out.

Assistant: Excuse me? Commander? I'm sorry for bothering you but I brought the VIP guests here with me.

Adam sighed completely forgetting about that. Almost all VIPs get access to meet him after every show. Though he loved his fans coming to him and saying how much they loved him, maybe even getting some head from the older crowd, tonight, he didn't want to. However, he knew that he didn't have much of a choice. Unless he wanted Steve up his ass, and not in a good way. Letting out a long groan he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and yelled out to her.

Adam: Bring them in.

He closed his eyes and sighed once again as he heard the door open and feet shuffle in. He prepared himself for the immediate responses of squealing and clamoring over to shake his hand. However, he was not prepared for a familiar voice to call out his name.

Charlie: A, Adam?

He opened his eyes and standing in front of him were Charlie, Vaggie, and a one-eyed sinner.

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hannahbarberra162 · 8 hours ago

Text

Under the Microscope, Chapter 11 (Yandere Sabo x Reader)

on Ao3 | The other chapters

Note: I’m keeping Iva’s pronouns the same by chapter for ease of reading. Also pls, this isn’t realistic science. I barely know what an atom is.

Huge thank you to TDESMC and @gouraminnow <3 <3 <3

Thank you to @kitsunechan707 for hyping me up :3

Sunny POV

While the first few days had been rough on your body, the next ones were rough on your spirit. It was difficult to be near Sabo one on one again without Ace as a social buffer. Ace was catching up to the ship and you’d see him soon which couldn’t come fast enough for you. Sabo was behaving like he did when you first met and it left you bewildered and unsure of what to do. You used your anger to ground yourself with the bangle on your wrist reminding you daily of his betrayal of your trust.

You had prepared yourself to face Sabo's wrath or ire but it hadn’t surfaced since his discovery of your misdeed. If anything, Sabo was more amiable and attentive than ever before. He hadn’t asked you for any more kisses or physical affection, though he did leave lingering touches on your skin as often as he was able. You were happy for the reprieve after the kiss he’d made you give him but you were walking on eggshells. The look in his eyes showed you that his intensity hadn’t faded when you continually caught his ever-present stares as you went about your days on the ship.

After the effects of the medicine wore off, Sabo took you on a tour of the ship and introduced you to the RA crew. The ship was bigger than the last though there were only about twenty people aboard, though Koala wasn’t among them. Sabo mentioned she was his closest friend but your only connection to her was her suggestion that Sabo should have killed you. You weren’t so sure you’d want to meet her once you got to the RA base.

Sabo showed you the simple ship with his tour ending at the galley just as breakfast was being served.. You hadn’t seen so many new people since you’d joined your first unit in the Marines and you hadn’t liked the crowds then either. Not only that but Emporio Ivankov was at the back of the galley and she intimidated you beyond compare. Sabo’s hand drifted to the small of your back and pushed you forward as you two began moving toward the back of the galley. Iva’s larger than life personality made her bold and loud as she spoke to people around her. When you and Sabo approached her table you were greeted with a heavy once over that made you step back in an effort to shrink away from her harsh examination. Sabo’s hand on your lower back stymied your attempt to cringe away.

“Now, who is this little lady, Sabo boy? A new lover, perhaps?” Your face flamed as Sabo laughed and walked up to Iva, kissing her on the cheeks. He returned to your side before wrapping his arm around you and leaving his hand on your waist.

“This is Sunny, she was the lead scientist on project Seraphim, although she didn’t know it at the time. She’s also the one who made Ace’s fruit and gave him his powers back,” Sabo explained. You stiffened when Sabo didn’t correct Iva’s assumption about the two of you being lovers, but decided that correction could wait for a different time.

“I-I’m sorry for being so nervous, I’m a huge fan of your work,” you forced out of your throat. Along with Trafalgar Law, Emporio Ivankov published the most interesting scientific articles. Her article about pancreatic insulin deficiencies and the means to solve them was truly groundbreaking. She’d saved thousands of kids’ lives just by publishing the article for the Marines to copy the formula for insulin. You idly wondered if she had any copies on board that she could autograph for you.

“Oh! Which of my shows have you seen?” she said with a wink. Sabo moved to stand slightly in front of you but you were unsure why, a simple wink couldn’t possibly be dangerous.

“Um, no, not the shows. I read all your articles, you’re one of my idols. Your paper about ACTH was part of the reason I became interested in lineage factors to begin with,” you said, trying not to gush too much to your hero.

“Oh ho, that old thing? I can’t show you what I’m working on now, it’s confidential…but I’d love to show you what I’m researching, interesting stuff. You have quite the resume yourself, making a Mera Mera from scratch on a deserted island. Smart girl you got there, Sabo boy. Try not to blow it,” Iva said in dismissal before sauntering off to the deck. You stared after her starry-eyed as she passed through the assorted crew gathered.

“Iva too? Do you know all pirates except Ace and I?” Sabo asked with a raised eyebrow and a grin. You knit your brows in confusion.

“What? No, she’s incredible - most people only know her for her work with sex characteristic hormones - which is beyond compare of course - but hormones are much more complex than that. She’s revolutionized so many fields of endocrinology, she’s like the Vegapunk of the human body. And, ah, of course, the shows and piracy and all that,” you added at the end in case she could still hear you. You hoped she would stay true to her word and let you see what she was working on. It would be a true honor to be in the presence of Iva and an even bigger honor to see her unpublished research.

After your introduction to Iva, there were still a lot of other crew to meet in the galley of the ship as Sabo wheeled you around to make introductions. Sabo walked you around the room, introducing you to the assorted RA crew that comprised the ship. You mumbled the appropriate polite words but you couldn’t help the familiar anxiety that rose as you met more and more people. The only reason that you weren’t chewing on your fingernails was because Sabo kept his hand entwined in yours. You didn’t like meeting new people, especially so many at once. You tried your best to remember all their names but they swam in your head after the first five or so. They kept asking the same questions over and over, who you were, where you were from, and how you knew Sabo. Fortunately for you, Sabo took the lead socially and answered most of the questions which left you to answer with only a few words when you needed to.

It was interesting observing Sabo in this new setting among people he knew well. He greeted everyone with smiles and kisses to the cheeks, side and front hugs, and even a few strong slaps to the back. His grip on you remained but it matched some of the other holds you saw among the RA soldiers, friends holding each other around their waists. They were all an affectionate bunch, so maybe Sabo was acclimating you to their culture with his repeated touches. The RA soldiers greeted you with sharp smiles, like they were pleased to see you but only as long as Sabo was there to vouch for you.

“Sabo! Your sleeping beauty finally woke up, huh?” someone named Bobby (or maybe Robby?) said with a chuckle while elbowing Sabo. Sabo smiled and patted your arm that was linked in his own with his gloved hand.

“Something like that. Sunny is very sensitive to seasickness, but outside of rough waters, she’ll be alright. So you’ll see more of her around the ship. Right, Sunny?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, and as if on cue, the ship started rocking heavily from side to side. Sabo steadied you once more by wrapping his other arm around you. You were drained socially and emotionally and you wanted to curl back up in your bed and sleep this exhaustion away.

“Hey, you’re pale. Are you alright? Let’s go back to the cabin, you need to lay down,” Sabo said, putting the back of his gloved hand against your cheek. You nodded your agreement, for once thankful that the ocean had upset your stomach and finally ended your social outing.

Sabo POV

Sabo tucked Sunny back into bed after placing a bucket by her side. He reached out his hand to pat her hair as she groaned and closed her eyes but pulled his hand back at the last second. He’d resumed touching you more casually but he didn’t want to overdo it, especially when you weren’t feeling well. He would gradually worm his way back to where he wanted to be in your heart, he knew it for a fact. You had liked him before and you would like him again, he simply had to be patient as he rebuilt the trust.

Sabo had barely walked two feet outside of his cabin after taking his leave of you before Iva interrupted his thoughts.

“So that’s the new fiance eh, Sabo-boy? I couldn’t stay away from the melodrama of it all -I simply had to come on this trip and see the new love interest. And you finally resurfaced after she woke up,” Iva teased, beckoning Sabo to follow her.

“Not exactly,” Sabo grumbled as he walked in tandem with his close friend. He trusted Iva to keep his confidence even as it applied to you. Who better to talk to about the trials and tribulations of love?

“Hmm, she won’t get over the whole kidnapping thing….but she’ll get over you taking her from the Marines. She’s a pretty little thing, I know what you see in her,” Iva said, opening the door to her cabin.

“Oh?”

“Yourself!” Iva said with a barking laugh. Sabo exhaled through his nose and stretched his neck with a grimace. He wasn’t in the mood for teasing even if it was playful ribbing.

“She’s really got her hooks in you, Sabo-boy! I’ve never seen you so dour before, the Grand Line’s most eligible bachelor reduced to tears in my dressing room. What’s the matter?” Iva said, as she guided Sabo to the couches. Even though Sabo outranked Iva, she had the best rooms on the ship. They included a bedroom and a salon from which she would conduct her business. It was a pleasant place to discuss matters of the heart, thought Sabo.

“Ah, just some setbacks, Sunny doesn’t like me very much right now. She really is brilliant -” Sabo began, trying to get Iva to see the benefit of having Sunny in the RA. Though Dragon was the Chief of Staff, it was well known that people didn’t last long if they didn’t have Iva’s approval.

“I know, I’ve been watching her career for a few years now. I don’t have the time to read but I read her articles. But that’s not the problem, is it?” Iva asked, pouring herself and Sabo some tea from a teapot. Sabo picked up his teacup, noting that his fingers were stiff. He’d have to look into that later after he’d taken care of Sunny.

“She’s wonderful but after she made that Mera Mera I had to put her in seastone. I couldn’t risk her doing something else foolish enough to risk our lives. Besides, I told her not to try to escape and she did so I had to punish her…” Sabo lamented, trailing off as he got lost in his thoughts.

“Ooh, you know I appreciate a good kink. Now, what are you going to do about it? I know what to do about it,” Iva declared as Sabo scoffed. “I’ll put in a good word or two for you. Send her my way,” Iva said, patting his thigh.

“Thank you, Iva, I appreciate it,” Sabo said, still sulking while sipping his tea.

“She’ll come around. Who could stay away from this sweet face?” she cooed while pinching and pulling Sabo’s cheek.

A few hours later, Sabo went to check on you to see how you were faring. The sight of you dozing in the bed reminded him of the first voyage the two of you had taken together. He couldn’t resist running his hand along your exposed lower back where your shirt had ridden up as you slept on your stomach. If he had it his way, he’d be sinking into you right now, keeping you satisfied on his cock morning, noon, and night. You groaned from his light touch so Sabo prepared a cup of water for you when you eventually woke. He knew the vomiting was hard on you - he had pondered inviting Law to the RA to take a look at your insides and make sure everything was okay. But the way you talked about Law made Sabo want to sink Law’s stupid submarine before he even got to the RA. It was something he’d think over depending on how you fared.

“Mmnmmh,” you groaned, turning your head over to the other side.

“Any better?” Sabo asked, placing his hand on your back while slightly heating you up. He felt along your spine for knots or tight muscles that may have been causing you pain, his fingers gently pushing and kneading. He sat next to you on the bed to get a better angle for massaging you.

“Mmhmph,” you repeated. Sabo removed his hand, interpreting the message to mean that you wanted to be left alone.

“Feels good, keep going,” you muttered into the pillow with your hair obscuring some of your face. Sabo replaced his hand and joined it with the other to continue slowly kneading your back. He was surprised you welcomed his touch but then again, you’d always been more agreeable when you were ill.

“ ‘S Sabo, right?” you said a few minutes later, Sabo still working on your back. When you were more open to his suggestions, he was going to offer you regular massages. Not only did he enjoy touching you but your back held immense amounts of stress. The knots on your back felt like ball bearings with how tight they were. He worked them under his fingers, using his claw technique for good to rub your sensitive back.

“Mmh,” Sabo hummed in response. It was quiet for a few minutes longer until you rolled over and sat up in the bed, suddenly ending the impromptu massage session.

“Thank you, that felt nice,” you said in a hesitating voice. Sabo decided not to mention anything because it would only cause you to retreat further. He was surprised you allowed the contact at all, much less asked him to continue.

“You’re welcome, your back’s very tight. I’d be happy to help if you’d like. By the way, I spoke to Iva. She extended a formal invitation to you to come visit her lab if you’re interested -”

“ If I’m interested?! What did you say? What did you tell her?!” you asked, rising to your knees on the bed, your shyness forgotten at the mention of your idol wanting to share work with you. Sabo smiled at your antics but found himself amused that you were so easy to manipulate with a simple invitation.

“That I would talk to you about it. It’s not my place to say yes or no,” Sabo said, planting his hands in his lap. You studied his face and nodded in agreement with his plan.

“Well, I would absolutely love to when we get to - er, wherever we’re going,” you replied with sincerity. Sabo cupped your cheek, you really were cute. “And did I miss Ace? I want to see him before he goes off to Wano,” you asked, glancing out the window and dislodging his hand. Sabo snorted - as if Ace would leave without saying goodbye. Ace had already double checked that the vivre papers Sabo had made worked while you were passed out.

“No, he should be coming up from the south very shortly if he isn’t close already,” Sabo said, thinking about the coordinates Ace had last shared. The route he would have to take was coming up but there should be plenty of time for one last rendezvous.

“Marine ship inbound from the south! Admiral level threat! All hands on deck!” came a loud voice over the snail intercom. You looked at Sabo in alarm, naturally seeking him out for guidance and comfort in uncertain times. He would have praised your trust in him if there wasn’t an admiral coming to capture you.

“Sunny, I need you to stay in the cabin,” Sabo said while gripping your upper arms in his hands.

Sunny POV

You recognized the large fleet ship because you had been on it twice to present your last research to Admiral Sakazuki himself. The ship was a monstrosity, with it being the largest and most powerful of all vessels in the current naval fleet. It could hold thousands of Marine troops if it was filled to capacity. It was swiftly catching up with the RA one you were on, outpacing it easily with its massive sails and engine.

Sabo had locked you in his cabin after asking you to remain inside. It was one order you didn’t mind following - you didn’t know how to fight and would be a hindrance to either side.

Seeing the ship from afar gave you a small glimmer of hope that perhaps they’d come to save you, though the cannons pointing your way made you think it was happenstance. You hoped the RA ship could make some kind of miraculous getaway after you’d been recovered. Code stated that the Marines would board the ship and then take everyone prisoner after they’d won the skirmish. It would be obvious that you weren’t there by choice when they discovered you locked in a cabin. You’d clear your name, get back to your lab, get back to work, and…

Your thoughts trailed off as you listened to the sound of stomping feet above and below your cabin preparing the ship for battle. You didn’t want to be Sabo’s little pet for the rest of your life but you also didn’t want the people you met to be sent to Impel Down. You hated fighting, it was one of many reasons you weren’t in the other corps. The pit in your stomach grew and you bit your fingers as the threat of a clash loomed ever closer. You’d never been in a battle proper and didn’t know what to expect. As you peered out the small cabin window, you saw the unmistakable flames of Striker coming in from the southeast. Your heart sank as Striker flew across the water towards the RA ship. You knew Ace had been a Commander for Whitebeard but you weren’t sure he was healed enough from his trauma to be able to fight against the Marines, particularly if Admiral Sakazuki was there.

An incredibly loud boom shattered your thoughts as the ship listed to the side. You didn’t have time to get your bearings before two more came in quick succession, jostling the boat further. Wood groaned and snapped as something fell into the water with a tremendous splash. The sounds were deafening, like one hundred guns firing at once. Your eyes widened as you realized the sound was cannonballs the Marines were firing on the RA ship. You wished you had your power so you could see what was happening but the small window severely limited your range of vision.

Standing on the bed to get a better look out the small window, you saw Striker circling the Marine ship as Ace blasted it with fire without much success. The Marine ship drew ever closer to your own until you could make out the shapes of hundreds of individual Marines, standing in platoon order. Ace also closed in on the RA ship, continuing to dodge cannon balls and bullets while defending the RA. The RA wasn’t fast enough to outmaneuver the Marines and soon the ships were side by side, the noise rising to a cacophonous level that made you put your hands over your ears.

As all the ships converged you lost your ability to see much of anything beyond the broad side of the Marine ship. The sounds of fighting, yelling, and gunshots grew louder as Marines boarded above you. You heard Iva’s shrill voice yelling out her attacks and the consequent screams of injured or dying Marines. You also heard Sabo’s voice as he barked orders and fought though his voice was harder to hear. What worried you was that you didn’t hear Ace’s voice even as the fighting grew closer until it sounded like it was right outside your door.

“Ensign Mag! Ensign Mag! Are you in there?” yelled a Marine voice from beyond the door. The voice had you whipping your head towards the door even as you wondered if they thought your actual name was Mag. You’d almost forgotten the nickname since Sabo had been calling you Sunny for so long.

“Y-yeah, I’m here!” you yelled back as an unexpected uncertainty rose in you. Now that the moment of your rescue was upon you you weren’t as sure of your decision.

“Stand back!” the voice ordered as repetitive booms smacked against the door. You were still standing on the bed as the heavy wood door groaned against the assault but finally splintered as a Marine Commander you didn’t recognize pushed through the now busted door.

“Ensign Mag, are you unharmed?” the Commander questioned, his authoritarian voice almost making you salute from muscle memory.

“Ah, oh, yeah, I’m - I’m ok,” you stammered as the Commander rushed you. Several other Marines entered and began ransacking the room. You weren’t sure what they were looking for but it didn’t seem like the time to ask.

“Target acquired Admiral,” the Commander said into a baby Den Den as he gripped your arm tightly enough to bruise with the other. Were you the reason for the attack? You hoped not as screams indicated that either Marines or RA soldiers, most likely both, were being killed above your head.

“Let’s go, the others will kill off the rest of the pirates,” the Commander said, pulling you along.

“K-kill? I thought they were going to be arrested,” you said, trying to slow down the speed he dragged out of the room by dragging your heels. When you first were kidnapped by Sabo, you imagined how your rescue would go down but you hadn’t imagined so much carnage. The smell of smoke hit your nose before you heard wood crackling.

“Heh, not in the big leagues kid. All these pirates are gonna get what they fuckin’ deserve. Admiral Sakazuki’s killin’ Gol D. Ace as we speak,” the Commander said, barking a laugh. Your stomach dropped as you realized that was your Ace. Sweet, kind, self-hating, funny, idiotic, Ace. He - they were going to kill him? After everything he’d been through? He wasn’t even that bad of a pirate, he -he couldn’t be killed, he just couldn’t. You’d finally made a good friend and now - you heard Admiral Sakazuki laugh as the smell of smoke grew inside the vessel.

For once in your life, you didn’t stop to think, analyze, or plan. You just moved. You ripped your arm back from the Commander who was leading you and made a break out the door. The Marines were so stunned to see you moving quickly that they didn’t think to stop you immediately. The halls were filled with RA soldiers fighting Marines, there was blood spilled everywhere, weapons being fired, swords being drawn - but you didn’t see any of it. You ran as fast as you could up to the deck to find Ace. You weren’t sure what you’d do when you got there but you had to save him .

You pushed forward to the top deck, miraculously avoiding any hands that sought to restrain you. Dodging Marines, RA soldiers, and anyone else trying to stop you, you ran through the already broken door to the deck. There, on the bow of the ship, Marines had made a human barrier blocking off Ace from Admiral Sakazuki. RA Soldiers were trying to break through but they were outnumbered and Sabo and Iva were fighting dozens of Commanders at the stern of the ship.

Ace wasn’t doing well. He was dodging attacks from Sakazuki but wasn’t returning fire. His face was ashen as if he was fighting a ghost. You could hear Admiral Akainu taunting him from where you stood as he belched lava over the deck, Ace narrowly dodging every time.

“...Isn’t that right boy? Killed your Captain, your brothers, everyone, and you couldn’t even do them the justice of staying dead. How pathetic. Not even fit to fill the shoes of your criminal father. Whitebeard’s final thoughts were what a disappointment you are, how he shouldn’t have come for you -”

You couldn’t listen to this bullshit anymore, you couldn’t hear Sakazuki pummeling Ace emotionally while cornering him physically. You wanted to help but you didn’t have any way to fight anyone, much less the Fleet Admiral. A flash in your mind had you quickly formulating a shaky plan to help Ace but you would need the bracelet off immediately. You heard the voices of the Marines coming up the stairwell after you - you didn’t have much time. Looking down at your wrist and tugging on your bracelet, your mind brought up an old memory of your sister. Once she’d begged your mother to borrow her gold bracelet, the only nice piece of jewelry your mom owned. Your mother agreed but at some point in the day, your sister’s thumb joint had dislocated and the bracelet slipped off never to be found again. For your sister, it was her Ehlers Danlos, but if your thumb joint broke it would be the same principle.

Without hesitation, you bashed your thumb joint against the cement wall to your right. The pain would come later, right now you were filled with adrenaline as you purposely smashed your hand against the concrete wall. Finally, you heard a snap of bone and winced as your joint dislocated.

“Ace! Just hold on a few minutes longer!” you shrieked into the distance as you tugged the bracelet off, clattering to the deck. You didn’t think Ace could hear you but the Marines chasing you did.

“Helping the pirates, eh? You’re further gone than we thought. It’s OK, you’re coming back -” arms reached out to grab you and you tried to duck away but there were too many. You flailed and pushed as hard as you could to escape but you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, your ankles quickly tied together.

“Calm down, Ensign! That’s an order! Not sure what they did-” You stopped listening as you realized you could still see Admiral Sakazuki. Using your thumb was difficult but you were able to make a rectangular frame and zoom in. You were being jostled and moved farther away rapidly but that didn’t matter anymore. Zooming in further and further, you searched around the lava that had been spewed on the deck until you found what you were looking for right on the shoulder of the Admiral himself.

Uranium.

Lava often had pockets of uranium that occurred naturally within the molten rock. You knew it was an unstable element and it would be possible to get a reaction if you worked quickly enough. Your fingers worked in a flurry as you ripped apart the atoms comprising the rare element, hoping that you were right about your conjecture. You ripped and tore your way through and you needed just a few more - when someone shook you like a rag doll and put their hands on yours, erasing the magnification.

“What’re you doing there? What’s all th— AAAHHHHH!” whatever hand was gripping yours now had your teeth sunk into it with all the force you could muster. They dropped their hand and you scrambled to remagnify the area you needed as the taste of copper filled your mouth. You were being carried farther from the action, almost to the gangplank to the Marine warship.

“FUCKIN’ BITCH! This is the thanks we get? Pirates musta cooked your brains or some shit -” You ignored them as they yelled, all that mattered was saving Ace. What was seconds but felt like minutes passed as you once again found the pocket you needed and got back to work. Holding your breath, you jostled the last atom, breaking its bonds.

The next atom broke its bonds without your help as your mouth dropped open. You protected your ears and face with your hands, curling up as much as your position would allow on someone’s shoulder.

“The fuck is she doin’ now? This bitch really is crazy -”

Boom.

You didn’t hear the noise the explosion made. Everyone swore it had been so loud it was heard miles away on the Grand Line but you never remembered any sound. It was the blinding white light that alerted you that your plan had worked. You didn’t open your eyes but the flash was blinding all the same. A mushroom cloud rose over the ship, emanating from the location that had once been Admiral Sakazuki. There was nothing left of him but a smoking crater on the charred remains of the hull. The Marines who had once been encircling the Fleet Admiral and Ace were scattered about the deck from the force of the blast.

Everything stopped.

Not a sound was made, it was like time had frozen.

All eyes turned to you.

Even Ace was standing in the same defensive crouching position he had been before you detonated the Fleet Admiral of the Marines. You were dropped onto the deck on your stomach as the Marines looked at the spot that their Admiral had been standing on just seconds prior. The only sounds were the waves lapping against the side of the boat.

“What did you do?” the Commander said, still looking at the bow. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer.

“What the FUCK did you just do?” he repeated, this time turning and facing you, his mouth tight with fury.

“What the fuck did you do, you spineless bitch?” he yelled while rearing back his booted leg. You tried to brace for the kick you saw coming but it didn’t help the explosion of pain you felt. And just like the atoms in the uranium, his kick caused a chain reaction. Fighting resumed, but the tide had turned in the favor of the RA. Without the Admiral, their power and morale were considerably weakened and Marines started abandoning the fight in favor of retreating to their ship.

You weren’t able to see that because the Marines surrounding you closed ranks. They watched the Commander who had been carrying you kick you repeatedly in the ribs, torso, legs, and head. You tried to cover your head and neck but weren’t successful as his large boot found its target over and over on your soft body. Your bones crunched and popped as you weakly tried to abate the onslaught. He stomped on your hands repeatedly, breaking the bones that you hadn’t broken yourself.

“Try that shit now! Just you try that shit now!” he screamed into your face. You tried to look at the assembled Marines for help but they either steadfastly stared away from you or were outright encouraging their Commander. He kicked you on the side of the head, causing your head to bounce back against the deck. You tried to get on your hands and knees but your body gave out as you collapsed against the wood floor.

“Phea -” you were drooling your own blood onto the deck as you tried to beg for him to stop but your jaw wasn’t working. Neither was one of your eyes or either of your hands. You spat one of your teeth onto the deck as you gave up trying to save yourself from destruction. You’d given your life for Ace’s and it felt like a fair trade. Your head lolled to the side and you saw the Commander taking his gun and holding the stock above you. You closed your eyes and waited for the final blow that would surely kill you.

It never came.

Peeling open the eye that worked, you looked up and saw the Commander’s skull being crushed in Sabo’s grip as he struggled and screamed against the Flame Emperor’s hold. Sabo looked as calm and collected as he always did like this was an average day for him. His normally pristine clothes were covered in blood spatter though none of it seemed to be leaking from his body. The lead pipe in his other hand was already coated in blood, dripping onto the deck.

“Sunny, close your eyes.”

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @epochal-oracle

#jealous sabo #sabo x reader #op x y/n #tw yandere #x reader #portgas d ace #revolutionary sabo #one piece sabo #flame emperor sabo #under the microscope au #tee hee #oops #found some uranium :)

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r0seb100d · 2 days ago

Note

so like. dallas x reader where like. reader is in some theatre thing (guys and dolls in the only relevant ish musical i can think of for the time.. mayb reader is playing adalaide idk!!) but like. he comes to see the show n is like damn that was hot let’s go home ong maybe it gets freaky eye dee kay.

can u tell i’ve never done an ask b4

Thank you for the request, I decided to keep it pg, I hope you enjoy! 🤍

Warnings: fem!reader, kissing

I like to light up the stage with a song

Nothing could beat the pure adrenaline rush of being on stage. The music, dance, costumes, makeup, and the cheers from the audience all flowed through y/n’s veins, fueling her with life and excitement.

She especially loved the current musical she was in, Guys and Dolls, as she had gotten her dream role of Miss Adelaide, the stubborn and outspoken nightclub singer.

Every minute of rehearsal and performance brought a smile to her face, and it saddened her that this would be their final night.

As she powdered her face in front of her teal light-up mirror, she thought of her plans for after the show, which were to meet up with Dallas and hang out at whatever particular place he had chosen for this evening.

She knew musicals weren’t really his scene, but she still felt a little disappointment over the fact that he hadn’t even seen one of her shows despite her babbling on and on over how much she enjoyed playing Adelaide and how amazing this cast was.

Once her hair and makeup were complete, she put on her first outfit for the show, which was her street outfit, a simple skirt with a shell blouse and scarf topped by a bright red jacket. It was definitely cute, similar to her own style outside of performing.

Soon enough, it was time for places, and as soon as y/n made her way onto the stage for the last time this month, she was met with a shocking sight that almost made her stumble and forget all her lines.

Dallas was there at her show. Not in the front row, of course, but she didn’t think those had great views anyway. But he was actually there. He had bought the tickets (she hoped) to come and see her perform. Though to many this wouldn’t seem like a major deal, it was to her. With Dallas, it was the small actions that really displayed his love for her, the things that absolutely no one else in the world could convince him to do.

She couldn’t help but sneak small glances at him throughout the show, wanting the image of him watching her on the stage ingrained in her mind. He sat there in his usual manner, slightly slouched in his seat and his signature smirk on his face, not wanting to let on too much, fearing it would ruin his ‘rep’ or whatever. Though tonight, he looked really good. He hadn’t done much to his appearance, but his hair was pushed back a little, and he was wearing a black shirt with black trousers, and y/n would be lying if she said she didn’t want to jump off the stage and throw herself straight at him.

Shaking away those thoughts, she refocused on giving her best delivery for the closing night, wanting everything to be perfect, especially now that Dallas was really here.

His eyes were glued on her the whole time, ignoring anything and anyone else but her pretty figure in the pretty outfits she wore and how gorgeous her voice sounded as she sang. Though he did visibly tense in his seat every time Nathan’s actor got within an inch of her, not caring that it was his role, he wanted him far away from his girl; he wanted her to be with him, kissing him and touching him.

The show soon ended, and Dallas waited by the back door of the theater, keeping at least 5 metres of distance between him and the crowd eagerly waiting for whoever they had come to see perform.

He stared down at the slightly disheveled roses he had picked himself, debating if he should chuck them away as they looked slightly pathetic in his grip. Before he could decide, y/n came bouncing over to him, clearly still full of energy even after two hours on stage.

Her hair had been let down into loose curls, and she had cleaned off her garish stage makeup, and Dallas had to admit she looked sweet like this, all natural and fresh. Her stage look had been completely different from her usual look, but it had done something to him, revealed a different side of her he didn't know he would be attracted to, but oh, was he.

“What are you doing here?!”

She practically flung herself at him, clinging to his neck and breathing in his scent of cologne and menthol cigarettes.

“Thought I’d come and see what you’d been rambling on about for weeks.” He teased her, lightly squeezing her hip.

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I almost fainted from shock when I saw you.

“Really? The mere sight of me almost knocked you out, huh? I'm just that attractive.”

“In your dreams Winston. I was just happy to see you.”

“Mhm, sure doll.”

“Seriously. I had practically given up trying to convince you.”

“Well, if I had known you would have looked that hot—”

She pinched him in response.

“Hey! This was months of hard work and training.”

“I’m just messin’ with ya. You were incredible; I couldn’t keep my eyes away, and I can’t believe you’ve never sung like that for me before.”

“I never thought you’d be into that.”

“I’m into anything you do.”

He murmured with a small, genuine smile before holding out the roses to her.

“These are for you.”

Her eyes lit up at his gesture, picturing him choosing the nicest-looking flowers from the bush and tying them up together in the ribbon they were wrapped with.

“Thanks, they’re beautiful.”

“A little wonky lookin, but I wanted to bring you something.”

“I love them. I'm gonna keep them forever.”

Dallas leaned in and pulled her in against him, kissing her passionately, his love and desire pouring into the kiss. He cradled the back of her head and tugged her closer, both of their breaths increasing in pace and intensity.

She could feel his hands wander down her sides, caressing her body over her clothes, desperate to feel more of her, but she reluctantly pulled away, out of breath and cheeks tinged pink.

“We should probably get out of here.”

He glanced around, noticing that there were still people around, and nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Yeah, c’mon. I’ll take you home.”

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winged-self-indulgence · 2 days ago

Text

Was tired of only having vibes and wanted to show my Unnamed!MC's relationship with Vere because Theya's dynamic with Vere is So Fucking Funny in my head but I am so bad at getting into Vere's head for dialogue purposes

The Wet Wick is bustling this time of night, the walls lit by flickering lanterns and the massive fireplace off to the side of the room. Leander's commandeered that area, sitting sprawled across the plush armchair and locked in what looks to be a decidedly one-sidedly serious discussion with another gang leader. Theya notes the purple strip looped around the man's arm, and then looks away. The Wick may not technically belong to the Bloodhounds, but their marks were all over the place. It was foolish for another gang come wandering in to make trouble.

Theya sits alone at a table in the corner, out of their line of sight. On the table, her fingers trace the chipped edge of the mug and nurses a cup of tea. It's an unusual choice for the alehouse, but seeing as she didn't drink in public her options were extremely limited.

The door opens again, bringing with it a chill gust of wind. Theya's sharp eyes dart over to see who had come in, and just as quickly begin searching for a quick escape through the crowd. She doesn't know why she bothers as blood-red eyes spot her instantly. A toothy smirk curves an unfairly pretty mouth, and she barely has time to bite back a scowl before he strides confidently to her table. Eyes follow him all the while, a mixture of attraction, eagerness, and nerves in every one. Dinner and an unexpected show.

"Theya, what a surprise. I didn’t think they served tea in this cesspit. Well, not anything decent at least," Vere leans against her table. His tail flicks lazily behind him, shaking off the few flakes of snow that had managed to cling to the fur.

Theya doesn't look up, refusing to engage. They both know it won't last. "They don’t. I bought the leaves myself and asked to use the kitchen's kettle."

"And decided to enjoy it in the darkest, drabbest corner of this place?" Despite his words, Vere slides into the bench opposite her, uninvited and utterly uncaring. "What happened to your aspiring sugar daddy? Did Leander stop paying for your bathwater and leave you completely destitute?"

"Wow, calling me a desperate whore and a gold-digger," Theya rolls her eyes as she glances up at Vere with an exasperated scowl. "That's so original and not at all super repetitive and boring. Try again. If you're about to ruin my evening at least make it interesting."

Vere's eyes light up, his smirk splitting apart into a toothy grin. Behind him, the shadows on the walls writhe and curl as though they might leap from the brick and mortar. Theya lets her eyes flicker over them before looking away, careful not to stare too long. She still remembers the feeling of Vere's hands around her throat, and she hates it. Hates the smug tilt of his head, the predatory gleam of his gaze. Hates that she cannot bring herself to back down in the face of his words, cannot help but meet his cutting derision with equally incisive retorts.

"Careful darling," the fox drawls. "You almost sound like you're not happy to see me, and we both know where that resentful road leads."

Theya sneers. "I'd rather swallow shards of glass, throw them back up, and then swallow the bloody pieces again than play your sycophantic games."

Vere leans back, watching her with an amused look on his pretty face. "The more you fight, the more interesting the chase becomes."

"I thought you didn't care about most people?" Theya threw the words back in his face as she sipped her tea, tasting honey at the bottom that hadn't finished dissolving into the hot water. Gold clings to her lips and she licks them clean.

Vere's half-lidded eyes unabashedly follow the smooth motion of her tongue, and something hot singes across the skin of her shoulders beneath her cloak and up to her cheeks.

The fox stiffens in his seat, and no. Absolutely not. As composed as she can manage, Theya rises to her feet and levels Vere with a cool glare.

"Find someone else to harass, Vere. I have more than enough problems without the likes of you bothering me."

It's the wrong thing to say. The likes of you. It claws into Vere's pride, she knows. It's why she said it in the first place, but the misstep is clear when his voice drops into a smooth, icy drawl. Ice over a lake, hiding horrors beneath.

"Problems, huh?" He hums, crossing his legs and never taking his eyes off face. His eyes grow wide and flay, pupils vanishing into a red so unnaturally bright it makes her brain hurt. "Like your sister. Dione, was it? How tragic. If only you weren't cursed, you might have been able to save her."

"Don't," Theya hisses quietly.

"It must hurt," the fox continues, unperturbed. "All the way down to your bones. That you didn't even know she was dead until it was your turn to die."

"I said don't."

"Just picture the look on her face when the sacrificial knife came down. When she finally realized her big sister wasn't coming for her. My, I wonder what her last words were."

"Probably that she wouldn't want her name in the mouth of a yapping beast!" Theya snaps, loud enough that a hush falls over their corner of the bar. The two stare at each other, dark brown into seething scarlet, and Theya briefly wonders if this was how she dies. Defiant to the very end.

Then a tattooed hand falls on Vere's shoulder. It's matched by the gloved fingers pulling her away from the table.

"Theya! There you are," Leander gathers the woman up into his chest and chivvies her away from the two monsters. Theya lets him move her, and refuses to look back at the blood-red eyes boring into the back of her head.

#this ended up meaner than i planned but THEY ARE BOTH SO MEAN #granted only one of them is a confirmed killer tbh #touchstarved oc #touchstarved game #my fic #touchstarved vere

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jisokai · 1 day ago

Text

You always thought the circus was where you yearned to be. At least, until it finally let you in—and introduced you to Hanta Sero.

[circus AU where seamstress!reader and acrobat!sero realize that their lives have been running parallel for a long time, and it’s up to you to weave them together]

part 4: made of the same dust.

sero hanta x reader ch 4/6 | 13k words | masterlist | ao3 cw: the smut. it's mild and i kept it gn (no body descriptions for reader) notes: senorita by camila cabello and shawn mendes, nobody by hozier, ceilings by lizzie mcalpine

the time you finally reach back.

✰.

"The fact that we can sit right here and say goodbye / Means we've already won

A necessity for apologies between you and me / Baby, there is none"

- Walking in the Wind, One Direction

The world slows while you stand and stare ahead, eyes boring into Hanta’s across the crowd. Your heart pounds in your chest, skin ablaze as your mind races. It’s fuzzy, too much passing through and slamming together as you try to understand the past few nights, entire days, years that have gone by. Your chest squeezes at the thought of Hanta watching you curiously, uncertainly as you wandered through his gifts, not yet understanding the magnitude of what he was trying to say.

And here he stands—still as a stone, unsure after baring his heart and his memory before you. A memory you forgot.

You run forwards.

“Hanta!” you shout as you weave through the crowd. His eyes widen, head jolting from shock before he breaks free and runs to meet you without hesitation.

You reach for him, hands grasping tightly at the front of his shirt. Your own panting sounds through your ears, pairing with a sting across your nose and eyes as your body threatens to sob.

“Hanta, was it really you this whole time?”

He’s nervous, eyes glazed with a mixture of fear and hope. His hands lift but they don’t make contact with your arms. When he speaks his voice is breathy. “Yeah, it was me. I mean, Momo helped—but they were my ideas. I wanted… I wanted to show you how I feel towards you.” There’s a pause as he surveys your face. “… Do you like them?”

Momo? Your head rushes at the thought that she was an orchestrator—Momo, who you haven’t had the chance to say a proper thank you to, to share with her all that this means to you. Momo was helping Hanta build tents and stories and magic? That alone could make you cry.

But you’re stunned further when you register Hanta’s question. Like them? That tent was full of your home, your memories, moments you didn’t even know were lost until now. And at the same time they were his confessions, love letters that have been looking for you, for years. Since Quito.

“Hanta… they’re everything I’ve been missing.”

… He’s everything you’ve been missing.

His hand is searing against your waist, fire burning through fabric to ignite the skin beneath your gown—a shock against the winter air. The touch is gentle, still cautious despite your affirmation, but you see relief wash over him, face softening into a hopeful stare. He swallows.

His arm curves to hold you firmly, forcing your body into his, the heat of him that seeps through his costume. You accept it greedily, pressing your face into his shoulder. Your cheeks burn, you can’t tell from your own blood rushing through you, or the radiance of his heat. As he guides you through the crowd—your feet stumbling along his—you try to calm yourself, only now feeling your erratic heart beats, the lump in your throat and stomach you can’t explain. But despite all this, you feel safe in his arms.

You don’t know where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. Words tumble from your lips before you can choose them carefully, just wanting to tell him anything. Everything.

“You were there? In Quito when I was in the parade?” Your voice is quiet, likely too soft to hear. But he releases a choked yeah that makes your body tighten.

You laugh breathily. “I remembered hating it. I was so scared to perform. But abuela thought it would be good for me. I… I didn’t remember having so much fun. Only falling at the end and hurting myself. I was never a performer, even if I love to dance. I—”

The air is quieter around you when Hanta comes to a stop, letting you break away partially to look at his face.

“Gracias, Hanta. Para mostrarme.”

Thank you, Hanta. For showing me.

His face is unreadable, a mysterious shroud of darkness. You take in what your peripheral offers, tall looming shadows of palm trees. The silhouette of a banana leaf breezes behind him. They’re out of place in the temperate weather of Milan. You’re sandwiched between the festival and the street, in the strip of tropical plants outside the duomo. Isn’t there a fence to separate the vegetation from pedestrians? How did he bring you here?

You want to know everything about him—all this impossible magic, what he’s thinking, what he knows about you. Your heart reaches for him, yearns while watching with bated breath.

It quickens impossibly when his hand moves to your face. His touch is soft and ignites a buzz beneath your skin. His thumb presses your cheek, stroking under your eye. His tongue swipes through his lips, biting down on the lower one with a frown in thought. You watch him. Still waiting.

His face stretches into a grin, this one in disbelief, almost contorted with pain. “I never thought I’d… I just—” the words don’t amount to anything, only the beginnings of thoughts coming from his lips. You laugh gently in agreement.

“Eres tú,” he finally manages. It’s you. His Spanish is firm and deliberate. “Seeing you that day is the reason I’m here now. You were… you were beautiful. And you saw me.”

You don’t know what he’s saying, too far gone to read into his words. They hardly enter your brain. But you capture their essence, your body reacting on instinct to the sounds. Each word is a strike to your heart, a squeeze to your lungs, a burn across your face. You inspired him somehow—you with your clumsy enthusiasm that only lasted a moment. He saw it and wanted it too.

“Were you looking for me?” you ask. It’s not what you mean to say.

He shakes his head slowly. “I… I don’t know. I was just chasing that feeling you gave me, from the moment I felt it. And it led me here.”

He’s too beautiful, you think. Him and his earnest words and his devoted heart. You stare openly, at his face partly illuminated in the dim glow of the moon. His eyes are honest and wide, watching every detail of you carefully. But they’re also dark—mysterious, deep depths that hold impossibly more. Like his hair, soft against his forehead and cheeks, a blanket of uncertainty that you want to wrap yourself in.

But he’s also ridiculous, standing there in his jester’s costume, the amalgamation of Japanese and French and Persian attire. His hat is also dark, artificially so, a fuzzy felt that rains over his head. You can’t hold back your smile at the sight, this multitude of a man.

“You’re so beautiful,” is all you can say.

And suddenly he’s closer, pulling you in, pressing against you like you’ll meld together. His face is close, so close, searing forehead against yours as he stares into you with those large, hopeful eyes.

You don’t reject his advances, letting him take you and guide your head towards him with the hand against your cheek—to steal your lips for his own.

If touching Hanta is the heat of fire, the burning pain of flames against your skin, then kissing him is the heat of molten rock and stone, hot lava that pools in your body. You grab him greedily, clutching the hem of his robe with the intensity of claws. It eggs him on, hand firm as it slides to the back of your neck, releasing a wave of tingles down your spine. His other arm stretches further around you, to pull you impossibly closer. You’re dizzy, dissolving from his intimacy like steam from a boil. It hurts, but you crave more.

He tastes sweet, the tang of an orange along the freshness of mint. At the first sample, a swipe against his lip with your tongue, you immediately crave more. He lets you in, gives you full reign to him. You take it easily, take and take and take as you run your hands up his neck and confine him. A groan releases from his throat, a rough sound that starts from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your own. You think you might die from the intensity, how his song raises your temperature even further.

When you finally have space to breathe, pulling apart only to press a rapid succession of kisses against him, you breathe his name like air. First it’s the exhale of a shaky, “Hanta,” and then it’s a cry, the choked mantra of, “Hanta, Hanta, Hanta—”He whines in response, a high pitched and raw honesty. You can’t take it, can’t bear the thought of being apart from him. When you think about how long you’ve lived in his absence, one you weren’t even aware of until tonight, it tears at your chest, the sting of an open wound.

His hotel isn’t far from the duomo, but the journey there is endless. He pulls you forward by the hand, and the sight of him, his wide back and his arm outstretched towards you, fuels a giddiness in your chest.

The room is small, only large enough for one, and the hall is tight when he pulls you in, immediately pressing you into the wall of the cramped corridor. You inhale sharply at the impact, then nearly choke as he leans into you, the curve of his front slotting snugly into yours. He’s all over you once again, this time in the private darkness of his space. The air is heavy against you, a sticky dampness of need. You welcome him easily, lips parting to taste him again—orange and mint and heat.

His kisses are deep but hurried. He moves quickly, an eager pace you encourage. You urge him to continue, equally firm as you run your tongue over his teeth, catching his with your own.

Your heart jumps when he pulls back enough to run his lips under your eye, migrating to your temple and against your ear, lighting your body aflame. You gasp as the feeling, how it claws into your chest and sides when he moves to kiss your jaw, your neck. Then you’re whining, high pitched and breathy. He chuckles against you—a raspy, throaty sound that blooms an ache in your stomach.

“Lo siento,” he whispers against your throat after biting it softly. I’m sorry. “Ideally I’d take my time with you.”

You groan at the admission, hands sliding up his neck to bury in his hair. The grunt he releases is an animal sound. Suddenly he’s clutching at your thighs, grinding his hips into yours to make you feel the hard, searing heat of him.

He tears you from the wall. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, holding him tightly as he stumbles further into the room. Your hand reaches for his stupid jester hat, tugging one of the felted points, jingling as it slides off his head and onto the floor. You giggle at the silliness of it all, your two costumes pressed together.

Then you’re falling backwards, flopping against the surface of his bed. Hanta leans with you, pinning you against the plushness of the duvet. He hums into your lips, an intrigued sound at your laughter, before he ruts his hips into you again, pulling a gasp from your lips. The heat between your legs is blooming, consuming. You bury your face in his hair, dark dark threads swept beneath your chin and cheek as his lips suck at your neck. His fingers dance against your sides, sliding under your back to find the string that holds your dress together.

With one tug it loosens over your shoulders, bunching softly when one of his hands comes to your collarbone, fingertip hooking into the seam before tracing gently down your chest. You fold easily, shaking the cinches from your wrists to let the sleeves slide down with the bust. You’re left bare, chest and stomach and heart, for him to see in their entirety.

He pushes up from the bed to look at you, eyes tracing the dip of your collarbone, the firmness of your sternum, the softness of your belly. A hand smooths into the curve of your waist, touching gently with delicate fingers. You reach for the lapel of his top, the robe-like fabric tied at the side. He lets you pull the string, and then shrugs the garment off, easily brushing it to the side.

You know he’s fit; he’s an acrobat for a living. But you eye him greedily, taking in his sculpted figure, all lean muscle and angles and edges. Your fingers reach for the side of his pec, tracing down hot skin to the hard flesh of his obliques, the ripple of his abdomen. Another searing, hot wave rushes through you as you drink him in—the pour of boiling black liquid. Molten rock.

He leans back down to kiss the skin of your chest, the flesh coating your heart. His chest is impossibly hot against your stomach, his torso burning as it settles between your legs. Your hips stutter on their own, bucking into his belly in attempt to relieve that ache. He groans again, a deep sound that thrums through your own body. You notice the flush of your face, a burning heat from within—not just the external warmth you’ve been stealing from him.

His thumb presses against your hip, fingers wrapping around to dig into the plush of your ass. He’s encouraging you, pulling you into him to roll again and again, to use him for your relief. You follow his lead, let your hips rock into him even after his hand stops guiding you. There’s a twitch against your sternum, his lips stretching into a grin that he smothers into your skin. You don’t have the gall to care, too wrapped up in his touch and your pleasure that builds embarrassingly quickly.

He lifts his head, drags it against the plush of your chest and to your nipple. You inhale sharply when his tongue flicks across the bud before he kisses it, a peck before harsh sucking. Pins run down your spine and directly to your heat, burning your body in every place and at every moment. Your hand threads through that deep, dark hair—soft, long locks against his scalp. His free hand pinches your other nipple, giving you no reprieve as he presses his stomach harder against you and flexes. You tremble from the overload of sensation, its ruthless compounding.

Your body tightens, shakes with the tension of a coiled spring. In the next moment it releases, you cresting the peak of your high as relief washes over you, hot white light flooding your vision and body. You don’t hear yourself whine and groan through your ecstasy, focus only on holding Hanta close to you.

You can hear your panting when you finally come to. Your eyes peel open after some effort, sticky from the force you used to scrunch them closed, to see Hanta above you. He’s smiling gently, a sweet and careful tug at his cheek. You blink rapidly in attempt to sharpen your vision, but he remains fuzzy in the dim light. You can only smile back, watching him lean down to kiss you again—this time slower, unhurried.

You jolt in your skin as his free hand reaches for your waist, sliding up and down. Your heart buzzes when it trails lower, touching the top of your thigh, over the edge towards the inside, before gliding to your center. You can feel your heart pound in your ears, thrumming in anticipation. The tips of his fingers ghost over your heat, igniting fire through your legs at the simultaneous lightness and overstimulation.

And then he stops.

The shift is jarring. He pulls away from your lips, hand jerking back. In a flash it’s like his touch was never there, only the ghost of a feeling in your memory. But he’s still hovering above you, now with a look of uncertainty. You frown—at the loss, but mostly from concern.

“Hanta?” you press.

He blinks, eyes darting from you and to the side, inspiring nervous fluttering in your stomach. He bites his lip in thought, nearly chewing at himself. You think you can see the gears turning in his mind.

“¿Estás bien?” Are you okay?

His head shakes, like he’s coming back to himself. He looks at you again, wide earnest eyes that hold every secret you’ve ever needed. You feel relief in your stomach, that moment of unease slipping away. You trust him.

His voice is throaty when he answers, and he stumbles a couple of times before he manages to say, “I—I really don’t want to rush this. To rush you… us. I’m sorry.” A glossiness pools in his eyes. He looks mournful. The sight hurts your heart.

“Estás bien,” you say this time. You reach one of your hands to his face, carefully brushing his cheek. You want your words to get through to him. “Hanta, it’s okay.”

He exhales shakily, leaning to press his head against your shoulder. Your hand migrates to the back of his head, petting his hair gently. He blinks rapidly against you, the butterfly wings of his eyelashes kissing your skin. They’re followed by the light touch of tears, a slight drizzle of rain while he collects himself.

You cradle him carefully, coaxing him to relax on top of you. His weight pins you down, like the security of a blanket. He’s still warm, hot coals against you—coals that breathe, expand and shrink over and over and over again. Your free hand travels down his back, softly tracing his spine, the ridges of mountains, groaning earth beneath taut skin.

In this quiet reprieve, the space between action, your mind wanders to his words. I don’t want to rush this. But it’s up to you, isn’t it? Whether there can be a this at all—whether you can have any time together in the future. Whether you can find the courage to leave and chase that feeling that brought Hanta to you. But the ashes of abuela sit under your coffee table, waiting to be brought home; your sister sits in her room halfway across the world, waiting for you to call her back. Your heart is heavy, sinking down your body as you bear its burden and the weight of the man above you.

“Lo siento,” he whispers the apology against your heart.

You smile sadly to yourself, swallowing a lump as you reply, “Yo también.”

Me too.

You don’t wake first, but you still wake early, eyes twitching when the morning sun brushes your face. You feel the plushness of the blanket, body snug under its warmth. The sheet is stiffer than yours, and the scent of the room has a tang yours lacks. Your eyes shoot open.

Sero is not what you expect to see upon waking, the first figure to cross your vision. But he lays beside you, propped on his stomach with his arms thrown over a pillow, outstretched to cradle a book. His shirt is still discarded from the night before, tan and toned skin stark against the white of the bed. He doesn’t notice that you’ve woken, eyes tracing along the paper, a fond smile tugging at his lips. Even buried in your peripheral, the book is recognizable.

You get a few minutes of this peaceful quiet, watching the light from the window illuminate him from behind. He's glowing, radiant.

When his finger drags against the top of the paper, his eyes dart towards you, widening in surprise when he sees that you’re awake. You wonder if he looked your way at every turn of the page, waiting.

You smile. He grins in response and tucks a tag in the spine, letting the book close as he shifts towards you.

“Buenos días,” he greets softly. The rasp makes your heart pound.

Your voice is almost a whisper when you return the phrase.

“Sleep well?”

You respond with an mhmm, adjusting as you roll entirely to your side to face him. The blanket falls slightly down your chest, but you leave it. Hanta’s eyes don’t leave yours.

Your hand slides towards him, finger brushing against his forearm. His opposite hand lands atop yours, thumb gliding gently over your knuckles. You wonder what this is, what you’re doing here with soft gazes and twitches of smiles. The pace of your heart picks up, an awkwardness seeping through your skin. Then you frown with realization.

“Was it okay for you to leave last night?” you ask.

Sero blinks at the question. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I wasn’t actually working.”

Your face morphs to one of confusion. “But you dressed up and hung around the festival anyways?”

His mouth twitches, the press of a line as he tries to hold a straight face. “Yeah?”

You don’t press, supposing it made sense if he was planning to join you in the tent. The reminder brings another wave of thumping against your chest. Your cheeks flare at the memory, and suddenly you feel embarrassed too. Grateful and in awe, but embarrassed.

“Thank you,” you say. It doesn’t feel like enough, to simply thank him. “For last night, and the previous nights. What you showed me was incredible, and I have no idea how you and Momo managed it.” You have the urge to ask all those questions in you, how he pulled those memories, why your time with abuela is nothing but a bright green marble, how that tiny tent could expand the space inside to be so endless.

You don’t ask.

“Of course,” he answers, shuffling closer. He reaches for you, gentle fingertips against your cheek. “I… Like I said, I wanted to show you everything, how I feel towards you. I don’t… know entirely what happened, or what you saw in the earlier ones—it’s left to the illusion. But I hope they were all good to you, ultimately.”

You have to take his words in slowly, processing them individually and as a whole. They’re cryptic, vague. But you think you understand.

“And I’m sorry again,” he adds. “For last night. I meant what I said, but I don’t regret anything.”

When he told you he didn’t want to rush, he means. You remember his words, couldn’t forget them if you tried with your entire body and soul. They’re burned into your mind, scorched etchings on wood. This is an opening, you recognize, to be honest. An opening to share your confusions, to ask what he means and if he’s expecting you to leave for him. An opening to share your concerns, every bite of hesitation that claws at you, chains your feet to the streets of Milan. They’re on the tip of your tongue, heavy between your teeth.

“It’s okay,” you say instead. Your hand comes to cradle his, cup it gently. “I appreciated it.”

You still have a few days, your brain bargains. Tomorrow, you promise yourself. Let’s enjoy today, and be honest tomorrow.

But it’s hard to hold back when you look into those sweet, earnest eyes. You shift your gaze, needing reprieve, and landing on the book. Si Estiramos Estrellas Como Seda. Your mind flits to the tent last night, that incredible scene of the meadow under the night, a clear sky reflected in the black glass of the pond—poked with a thousand holes, the freckles of light seeping through for you to grasp and stretch and weave.

“What chapter were you reading?” you ask.

Sero pulls away from you to turn towards the book. You watch his shoulder dip as his torso twists, stretching the thin gap of his waist. You want to grab the skin, maybe sink your teeth into him. It’s bad for your health to be so close to him this early in the morning.

“Last night’s scene,” he says as he manages to grab the corner of the novel and turn back towards you.

You hum unsurprised. Lithe fingers dip to his bookmark, the spine bending easily to lay flat. It’s a well-loved copy, the glue holding the pages together starting to separate. You see the words littered with underlines and notes, a mix of Japanese and Spanish, blue and black pen, neat and messy handwriting. He’s annotated again and again, throughout the years.

You scootch close to him, wiggling to see the words more clearly. Your chest meets the point of his elbow, your hand returning to its place on his forearm. He leans into the touch for a moment, head dipping to press your shoulder. Then he rightens, and reads a few paragraphs.

You haven’t heard the prose spoken by anyone but yourself for years. You last remember your mother reading it aloud to you in middle school, but it was the last time. At some point you were expected to grow out of it, to read something else. You did, for a while. But your heart always found its way back.

Hanta pauses after describing Santi’s experience crossing through the pond.

“Y’know, there was supposed to be a sequel.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You stiffen. “What?”

His thumb moves to the edge, pressing down as pages flip by, the rapid flutter of wings. He pauses, then shuffles his other hand to turn back a couple times. His copy has an author Q&A in the back. You didn’t know this existed. He points to one of the paragraphs under a bolded question.

“Ataré Mi Corazón al Tuyo,” he breathes. I’ll Tie My Heart to Yours.

Si estiramos estrellas como seda, ataré mi corazón al tuyo.

If we stretch stars like silk, I’ll tie my heart to yours.

The title of the first book is set up to have a sequel, only the beginning of the sentence. Your eyes scan where Sero’s finger points, reading the author’s explanation for how the two books would fit together. It’s vague, ideating a continuation of Santi and Marco’s friendship, how they navigate as they age—but ultimately how they find a way to be together, forever. You inhale sharply.

“Did you read it?” you ask quickly.

Sero shakes his head. “Was never published.”

You pout to yourself, the knowledge like a bucket of ice water. To learn that their story kept going, that there was more you could have known, only for it to never make it to the shelves, your shelf—how devastating. It carves a hollowness in your chest, a sort of obligation to do the heavy lifting and imagine for yourself how things could have worked. A part of you wants to examine the parallels to your current situation.

“Shit,” you mumble, leaning back to flop against the mattress. The ceiling has crown moulding, little swirls and divots painted white and pressed into the corner. “I’m sure it would’ve been incredible.”

Hanta’s response is delayed. You can feel his eyes on you, contemplative.

“Yeah,” is all he says.

You lounge in bed, soft voices wafting through the small hotel room. Eventually you grab your phone—to check the time—and wince at the stack of missed calls on your lock screen. A few are from Chiara, with concerned messages demanding your whereabouts. But worse are the ten from your sister, eight of which were made early in the night, the remaining two attempted after midnight. There’s also a message from Kendou, asking if you’re free for dinner tonight. You swipe your sister’s assault away, reply to Chiara, and type a quick yes to Kendou, then glance at the time. You should leave, to be home for a client picking up a last minute costume for Carnival. Presumably Sero has his own circus business to attend to.

You turn to him, watching his face twist in embarrassment after being caught looking over your shoulder.

“Sorry,” he nearly whispers. “Wanted to see the time.”

You roll your eyes, uncaring. You tell him as much, adding regretfully that you need to leave soon, to check over and prepare the costume.

To your surprise, he asks, “Can I join you?”

You look at him skeptically. “You don’t have to help with anything? Like taking down the tents, or… whatever for the parade tomorrow?”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Top’s already disassembled, I guarantee. And Denki and Tetsu are the only ones who need to rehearse.” He looks at you deeply, a little too deeply. “Please?”

You weren’t planning to deny him, but the plea shakes whatever footing you thought you had. “Yeah, of course. Just… don’t complain if you get bored.”

He grins.

Your only clothes are the puddles of your dress and blazer on the floor. You pout at the idea of sliding back into them for the ride home, but huff and sit up to reach over the bed. Sero watches confused, then in realization, as you pull your gown by the skirt, slowly bunching it atop the duvet.

“Wait, no—hang on.” He throws the covers aside and slides off the bed, immediately moving towards the closet in the hall. You watch greedily at his nearly bare form, every lean muscle and sculpted curve.

His front disappears into the closet door, still offering the view of his curved back. Small clangs ring as he rummages through the hangers, eventually turning back with fabrics in his hand. One is long and a pale yellow, a shirt with bright patterning around the collar and wrists. The other is a pair of pants, brown and baggy. You think they’re natural fibers, soft and easily wrinkled.

“It’s cold,” he says. The garments look a little too thin to be effective, but you nod.

You thank him, taking the shirt first and slipping it over yourself. The rush of his smell is dizzying, overwhelming. Then you slip on the pants, their touch gentle over your thighs. Both are big on you, swallowing you. Hanta’s eyes linger over your neck, before he darts them away and brings a hand to the back of his own nervously.

You bite down your smile.

“There’s no way they cleared the site already.”

Hanta grins beside you as you walk briskly down the sidewalk together. You’re nearly a block from the duomo, where you insisted you pass before getting on the metro.

“Mhmm,” he hums smugly.

As you crest the final strip of tile, pacing along gothic columns and carvings, your jaw almost drops at the lack of the canvas in the sky. The piazza is completely cleared, just a scattering of people lingering on its surface. A trio of girls pose in front of the duomo as an Italian man crouches to take a photo. You see someone in a suit jog across the square.

The remnants of Hoshi no Sākasu have vanished, completely evaporated into the night prior. There are no circus tents or rows of stalls. Nothing.

You glance at Sero, his chin tilted upwards. You want to pout, thinking his smile is one of smugness, but he looks more like he’s enjoying the cool air against his face. He looks pretty, peaceful. One of his eyes opens, pointed towards you, and then that smirk creeps in, stretching across his cheeks. You pout dramatically and walk towards the metro station without warning. You hear him laugh before the thump of his footsteps catch up.

You let him into your studio while you shower, returning with his clothes neatly folded and some tea. He’s rummaging through your costume racks when you walk in. You pause when you see the ones that caught his attention.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind,” he says, embarrassed.

You smile awkwardly. “No, no. It’s fine, I wouldn’t have suggested you wait here if I wasn’t okay with it.” You do, however, feel cornered. His hand hovers on an ocean-themed dress you finished a few months ago. The top is a saturated teal, fading into a layered skirt, each piece of fabric white at the ends, layered with lace and some frills at the edges—sea foam. It’s a beautiful gown, with shells and beads and pearls meticulously sewn into the bust.

“This one is surprising,” he says.

You nod, putting the mugs on your work table. “It’s for my sister,” you say, leaving out the detail that she doesn’t know it exists. How do you explain that you’ve been avoiding your family for months, ignoring every call your sister attempts to make, but sitting at home making dresses fitted to her exact measurements?

He hums, not pressing further. You wonder if he saw the missed calls when you swiped them away, if he could tell they were from her. You share the same last name, after all.

Instead he points to your mannequin, the voluminous layers of red satin and a creamy ambrosian mask—with matching scarlet lips and golden swirls around the eyes. The connecting top explodes with spirals of fabric to mimic roses. “Is that the one getting picked up today?”

You hum in affirmation. “I made it for Carnival a couple years back. It sold shortly after I put it on sale, just had to do some tailoring, and fix a couple of the roses.”

Sero’s face lifts, curious. “What are you wearing this year?”

Your lips twitch. “I’m sure you can take a guess.”

“Can I see?”

“You can’t wait til tomorrow?”

He pouts. “I might not see you, since we’re in the parade.”

Your grin stretches further. “No one told you I was invited to join?”

“Oh,” is all he says, mouth hanging ajar. He’s cute, standing awkwardly by your costume rack. You laugh at the surprise on his face.

You point to the mugs while you walk towards your mannequin. “One is for you, if you want it. And feel free to sit. The costume won’t be picked up for a couple hours, but I’m gonna get working.” It’s Tuesday after all.

Sero hums affirmingly. “Yeah, please do what you need. Can I keep looking at these?”

You nod, hoping he doesn’t mention the other dresses for your sister.

He doesn’t.

He does make comments on the others, asking what they’re for and what inspired you. He soaks your answers greedily, noticing details and connections that you don’t explicitly state. He’s observant, and nosy. Eventually he sifts through the entire rack and settles in the chair across from you, watching quietly as you sew; the only sound between you two is the thrum of your needle passing along the fabric.

His eyes feel distant as you fall into your craft. But they’re focused, settling on your fingers as they fold and glide and cut.

In this silence, you have the urge to ask him questions, so many questions. About Ecuador, about Quito. You want to talk about your homes and how you’re connected. You want to trade stories of living near sand and ocean and sun. You want to learn about little Hanta, running through the house to greet his abuelita. You want to hear about extended family members and their messy drama. You want to paint a picture together: of bamboo and rain clouds and scorpions; birds and tropical fruit and volcanoes.

You want to hold long conversations in Español—your native tongues with their small regional differences.

A tension builds within you, only noticeable after it’s grown considerably. You don’t understand, don’t know what’s changed. You try to let your mind wander back into that focused headspace: a thoughtless void where things get done. Instead words sit in your throat, reaching for him. Your hands move quickly, a little roughly, foot pressing firmer against the pedal beneath the table as you work with agitation.

The needle breaks.

You curse, lifting your foot and immediately tearing your hands from the garment. Grumbling at your carelessness, you stand to rummage through your tools for the pliers. Before you grab a replacement needle, you check the time. There’s still half an hour before your client arrives. Maybe you should just take a break.

You look at Sero, sitting quietly and observantly. You feel bad.

“Sorry,” you tell him. “But I warned you it would be boring.”

He smiles. “Not boring at all. I like seeing you work.”

You ignore the heat that rushes through your body. “I think I need a break. Are you hungry?” You aren’t hungry, but you feel like making something.

His eyes light up. “What do you have?”

When you rummage through your fridge, you suddenly feel self conscious of your limited ingredients and random leftovers. So you open the freezer and poke around, pausing when you pull out an old plastic bag you forgot about.

“Empanadas!” Hanta chimes over your shoulder.

You grimace, first because you know these are abuela’s, handmade and saved for later. A flavor you haven’t tasted since her hands lost their strength. Your face tightens further when you realize they must have been sitting for over half a year.

“Hanta… these are old. And I don’t have any salsa.”

He shrugs, a smile twitching against his cheeks. “But they’re frozen.”

You nod slowly, face twisted in uncertainty. He plucks the bag from you and you protest, awkwardly standing from your crouch.

“I’m probably not gonna get to eat good homemade latino food for a while,” he says pouting.

You look at him skeptically. “Good latino food is six month old empanadas? Hanta, I know a spot where we can get some. Fresh ones. Also homemade.”

He shakes his head. “We’ll go there later.”

You blink as he twists the dial on your oven and rummages through the cupboards. He works your kitchen effortlessly, quickly finding a tray to start lining up the empanadas. You pout. Cooking was meant to give yourself something to do, but he took over so easily.

You settle on brewing another round of tea.

Your phone pings before the food is ready. It’s your client only minutes away, so you leave Hanta in the kitchen as you return to the studio. The exchange is brief, and you feel a lightness at losing a costume that doesn’t suit you—instead passing it to someone who will love it properly. You let the chilly air run over you for a few minutes, watching her slip away down the street, before closing the shutter and returning to the kitchen.

Hanta has the food plated when you reenter, but has yet to take a bite.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” you tell him.

“I wasn’t, they’re still too hot.”

You roll your eyes, pinching one experimentally. The outside is hot, but not burning. You carefully take a bite, the skin crunching under your teeth.

“Mm,” you agree, putting the remaining moon half on the plate. You juggle the piece in your mouth as it rolls and sends a flurry of scalding tingles along your tongue, trying to taste and cool it at the same time. Hanta watches you exhale mirthfully, I told you so lurking as a sparkle in his eyes—pools of stars.

You catch the savory spice of sausage paired with molten cheese that burns, coated in the earthy corn dough. The flavor is dulled with age, but it’s unmistakably abuela’s. The loss of its intensity is akin to the fuzziness of memory, the veil that obscures nostalgia into nothing but vague feelings. Transparent images flash before you: abuela’s hands rolling the skins, mixing the meat, sprinkling the cheese, folding the edges.

The food temporarily brings you home, fading your Milanese kitchen to the one of your childhood. In another moment you are far away, outside looking in at you and Hanta here in Italy, before it shifts to your imagination of a traditional Japanese home. You wonder if this is how every morning could look, if you chose to follow—join—the circus.

Hanta’s face is unreadable, putting you further on edge. You watch his lips part, ready to speak, before he closes his mouth. Your forearms buzz, wanting to grip him and shake him and make him talk.

Your mind wanders to the night before, that confession of a tent, where he pulled you through your favorite book and across the sea to the moment he first laid eyes on you. What did that mean? When he said, I wanted to show you how I feel. Does he trust you to put those feelings into words, to make the correct assumptions. Are they feelings of these same deluded fantasies, imagining your lives intertwined until they burn out? Is that what he wants—what you want?

“Are you getting dinner with Momo and Kendou tonight?”

His question pulls you from your thoughts, so abruptly you need time to process the words. You nod eventually. “I think so.”

He hums. The sound isn’t entirely satisfied. “Do you know when?”

You aren’t sure. Hopefully early.

“Can I see you, after?” he asks.

You blink at him in surprise. He continues when you don’t respond. “I know… I’m probably being pushy, I’m sorry. I just—I’d like to spend more time with you.”

You recall your thoughts this morning. Let’s enjoy today and be honest tomorrow.

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course you can.”

You take another bite of the empanada and look down at the plate, averting Sero’s gaze. His hand intercepts your vision, grabbing one for himself.

“They’re really good!” he exclaims after a bite, and you turn back to him skeptically. He pouts. “Be fair, they’re good for how old they are. And they taste close to home.”

You force him to return to the studio once you finish your fill, setting to get as much done as possible if you’re going to be busy all evening. He happily continues munching across from you, settling to watch you work again. This time he asks about the current project, the details of your choices. Again his eyes follow your hands as they work. He asks about your process, your stance as a designer, how you imagine a costume when you start putting one together.

He’s distracting, in the way that makes your hands tingle and your heart tighten. When you lift your eyes briefly, the sight of him is too much: his casual form across from you, leaning on an elbow against the table, hand gently swirling through excess fabric with slender fingers. You should make him leave.

“Sometimes I just see a person and I have a costume in mind,” you say, answering his question. “But sometimes it’s just a passing detail. Like your Todoroki friend, I thought he’d look nice in blue.”

He hums in surprise. “Really? What—does that happen for everyone you meet?”

“Hmm, I guess.”

There’s a pause, a pensive look on his face. You smile.

“I thought of black fabric when I saw you,” you explain. “Something loose and slippery, like silk. Imagine my surprise when I realized your number.”

He grins. “Really? That’s so cool. What did—the costume—”

He wants to know what you saw. You hum, standing abruptly to your fabrics. There’s a long length of chiffon you know is lurking in there, blue, but it’ll do. You wave him over as you pull out the clump, shaking it to untangle into a wide swath. Sero stalks over quickly, eyes wide with excitement. You have the urge to kiss him.

Instead you throw the sheer fabric over his head, resting like a hood as the ends fall over his shoulders. Then you wrap them a couple times over his arms, letting the extra dangle from his wrists after tying it off. The transparent fabric gives him a regal and misty appearance, like a dancer. You pull a silken blanket of black around his waist, tying it by his hip. When you take a step back and look at him in full, you grin.

He’s flushed, only slightly, but his eyes are wide and watching you closely. For a moment you picture a dog’s pleading face, sitting with anticipation as a hand hovers a treat over its head.

“Something like this, just black,” you say to break the silence.

Sero blinks, then looks down to the mess of fabric wrapped around him. His eyes scan his arms, then the skirt. “No top?” His voice is small.

You laugh and shake your head. “A slutty dancer’s fit suits you, I think.”

When you sit back down to keep working, he doesn’t ask anymore questions.

Hanta leaves you to get ready for dinner on your own. He calls out a soft, “See you later,” before waving awkwardly by the door. He lingers for another second, and then slips out into the dimming sky.

Your heart races as you approach the ristorante, this time for Momo—your gratitude still unspoken. The knowledge of her involvement in Hanta’s tents is another source of tension; how do you adequately thank her? A tremor of nerves passes through you, paired with the chill of the cold.

The pair is waiting for you outside the restaurant when you arrive, three minutes early. Your heart lifts, churns at the sight of Momo in a long wrap coat. She’s beautiful, and for the first time you notice the darkness of her hair, the depth to her eyes. You huff to yourself, clocking a type you didn’t know you had til now—these soft, earnest personalities with rich souls, mysteries of dark nights and stardust.

Her eyes tear from Kendou when you’re only a few paces apart. She brightens and turns towards you immediately, stepping to meet you halfway. Your body eases.

The restaurant is unfamiliar, one you have yet to try. It has the sort of atmosphere that makes you feel out of place. You prefer the coziness of a trattoria, where photos of family members decorate the walls. The ristorante is formal, populated with white tablecloths and button down shirts throughout the dimly lit room, clusters of tealights and dried flowers in the center of each table. When you sit and receive your menu, the host rattles on about the chef’s special and the wine of the day. Your eyes glaze over the entrées and then to your company, reminding yourself this isn’t an interview or business meeting. It’s a meal between friends, like your impromptu empanadas with Hanta. Just a very different meal between friends.

When the host walks away, you let Momo and Kendou discuss the options, planning the appetizers they want to try. You agree easily, uncaring and murmuring a quiet, “Grazie,” as the waiter appears to fill your water glass. When you order, you disregard the suggestions from the sommelier, instead pointing to the lone sangria. He doesn’t react, jotting your order with a blank face. You bite your cheek to suppress your smile.

He leaves. Finally, in the quiet of the company between just the three of you, you turn to Momo.

“I never got to thank you, for being so patient with me and letting me in—as your designer.” You speak freely, earnestly. Kendou’s eyes are the only other ones who watch. It feels right.

Momo smiles, the red crescent of her lip pulling into her cheek. “Of course, and thank you for your diligence and your care. It takes a trustworthy designer to feel safe surrendering to their process.”

Her words are warm, a massage through your neck and shoulders. Tender, careful hands that hover over your skin.

Your eyes drop to your glass. “Hanta told me… about the tents. I wanted to thank you for that as well.”

When you glance back to her face, her eyebrow quirks. Her lips are pressed, suppressing a smile. Kendou is the opposite, beaming excitedly.

Momo hums. “Sero did the heavy lifting, it was just me who executed the ideas. I’m relieved that you enjoyed them—that’s all he wanted. He was worried, after the second night.”

You cock your head curiously, leaning in to hear more. “He was?”

“He was waiting, hoping to catch you when you left. I don’t know what happened, but… he was anxious the day after. It’s unlike him.”

You blink, imagining the sight he must have seen. You had clutched that little green bottle and ran, maybe still crying, rubbing your eyes as you left the festival. Did he see that? You recall him lingering when you waited with Momo before her act, his surprise when he saw the marble—the compressed sphere of abuela, quietly tucked into your pocket until you dropped it.

Your hands buzz, a tingle lingering on the tips of your fingers.

They don’t bring up the job offer, dinner continuing as the peaceful murmurs between friends. Momo and Kendou talk about the upcoming shows, their next stop in Austria. The singer muses enthusiastically about the musicians scheduled for the evening festivals, while the designer talks animatedly about visiting traditional boutiques. You smile while watching them, Momo’s poised etiquette against Kendou’s unbridled excitement.

Your thoughts race before you can get a hold of them, imagining hopping a train to catch a weekend show—spending the daylight hours whizzing next to the mountains. You try to shoo the thoughts away, pull yourself back down to earth before you start envisionsing your reunion with a particular man—getting to watch his act on the long threads of silk again.

You bite into the lemon garnishing your dish. The sour citrus is rough against your tongue, but it does the trick—pulling you back to the dining table. You manage to keep your face from twisting in a pinch. Momo doesn’t notice and Kendou doesn’t say anything.

When the plates are cleared and a dessert menu is laid on the table, you have no remaining appetite. Once again your body floods with nervous anticipation, squeezing your belly. You try to ignore it, focus on being present for the last minutes of dinner with your friends, but all you can think about is meeting Hanta afterwards. Momo orders a torta, offering you a bite when it arrives. You take one, but taste nothing, and hum vaguely.

The three of you stand to leave, you deliberately moving as unhurried as your body will allow. At the door you thank Momo for the meal, and once again for being Momo. Then you thank Kendou, trading hugs with them both and promising to see each other tomorrow. You feel steadied, more relaxed than before.

You let the pair exit first, stepping into the biting blackness of the night.

“Sero?”

Your eyes shoot open, heart racing at Momo’s call of his name. When you make it out the door behind the redhead, you search for him.

He’s standing to the side, away from the door and next to one of the restaurant windows—partially obscured by the hanging planter box. Your chest heaves at the sight of him in a long black coat, face tucked into the high collar. He’s stiff, hands stuffed in his pockets and his feet pressed together. He looks nervous. Cute.

“Hi,” he says, eyes flitting from Momo to you, and then back to Momo.

Kendou grins in the corner of your eye, trying to swallow it as she grabs Momo by the wrist and pulls her to walk from the ristorante.

“See you tomorrow!” she calls, ignoring Momo’s confused protests. You hardly wave, barely managing to lift a finger.

Hanta stands before you, tall and dark and a little flushed. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I couldn’t wait.”

You chew your bottom lip harshly, attempting to contain your reaction. “Don’t be sorry,” you tell him. Your heart thumps in your ears as you add, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

The admission is awkward and embarrassing, but Hanta’s eyes widen and his lips press together, caught off guard. He coughs before turning his head from you, the pink across his cheeks darkening. He returns shortly, eyes boring into yours.

“Yeah,” is all he manages.

You nod.

The tension that sits between you is palpable, a dense mist of uncertainty. You hold it within you, that hunch to your shoulders as you take him in.

And then you laugh.

It starts as a lone huff of amusement, a cloud of hot air as it escapes you. It builds to a giggle and you realize there’s more to release, and suddenly your shoulders are shaking as you laugh. Sero yelps in surprise, then exhales in disbelief. He’s quickly laughing with you, and when you look up and see his scrunched eyes and wide, crooked grin, it fills you with warmth—and peace.

It’ll be okay.

When your laughs finally die and the two of you are left smiling stupidly at each other, you tell him.

“It’s okay,” you say. “It doesn’t… It doesn’t have to be so scary.”

Sero looks almost guilty, a face that makes you want to grab him. “I’m gonna be scared no matter what.”

“Of me?” You’re baffled.

“Yeah,” he admits easily. Freely. “Things are scary when they’re important.”

Your chest tightens at his words, his honesty. They bring a heat to your face, steaming into the winter air. First it’s from the waves of embarrassment within you, and the giddiness. Then there’s a pang of guilt: from your selfishness to want to wait til tomorrow—for the hard conversation.

The door of the restaurant opens, a couple stalking out and almost bumping into you two. You watch Sero’s face twist in embarrassment, bending at the hip as he apologizes—very Japanese—and think you should go somewhere else.

“I didn’t eat dessert,” you say flatly, pulling his focus back to you.

He blinks, waiting for you to continue.

“You wanna get gelato?”

“This wasn’t the smartest choice.” You wish you had gone for cake, or pastries, now that your hand is freezing as you sit with Hanta near a park fountain.

He hums and shakes his head, “No, you’re a genius.” He happily swallows another spoonful from his own cup of frozen cream, the saturated hue of blood orange.

“Thanks.”

You eat quietly, only accompanied by the rustling of branches above and the scrape of wooden spoons against paper cups. When you finish—before he even makes it halfway through his own—you set the cup beside you and let yourself ramble without thought, hoping it’ll help you be honest.

“I was trying to put off our serious conversation until tomorrow,” you start, staring into the darkness of the plaza before you. Hanta’s spoon pauses, halting at the bottom of his cup, before continuing slower than before. “But I get the sense that it’s making you nervous. So, sorry. For being selfish.”

He doesn’t answer. Your eyes glance his way, watching as he slowly wraps pink lips around the bowl of his spoon, letting it sit as he watches you closely. You exhale.

“You probably already know, but I haven’t made a decision about the job offer. I mean, I really want to—it’s a dream of mine, to work in costume and travel with a circus. But… I just—the timing…”

In your peripheral vision he pulls the spoon from his mouth, lips parting to ask, “The timing?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. You mull over the words, how to string them together. In a way that makes it less obvious that the timing is not the issue. “My abuela passed last year, and… things are messy back home, because of me. If I left for Japan before managing to clean it up…”

God. You close your eyes, focusing on anything but the sting creeping up your nose and eyes. You don’t know where to start explaining where you fucked up. Was it years ago—when you left home for Europe? Or when you came back and convinced everyone that abuela could be saved if she left too?

It’s inevitable that you’ll have to face your family. Part of you wonders if it’s wrong to start making amends now because of a man you’ve found, a frilly romance that caught your eye. But part of you knows this criticism is another means of avoiding stepping forwards, that Hanta being your motivator to tie loose ends is better than never doing it—than hiding here for the rest of your life. And it’s reductive to Hanta, to categorize him as just another man, just a romance. He clearly holds something deep for you, something you don’t quite understand; something you aren’t sure you’re ready for. Another reason to be scared, to stay stagnant.

There’s a timid touch on the back of your hand, a pinky gently pressing your knuckle. You smile softly, turning to look at Hanta.

His expression is conflicted, almost pained. But he looks at you as he answers. “I… I don’t expect it to be an easy decision, or for you to choose me—or even Hoshi no Sākasu. I mean—fuck, I was hopeful? I’m still hopeful. I guess I thought it’d be the obvious answer, that everything would align and… and I’d get to be with you and get to know you and take my time. Shit, if my contract wasn’t for two more years—”

Your eyes widen at what he’s implying, immediately shifting to face him. “Hanta, that’s insane. We’ve known each other for a week.”

He nearly scoffs. His face twists, eyes shining under the distant lamplight in the courtyard. Your heart constricts at the desperation in his voice. “I’ve known… about you since I was a kid. You… you directed the course of my life; I never would have thought about performance before I saw you. Of course—”

His glassy eyes search yours intensely, boring beyond your mind. You feel naked beneath them.

“Of course I’d choose you. I was always choosing you.”

You swallow again, heart heavy in your chest, filled with sand. You can’t breathe. He’s insane. You should hit him and run away.

“And—fuck, I’m not trying to guilt you or wax poetry about how we’re meant to be together—” your heart is running, tripping over itself as he continues. “But it’s important to me that you realize how… how important you are, to me. And I get that you don’t feel the same, but…”

He stops, deflating. That hurts you more in a way.

“I’m sorry,” you interject.

His face pinches. “It’s not your fault—”

“I can still be sorry,” you cut him off. “For the situation, and for you. And for not being honest earlier, and for being scared, and for… for possibly trying to ignore all of this.”

“I should’ve been clearer sooner,” he reasons.

You look at him blankly. “How much clearer could you have been? You… you made magical tents for me, of memories from home and…”

The air is still between you, eyes unwavering as they target one another, restless, unforgiving. All you can think is that Hanta’s so good, so raw and open and honest. He’s here, baring his heart to you all the while considering every thought and feeling of yours, not once directing blame or anger. He just wants to be seen—to be considered, too.

Your eyes water, blinking rapidly as your lashes collect drops of salty tears. Hanta crumples.

“Can I hug you?” he asks.

You sob and nod quickly.

He’s warm; he’s always warm. But this warmth is gentle and easy, nothing but comfort and understanding and maybe even love. You try not to think about that. Instead you hold him close, by the front of his coat, and press your face into his neck. It’s so so warm, and he smells like oranges.

His arms hold you firm and close. You try to breathe evenly against him, but you’re crying, hiccuping into his skin. He hums, running a hand down your back as you shudder in his embrace. He holds you like a fruit easily bruised, cradled protectively. He doesn’t let go the entire time you cry, and he doesn’t let go when you stop. Instead he brings one hand to your head, holding it in place against him. Maybe he needs this more than you.

When your breathing evens and you have faith in your voice, you whisper, “How did you know? That you were always choosing me?”

He exhales, arms shifting to squeeze you. “It’s just a feeling.”

You hum curiously, softly.

His response vibrates through his chest, lulling you. “It’s the same feeling I get from reading Si Estiramos Estrellas Como Seda. I don't know how to explain it, but it’s intense, and it’s… it feels important. So I just always chose the things that made me feel that way.”

Si estiramos estrellas como seda,

If we stretch stars like silk,

You don’t understand, can’t understand. You ended up in Milan out of luck, initiated by a sense of obligation and then carried out when the perfect opportunity landed in your lap. Life was never about choices, really, just following a thread tied around your heart, moving you forwards. Maybe Sero has that too, but it feels different to him. Maybe your threads are intertwined.

Ataré mi corazón al tuyo.

I’ll tie my heart to yours.

This time when you wake, you’re in your own room, under familiar sheets and scents. Your eyes remain unopened as you gently rustle your body, shifting just enough to comfortably fall back asleep. The movement brings attention to a heat pressed against your back. It’s so warm, like the comfort of a blanket multiplied and condensed. You lean into it, press yourself as snugly as you can.

Only when you feel a pressure around your waist, an arm pulling you closer, tighter, do you register that the heat is another body—Hanta gently cradling you.

You recall the night before: him standing awkwardly outside the ristorante, gelato in the park under lamplight, tight hugs, coming home, tender conversation in the sheets, confessions of what you’ve done to your family. He nearly rolled off the bed in shock, but he ultimately understands why you’re struggling to decide. He stayed with you when the sleepiness of night came; he held you under the covers.

He’s still holding you under the covers.

A flurry of tingles scatter across your skin, originating in the depth of your chest before fluttering down your arms. You blink your eyes open, staring ahead at the wall as you take note of all the ways you two are entangled. His head is pressed against the back of your neck, lips touching the base, the first ridge of your spine. One leg parts yours, thigh separating by one of his, a muscular calf slotted along your shin. The arm around your waist is firm, fingers gripping your side. The other runs beneath your neck, bicep filling the space perfectly. His entire front blankets your back, every dip and ridge and softness in his chest and stomach known to your skin.

He shifts, bones settling into the mattress while his grip never loosens, and then he presses a kiss to your neck, that bump of your skeleton. Your breath halts, body stilling with anticipation. If Hanta notices, he doesn’t make any indication, instead nuzzling your hair.

He sighs. It almost comes out like a whine, or whimper.

“Are you awake?” His voice is a raspy whisper.

You nod.

He hums, squeezing you tight for a few moments, face burying into your neck before his hand at your side detaches. The press of his heat leaves your back and his legs begin to unravel from yours. You turn towards him, on your back, eyes trailing him. He reaches for his phone, glancing at the time before turning back to you, pouting.

“I have to meet with the crew early today. Parade stuff.”

You nod in understanding, eyes drinking in as much as they can before he has to leave: rumpled hair, unfocused eyes, the indent of the pillow running along the side of his face—

His pout, deepening.

“You could look more sad, you know.”

It pulls a laugh from you, an early smile of delight. “I am,” you assure him. “But I got to spend yesterday with you. And you look cute right now.”

You catch the twitch of his lips, a moment of suppressing his smile before the grin wins, crooked and wide. He’s warm and light, you notice, a contrast to the dark mystery you initially saw in him.

He sighs again, leaning to press into you. His head slots in the curve of your neck, chest pressing flush against your own, hot. He kisses you beneath your ear, before groaning and pulling away. Your chest yearns. A heat runs down your body.

“Don’t get up,” he commands gently. “Go back to sleep. Is it okay if the door’s unlocked?”

You won’t be able to sleep, you already know. But he looks at you with a soft plea in his eyes and you can’t argue. “That’s fine.”

You watch while he gathers his things, standing by the bedroom door when he’s done, just to come back and kiss your forehead again before he slips away. You murmur, “See you later,” and then turn into the covers of your bed. It’s chilly, without Hanta heating your back. But he left a lingering smell of oranges in your sheets. Warm citrus.

“So. You sleep with your circus boyfriend yet?”

You frown at Chiara’s accusation. She stares into your eyes sharply, focused as she brushes yellow and black across your skin before pulling out a white pen.

“We didn’t sleep together,” you remark. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Uh huh,” she says flatly. You roll your eyes dramatically and slowly, and she grunts, pinching your cheek. “Stop it, the eyeliner isn’t dry.”

“Then you stop.”

“Never.”

The air is still for a moment, Chiara quiet in her concentration. You avert your eyes downward, letting her finish dragging the pen across your eyelids and towards your temple. She pulls back and holds your face at arm's length, eyes hopping between yours thoughtfully.

“But you left with him, didn’t you?”

You groan, “Chia—”

“You think I’m an idiot,” she accuses. You recall your conversation with Davide last week, wondering why you chose such dramatic friends. “I could tell there was something going on backstage. And you know Davide is a snitch for me.”

You want to groan. Of course he told Chiara at his first chance, to brag about finding out first. She must have known before you went to the show together, likely watching you carefully, to figure out who it was.

“It’s the Sero guy, yeah? Longish black hair.”

You huff, giving in. “Yeah.”

She hums to herself, pausing her eyes to look into yours, thoughtfully. She smirks. “So did he win you over? You’ll leave Milan, me, for him?”

You pout. “Give me more credit, Chia.”

She snickers. “I know, I know—just teasing. But are… are you leaning one way or another now?”

You pull your lip between your teeth, eyes scrunching in uncertainty. “I don’t know, it’s made everything more confusing than anything.”

She stares at you blankly. Then she sighs, turning and letting your face go. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t kill your excitement. I’ll stop asking, but when they leave—you’re telling us everything.”

“Of course,” you say immediately.

She grins. “Well, you’re all done now.”

You turn to the mirror, taking in the swathes of pigment around your eyes and the swirling white details. The makeup spreads to your temples and down your cheeks. You slip on the costume, wrapping black slippery fabric over the bottom half of your face and settling the structured headpiece on your head. Your eyes stare intensely at their reflection, stark against the costume; they match the lone flash of yellow beneath your neck and the brightness of the beak you carry separately.

For a second time, you and Chiara leave her place as a pair of birds, her as the red macaw, but this time you as the keel billed toucan. You haven’t worn a costume of these colors in at least fifteen years.

Unlike a week ago, when you were a pair of macaws, you walk carefully—subdued. You wonder what Hanta will think when he sees you.

You amble unhurried to the gathering location, where groups and individuals wait their turn to start parading through the streets. There are swarms of people, large crowds gathered to walk and witness, chattering animatedly. Various groups play instruments, populated throughout the section of the plaza. You grin excitedly at the sea of colors, groups in costume and traditional wear, floats, giant clusters of balloons. Your eyes search and scan, face schooling into a frown as you look for the puppets from Gōyoku.

When you turn and scan a second time, you spot one that was initially hiding behind a float. You recognize the bright yellow—Kaminari. You tug Chiara’s sleeve, pointing when her attention turns to you.

She nods before leaning to shout over the noise, “Go ahead! I’ll tell you where I meet Davide.” To spot them in the crowd, when you pass. You nod in return before weaving your way through the crowd, the puppet as your lighthouse.

It’s a difficult journey, but a practiced one. You clutch your headpiece and beak carefully as you slither between bodies, moving quickly but with precision. The excitement and your hurrying brings that exhilarating rush to your chest, the heavy thump of your pumping heart a reminder that you’re alive. You smile, briefly thinking of abuela, before you brush the thought away—it’s too soon to be sentimental.

When you finally reach Kaminari, standing excitedly under the floating feathered mec, you call out to him. He brightens, yelling, “Yo!” as you manage the last few steps.

You notice it’s just him and Bakugou, no one else hanging around. You pause at the sight of the latter, the first time you’ve seen his festival costume. It’s similar to Sero’s, but infinitely more ridiculous: a much more lively and springing jester hat—striped with orange and black—sandwiching his face against the swooping frills of his collar. The colors sit uncomfortably next to one another, him glaring in the middle of the chaos.

“Your costume is sick!” Kaminari shouts at you, eyes tracing the headpiece and beak. “It’s like—a bird version of what other people are wearing.”

You laugh. “That’s kind of my thing. Where’s everyone else?”

Bakugou grunts while Kaminari pulls a face. “We kind of lost them. It’s hard getting around the crowd with this thing, and Kacchan was supposed to chaperone me, but he isn’t doing a good job.”

That pulls a glare from the ashen blond, immediately retorting in brash Japanese. Kaminari pouts. You don’t understand what they’re saying, but you can tell their banter isn’t getting them anywhere. You jump in at the next pause.

“I didn’t see the other puppeteer that way,” you offer, pointing from where you came. “So maybe we can head the opposite way?”

Kaminari thanks you repeatedly, happily bounding towards the direction you pointed. You try to hurry ahead, glancing over the crowd for the silvery bird. A tug at your sleeve yanks you back, faint jingling sounding behind you followed by a gruff, “Oi.”

It’s Bakugou, scowling when you turn to him. “Stick with stupid, you can’t see shit with that thing on your head.”

You nearly guffaw at the comment. Thing? you want to ask. With all the bells on the ends of his hat, flopping around awkwardly and into other peoples’ space: he wants to call yours a thing? He walks ahead before you can return the comment, leaving you to wait for Kaminari to catch you. The latter smiles amiably as you two trail behind your self-proclaimed leader.

“Should I feel insulted?” you ask.

He laughs. “Maybe. Will you hold my hand? So I don’t get lost again.”

You grab the sleeve of his costume with a laugh.

The three of you slide your way through the crowd, eventually passing a float that was obscuring Tetsutetsu’s metallic puppet. Bakugou turns to you when it’s visible, nodding curtly as if to ask if you see it, before slipping forwards quickly, out of your sight. The crowd is thinner where the Hoshi no Sākasu performers are gathered, and you tug at Kaminari, directing his attention. You can’t weave through the mass while attached to the blond, so you wade through unhurried. Bakugou reappears after a few minutes, sticking close by as you finally reunite all the performers together.

Kirishima is the first you spot, rushing forwards. He calls to Kaminari, words you don’t understand, but a tone you can recognize as exasperation.

“Just had to pick up a delivery, that's all!”

Kirishima’s eyes move to you, sighing with a smile. “Sorry about him. Thanks for helping!”

You shake your head dismissively. He’s about to continue when you hear your name called behind him.

You lean towards the sound, to Hanta and his excited face. A smile takes over you, forgetting your mouth and nose are obscured by the silk around your head. Your hand pinching Kaminari’s sleeve releases, lifting to wave. The other holds your bright yellow and green beak by your chest.

Hanta’s eyes are wide as they trace your costume.

“¿Un tucán?” he asks. A toucan?

You hum, still smiling. “Como la primera vez.”

Like the first time.

His expression softens. Kaminari whines behind you, high-pitched Japanese that makes Hanta roll his eyes. He reaches forward, taking your hand to pull you close. You follow easily, stepping so your shoulder brushes into his chest. His palm tightens around yours.

You bump into Momo as you navigate the crowd, waving at her and Uraraka. Midoriya says a swift hello with Todoroki—the younger one—before hurriedly running off. The two of you migrate to the edge of the crowd, where the noise begins to fade into the background. You check your phone for any updates from Chiara, but there aren’t any new messages.

Only one missed call from your sister.

“Any idea when Hoshi no Sākasu starts heading down?” you ask, shoving your phone out of sight.

Hanta’s fingers loosen around yours, trailing gently over the individual lengths, the tips grazing your palm and ghosting your knuckle. He shakes his head. “We’re following the float with the balloons, so whenever they start moving.

You learn shortly that the circus is on a float of their own, not trailing on foot like you expected. It’s simple, an elevated rectangular platform with a black frills lining the bottom and a banner with the circus’ name translated in Italian. The simplicity will allow the mechanical birds to remind the focus, the characters in costume being the supporting decoration.

You blink in surprise while Hanta steps forwards, heaving himself up the ladder after a few of his coworkers. When he reaches the top, he turns and offers a hand, waiting for you to join him. Your heart constricts at the thought of a stage—always what you worked towards but never where you stood. Thank god your costume covers your face. You lift your beak towards Hanta, letting him hold it safe as you grasp the metal rungs and pull, taking careful steps before standing on the sturdy floor of the float—above the crowd. The sight is one you’ve never seen in person, a sea of headpieces and vibrant fabrics, dots moving about on their own. You like the vantage.

Hanta returns the beak, grin uncontained.

“Excited?” you ask.

“It’s my first time being in the parade,” he says after nodding. “For almost all of us.”

You smile wistfully, nervously. “It’s my first time in a long time.”

Some of the crew members scurry around, instructing you where to stand and how to engage with the crowd. You’re assigned towards the end with Hanta. The two of you stand out of the way with the others as the float slowly approaches the start, following a massive float with bundles of balloons—an array of bright colors against the still-bright sky. Some are neatly arranged to display certain patterns or shapes, others thrown together without order.

Midoriya talks animatedly beside you, explaining the research he did about the Ambrosian Carnival, the rich history of Milano’s Carnival specifically.

“It’s so wonderful that we get to be part of this,” he says with shining eyes. “Especially with its origins in Catholicism, Milan has so many incredible communities and traditions that we can see first hand. Even with this parade, entering the city center will let us pass centuries of historical buildings. I looked at all the sites along the map of the floats, and I think we’ll pass—”

The float jostles from an abrupt halt, jerking your attention away, before it resumes almost immediately. You lurch forwards, but Hanta’s steady hand finds your waist, bracing you just as long as it takes for you to find your footing, before falling from you. Your heart stirs from the contact, then yearns from the loss.

Midoriya’s voice resumes, droning on as Todoroki hums beside him. You stalk towards the railing at the edge of the platform, curious to spot whatever caused the disruption. Instead you see the road only a couple floats ahead, the approaching sea of onlookers waiting for you to pass. You check your phone again, this time seeing a message from Chiara with her location. She’s three blocks down from the starting point, on the left—your side.

There’s a moment of scrambling and shuffling atop the float, people getting into place. You turn to Hanta beside you, beaming with unexpected excitement. You feel like a child again, bubbling with the anticipation to be part of something new. Hanta grins back, skin flushed warm in the sun despite the chill of the winter air.

You turn back to the front, taking in the crowd and the racing of your heart. You feel so tall now, compared to the child you were in Quito, grasping abuela’s hand and draped in the itchy costume she made you wear. Here you are above the audience, dressed in your own toucan, silky against your skin. Two nights ago you were given the gift of reliving that moment in honesty, remembering the joy you felt when you let yourself go, let yourself meld with the spirit of the celebration—a moment Hanta saw and could never forget.

Here you are above the crowd, entering your second parade—this time nearly two decades later, and with your hand in his instead.

#jiso.fics #All these stars - bnha circus AU #sero x reader #hanta sero #sero hanta #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #fanfiction #sero #bnha sero #mha sero #cellophane #sero x you #hanta x reader #hanta sero x reader

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