#I actually finished campaign two because I heard that they appeared in campaign three

[darc-la-farse]

Return of the Empire Kids!!!

[taintandviolent]

Stalked - Kai Anderson x Reader

summary & wordcount: 2.6K! After breaking up with Kai, he decides you need a little reminder of what once was. idea requested by @kaislittlelamb originally!

w a r n i n g s: smut with very little plot, implied stalking, toxic relationships, throat fucking, blowjobs, Kai being Kai, violence, aggression.

a/n: this was originally a drabble, but got longer - very quickly written, sorry if it's horrible! definitely not my best. thanks for reading it, if you did!!! no taglist this time because it's a pain in the bootay.

full fic under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

You'd met with Zack a few times now, but this was the first time you two had actually gotten to talk and get to know each other. He was cute, in a very boy next door sort of way; physically fit, a tousled mess of brown curls, bright green eyes, and bright, white teeth that probably got whitened bi-weekly.

"So, anyways, I moved here about three months ago after my mom moved here, and with her needing help, I figured I might as well stay." 

"Nice." You grinned. 

"Yeah, so I'm definitely still learning the best spots to eat..." 

You casually glanced around the restaurant, scanning the patrons next to you; you were an observer and enjoyed people watching, in all situations. Abruptly, several tables across from you, wavy, blue hair caught your attention. Your expression contorted into one of shock as your eyes trailed down the bridge of the nose, taking in the man's face. No fucking way. 

As though he felt that he was being watched, Kai turned mid-sentence, and immediately made eye contact with you. His brows rose slowly in surprise, and ultimately, delight. You blinked and turned away quickly, engulfing yourself back in the conversation. Or hoping to. But there was no escaping this. 

"Excuse me," you heard him say, before scooting his chair back. The legs scraped against the floor with an awkward sound, and Kai made his way over to you, navigating around the tables. 

Like a child trying to avoid being found, you almost considered sinking down in your seat, chest heaving with shallow breaths. Some luck you had. Some fucking luck. You rolled your eyes, shifting your shoulders. Zack watched you, studying your very apparent discomfort. You felt both men's eyes on you, and laughed nervously into your soda.

"Y/N..." Kai said. 

You said nothing in return, only smiled sarcastically and stirred your soda with the straw. 

"New boyfriend?" He asked, his tone dripping with faux-interest. You knew him. You knew him like the back of your hand, and he wasn't interested. He was waiting to incriminate you.

"No, actually." Zack interjected, bravely. "We're just getting to know each other. It's going well." 

You nodded, giving him a genuine smile. "It is." 

Kai tightened his smile further; the fakeness started to show through the cracks. "Good, good. Well, I just wanted to say hello. I'll leave you two lovebirds to finish your appetizers." 

"You know him?" 

"Unfortunately. Too well." 

"Ex-boyfriend?" Zack asked, popping another spinach-dip loaded chip into his mouth.

Sheepishly, you nodded.

"He looks familiar." 

"Yeah, you've probably seen him on TV. He's a councilman."

Zack snapped his fingers, pointing at you. "That's it! Anderson, right?" 

Again, you nodded. "Yep... that's the one." 

The waiter appeared, meals in hand. As you two ate, the conversation naturally melted away from Kai, which you were grateful for. Especially since it seemed like it was headed in the direction of Zack wanting to vote for him and agreeing with his campaign policies. Unfortunately, Zack fit the bill of one of the men that Kai would easily brainwash, and recruit to his noble cause.

Halfway through dessert, your phone buzzed. You knew who it was from without even looking. The message read: We should get together.

You quickly thumbed out a response. Why? 

Just to talk. 

Against better judgement, you agreed. The rest of the date was spent laughing about poorly written films in the last decade, but in the back of your mind, laughing was the last thing you wanted to be doing. The next hour was a blur. Zack had gone in for a kiss when he was leaving, which you returned, but only briefly. You were distracted. Painfully so. You went from the restaurant to Kai's, but you hardly remembered driving there. Your mind was on autopilot; a rotten, sour feeling bubbling in your stomach. Everything in you said that this was a bad idea, and yet, you gripped the steering wheel hard, looking at his front door.

You got out, locked your car and made your way up the pathway. You only knocked once before the door flew open. He stood tall. Proud. Unwavering. That overly confident, but calm smile plastered on his stupidly-handsome face. His hair hung at his cheeks, greasy as ever. He was pleased you'd shown up - you thought you saw a flicker of doubt that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't have. But you were a woman of your word, and you weren't going to show him that he was something to fear.

"So, when are you going to break it off with what's-his-name?" Kai asked as he took the basement stairs quickly, trotting down them. You followed, wordlessly, revelling in the familiar sensations. Once you'd stopped at the final step, you glanced forward, eyes locking on the brown leather couch. Out of all the memories that you'd had in that basement, the ones that rushed back were the ones where Kai was fucking you on that couch. Ruthless, merciless fucking until your back hurt and your insides felt like they'd been obliterated twice over. You blinked the images away, swallowing hard. Your head turned before your eyes met his. 

"Zack is actually very nice, and he'd probably treat me very well if I decided to pursue a relationship with him. But since when do you care who I'm with?" 

"It's my business." 

"No, it fucking isn't. It hasn't been for weeks. Last time I checked... I was uhhh, what was it? A stupid bitch?" That had become a favorite alias of his. You plopped down on the sofa, cushions giving way to your weight.

Kai bristled. "You know, you really should be careful what you post on social media." 

"Excuse me?" 

"You never know who could be watching." 

The realisation hits you like a freight train. Him being at the restaurant wasn't a coincidence, it wasn't bad luck. Kai knew exactly where you were going to be and he made it a point to be there. You’d replied to a friend in the comments of a post, telling her that you were going to be at that particular restaurant in the afternoon. He’d seen that.

"You've been.... fucking stalking me!?" 

Kai filled his chest with air, somehow standing taller than he already did. "You sure like to show off your cute little life, don't you? Pathetic little coffee outings and Tapas date nights. But what I want to know..." Kai trailed off, circling you like the pathetic little lamb you were. "...is who you go home and think about. Is it Zack? Or maybe Edward?"  

You felt the muscles underneath your eye twitch. 

"Or is it.... me?" 

Kai finally moved in front of you, his broad chest obscuring your view from everything else. His legs touched your knees. 

"Answer me." 

"I don't have to tell you anything, Kai. You aren't my boyfriend anymore."

"I said answer me!" Kai pressed his thumb and forefinger into your cheeks, making your lips pucker out like a stupid, confused fish. He yanked your head forward, bringing it up towards his. The action strained the muscles in your neck, but you didn't dare say that. This dynamic was very familiar to you. You'd been here before. 

"Seems like you need a little reminder."

A chill ran down your spine.

"Open your mouth." Kai's thumb traced your pouty lips softly, sweeping back and forth. He waited a few seconds, his face tight with impatience and when you didn't concede to his request, Kai forced your mouth open, pressing his fingers into your cheek flesh until you winced and dropped your jaw. 

"Good girl. Now, you're going to keep your mouth open until I say to close it. You understand?" 

You nodded, your tongue resting delicately on your bottom teeth. 

"I have a very important job for you. You're going to stroke my cock until it's hard and then I'm going to throat fuck you."

You held back a cringe. He was always so... direct. Direct with his intentions, direct with his words, direct with his actions. You supposed that was the main vein of why he was doing so well as a councilman; people liked the truth -- and regardless of validity, if something is delivered with enough confidence and directness, it's believed. 

You reached forward tentatively, undoing the button of his dark jeans. The zipper came next, one tooth at a time. You felt the heat of his groin as soon as you leaned forward to pull the jeans over his buttocks, turning your face away so that you weren't met with a mouthful of fabric. With a strong hand, you gripped the elastic of his boxers, pulling them down over his balls - his dick flopped out, heavy and warm to the touch. You sucked a self-encouraging breath into your lungs and reached forward to grip his flaccid cock, inching your lips towards it.

"No." He bucked his hips backwards, furrowing his brows. "What did I say?"

You froze, backpedalled and began stroking, intentionally angling it towards your mouth. Kai let out a shallow breath, pressing his chin against his chest to watch you. You gave it a firm squeeze, and in response, his cock twitched in your grip; it didn't take long for it to swell and stiffen to capacity in your grasp. You paid some attention to the tip, spreading around the slithery pre-cum that had leaked from the slit.  

"I always liked that about you - your willing adherence to any and all demands. You know what I want." 

At least he was praiseful. He always had been, even in the late and toxic stages of your relationship. Still, you chalked it up to him enjoying the sound of his own voice and feeling like he was in control of the situation

Your free hand took hold of his balls, squeezing them softly. At that, Kai vocalized hungrily, grunting low in his throat. He was a very venous man; in any heightened state of emotion that got the blood flowing, his veins popped in his forehead, his neck, his hands... and his cock. Your tongue massaged the veins that swelled on his shaft, flattened out on the thickest one underneath and flicked at the tip.

You continued jerking it, finding a rhythm until Kai's large hand enveloped yours, forcing his cock out of your grasp to replace it with his own. Pumping his cock in and out of his hand a few times quickly, Kai hissed through his teeth, and took a fistful of your hair at the crown of your head. He immediately let go, and cupped the back of your head with his hand, stroking it softly. Tenderly -- like it meant something to him. It didn't. You were a stupid pawn in his story, another one of his dedicated cult members, and he regarded them all the same.

You closed your mouth to swallow, wetting the inside of it before returning to your previous, vulnerable position, tongue out, eyes lifted to meet his. Kai's pitch-dark eyes looked down at you with a roiling expectancy, one that spoke louder than words could. He slapped the tip of his cock against your waiting tongue, revelling in that first, startled flinch.

At first, he slid just the tip along the texture of your tongue, grinding against you, but it didn't take him long to penetrate. The tip of his cock bumped against the back of your throat, and you closed your lips, bowing your head slightly to allow him further down your throat.

“How does that feel?” 

You nodded your head. Kai let out another throaty moan and picked up his pace, thrusting his hips hard into your face as you relaxed your throat as best you could, fighting your gag reflex. His cock filled your throat - violated it - the salty taste of his precum overwhelming your senses. Your nose burned and your eyes watered. You guessed that your eye makeup had begun to stream down your cheeks in ebony ribbons. 

Kai's visual was ethereal. You were coming undone before him - below him - as women should. In such a submissive state, you looked your best. He took a fistful of your hair and yanked you forward, violently forcing you to deep throat his dick. He felt the slick, strong contraction of your reflex and grit his teeth; you were withholding it, but the pathetic, whimpering sounds of your gags drove him forward. He pictured them, remembering all the times that he had been in a similar position with you. 

"Gag," he said, finally. "I want to hear your pain." 

When you didn't, Kai forced his cock further into your throat, until your nose was pressed in the bush of his hair. That did it. With your eyes squeezed shut, your throat repeatedly rebelled. You coughed and gagged around his shaft, the tip still pressed against your tonsils. You finally opened your bleary eyes at him, straining them upwards to get a visual on him, to beg him wordlessly for relief. Kai flattened his hand on the back of your head and bunny humped your face, pulling more desperate gags from your throat.

"Who do you belong to?"

No response. Just a full-mouthed cough.

He took a fistful of your hair, pulling you hard off of his dick. THWACK! Kai's hand whipped across your face, leaving a welting streak of red in its wake. His cock bumped against the roof of your mouth as you nodded slowly, stunned from the sheer force. 

"I'll ask you one more time... who do you belong to?" 

Finally, you gave him another feeble nod and lifted your hand to press a single finger into his pectoral muscle.

"Good... that's what I like to hear. You remembered that it's rude to talk with your mouth full, too. I'm so proud of you."

Kai reinserted his cock into your waiting mouth, almost gently. That was everything but comforting, but this foreplay was familiar to you, and therefore, enjoyable. Sure, the way your throat burned as his dick hammered in and out might've teetered on the edge of discomfiting, but you'd been here before. You knew him, and at one point, you loved him.

You made an O around his cock as he dragged it out from the back of your throat, sucking gently. Kai began thrusting again, but less rhythmically than before. He was losing his steady pace, and that only meant one thing.

"Don't fucking stop," he breathed. "Keep going."

You closed your eyes again, two tears streaming down your blushing, caving cheeks. He was going to cum soon, you felt the tightness, the heat, the urgency behind his thrusts. Pumping his cock in and out of your swollen lips, Kai’s hand snapped to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he thrust remorselessly. 

A second later, he bottomed out again, and you felt his cock twitching, pulsing in your mouth as his orgasm washed down the back of your throat. You coughed a wet, sticky wet cough and Kai groaned, letting his head fall back into his shoulders. 

"Swallow. Fucking swallow it."

You did. You winced as your throat accepted the mouthful of blisteringly hot cum, salty and slightly unpleasant. Your mouth felt sticky and your throat was coated – you couldn't talk, not clearly. So, instead of telling Kai that you hated him, you just glared at him with fire in your gaze, baring your teeth at him like an angry dog.

“Aw, what? What, you hate me? Is that what you want to say?” 

You nodded.

“Go sit at the table. We’re going to talk about that.” 

[officialauthorofanotherworld]

I was a little hesitant to post this because it is borderline physically painful to read my old writing, but I think it might be cool for people to see how far i've come in five years.

Some context:

The very first version of my story began on September 25th, 2019. I was 18. I am now 23 and it is August 14th, 2024. It has been 1855 days, or five years and three days exactly. In 2020, I believe is when I scrapped the original concept (the whole, "based on a dnd campaign" nonsense) and began writing something entirely new.

Let's begin with the old stuff, but be warned that my old writing is actual, genuine garbage.

as jacob (xp to level 3) said in that one video, "gimme the garbage, gimme the trash!"

except in this case, the trash makes me feel like this gif of kyaru, and not like i am looking at overpowered dnd homebrew:

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It was a bright Spring morning in the continent of Kommodia. Spring fresh air filled the sky, newly sprouted Honeydew plants rose from the ground. It was Spring. A long dirt paved path sprawled out in front of them, trickling and snaking along the ground towards their destination, a party of three travelers bumpily rode down it towards a city. in a carriage, towards where their friend awaited their arrival. All of a sudden, the wind stilled, and a sense of dread filled the air. Something stirred outside in the trees, catching the mage, Beriyl's, eye. "Do you think those might be…" He questioned aloud. Taka finished his sentence for him. "Tch. Goblins. Tricky little bastards…." The thief, Taka, swore. Hailing from Losaira and never all that wealthy, through some strange, lucky trick of fate had he years ago somehow found himself amongst a traveling warrior on an escort mission. From there, he had met the mage who sat up front controlling the reins. Taka was happy to call those he traveled with friends.. for the most part. Sometimes the mage could be- But Taka's internal monologue was cut short when the group's mage, Beriyl, muttered an incantation. As he did so, the air around them grew cold and a bolt of ice shot out of Beriyl's hands and flew at the goblin he had targeted. The ice spike tore straight through its chest and shattered behind it. The goblin fell, bloody and dead to the ground. Acting quickly, Taka readied an arrow and loosed it into the back of a goblin. It flew through the air, and stuck in the back of the goblin with a thwack. "That's two down… Nice shot, Beriyl!" Taka commented, looking over his shoulder at Beriyl. "Not so bad yourself, halfling." Beriyl replied, snarkily. "But we all know that I, Beriyl von Aschwaz, am the GREATEST mage in all of-" Beriyl was cut off. "Shut it, Beriyl." Taka said. While they were fighting, they failed to notice that due to the goblins losing two members fairly quickly, the goblins had decided to begin a retreat back to the woods they had appeared from. Taka nocked another arrow and fired. The arrow flew through the air and stuck right into the back of one of the remaining two goblin's back with a thwack, sending the goblin to the ground. "Well, we did what we could." Taka muttered, pulling his hood over his head and falling back into his seat. "Now, mage, continue holding the reins and get us to our destination." "How rude! I'll have you know my name is-" "Yeah, yeah, your name is Beriyl, greatest mage in all of Kommodia," Taka said mockingly. "Hmph. At least you recognize my magical prower-" "No, actually, I don't. I was kidding. You aren't the greatest mage." Taka said, laughing. "…." Beriyl was very angry. The trio reluctantly continued on their slow, gradual trudge towards the city. It was an uneventful ride, aside from some screaming they heard off in the distance. When they heard that, the party unanimously agreed to continue towards Thunderfell to get the brawns of their party BEFORE attempting to chase after strange noises.

When they arrived, Arthur was very happy to see them, and made no attempt to hide that. "My friends! You have finally come! I was getting worried!" Arthur said. Taka, with a look of indignation, muttered something under his breath. "What?" Arthur asked, looking at Taka. "Nothing." Taka replied. Arthur looked strangely at Taka before shrugging it off. The wind stilled. "We have more important things to be doing than idle banter, do we not?" Taka muttered. "You are right. Arthur, perhaps it would concern you that we had heard screams while we were coming to get you. Perhaps we should check it out?" Beriyl suggested. Birds chirped in the skies, and the harsh sun continued to beat down on Thunderfell and the party. "I don't see why not. Very well, let us be off!" Arthur said, enthusiastically. And with that, they were off. Arthur hummed to himself as the carriage rocked and jumped around as the slightly dysfunctional trio headed towards their dangerous destination. "Where did we hear those screams?" Beriyl asked. "Hm. I'd say… five steps from here?" Taka answered, unsure. Beriyl laughed to himself, muttering something about "Stupid Halfling.." before replying; "Oh really? I, for one, believe it to be exactly one hundred steps from here." Beriyl said, sarcastically in his usual tone of voice. "Nineteen steps to the East." A loud, booming voice echoed overhead. A matter of seconds ago, the forest was alive with the noises of insects, birds, and other forest-y things. Now, the air was still, and the surrounding area was eerily silent. "What in god's name-" Arthur exclaimed, surprised. "What.. what was that? I've never heard anything like it." Beriyl said. Taka nonchalantly sat, arms crossed with his hood over his head. "Kch. Why should we listen to some disembodied voice?" The mage huffed and sat back down in the front, reins in his hands. "That's a good question, Taka.. for once, you ask something not entirely stup-" "Beriyl." Arthur said, cutting him off. Beriyl sighed. "Are we ready to continue onwards?" Beriyl asked, annoyed. "Yes. We should follow the directions that voice gave us, though." Arthur suggested. "Arthur, do tell.. Why should I, the GREAT Beriyl von Aschwaz, greatest mage in ALL of Kommodia listen to some PATHETIC, disembodied voi-" All of a sudden, a great gust of wind blew through the carriage, knocking Beriyl out of the left window. "Ow!" Beriyl yelled. Arthur laughed. "Maybe you SHOULD listen to it, after all."

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^ quarantined off that bad writing from my new stuff :D

Here's the opening scene of my current version. Five years of progress:

Taka screamed in terror, and shot up in his bed. His heart drummed in his chest at a rapid pace for what felt like an eternity before it finally settled down. Beads of sweat formed upon his forehead as his eyes flitted around the dim room. Everything was as he’d left it—door closed, his things atop a medium-sized, rectangular storage chest in the corner...

“…Just a dream.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he reluctantly slid out of bed, recoiling slightly at the cold touch of the floor on the bottoms of his feet. It was moments like these that made him wish he knew even a few spells. The entire room seemed to creak loudly as it lurched to one side, the ship rocked by the violent waves. Steadying himself, he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

" ’Smooth ride’, huh?”

When the ship finally leveled out and Taka felt he could move about safely again, he did so, heading over to the lockbox in the corner and kneeling down by it. He pulled his comfortably worn dark leather boots off the box and onto the floor, then slid them on one by one. Then, he attached his pouches to his belt, and stretched the remaining dredges of sleep from his body.

Afterward, he headed over to the small mirror that sat atop a dresser alongside the leftmost wall.

In this lightless room, he could just make out his defining features; a sharp nose, and roughly chin-length deep brown hair complimented by his hazel eyes and pale skin.

“My hair’s a mess…”

Grumbling, he spent a few minutes combing through it with his fingers and wishing he’d brought a comb. When his hair seemed somewhat acceptable, he adjusted his scarf, then nodded.

“That seems good enough. Okay… Already dressed, so…”

He had on a fitted black top and pants; both were accented dark brown. His top was striking in that it had no left sleeve, and completing the ensemble was a long dark brown leather glove ending at his shoulder.

Making his final adjustments, Taka turned from the mirror, and returned to the lockbox.

“Almost forgot.”

He muttered, bending down to grab his shortbow and quiver from atop it. Slinging the bow around his shoulder and tying the quiver to his waist just above his pouches, he gave a final nod.

“Right.”

One last time, Taka scanned the room.

‘Don’t want to forget something on accident…’

When he was sure he had indeed not forgotten anything, he left the room behind for the bottom corridors of the ship.

‘Alright…’ He exhaled a nervous breath. ‘Guess I’ll get something to eat.’

-----------------

That's all from me, for now. This is the year! This is the year I finish my book, i'm so close, i'm so sad, and i'm so excited and happy!

[grumpymoons]

1

Hello, 

This is maybe my third or fourth attempt at writing something that I feel is acceptable. I keep deleting my writing because I am worried it sounds odd or I am not properly articulating the point I am trying to get across. I wonder if it has actually been bad or if it is just me being hyper critical of myself. I want to write posts that make sense and make other people feel seen. I have not been able to find a blog or social media that talks about all of the things I wish I was seeing. I want to see a young woman my age discussing her struggles as she goes through life. Someone who was just recently diagnosed with autism, ADHD, and PCOS. A girl who is struggling to come to terms with it all. Who is honest about her experiences and struggles. A girl who just simply writes about coming of age in this difficult world we live in.

While there may be these out there, I have yet to find them, but I will keep searching to find connection. For now I will simply do it myself. I will write about everything I can and hope to make at least one person out there feel less alone. Gosh have I felt so alone for so much of my life. Just alone in my brain and my thoughts. This blog is also good for when things do finally change. I will be able to look back when I was struggling to get out of bed, very low on friends, and wishing for it to get better, and be proud of the growth and progress I have made. 

I have been 22 for around 9 months and yet I often still feel as though I am 14, just starting high school and trying my hardest to fit in. I have always felt this desperate need to be liked by everyone around me. That has definitely not happened lol, but I guess in the end being liked should not be a priority. I am working on accepting that by being myself I will draw in people that truly like me for me and not this masked version of myself so many in my life know. 

I guess I have often felt like I MUST keep this fake outward appearance of being okay all the time. The thought of burdening others or bringing them down with my depression and anxiety has been such a fear. I have felt so deeply sad for so much of my life and did not know where to even start when it came to starting the process of healing. Actually I know my depression has brought some others down whith just how deep Ive let it sink into me. It has infected many of the people surrounding me and I am so deeply sorry for that. I often think of the people I have hurt or lost connection with due to me hatingmyself and projecting these fears and anxieties onto others. To growth and change though. I have chosen to accept the pass and all I can do is move forward, right my wrongs, and do better in the future.

Here are some things I have been wanting to write about. 

I have recently been watching Dimension 20’s Freshman Year Dungeons and Dragons game. I have always wanted to get into dnd but have not had a solid crowd of friends that were also interested in things like that. It has been so much fun making my way through their episodes and seeing the wild directions a game can grow. I have been watching maybe two or three episodes a day and I am going to try to keep that up until I finish Junior Year. I wonder how long we will have to wait for senior year IF they even decide to do one. Watching this game has really put into perspective how much of the quote on quote “Nerdy Stuff” I have avoided my whole life. But actually that is not true. I outwardly made it appear like i was avoiding it, but then in secret would enjoy all of these things. If I heard it would make people not like me then I was scared of doing it. That’s such fucking bullshit. So glad I am beginning to actually do the things I enjoy. I like table top games! I like video games! I really like watching twitch streams of people plying my favorite games! Hopefully soon I will be able to join my own first campaign of dnd. That would be fabulous. First I will be starting by creating my character. I believe I have now started a dnd hyper fixation and I am quite excited about it. 

I have come to a realization on my interest in the sex, kink, and fetish category. I have always been so fascinated by it all. Fascinated by the thought of pleasure so great a person is shaking and illegible. The idea of being brought to sub space and how fantastic it sounds. True aftercare from a partner who just wants to take care of me and make sure I am okay in every way. The excitement of how many sub genres there are in the world of sex and kink. I have been reading and watching many things on these topics since elementary school. Ive felt this innate shame about it the entire time though. I think It is important for me to get rid of that shame and accept that I like this stuff and it is okay. It is okay to have many of the kinks I do. I will find a partner who will work with me to figure out if they are things we can take part in together. Actually maybe my current partner will and I just need to push past the fear and talk to him about it all. I guess all we can do is experiment and trust each other. I will be keeping a log of my journey here. 

I have been wanting to write my own story for a while now. At first I was trying to come up with an entirely new idea, but more recently Ive decided to start with something that I already know. I know the Harry Potter universe extremely well. I have been a fan for as long as I can remember. Reading the books, too many fanfictions to count, the movies, and fan made films has been a huge part of my life. I think I will start by writing fanfiction. In fact I have so many ideas I will be able to put into a story. The characters and general backstory are already there. I just need to go into depth a little more on that and then create their future. I will start with Dramione, but I would love to write some marauders ff one day. I adore all of these fanon characters so much. I will also be keeping track of my progress on this blog. 

I love to write and I hope that through blogging more I will learn to articulate my words a lot better. Thanks for reading all of this if you get this far lol.

Moons

[lucindarobinsonvevo]

i really want to share this because i think i was so smart to come up with this and i dont think i'll be finishing karma is a bounty hunter anytime soon. here's the twist:

Elle would be speaking on the phone to Tash and Andrew, and she starts complaining about this Ristic dude who's been the one spearheading the campaign against her and Harlow.

Tash would be like hmm interesting. have you considered that it might actually be pronounced Ri-Stich, which is a common Serbian last name.

Elle pauses, then goes I'm such an idiot!! and goes on to explain that Ristic is Lil's maiden name but she's only ever heard it spoken, never seen it written anywhere. Then goes on to say that she's only ever met three serbian people not including Tash. Lil, Serena...And the guard outside Robert's room (Robert attempts to kill himself *actually a murder attempt) who won't let her in to visit him despite her being explicitly named as his POA. Andrew asks how she knows his last name, and Elle explains that she can't see his name tag because he's wearing a coat but that one of the other guards called him by it earlier.

Then, she delivers the big fuck off twist. She can only think of one person who would care about getting revenge on her and Robert...Lil's eldest son Luka Dokich. She's been trying to speak to him for an interview for years but she's been searching for the last name Dokich, it never occurred to her he would have changed it to anything else. Realizing that Robert is probably in danger, Elle, without any allies left (Paul disowned her in part one, Riley is still in Sydney, Nicolette and Leo turn their backs on her in part three when she reveals that she actually could have given David a kidney, however she had made a choice to save it in case Harlow might need it later, Harlow tells her that she'd kill herself to get away from her too after Robert's alleged suicide attempt etc. it's the dark before the dawn basically) runs out of her hospital room, and up to Roberts. Robert is not there, the door is open and there's a small trail of blood from a removed IV...And crushed jacaranda flowers going up the fire escape.

Jacaranda flowers were going to be a repeating image in the story. They appear in the first part only on Elle's computer (she has Beneath the Jacaranda as her wallpaper), but in part two they would show up when she meets with Riley in Sydney and they walk under them in a park. Then in part three they would have shown up again when Elle arrives back at Lassiters and she follows a trail of them to another hotel room where Luka is spying on her and Harlow from, and for a third time when she's pushed down some stairs by him she's got one in her hand. In part four they would have shown up in Elle's extended dream sequence that takes place in the Plane from the Plane crash, where outside the window they're like, raining on them, and again after her long talk with Helen in the second part of the dream sequence she begs to be allowed to see Cameron before she goes, Helen agrees and lets Elle out into the backyard where he's waiting for her under some jacaranda trees. Finally, in part five they show up twice. Once, on the way to the prison with Harlow to see Robert they pass a car that has crashed into a Jacaranda tree before receiving the call he's tried to take his own life (and Harlow is angry that Elle is his POA not her) and again to lead Elle up to the roof top where she begins her confrontation with Luka to determine if Robert is going to live or die.

Part of the reason I havent actually started writing this is that it's too daunting lol, and also I haven't done that much research into Luka's episodes so I'm not sure what his actual fate is/if he has a personality that would lead her. not that it matters I guess neighbours can make a baddie out of anyone. But anyway if you were curious about the ending of Karma is a Bounty Hunter, then. here you go!

[wearykatie]

Journey Into the Wild Beyond Chapter 5: The Palace of Heart's Desire (Part 3)

This is it. The culmination of everything. Five chapters of adventure and loss have led to this. The final moments. The grand finale. 

But first, the fuck is up with that name? 

Duke, Duke, Duke, Duke of War

Okay okay okay, permit me another weird tangent for just a moment because The Wild Beyond the Witchlight has some kind of cool references to older D&D things. The League of Malevolence and Valor’s Call are two opposing factions who were caught up in the whole fight between the hags and Zybilna. They’re also all characters featured in either D&D campaigns or the 1983 toyline, or the Dungeons & Dragons cartoon. Warduke? Actually in the cartoon and the toyline. So my players who mocked his name were mocking history! 

Nah, the name still sucks. Hey, tiny bit of credit to D&D writers of old, they didn't have access to the internet to come up with names. GMs of yesteryear didn't have resources like Fantasy Name Generators or Wikipedia or mispronounced words from Google Translate.

Seriously, check out Fantasy Name Generators. It's a fantastic resource if you're stuck on a name for characters, towns, taverns, ships, or whatever. The site has helped inspire or outright just named dozens of characters for me because I am notoriously bad at coming up with names.

Not "Warduke" bad, but pretty bad.

Anyway, back to the poorly named dorks from 1983. The party found members of Valor’s Call frozen in the palace and freed them. They feel like cameos more than anything because they aren’t really given much to do in the story. I was keeping them around as backup in case they were needed in the final battle. 

LOL

LOL, I say.

Yeah, Yeah, I Suck At Encounters

The party found the incantation in a book titled The Wild Beyond the Witchlight. It was a children’s storybook that seemed to tell the tale of their own exploits through Prismeer. Also, the voice they heard speaking to them when they held the gems was sounding familiar to them. But they took their gem collection to the cauldron next to the frozen Zybilna…and found the League of Malevolence waiting for them. 

Big team battle, right? Nope, speech checks to talk the League into leaving before they got their butts whipped by the party and then Zybilna. Hey, they like the nonviolence route, so I’m going to let them take it. They started the ritual but OH NO, HERE COMES THE JABBERWOCK! Can’t talk your way out of this one, can y–

Oh, Tom banished it. ‘Kay. Well, at least Artie made his triumphant return to you know, not fight the Jabberwock with his friends.

Alright, yes, the Jabberwock was supposed to have legendary resistances, but I overlooked them in the moment and also, it was just better for pacing because we didn’t have much time for a fight. 

The incantation was read, the cauldron began to change its state, and they knew that changing a component of the original spell could cancel it out. There was a blinding flash of light to end the penultimate session.

Fairy Godmother

As the final session began, I did a different kind of recap. I told a story about how when the player characters were young, just after they lost their items, they had a nightmare about three scary shadows in their bedroom, but a kind woman appeared and banished the shadows, then read them a story until they fell asleep. The story was about a group of children who lost part of themselves and went on a magic journey to find the missing pieces. 

When the recap finished, I described Zybilna being unfrozen and looking very confused at first, but soon catching up on what happened. She teleported away to fix the arcane anchors and returned just in time to send the Jabberwock to its room. Oh, did I mention it was her pet? Yeah, Zybilna has some messed up stuff in that castle. 

The party caught her up on everything that happened, and she seemed sad that the hags, her sisters, were dead, but she understood. She had let her guard down, thinking they might legitimately want to reconnect with her, but they betrayed her. For their part, most of the party was understanding about that, but Elora was more than a little miffed. The lives of her and her friends had been drastically altered because of Zybilna’s mistake, and Ana’leth had died. 

Early actually asked if there was a way Zybilna could bring back Ana. Zybilna said she couldn’t, but asked to see the letter and the Alice plush anyway. After an arcane examination, she called on another fey, a woman named Jessamine, and sent her to find her “mortal hunter” and send her to a certain place on a certain date. 

Zybilna spoke to the gathered Army of Prismeer and the castle staff, coming clean about everything. The hags, her relationship to them, her past, everything. Then I turned it over to the players and asked them, knowing everything they had learned and been told about Natasha/Iggwilv/Zybilna, how they thought the people of Prismeer would react to learning the truth. Unanimously, they thought she was genuine in trying to be a better person, so the people of Prismeer accepted Zybilna for who she was, faults and all.

So, Good Night Unto You All

The party stayed the night in the Palace of Heart’s Desire, Zybilna promising to return them home in the morning. She spoke briefly with Elora, telling her to “have faith”. 

This requires some explanation…see, the mission Ana’leth supposedly died on was one she survived in the continuity of our main campaign. She had been captured, sure, but thanks to the timely arrival of her old teacher, Faith, she was rescued before she could be killed. Leaving the Feywild can be tricky, time doesn’t move the same there. A fey who knows what they’re doing can actually send someone back to before they left the Material Plane…or send another fey back in time. Jessamine, who is one of Faith’s lovers, was sent to the past, gave instructions to Faith to be at the town where Ana died two days before it happened. Faith prevented the death from ever happening, Zybilna didn’t have to mess around with resurrection magic and potentially pissing off the goddess of death, and Elora got her sister back. 

When the party returned to the Material Plane, I read off a closing narration that I had practiced for weeks, trying to get through it without crying. I failed, but at least my sobs weren’t audible.

Reena’s player, another longtime best friend, sent me a package weeks before the game ended and made me promise not to open it until the end of our final session. I opened it after the game while still on call and it made me cry more. I’ll share a picture at the end of this post, along with the final words of my closing narration. 

Final Thoughts, but Far From the End

For my first long term DMing experience, I think the game went well. Could it have been better? Sure. Did my players enjoy it? They did. Did I enjoy it? Absolutely. Like every time I run a game, I learned a lot from this one, and I will use those going forward. I want to do something like this again soon. Maybe not on the same scale, maybe not a weekly game, but I want to do this again. I’ve already talked to the group about doing a short reunion campaign down the road, revisiting the characters, but I also want to try something new. 

I feel like I accomplished more than I set out to do with this campaign. I tested my ability to run a longform campaign, I did a little creative writing with my edits and original content, I learned more about 5th Edition, I improved as a roleplayer, and I got really good at pacing things out into three hour sessions. I also gave K the break they needed and the chance to play in a campaign again, which was one of my primary goals.

But there were some unexpected things to come out of the campaign too. I had a couple of players tell me the campaign inspired them to make other characters or approach existing ones in a new way. I was told I lit a fire under the group. A player who doesn’t really care for 5e said I showed them new things that could be done with the system. And overall, it seems like the players got as much from this as I did.

As for The Wild Beyond the Witchlight itself, I recommend it. Obviously it’s good for someone running their first full campaign, but I think experienced DMs and players will get a lot out of it too. My problems with Chapter 5 aside, it’s solidly written and has some gorgeous art that inspired me every step of the way. 

Before I end this, I want to say thanks to my players (some of you are reading this), and thanks to anyone and everyone who read this series. Writing about this was a good way to organize my thoughts in maybe the most disorganized writing project I’ve ever worked on. I swear, when I do this again, I will have a set schedule for posting. I’ll also get better at closing these posts out. A lot of these just sort of

~end~

[calamitascalliope]

My List of Podcasts Not a Lot of People Talk About

I'm a very big podcast nerd who listens to a lot of different stories that I don't see much discussion of, at least not on Tumblr, so I figured I'd shout a few of my favorites out. I'm not going to talk about podcasts that are already popular here. I love TMA, MBMBaM, and TAZ, but everyone has heard about those.

Vast Horizons

Status: Ongoing

Vast Horizons is a sci-fi audio drama. Dr. Nolira Eck is on a long space travel to a distant star as part of a colonization initiative, and is leaving behind a lot of baggage from back home. She wakes up from cryogenic stasis much earlier than she should have with no other living soul on board and the ship badly damaged. Nolira's only companion is the ship's AI systems as she tries to repair the ship and figure out what happened.

This is an amazing story with great voice acting and a diverse cast of characters. I recommend it if you are a fan of space and stories of survival.

The White Vault

Status: Ongoing

In Svalbard, Norway there is a small weather research station that is mostly automated. However a small glitch in the system forces a team to venture up north to try and get it up and running again. When the team arrives, they find that everything is working just fine. They prepare to head back when a horrible storm rolls in, forcing them to stay longer than anticipated. As they wait it out they discover an ancient archeological dig site underneath the facility that shouldn't exist, and they become aware of something watching them.

A good story for fans of horror. It gives a very similar feeling to The Thing, and the characters are well written and interesting. It is on a hiatus right now, and it will be airing it's final season later this year. It's a good time to catch up and enjoy the ending to this great story.

Janus Descending

Status: Complete

Two researchers are sent to a distant alien planet to investigate what appears to be the ruins of an alien civilization. As they try to piece together what wiped out the alien species they begin to realize that the creature responsible for the demise of this planet is not only still alive, but it is very hungry.

A short and sweet sci-fi thriller that has a very interesting gimmick that is executed very well. One of the two protagonists tells their story beginning to end, but the other tells it from the end to the beginning. It is a great story, and they have condensed all of the episodes into one supercut that's about 4 hours.

Primordial Deep

Status: Complete

By the same creators behind Janus Descending, Primordial Deep follows a group of six explorers going on a research expedition into the Mariana Trench at the behest of an eccentric billionair. The series jumps between office comedy, action thriller, and horror with ease, and it is such an enjoying listen. They just finished, so feel free to binge the entire thing. If you liked Atlantis: The Lost Empire, you will love this.

A Horror Borealis

Status: Ongoing

Now we have reached the actual-play podcasts on my list. A Horror Borealis has a group of four friends playing with the Monster of the Week system. The main campaign takes place in 1996, in the small town of Revenant, Alaska. The three player character's are Moriah Harris, the nosy librarian at the local library who has a penchant for conspiracy theories, Martha Campbell, the local hermit who fled from her home at the age of 17, and Siobhan O'Shaughnessy, one of the park rangers at the Gates of the Arctic national park.

Outside of that they also have two other side campaigns that also take place in Revenant, as well as other fun stuff. Right now they are doing a retelling to Stephen King's IT while role-playing, which has been great to listen to.

Dark Dice

Status: Ongoing

Dark Dice is another actual-play podcast, this one playing in DnD 5e, but it has a few things that set it apart from the others. For one, the setting is very dangerous, and the DM of the game takes into account rules that we don't usually see in podcasts like hunger, fatigue, and sanity. To be fair, the reason we don't see those often is because a lot of dice rolling and explaining rules is really boring audio, but they make up for it by cutting out nearly all table talk. All of the players are great voice actors, and after a session they will go back and voice act some of the key moments from their session. It makes the action flow much better than in other DnD podcasts, and since it has no qualms about killing off characters at the drop of a hat it can get really tense.

If you like games like Darkest Dungeon you will really enjoy this podcast. Give it a try if you like DnD podcasts, but would like something a bit different from the other's like it.

And those are all my recommendations! This is also a free invitation to message me if you've listened to any of these and would like to chat about them. I really love podcasts, and I hope you will enjoy some of these.

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 24/24

Last time, Gold confronted Zelena over trying to frame Regina, and Lacey caught the whole show on tape. This is the final chapter! Happy endings FTW!

[AO3]

x

Lacey set down the camera on the shop counter, and raised an eyebrow at Gold.

“So,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

He inclined his head, lifting a hand and letting it fall.

“It appears you have a story to tell about Miss West,” he remarked. “I feel the choice is very much yours. Perhaps Mr Glass can be persuaded that running an exposé is in the public interest.”

Lacey hesitated.

“Yeah, I think he would,” she acknowledged. “It’s just - Mayor Mills doesn’t know, does she? About Zelena.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think maybe we should tell her,” said Lacey. “Before it all comes out, I mean. That would be the decent thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” he agreed, and let out a heavy sigh, his head rolling back. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“What is?”

He raised his head again, sending her a stern look.

“It appears I’ve discovered a conscience,” he said. “The rumour was I didn’t have one. I blame you for this outrage.”

Lacey giggled, and leaned in to kiss him.

“Does that mean you’ll come with me to break the news?” she asked, and he offered his arm.

“To the Mayor’s office,” he said. “I’m sure Regina will be just delighted to see us.”

-

“This can’t be true.” Regina was staring at Lacey’s phone, having watched the recording twice. “This - this is impossible!”

“This must be a hell of a shock,” said Lacey, and Regina shook her head.

“I always thought she disliked me, but Mal told me I was being paranoid,” she said. “All this time she was plotting to ruin my life because my mother abandoned her? The nerve of the woman!”

“I guess sibling rivalry’s tough to deal with,” said Lacey. “Makes me glad I’m an only child.”

“Well, she certainly has my mother’s ambition and vindictiveness,” said Regina, with a sigh. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the father?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Gold. “Did your mother ever hint that you had a half-sister?”

Regina shook her head.

“She never spoke about her youth,” she said. “Other than to tell me she had to fight for anything she could get and I should do the same.”

She handed the phone back to Lacey and frowned at Gold.

“Exactly how long have you known about this?” she demanded, and he smiled.

“I heard what you did,” he said.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” she said coldly. “I know you, Gold. Were you holding onto this information until it was of use to you?”

“You think I’m working against you?” he asked, in a mild tone.

“I think you never do anything that doesn’t benefit you.”

“Well, perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think,” he said. “Or perhaps we assess risks and benefits differently. Either way, you have Miss French to thank for the investigation of her past and this recording. I merely - encouraged a confession.”

“Quite the sleuthing team,” said Regina, in a dry tone. “Can we expect a new office in town? French Gold, Private Investigators?”

“I don’t mind investigating his privates,” said Lacey, and Gold shot her a very level look as Regina curled her lip.

“Thanks, I’m going to spend the rest of the evening trying and failing to get that image out of my head.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lacey cheerfully.

“The question for you,” said Gold, “is how are you going to handle this? Miss French has quite a scoop on her hands, but she wanted to bring it to you first before raising it with Mr Glass.”

Regina shot Lacey a grateful look before sitting back in her chair with a sigh.

“There’s supposed to be a debate,” she said. “The two of us up on stage. You think it’s her intention to reveal the whole sordid story in front of the whole town?”

“I don’t believe she wants the rest of the town to know,” said Gold. “If they did, then her whole campaign reeks of sour grapes. She’ll want to play on the image she’s created while she’s been here. However inaccurate it is.”

Regina growled under her breath.

“I can’t believe I’m having to go through this charade!” she snapped. “I’m supposed to stand there and - and debate her when she’s trying to frame me for corruption and destroy my life!”

“We don’t have any actual evidence that she’s tried to frame you,” said Lacey, and Regina nodded impatiently.

“I know, I know. Nothing court worthy on that tape, however much she hinted at it,” she said. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to hand it over to the Sheriff, get him to look into it.”

“If you agree to an exclusive interview with me after the debate, sure,” said Lacey quickly, and almost blushed as Gold shot her an approving look. Regina drummed her fingers on the desk.

“She’s far too good for you, Gold,” she said abruptly. “I hope you know that.”

He smirked at that, winking at Lacey.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

-

Gold was finding it hard to stop grinning like an idiot now that he and Lacey were dating, and even found himself unexpectedly granting rent extensions, much to the surprise of nervous tenants. He made dinner for her again later in the week, and she stayed the night, Darcy curled at their feet as they drifted into sleep. It was pleasant being nuzzled awake by a purring cat and finding Lacey in his arms. It was a feeling he could get used to.

They had eventually managed to finish the interview, most of which was carried out in bed, and he had found himself telling her things he had previously had no intention of revealing. He blamed that on Lacey; it was difficult to maintain his usual cool distance when she was wearing his discarded shirt and looking at him as though he was a particularly delicious snack. She kept her word about giving him the final say on the article, however, and upon reading her draft, he noted that she had kept some of the more personal details to herself. He only felt the need to redact a couple of minor points about his early life, but was happy to let the remainder stand as it was. If the rest of Storybrooke was surprised at the intimacy of the piece and his sudden desire to be open about his life - well, they could all go and fuck themselves, as far as he was concerned.

The only opinions he cared about were those of his family, and it wasn’t too long before Neal called. Gold sighed as he looked at the number flashing on his phone. They’re gonna tease me relentlessly about this. Emma especially.

Shaking his head and smirking to himself, he picked up.

“Dad, hi,” said Neal. “Thought you might have called to let us know how your big social occasion went. You’re not avoiding the issue, right?”

“Of course not,” said Gold. “Been a busy week, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Emma thought you’d say that.” Neal sounded amused. “She’s been dying to find out about the dance, so I said I’d call for an update.”

“Tell her she needs a better hobby than worrying about my social life,” said Gold dryly. “How’s Henry? I was wondering what to get for his birthday.”

“Nice attempt at deflection, but I’m not done with you,” said Neal. “Come on, how did it go?”

“Uh - it was fine,” said Gold.

“Did you ask Lacey to dance, like I said?”

“Yes.” Gold hesitated. “We’re - uh - sort of dating now.”

Neal whooped, making him grin.

“Way to go! See, I knew you could do it!”

“Yes, well.” Gold scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “It’s early days, I suppose. Very early days, but it’s going well.”

“I am so happy for you, really. Wait until I tell Emma.”

“She’s gonna tease me, isn’t she?” said Gold dryly.

“No more than usual.”

“A lot, then.”

“Hey, her teasing comes from a place of love.”

“Hmm.” Gold was amused. “Well, you can tell her I love her too.”

“And you can tell Lacey we can’t wait to meet her,” said Neal, and Gold’s grin widened.

“I believe the feeling’s mutual,” he said.

“Good. How about in two weeks’ time?”

Gold smirked to himself.

“Excellent timing,” he said. “It’s the Mayoral debate and election.”

“I’m almost certain we can find something better to do than listen to some crusty old politicians.”

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” said Gold. “It could be an interesting night.”

-

The evening of the debate arrived more quickly than Lacey thought possible, and she was nervous about more than just reporting the evening’s events. Gold’s son and daughter-in-law were due any minute, and there was a tiny part of her that kept whispering that they wouldn’t approve, that they would wonder why the hell Gold, with his money and power and class, was dating the likes of her. Stressing over her coverage of the election was a welcome distraction from the unwelcome internal monologue, and she concentrated on getting her things together for the debate, checking the recording equipment on Gold’s kitchen table and fretting about the sound quality.

“You’ve already checked it three times,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“I’m supposed to be writing the front page article!” she snapped. “What happens if I fuck up and don’t get anything recorded? I’m gonna look like a total idiot and Sidney won’t trust me with anything more complex than the hot dog eating contest!”

“I can record everything on my phone, if you’re worried,” he said. “Besides, don’t you do shorthand?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’ll be fine,” he said gently, and kissed her head. “I promise.”

The doorbell rang, and Lacey started, heart thumping.

“Relax, that’ll be Neal and Emma,” said Gold, heading for the door. Lacey frowned at his back.

“Relax, my arse,” she muttered, shoving the recording equipment into its bag.

There were voices from the hall, and a sudden burst of laughter, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm the hell down. Footsteps from the doorway made her look up, and she was greeted by a warm smile and an outstretched hand. Gold’s son had his eyes, and curling dark hair above a ready grin.

“I’m Neal,” he said. “Really pleased to meet you.”

“Lacey,” she said, shaking his hand. “Uh - likewise.”

She was reminded vividly of the fact that she had flashed him on their first encounter, and felt a blush start to rise in her cheeks. If Neal was thinking of it too, he was better at hiding it than she was. His wife was a pretty blonde, with a kind look in her eyes and a plump baby in her arms, who was glancing around curiously at everything.

“This is Emma,” added Neal, “and that’s Henry.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” said Emma, shooting Gold a teasing look.

“Well, I won’t ask if it was all good, because I’m willing to bet it wasn’t,” said Lacey, and they chuckled.

“Maybe not at first,” admitted Emma. “Don’t hold it against the old bastard, though.”

“Oh, believe me, the feeling was mutual,” said Lacey.

“I’m standing right here,” said Gold evenly.

Lacey caught Emma’s eye and returned her grin. She felt herself relax a little, and leaned over to kiss Gold’s cheek.

“We got there in the end,” she said. “Uh - how hungry are you guys? I didn’t even think about dinner.”

She shot Gold a look, hoping that he would suggest something, and he nodded.

“We’ll head to Granny’s after the debate,” said Gold. “I have no doubt that Lacey will be demonstrating her excellent skill as a journalist, and I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“No pressure then,” said Lacey, and he smiled.

“You’re writing the article for the Mirror front page,” he said. “You have an exclusive with the Mayor herself after the debate. Sidney Glass clearly believes you to be as capable as I do.”

“Yeah, because I got that interview with you,” she said. “I didn’t tell him we were naked when I got most of that info.”

Neal closed his eyes with a pained expression.

“Shows ingenuity if you ask me,” said Emma abruptly. “I can usually get a ton of stuff out of Neal when we’re naked. Must run in the family.”

It was Gold’s turn to look pained. Neal put his hands over his face with a heavy sigh, and Lacey and Emma chuckled. Lacey decided that she liked both Emma and Neal very much. She zipped her bag and nodded to Gold.

“Okay,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

-

The town hall was filled with residents, chatting amongst themselves and casting curious glances at the empty stage. Ruby was seated next to Leroy on the third row back, and she winked at Lacey as she and Gold took their own seats. Ruby had been delighted to hear that the two of them had started seeing one another, and had only made a salacious comment to Gold on one occasion. Maybe two.

“Big turnout,” said Neal, glancing around. “I had no idea the people in this town were so into politics.”

“Usually they don’t bother,” said Gold. “The Mayor getting some competition appears to have piqued their interest.”

As though his voice had summoned her, Regina walked onto the stage, chin held high, looking calm and competent in a sharp black suit. Zelena followed, in a green dress with a soft silk scarf around her neck and gold hoops in her ears. A green folder was tucked under her arm, her hair tied up, and Lacey thought she was going for the image of a respectable school teacher. A gleam in her eye spoiled the look.

Dr Hopper was moderating the debate, and Lacey quickly checked her recording equipment and opened her laptop, rattling off a few sentences about the tense atmosphere of the hall and the opening statements from each of the candidates. Zelena gave a speech about decency and traditional values, at which Regina seemed to be stopping herself from rolling her eyes with some difficulty. Regina spoke of her record on town planning, law and order—she shot Zelena a look at that point—and prosperity.

“Thank you, ladies,” said Dr Hopper, when she was done. “Now, perhaps we’ll go to some questions from the press before we deal with those the townsfolk have submitted.”

“I have a question for Miss West,” said Lacey, in a loud, clear voice, shoving her laptop at Gold as she got to her feet.

Zelena’s mouth twisted, her smile more of a grimace.

“Of course,” she said lightly. “It’s - uh - I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

She waved a languid hand, and Lacey felt her mouth flatten.

“Lacey French, Storybrooke Mirror,” she said evenly, and Zelena let out a tinkling laugh.

“Of course, silly me,” she trilled. “How could I forget Storybrooke’s eager young reporter? Lending the local newspaper such an air of class in that - lovely - outfit.”

There was a muttering amongst the townsfolk, and Lacey distinctly heard Ruby say ‘What a bitch!’, but she smiled sweetly as though she hadn’t understood the insult.

“Yeah, I have a question about your motivation for running for Mayor,” she said. “You said yourself you’ve never been involved in politics, so what inspired you to make this move now?”

Zelena smiled widely.

“Well, as I said, I thought about where I could do the most good,” she said. “Storybrooke is a wonderful town, with many excellent qualities, but talking to its residents has made me realise that there’s a feeling that it may be lacking direction. I sense a need for a return to the basics of community. Neighbourliness. Family values. The traditions of small-town America that we all grew up with.”

“But you grew up in England,” said Lacey. “Wasn’t your father a diplomat? How do you know this view of America is either accurate or desirable?”

Zelena’s nostrils flared as she continued to smile brightly.

“Well,” she said. “Who’s been doing her homework?”

“Yeah, it’s just that people hear politicians mention tradition and family values, and all too often it’s a smoke-screen to hide racism and homophobia,” went on Lacey. “How would you address those concerns?”

Zelena spread her hands.

“I’d say look at my record,” she said. “Since I moved here I’ve made it clear that I’m happy to work with people of all backgrounds. It’s important that no one feels left out, and my initial conversations have led me to believe that there are concerns, and that some residents feel that their interests are not - fully appreciated - by the Mayor.”

“What kind of interests?” asked Lacey quickly, before Zelena could turn away, and her mouth twisted again as she tried to keep smiling.

“As I said, some feel that traditional family values are being lost in the push for modernity,” she said. “I’d like to reassure them that I stand for everything that Storybrooke represents. Decency. Morality.”

“Does that mean you think the Mayor is immoral?” asked Lacey, and Zelena pulled a face.

“I think there have been some questionable decisions at city hall under her watch, yes,” she said. “Does anyone really think that a seedy bar called Queens of Darkness is fitting for this town?”

“It’s a jazz club,” said Regina. “And there’ll be dance lessons each week. A perfectly respectable establishment, run by three accomplished businesswomen.”

Zelena let out that insincere laugh again, and Lacey sat down, retrieving her laptop from Gold and opening it up as Zelena addressed the room.

“Well, it’s not only the company the Mayor keeps,” she said. “We’ve all heard the rumours. Missing money, accounts not holding quite as much as people thought…”

“That’s an outrageous lie,” said Regina coldly. “Where’s your evidence, Miss West?”

Zelena smirked, as though she had been waiting for that very question. She held up the green folder, showing it to the room.

“I have the evidence right here,” she announced. “A brave employee of city hall managed to smuggle this out to me. Evidence that the Mayor has been embezzling town funds!”

There was a shocked intake of breath around the room. Lacey typed furiously.

“How dare you!” snapped Regina. “That’s a lie and you know it!”

“I believe this is my allotted time to speak!” Zelena snapped back. “I think the people of Storybrooke deserve to know exactly who you really are, don’t you? They should understand the choice before them!”

The doors at the end of the hall opened, and there was the sound of heavy boots on the floor. Zelena looked surprised, and then somewhat nervous, and a low-level muttering started up in the audience. Lacey glanced over her shoulder, watching as Sheriff Graham Humbert walked towards the stage with his deputy Dorothy Gale by his side. Regina appeared to be drumming her fingers on the lectern, and Lacey couldn’t work out whether it was anxiety or impatience.

“Miss West,” said Graham. “We’d like you to come with us, please.”

“Why?” demanded Zelena. “I’m a little busy winning this election, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s a matter of obstruction of justice,” said Graham. “If you could come to the station, please.”

Zelena opened and closed her mouth, a sudden flicker of fear in her eyes.

“What if I say no?”

“I’d prefer not to have to handcuff you,” said Graham.

“But we will if we have to,” added Dorothy, folding her arms.

“This is a conspiracy!” blurted Zelena, waving a finger at Regina. “Did the Mayor put you up to this? This is exactly the kind of corruption I’m talking about! The Sheriff being used as the Mayor’s enforcer!”

“Miss West…”

“Mayor Mills will do whatever it takes to silence me!” she went on. “She’s scared I’ve exposed her for what she is!”

“Miss West, I didn’t want to have to arrest you, but…”

“One hint of competition and she calls in her - her goon squad to crush it!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I know you’re my sister!” said Regina loudly.

Silence fell, and Lacey hurriedly typed a few sentences, describing the shocked atmosphere of the town hall. Zelena was staring at Regina, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” said Regina, curling her lip. “I wanted to give you a chance to be a decent person and deal with this in an honourable way. But since you’re determined to try to ruin my life for no good reason, then yes. I’m well aware we share the same mother, and frankly she’d be disappointed at this pathetic bid for attention.”

“How dare you—”

“I believe it’s my turn to speak,” interrupted Regina. “We’ve listened to enough of your rambling this evening. Since you’d been dropping hints about corruption in my office, I had Sheriff Humbert investigate. He told me earlier this evening that someone had been planting evidence to try to frame me. No doubt that’s what he wants to speak to you about.”

“This is—”

“The residents of Storybrooke know how seriously I take my duties as Mayor,” Regina went on, addressing the room as a whole now. “They know that I value their support and their trust. Of course I’d want any threat to that to be investigated. I’m just - I’m beyond disappointed that the threat comes from my half-sister.”

Her voice echoed around the silent room. Lacey was watching the townsfolk avidly, their eyes fixed on Regina as she spoke.

“I had no idea that my mother had had a daughter before me, no idea that I had another family member out there in the world,” she went on. “Her coming to Storybrooke should have been a time of joy and reunion. But instead of her reaching out to me, she tries to undermine me, to take away the most important job I have in this town.”

She looked down, shaking her head, and Gold leaned in close.

“I wonder how much of this is for the benefit of the voters and how much is genuine,” he murmured.

“Maybe fifty-fifty,” Lacey whispered back, and he nodded in agreement.

Regina raised her head, taking a deep breath, as though steeling herself for something unpleasant. Graham and Dorothy had edged towards the stage, Dorothy removing the cuffs from her belt.

“All I can do now,” said Regina, “is trust that justice will take its course.”

“You know nothing about justice!” shouted Zelena, as the Sheriff started reading her her rights. “You’ll pay for this! All of you!”

She was still yelling when Dorothy handcuffed her and marched her from the room. The sound of the doors closing was very loud in the silence that remained.

“Well,” said Regina, placing her hands on the lectern and looking around the room. “I think we can all agree that this was one of the more - eventful - political debates this town has seen.”

There was a ripple of nervous laughter, and she smiled.

“I truly hope that Miss West gets the help she so desperately needs,” she went on. “And when she has, I want her to know that she’s welcome to visit with Mallory and I. After all, we may not be able to choose our family, but that makes it all the more important to nurture the bonds we share with those around us.”

There were noises of agreement from the audience, and Gold leaned in close again.

“Ever the politician,” he murmured, and Lacey nodded.

“Storybrooke is like an extended family to me,” went on Regina, “and all families have their moments of conflict and frustration, but underneath that there is respect for one another, and a common set of values. I believe I have lived by those values for every year that I’ve served as your Mayor. I will always reach out to those in need and I will always act in the best interests of this town. Under my leadership, Storybrooke will continue to prosper. I guarantee it.”

There was applause, and a couple of cheers, and Regina nodded, looking extremely self-satisfied. She started taking questions, and Gold kissed Lacey’s cheek and whispered that he would see her in the diner when she was done. She watched him leave with his family, Emma balancing the baby on her hip and Neal pushing the stroller after them. Lacey turned back to listen to Regina field a question about the state of the town’s roads, bent her head to her laptop, and began typing up her article on the Mayoral debate.

She emailed the article over to Sidney before leaving for the diner, and walked back there with Ruby, who was chattering about the drama that had unfolded. Regina had been in her element when answering the remaining questions, and Lacey had felt a surge of satisfaction over her part in exposing a crime. Perhaps small town life offered the chance for rewarding work after all. She could see Gold and his family through the window, and his face lit up as she entered, making her stomach flip. Damn the man. I’m falling in love with him.

“Excellent job this evening,” he said, getting up to pull her chair out and kissing her cheek. “I got you a rum and coke, I hope that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” she said fervently, and took a slurp, relishing the taste on her tongue.

“How’d the Mayor look at the end of all that?” asked Emma, and Lacey pulled a face.

“The whole place gave her a round of applause, and she was looking about as satisfied as she could, I guess,” she said. “I still feel kind of sorry for her. Not every day you find out you have a half sister. Especially one that’s out to get you.”

“Well, it could have been a lot worse,” said Gold. “I very much doubt Miss West will present much of a challenge from a jail cell.”

Lacey nodded, taking another sip of her drink.

“Does this mean you and Regina are friends now?” she asked, and Gold smirked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “What’s that term the kids use these days?”

“Frenemies?”

“That’s the one.”

“Kind of like we were,” she observed, and he laughed.

“Regina would fillet me with a letter opener if I even contemplated looking at her the way I look at you.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” she said. “I just meant - well, we kind of had that thing where we poked at each other to get a reaction, right?”

Gold looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh, and she swatted his arm.

“Stop thinking about dirty stuff! You know what I mean!”

“I do,” he acknowledged. “And I, for one, am very glad that we - er - got the reaction we wanted.”

“You’re still thinking about dirty stuff, aren’t you?” said Emma shrewdly, and Gold shrugged.

“Maybe a little.”

-

They ate ribs, sticky with Granny’s special sauce, licking it from their fingers and washing it down with beer and wine and rum. By the time they got out into the cool night air, Lacey felt wonderfully tipsy, and regretted putting on her high heels earlier in the evening. At least there was no one else around to see if she fell on her arse, she supposed. Neal and Emma were walking ahead, pushing the stroller and talking quietly, and Lacey let out a sigh, slipping her arm through Gold’s for support, and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I ate too much,” she said, and Gold chuckled.

“We all ate too much.”

“You didn’t throw half of it over your lap, though.”

“No, I thought I’d leave that to you.”

“Stupid gravity,” muttered Lacey, and he laughed, squeezing her arm with his.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Maybe you should have an early night.”

She glanced up at him, and he was grinning at her, his eyes twinkling.

“How’s that gonna work?” she asked flatly. “Your family’s staying over. No way I’m letting you give me screaming orgasms while they’re in the room next door.”

“In that case I could sneak over to yours,” he suggested. “You could scream to your heart’s content.”

Lacey giggled, barging him affectionately with her shoulder.

“I think I love you, Mr Gold,” she said, and Gold stopped dead, turning to face her with a stunned look on his face.

“Really?”

Lacey turned to face him, taking his hand.

“Really,” she said. “I mean I’m kind of drunk, but that’s not why I’m saying it. I think I’ve sort of been in love with you for a while now. Is that okay?”

He was staring at her, wide-eyed, and a softness seemed to spill over his features, making his eyes gleam as he smiled.

“Well,” he said. “I think I love you, too, Miss French. Is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then raised his chin.

“D’you want to move in?” he asked.

“Can I bring Darcy?”

“Of course.”

“Then you got a deal.”

He was grinning, and she found herself grinning back, her heart swelling with love for him.

“Let’s wait until after Neal and Emma go before I move in, though,” she said. “I think you said something about screaming orgasms?”

Gold’s grin turned wicked, and he bent his head to kiss her.

“I’ll be over later.”

She let his lips pull at hers, leaning in to feel the warmth of his body as his arms went around her, and let out a sigh of contentment. Yes. Life in a small town could be amazing.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Not good enough

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, implied stalking and kidnapping, kinda home invasion, reader is struggling with anxiety.

Words: 2055.

Summary: The stranger you had been texting for a few months is worried about you not taking care of yourself.

P.S. Yes, some more soft!dark!Steve because I need it 😣

__________________

“Tell me you love me.” 

Rubbing your eyes and trying to wake up, you stared at the screen of your cellphone, reading the message Cap sent you at 3 am. You hadn’t heard from him during last two weeks, but you knew it had something to do with his job, as always. Even if it wasn’t though, it was none of your business. He was just a stranger you had been texting for the last few months.

“Good morning, Captain.”

You hit the send button and sat in bed, yawning and stretching. You still felt exhausted, but mornings were always much better than evenings. Then you typed one more message, thinking whether the man (you supposed he was a man) had time to sleep tonight.

“I love you.”

Watching the three dots appearing on the screen, you realized he probably had insomnia or was forced to go to work despite returning late. You smiled, waiting for his reply before finally leaving your bed and absentmindedly dropping your phone on the desk when you headed to the shower. When you returned with a big white towel wrapped around you, you saw three more messages - Captain wasn’t really patient, but you couldn’t blame him for that.

“I love you too, little star.”

“How have you been doing? Are you taking good care of yourself?”

“I missed you.”

Your lips curled in a smile when you read all his messages. No, you weren’t taking good care of yourself, but you could do little about it. Your anxiety and panic attacks were still making your life pretty difficult. Well, not that Captain needed to know about it, considering he probably had a handful of his own problems just like everybody else.

You didn’t reply him right away, getting dressed first and applying some makeup before heading to the kitchen with a phone in your hand. Despite being hungry, you didn’t have strength to cook something, so you simply cracked two eggs into pan and turned the stove on, proceeding to make yourself some coffee after that. You were still proud you started eating any breakfast at all.

As you finally settled, a plate with fried eggs in front of you, your phone buzzed again.

“Please send me photo of your breakfast, honey.”

You laughed at that but did as he asked you before proceeding to eat. A part of you was happy at least someone still cared. Sure, sometimes Cap could be a bit weird and maybe even controlling, but he was the only one who wanted to see what you ate, not your naked boobs or ass. This was probably one of the reasons why you still kept in touch with him after all those months.

“No fruits or vegetables? This is not good. Your doctor wanted you to eat better.”

True, you thought, sipping your coffee. You couldn’t tell Cap you just had no strength to go shopping because he definitely wouldn’t like it. You simply needed to get yourself together and order delivery this evening after returning from work.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I’ll try to do better.” You sent him after finishing the plate.

“Are you alright, little star?”

No, you weren’t. But he didn’t need to know that.

“I am, thank you. I hope you are alright, too.”

With that you left your empty plate and cup in the sink, heading to the hallway and grabbing you bag before leaving for work. With or without Captain, it was just one more useless day you had to get through.

The office was busy with people making thousand phone calls, talking to each other about that new marketing campaign or a contract with an advertisement agency or what they brought today for lunch. This constant noise didn’t bother you anymore as you sat at your desk and put on your headphones - you didn’t have to deal with people as your job was to finish that damn sales report you’d been struggling yesterday and the day before. If only your boss was willing to buy a better software, you’d be done in a matter of two hours the most, but the man was the cheapest cheapskate you had ever met. 

Well, you were grateful to have a job, anyway.

“Are you taking your meds?” Cap probably had the day off today as he kept messaging you again.

“I do. Thank you for asking.”

He was really lucky he didn’t need any, though, of course, you didn’t know whether he lied or not. You knew well some people weren’t comfortable talking about such private things. Actually, you weren’t either, but Cap had somehow gotten pretty close to you comparing to all those strangers you were talking on the web from time to time. You knew you had no reason to trust him, yet again he had no reason to gain anything from it. You were no one. You had no money, no valuable possessions, no network, nothing special at all. You were just one more no one.

In fact, Cap was the only one generally interested in you and your wellbeing, and it was the one and only reason you kept messaging him despite his long absences. You suspected he had some kind of a hero complex because you had no other explanation whatsoever. 

“Thank you for everything, Captain. I really missed you.”

“I’m glad you did, little star.”

With that you hid your phone in your bag and tried concentrating on those endless numbers in Excel columns. Your eyes were already hurting from just a quick look on the report.

By the end of the day you were totally drained again, barely having strength to take a ride home. Did you promise yourself to order food from the nearest store? Nope, not today. You thought you couldn’t even lift your finger when you threw your bag to the floor along with your shoes and went to lay on the couch, not even taking off your clothes. It felt like you ran a marathon - despite the fact you weren’t doing any sports for at least a year, your body failing to engage in whatever activity but just get you moving from one place to the other.

Captain once mentioned he needed to be in a pretty good form to keep doing his job, and you were a bit jealous. You really wanted to be able to just wake up and not feel like you were working the whole night, so remembering him talking about jogging in the morning was making you jealous. Why couldn’t you have what he had? 

“I feel like you’re not completely honest with me, honey.”

You barely smiled, looking at your phone. Cap was always so perceptive.

“I’m sorry. I’m not good, but I’m trying my best.”

“I know you do. Can I help you? Do you need money?”

Huffing, you rubbed your nose. It wasn’t the first time he offered to help you, though you had never accepted this kind of help. You felt like it would make you obliged to him, and you wanted none of that. 

“No, thank you, Captain. You’re too nice, you know? I’m worried someone will eventually take advantage of you.”

“I promise to be careful.”

Laughing, you got up and went to your room: you never knew whether he was joking or dead serious. Captain admitted once he just didn’t get how to use emojis. Thinking of him writing something like “I’m too old for all this”, you burst out laughing again.

“Are you sure I can’t help?”

“Yes, thank you. You’re already helping me. Sometimes I don’t even know why you keep doing it since I’m not the most responsive person on the Internet.”

“Because I love you.”

Dropping your phone to the bed, you just pushed your face into your pillow. You wished he was serious, but your knew he wasn’t. Anyway, who would? He had never even seen or met you. Only teenagers believed they could truly love some strange dude they’d been talking to on Twitter.

You wished there was someone, anyone, who would be by your side. Maybe then it would be easier to go through all this and finally recover. However, you couldn’t be sure Captain was as good as you pictured him. It could be all a lie.

Forgetting to take your meds again, you drifted off to sleep still wearing your suit. It was only 7 pm, and you were so tired as if you were carrying rocks on your back the whole day. 

Nonetheless, you weren’t given time to sleep properly - in an hour you woke up from your door chime ringing and hurried so much you almost fell of your bed. Damn. Who could it be? You didn’t remember inviting anyone. Hell, you didn’t even have anyone who would want to visit you now. 

Forgetting about how you looked in your wrinkled suit and blouse, you ran to the door, opening it without even checking who had come. It must have been a mistake, you thought. Or could it be your neighbor who came to talk to you about something?

But it wasn’t an elderly man who lived in the apartment next to yours. It was someone else. Someone you only saw on TV and a few promotional posters you stumbled upon in the subway.

“Hello.”

Steve Rogers smiled at you as you struggled to understand whether you were still sleeping or awake. Steve Rogers? Captain America? At you door? Oh, you should have taken your meds.

Staring at him with your mouth half open, you couldn’t utter a single word. It just didn’t feel real, you thought when he watched you with such kind expression it could make you cry. Why was he here? What for? Looking at him glowing with a euphoric grin on his face, you suddenly realized you were still dressed in that suit, and your makeup was probably smeared by now. Damn, what a great coincidence.

“Why are you looking at me like that, little star?” The man asked joyfully, entering your apartment and almost pushing you away, a big grocery bag in his hand. “Are you alright?”

Little star. It was a username you had when you started texting Cap a few months ago. You had changed it multiple times after that, but he always called you that, saying it really suited you. But how did Steve Rogers know about that, and, more importantly, why would he need to know that?

Cap. Captain. Captain America.

Oh shit.

“It can’t be.” You muttered, gripping your phone in your hand. “This just can’t be happening.”

Watching the man smiling at you, you felt nauseated and starting slowly losing control over your body, sliding onto the floor. Captain left the bag full of fruits and veggies immediately to help you to stay on your feet and guide you to the couch. Feeling his strong muscular arms holding you carefully, you started chewing your lips: apparently, Steve Rogers standing in the middle of your living room was real, and your meds weren’t at fault.

“You’re making me worried.” The man said as he helped you lay down on the couch and loomed over you, watching your face. “I see you’re not taking care of yourself at all. Do you want a glass of water? Do I need to call the doctor?”

You shook your head, staring at the hero intently while he bowed lower, touching your forehead with his lips.

“No fever, that’s good.” He mumbled and made you open your eye wide, then got back a little, giving you space. “I know you’re not talking your medication properly. Little star, this is no good.”

“How did you find me?’ You whispered, rubbing your eyes and smearing what was left your makeup completely.

Steve smiled. “It’s not as hard as you think, but you shouldn’t worry about it. I hope you are sorry for lying to me all this time.”

“W-what?”

“I see you can’t look after yourself like you should. Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I know it’s very hard for you, so I’ll be taking care of you instead. Give me just a minute to gather your belongings, dear.”

With that he smiled again and disappeared in your room as you stared at the ceiling in horror.

You certainly should have taken your meds.

_____________________

Tags: @finleyjayne​​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​​   @helenaeisenhower​​​ @villanellevi​​​ @hurricanerin​​​ @void-hoechlin​​​ @abyssaint​​​ @heeeyitskay​​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​​​ @navegandoaciegas​​​ @rosalynshields​​​ @brattycherubwrites​​​ @sllooney​​​ @angrythingstarlight​​​ @lovelydarkdaydream​​​ @soleil-dor​​​ @lookiamtrying​​ @buckysbunny​​ @stargazingfangirl18​​

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Plus One, Ch. 2

Previously on Plus One

It oscillated every other minute between being an amazing idea, but also being the worst idea of all time, and Lexa was mostly exhausted of bouncing back and forth. It might be easier, she decided, if she just got herself on board with it being a good idea, but a deep, gnawing hole seemed to manifest itself in her gut at the very thought of seeing her ex. 

As she went through the motions of finishing the day, of doing inventory because it was Wednesday, Lexa tried not to distract herself with the thoughts of her impending trip. In just forty-eight hours, she’d be face to face with Costia, who she hadn’t seen in months, who she avoided before occasionally running awkwardly into each other at mutual friends’ events. She’d come face to face with her ex who was getting married. 

And she was going to do it with a complete stranger on her arm. 

With a heavy sigh, Lexa tossed her clipboard on her tiny desk in the storage closet and plopped down in the squeaky chair, tipping it back with a wail. Her sister was the worst. 

It was quiet in the shop, closed for just a handful of hours, Lexa always took a day to inventory and repair the damage of the week. She enjoyed the late evening work, when her workers were gone, and the shop was empty and full of dreams. No one knew how the cabinets stayed so clean, or how the scratches on table tops got sanded and fixed, or how the wobbly table by the window was miraculous cured one day, or how the ceiling fans got dusted, just that it all happened, and Lexa was off, meaning she didn’t come in until at least ten, the following morning. 

But Lexa sat in the chair and let her brain do the same mental gymnastics it always seemed to do in the new quiet she found herself craving. She opened her laptop and ignored the awaiting spreadsheet, and instead opted to look over the answer Clarke had given her to the “Know your partner” quiz Clarke googled and made them both do. A mix of basic information and Newlywed Game style innuendos, Lexa filled hers out after a bottle of wine and anxiously waited for Clarke’s. 

That was what started the daydreaming. She scrolled through Clarke’s answers and furrowed, doing her best to memorizing all that she could, as if she’d be tested on it all, as if it’d be impossible to believe she could be happy with someone like Clarke. 

And when those thoughts started to seep into her brain, Lexa leaned back again and dug the tips of her fingers into her eyes. 

In a week it’d be over. 

And with that and a deep, heavy sigh, Lexa looked at the screen again and went about learning Clarke. 

She started professionally, of course, looking at her corporate page and resume, because this was, if not anything, simply a business transaction and Lexa thought it was easier to parse a person if she didn’t actually have to fall for her. 

A graphic designer at Anya’s firm, Clarke held accolades and a long list of references. The link to her work showed a wide range of commercial campaigns and a certain amount of talent evident by her list of upcoming projects. A graduate of a small, private, liberal arts university, her academics leaned heavily scientific, which was a surprise until Lexa read some of the answers in the survey about a degree in physics given up for art. 

Lexa promised that she wouldn’t have looked at Clarke’s Instagram if Clarke hadn’t requested her first. She wasn’t someone who lurked, or at least she thought she wasn’t. She didn’t want to be someone who snuck around, digging through someone’s past, analyzing every filter and caption like a private investigator. But then Clarke appeared. 

And there were pictures of Clarke with friends getting drinks on a rooftop. And then the one with her laughing and baking. Or the Christmas party where she was on a corporate Santa’s lap, smiling so wide her eyes were shut. Despite herself Lexa found herself smiling along with the girl in the pictures. The one who went hiking with a pack of dogs, and the one who seemed to always be eating something. The one who had a lot of friends and enjoyed making them smile and laugh. The girl who posted storie about her morning run, and the girl who seemed to have a healthy work life balance. 

Lexa closed the webpages and stared at her inventory for exactly two seconds before curiosity won again and Lexa started looking at Costia’s account. There were the standard pictures of her pre-wedding planning. There was Costia working out. There was her new bride-to-be, happy and smiling at a gift for her birthday. 

And then a throwback that made Lexa’s stomach drop as she stared at a familiar image of Costia smiling in a bikini on a beach. It was from the last trip they took. Lexa was the one behind the camera. 

Three weeks after that picture was taken, Lexa walked in on Costia and a girl in the middle of the afternoon. Right in their own bed. Only to then discover it’d been going on for months. And it wasn’t the first. And then, Lexa didn’t remember much except that she moved into the apartment above her coffee shop and woke up one morning alone on sheets that weren’t familiar, in a room full of boxes. 

It seemed even more difficult to start inventory after that shot to the gut. 

But her phone went off, and Lexa leaned back in her chair after shutting the laptop again, wondering if that sinking feeling ever went away when it came to someone you love, or loved, or once loved, even for a moment. She didn’t have anything to compare it to, and she didn’t have any idea what love really was. 

It felt like a deep wound was scratched open, the scab pulled back, and a burning numbness gnawing at the bottom of her spine. It felt like it would swallow her whole, and Lexa hated, more than anything, giving anyone the power to do anything as such over her. 

Hey! Do you think this will go with your outfit?

An image came next, of Clarke in a dressing room wearing a very pretty dress, with very messy hair with her tongue sticking out. Lexa didn’t notice the gnawing feeling disappear. 

We don’t have to match completely. 

We do! Don’t you know how to date?

Not really. 

Another picture of another dress came a moment later. Clarke was pretty. She was happy and silly and kind. It felt oddly normal, for as crazy as the whole scheme actually was. 

I like that one, Lexa wrote, making sure to add a heart-eyed emoji to emphasize her point. Maybe that was flirting. Maybe she was allowed. She definitely needed more rules. 

Good, I do too. It matches your tie, you know? And these heels will still leave you a little taller than me. 

Sounds good to me!

Kind of excited. I guess I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow. 

I’ll be the one at the bar. 

I’ve heard it’s possible to find your soulmate at the airport. Something about the crossing of paths and time and space. 

If my soulmate is a bottle of wine, then I reckon I might. 

A love story for the ages. 

Lexa smiled once more at her phone before tossing it to the side and letting her head drop to the desk. With a groan she growled into her hands and broke it down. She just needed to make it seventy-two hours. That was it. She could sleep for about twenty of those. She could drink for another twenty or more, if she really tried. 

But this was it. This was the end. 

And regardless of the weight of everything else, there was something satisfying about knowing it was almost over. 

XXXXXXXXXX

The airport was absolutely teaming with bodies and people, weaving their way through the swelling crowds, loading and unloading the terminals at a constant, steady thumping rate, so regular one could set a watch to the heartbeat of the building. 

Clarke adjusted her bag on her shoulder and tapped the ticket against her thigh as she moved through the security line. The nerves were coming for some reason. That was why she was at the airport three hours before the flight. She was anxious and needed a stiff drink and a few moments to catch her breath. She needed to escape the whirlwind she’d allowed herself to create. 

Carefully, she made her way through the airport, checking the boards and finding her way to a seat in the empty waiting room. Not even an attendant waited at the kiosk. 

Once again, she let herself awkwardly scroll on her phone, learning everything she could about her future date and weekend plans. 

Lexa was nearly non-existent online. She didn’t have any pictures of herself. She rarely posted anything on her personal account, and when she did, it was just a book or a coffee or from a trip. She wasn’t one to enjoy being the center of attention, but when it came to her shop, she made sure to post almost daily, highlighting her employees and their recommendations, she made share to highlight events, she made sure to be as active as possible. 

Anya had already warned Clarke that her sister was devoted to her work. She’d poured all of her effort into being successful and part of the community, and Clarke admired it, she just wished that there was more for her to see. 

And so, once more, she flipped back to the long line of questions they’d filled out before giving up and gazing out the window at the planes coming and going. 

For a moment, she allowed herself to think that she was doing something nice and good. It was an act of charity. It was the shake up Clarke needed and was selfishly trying to package as benevolent. 

“You beat me, and I’m usually the first one here for a flight,” Lexa observed, walking up to Clarke, stealing her from her reverie. 

“I like airports. Just waiting for true love to stroll up and introduce themselves.”

Lexa shoved her hands in her pockets, her bag balanced on her shoulder as she cautiously looked around, surveying the empty terminal slowly. Clarke watched her look around, smiled at the innocence of it. Enjoyed the way she ran her hand through her hair, mussing it up a bit and tossing it to another side. 

“No one likes airports,” Lexa shook her head before taking the seat beside her. 

“I do. They’re romantic.” 

“Romantic?” 

“You can get onto a plane, and a few hours later, you’re hundred of miles away, and it’s different weather, and it’s a different time zone. You can go to sleep in a different state. How can you not be romantic about that.”

“It’s a tin can filled with recycle air.” 

“But there are peanuts.” 

That did it. Lexa cracked a smile to herself and relaxed a little. 

“I was going to be the first one here. Surprise you with coffee, but you beat me to it.” 

“You are quite a good girlfriend. Someone clearly trained you well.” 

Lexa shook her head, somewhat bashful, somewhat reserved. There was always something right there, just below the surface, obfuscated by a kind of resolve to never give anything away, not at any price. Clarke read it between words in their texts and emails, a glaring finality in the simple pixel of a period. 

“Can I get you a coffee? Two creams, two sugar right?”

“You don’t have to--”

“It’s early and I’m trying to be charming. Allow me to somewhat repay you for this whole endeavour.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, darling.” 

With the term of endearment, Lexa nodded, grinning into her chest as she stood and made her way across the terminal in search of sustenance. Clarke watched her take out her phone, texting her sister no doubt. 

Once more, Clarke resumed the digging on her own, scrolling on her own phone at old pictures on Lexa’s profile. She was ready for fun, and she was ready to crack at that facade. 

“I don’t know if this will help,” Lexa sighed as she sat down. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” 

“Oh this won’t be good for me either,” Clarke said as she took a sip. “I’m a fairly nervous flyer.”

“And yet you let me get us both coffee.” 

“You made a good point, and I’m prepared to be paid back all weekend.” 

With another grin, Lexa leaned back, her arm going on the back of the chair that Clarke inhabited, naturally, with ease, with a level of comfort. 

“Are you ready to tell me the story?” 

“Which one is that?” Clarke turned to look at her date, returned from an absent moment. 

“How we met.” 

“How we met,” she nodded, her smile bordering on mischievous. “That’s simple. Don’t you remember? It was a very blustery Tuesday, and I was trying to escape the wind and rain. I almost tripped coming into your coffee shop, but you happened to be sweeping, and were kind enough to catch me.”

“You’re severely overestimating my reflexes.” 

“Fine. I ran you over and we both ended up on our asses in the middle of the coffee shop. Coffee everywhere.” 

“Sounds pretty likely.” 

“And I knew right there, I was hooked. Those eyes, all angry and annoyed at me for not looking where I was going, despite my persistent defense that I’d been assaulted by the weather.” 

“Why do I have to be the angry one?” 

“Wouldn’t you be though?” Clarke returned, daring her to be contradicted.

“Maybe,” Lexa agreed over the lid of her cup, fretting with it nervously. 

“So I crashed into you, and you bought be a coffee. I turned up every day after that until I finally asked you out. You took longer than I would have liked to answer me, but I accepted it anyway, and we’ve been madly in love ever since.” 

“And when was this?” 

“About eight months ago.” 

“How’s it going so far?” 

“Splendidly. I’ve already met your sister, who it happens that I work with, which is super convenient for everyone.” 

Quietly, Lexa sat there, going over the story, going over all of the past eight months of apparent bliss in her head. Clarke watched her furrow before softening, her eyes not seeing, but rather looking through the window as a plane took off and another landed. The softening of her features was soon met with a perplexion, a slight, gentle contortion of the brow and the lips, a tightening as a kind of confusion overtook the ease of the entire story. 

“Is it that easy?” Lexa asked quietly, turning her head toward her date. Clarke cocked her head, waiting for more. “Is all of it… just… a wind? Waiting for someone to just ask you out? Is it that easy? Does that happen to people?” 

“It can. How does anything happen in the world? It just… does. The universe is just a series of things happening, all of the time, right?”

“But is it that easy?”

To her credit, Clarke thought about it. She flexed her jaw and took a deep breath before slowing letting it go as she wondered if it really was. 

“I don’t know. Maybe it can be.” 

“How?”

“I guess there has to be a balance to making things happen and letting things happen.” 

“I don’t know if I’m good at either of those things,” Lexa confessed. She sat up straighter a moment later, afraid of her honesty, and surprised more by how easily it came out. 

“I think you can be.”

“That’s probably too kind.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Clarke rubbed Lexa’s shoulder, rubbed the middle of her back between her shoulder blades until she reached the collar of her shirt, where she massaged her neck. She tensed before relaxing, and Clarke didn’t stop, just rubbed there gently, slowly until she knew it was enough and she trailed her palm back toward the seat. 

It was right there, they just didn’t know it.

[sunflowerstache]

the one where you’re Harry’s tailor

@theasstour​ and I have been stewing in this idea for nearly a year and it’s finally come together.. we hope you enjoy x.

Word Count: 25.6k | Warning(s): explicit language, alcohol, sexual content

NORA’S MASTERLIST  |  SARAH’S MASTERLIST

There were few moments in life that would equate to being backstage at a fashion show, simply because it was impossible to string together the specific words needed to describe the feeling. Journalists tried, quickly scribbling down thoughts and plans for their future articles in small notepads, while the professionals around them danced about in unspoken, yet somehow synchronized, movements. How would they be able to accurately depict the feeling of fabrics rubbing together between your fingers, in the most comforting way? The almost deafening sound of sewing pins carelessly being dropped on the table, after fixing a foot sized hole in a pair of trousers moments before showtime. Or how, with the amount of people crammed into the room, mixed with the humid Roman air seeping through the open windows, had sweat continuously dripped from your forehead. Yet, there was still a constant shiver running up your spine with nerves. No matter how valiant of an attempt, unless they were watching their own tailored outfits walk down the runway, their written words would never be exactly right.

Even after four years working for Gucci, perfecting hundreds of articles of clothing, clothing that was held on such a high pedestal in the fashion industry, the nerves never settled. Not when Alessandro immediately hired you at the end of your University placement, or when you were asked to accompany him in the closing walk during last year’s Cruise Show. But all of those monumental achievements paled in comparison to the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you were crouched in front of your current canvas, Gucci’s newest runway model for the 2020 Cruise Fashion Show; Harry Styles.

He was making his runway debut wearing Look 51, something you’d taken notice was not too far away from his new wardrobe when you first opened his folder. The wide legged pants were crafted from fine dots patterned blue wool, a single red pin stripe running from the hip, all the way down to the ankle. They were finished with minor details, ones not many people would take notice to, but ones that made your heart race with excitement; hidden horn buttons, front slash pockets, viscose inner lining, and an interior silk belt, all of which were hidden by his coat. Green, red, and blue stripes defined the knee length coat, appearing to crease where the four pockets sat; two at his groin and two more just at the breasts, the left pocket holding Lyre ‘Pas de Rumeur’ crest patch. Barely visible under the wool coat, peaked out a blazer identically matching the pants, only the buttons and red piping could be seen, but you knew what would be hidden to onlookers; an orange lion embroidered onto the upper left breast pocket, the hand stitched word ‘Gucci’ sitting under it’s paws in black thread, and a baby blue silk inside - a fabric that no doubt felt great against Harry’s white tank top covered torso. The rest of his look consisted of minor accessories that brought the look together; a red barrie that had the signature double G’s embroidered in green thread, a pair of crocheted black fingerless gloves, and maroon quilted leather slide sandals, complete with the interlocking G horsebit. The subtle jewelry on his body was a stark contrast to his usual ring clad fingers, now only having a few delicate necklaces rest against his bare chest. He was a sight to be seen, someone who would surely grab attention as he made his way through the dark museum runway.

“Quit moving, or you’ll end up with a pin in your bum.” you mumbled, on your knees behind Harry and quickly fixing a tear in the rear left pants pocket before he was ushered out onto the runway.

The two of you were in the farthest corner of the back dressing room, away from most of the hustle and bustle of all other models, so that you could grab the emergency sewing kit, filled with all colors of thread, baby scissors, hundreds of pins, and even super glue, from your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, Alessandro could be seen weaving through the room, triple checking that each and every outfit was completed in the exact way he had envisioned. There wasn’t much time before all models were set to step foot on the Musei Capitolini floor, and the last minute nerves were finally setting in.

“Sorry, can’t help it. Never done this before, you know.” his voice was muffled by not only the chatter of the room, but also the constant picking of his lip.

“Still can’t believe you’re actually doing it, if I’m honest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you chuckled, giving the bum pocket a couple tugs to make sure it wouldn’t come undone again, before moving to stand directly in front of him. “You cut yourself the first time we met, ripped your trousers at the first shoot, and fell off a stone wall in the new campaign. You’re not exactly the most graceful lad at times.”

“In my defense, no one told me not to get on that wall.” Harry paused a moment, holding his hand out for you to place the pin cushion while you reorganized your bag,  “Can’t believe we only met a few years ago. Feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Without any hesitation, you nodded in agreement.

You couldn’t really remember the exact date you first met Harry. All you remember is it had been February 2018 and raining - very hard at that - and when you entered the Gucci store on Bond Street in London, your umbrella had been torn to shreds because of the wind, and your hands felt like ice after having been attacked by the raging storm outside. Alessandro had been upstairs in one of the offices, three huge white boards before him with the different campaigns he was planning at the time. Humming along to Malafemmena by Roberto Murolo playing from the speakers on his desk, Alessandro traced a finger over the fabric hanging from the wall beside the boards. You knew those were the fabrics you were going to be using today, your boss having hung them forth so it would be easier for you to work.

“Morning.” You had said, taking your jacket off and placing it on the hanger. “Absolutely horrendous outside.”

“Hmm,” mused Alessandro, tilting his head to take the grey fabric in before he looked over at you making your way over. “Always like that in England.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at the different colours, materials and patterns you were going to use for the new looks. “You’re not wrong.”

Alessandro giggled, looking over his shoulder for a single second.

“Either pouring rain or it’s drizzling.” You said, studying the different designs of each of the suits you would be making over the next few months. “Right annoying when you don’t even want to be here.”

He laughed again, turning around to look at the boards you assumed.

“I’m being serious.” You reached for the fabric your boss had been checking out when you arrived. “Who would choose to live in a country where it constantly rains?”

“Didn’t really have a choice most of my life,” came a voice from behind you and you instantly stopped dead in your tracks. “Can’t really control where we are born, can we?”

Slowly, you turned to see one of Alessandro’s dearest friends: Harry Styles. He was sitting in the brown leather sofa right behind you, a sofa you knew was there from having been in Alessandro’s London office multiple times before, but hadn’t thought to give a second look. You would assume Harry would have someone there with him, like some assistant or manager or… anyone, but Harry was sitting there all alone, looking over at you with this cheeky grin on his face that had your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t a shock for him to be here alone, you thought after a second, as Harry and Alessandro spent loads of time together usually so this was just another normal hang-out for them. You, on the other hand, had never met Harry Styles before. This was your first time being in his company. And so far – you had to be honest with yourself – you weren’t looking very good. Grumpy, soaked through, and with a dash of dishevelled everything, you no doubt looked like a person no one wanted anything to do with. Harry clearly found it very amusing how little you liked being in England. Also most definitely found it funny how startled you were at his sudden utterance. You watched as he got up from the sofa, walking over to you as Alessandro also came to sight again.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro said. “This is Harry.”

You zoned out entirely, the whole situation too surreal. Though you had been born and brought up in England, there was just something about the constant rain that made not only your mood drop, but your skin sticky and hands clammy. So when Harry reached a hand out to shake yours after Alessandro had told Harry your name and introduced you, red lights and a loud alarm started going off in your head. He would have to feel just how bad the effect of the bloody terrible English weather had on you. But not shaking his hand would be weird and impolite. His hand was between the two of you, open and ready for yours. It stood there for a few seconds. And you just looked at it. Quickly realising that not shaking his hand would probably be more awkward than doing so with a sweaty palm, you took his. A breathy giggle left Harry’s lips as your hands met. You let his go, looking over at Alessandro who was giving you a weird look while you heard the slap of Harry’s hand against his thigh in the background.

“Measurements.” Alessandro said, trying to move on from the awkward situation you had just caused. All the blood in your body rushed to the surface of your skin, instantly heating you up. You glanced to the ground, hoping Harry didn’t notice how flustered you just got. Walking to your bag, you took out your notebook and measurement tape. “Glorious, mio caro.”

Getting your pen, you walked over to the board for the Gucci Autumn/Winter Campaign. There were five different suits for this one, a couple of more for the next, and then three for the last one. From the way Alessandro had left some space at the bottom of the last board, it was clear he would be working even more with Harry in the future, they just did not know exactly what or when yet. Someone cleared their throat beside you and you whipped your head to your left to see Alessandro pointing to the different suits on the board.

“These today.” He said, pointing to the specific details he wanted and instructions on where they would be loose and not. “I need to go to a meeting, but you two will be fine on your own. You have a lot in common.”

You frowned, watching as Alessandro walked toward his desk, picking up a huge binder and resting it under his arm. “Have a lot in common?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “You do.”

“Like…?”

Alessandro only gestured with his hands for the two of you to get talking, and then he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him. Dettagli - Detalhes by Ornella Vanoni played lowly as the quiet between the two of you filled the room and made it troublesome to breathe properly. A great stream of anxiety suddenly took over and you suddenly felt very awkward. Obvious from the way Alessandro had left in such a hurry and the way he had left with that grin, you knew there was underlying expectations to this encounter. There were multiple reasons why Alessandro had called you to come help him. You didn’t want to think about that, though, because that only made absolutely everything ten times more embarrassing.

“Lovely,” Harry looked over at you from staring at the door Alessandro had kicked closed, standing confidently in his green and white striped tee shirt over his loose light denim jeans. “Likes a dramatic entrance and exit, that one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking over to the board to look at the details once more. Harry only watched you, a bit unsure of what to do next. The rain fell against the windows, creating a lulling sound to go with the Italian music still swaying through the room. The white walls, tall ceiling, and Victorian look of the room only made it feel like you two were actually in Italy. His phone vibrated from the sofa with an incoming text, only giving it a quick look over his shoulder until you wandered over to your bag again. Whipping your glasses out, you hung them from the collar of your white tee shirt before walking back over to Harry.

Quickly, and maybe a bit too loudly, you cleared your throat. “Are you ticklish?”

Taken a bit off guard, Harry blinked twice. “Only armpits and backs of my knees.”

“Right.” You nodded your head, hooking your measurement tape around your neck. “Stand still, back straight.”

Harry listened to you, biting the side of his lip as you pressed your ring and index finger to your sternum in concentration. Eyes following you as you started walking around his figure, getting a good look at everything before you stood before him again.

“Clothes too loose?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“No, it’s fine.” You said, taking your tape back in your hands again. An instrumental version of ‘O Sole Mio by Jack Jezzro started playing just as the rain outside threw itself more forcefully against the windows, but you tried not to pay notice to anything but what was going on before you. You had no idea why you were nervous. Plenty of times before, you had worked with other celebrities; tailoring their suits, dresses and whatnots. For some reason, however, this felt different. Harry was so close to Alessandro, so the notion that the two of you would get along just as well filled you with anxiety, and a hint of awkwardness. Bringing your tape up you took a step closer to Harry as you lifted it above his head and around his neck. Before doing anything else, you put your glasses on, wanting to actually be able to see what the measurements were. Resting the tape on the tops of his shoulders, you put your finger between the tape and his neck to allow for some room for Harry to breathe in his suits. You felt him swallow against your finger. Her heart skipped a quick beat.

“So…” he said, dragging it out. “Where are you from?”

Instantly, your eyes whipped up in the direction of his, staring at you patiently. You glanced down at the measurements again, whispering them to yourself under your breath and doing so continuously till you wrote his numbers behind the ‘neck’ in your notebook.

“You can tell I’m from England?” you asked, knowing your parents had made it very apparent to you how much of your accent you had lost over the four years you had spent constantly traveling.

“Know a Brit when I hear one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking back to him. “Lift your arms, please.”

He did.

You sneaked the measurement tape from where it hung from his shoulders and wrapped it around the widest point of his chest. “Worcestershire, you?”

“Cheshire,” he answered. “Right outside Manchester.”

“Stand in a relaxed posture if you can,” you ordered. “You can let your arms fall to your sides.” Harry did as you told him to. “Now breathe in.” Breathed in, you noted the numbers in your head. “Breathe out.” You did the same again. Muttering them under your breath, you dragged the tape with you while writing everything down.

“And you?” Harry asked, clearly eager to get to know you better while you were this close to him. He didn’t want any awkward tension between the two of you as this almost felt like an intimate moment; you studying him so closely and touching his entire body on your first meeting. Though he was good at knowing when to be professional and when it was okay not to be - and though he knew this was work - he couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t. You were a good friend of Alessandro, just as he was, and so it felt more like two acquaintances hanging out than anything work related.

“Evesham.” You answered, enclosing the tape around Harry’s waist this time. You leaned into him, nose almost touching his chest. You breathed in through your nose, and as discreetly as possible, breathed out through your mouth. Why were you acting up? What was it with Harry Styles that suddenly made it hard for you to function? This never happened. Bending your index finger, you started feeling around for Harry’s belly button to make sure you were on the right spot.

“Never really been to Worcestershire, if I’m- Oh!” Harry looked down at you as you poked his belly button a little too hard.

“Sorry, just needed to know I was directly on your waist.” You leaned down, asking him to breathe in and out again.

Harry watched you write the numbers down. “How long have you been doing this?”

“What?” you asked, putting one end of the tape at the mid side of his neck, following it all the way down to where you knew Alessandro wanted the shirt to end. Which was a little too close to his crotch. “You mean working for Gucci or tailoring people?” You felt the spot where his abdomen ended and his leg began. No, no, no, don’t go there, be professional, you thought to yourself.

“Both.”

You hunched down, getting the right measurements, writing them down, and then going to stand at his back. “Since I was twenty. Alessandro thought I had some talent, took me under his wing, and I’ve been working for Gucci since, tailoring people.” Placing your finger near his armpit, and tracing a line upward, Harry jerked.

“Absolutely not.” He glanced at you now that you were face to face, protecting his armpit while he continued on, “Want me to elbow you in the throat?”

“Preferably not.”

“Then don’t tickle my armpit.” He was so serious it took everything in you not to laugh.

“Well,” you couldn’t help your smile now. “I kind of have to know where your armpit is to do your shoulders.”

Conflict ran across Harry’s face, as if he was debating everything that could go wrong if he let you do it. Slowly, he turned back around, shoulders incredibly tense this time.

“Try to relax.”

“I know I’m about to have a finger jammed up my armpit, I’m unable to.”

The urge to laugh was so immense, but you bit your lips together and quickly ran your finger from his armpit and directly up his shoulder. Harry only winced a little, sighing under his breath as you took the measurements and then went to write them down.

“Sorry,” Harry said as you turned back around to him. “Didn’t mean to turn into a dickhead, but I just hate when people touch my armpits.”

You smiled. “It’s fine. I’m the same with my neck.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Ever had someone tailor you?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Nope. I’ll do that myself unless I need someone to do my back.”

“Let me know next time you need help and I’ll do your back.” Harry said. “Maybe wiggle my fingers along your neck or summat to that effect.”

You laughed. “You have free time on your hands now? Aren’t you a busy bloke?”

“Count me in after July.”

“Oh?”

“World tour is over; I get to relax.” He informed, watching as you did his arm. “Going to Italy to relax with some mates and family.”

“How nice.” You said, doing his wrist. “I’m going to Italy as well. Always spend March ‘till August in Florence, then September ‘till February in London.”

“Really?” Harry almost looked a little impressed by your lifestyle, as if his own wasn’t just as adventurous. “Travel a lot?”

You couldn’t help a tiny smile, knowing that no matter how many countries you’d travelled to, Harry had probably done double the amount. But regardless of how well-travelled he himself was, in the low yet curious tone of his voice, you could hear the sincerity of his question. “Mostly between Italy and England, but I do tag along on some of Alessandro’s visits to the States, France, and some other countries.”

“Wicked.” Harry smiled as he noticed the corners of your mouth tip a little upward. “What’s been your favourite so far?”

The eye contact was intense. He didn’t look away, focusing entirely and altogether on you. There was a friendliness to his glance that had you relaxing, which was odd considering how anxious you had been earlier. You were sure that, by this point, Harry had completely forgotten the entire reason why he was here or why it was raining outside. And, to be fair, so had you. This felt like catching up with a friend, the easy chatter you had with one of your mates after months apart.

“I feel like I’m somewhat biased, but Italy. I love my little flat in Florence and that city too much for my own good.” You said, finding the way Harry’s head moved slightly with his huff, endearing. “You expected that?”

“What's not to love about Italy?” he asked, head cocked to the side. “I’m going there this summer, remember? Taking my whole family and meeting some mates.”

“Where abouts are you going?”

“Modena.” He put his hands in his jean pockets, nodding his head as he spoke. “Not really anywhere close to a big city or anything, but I just want to rest once I’m there to be fair. I’m teaching myself Italian at the moment, Alessandro is teaching me some as well.”

“Really?” Your smile grew bigger.

Harry’s smile mirrored yours. “Yeah.”

“Would you understand if I spoke some to you?” The four years you had lived in Italy had made you fluent in their first language. It had been a challenge at first, but you now understood the frustrated Florentine drivers shouting out from their open driver side windows, the old couple owning the bakery near you who loved to mumble, and even the slang some of the interns at Gucci used when they talked to one another. Harry seemed to be able to tell that you mastered this language he had just barely started to learn, but he nodded nevertheless.

“Right then.” He said. “Hit me.”

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself, getting the measurement tape from the table behind you, completely having forgotten about the fact that you were here for work.

“Is that Italian for ‘oh no’?” Harry teased, making you both laugh, but you quickly shut up as you saw what was next on the list. Hip and seat. Clearing your throat, you turned back to Harry, biting your lip as you hunched down before him. You could tell that he too was a bit taken aback by the completely new position you two found yourself in. He quickly looked away.

“Is it okay if you…” your eyes met. “If you lift your shirt slightly and lower your jeans a tad? I need to measure directly onto your body.”

“Alright,” Harry took a grip of his jeans, shimmying them along with his boxers a bit down his hip. “Yeah.” Taking his shirt up next, the bare skin of his abdomen was there right in front of you.

“Modena,” you started, leaning in as you brought the measurement tape around him. Harry felt your breath brush against his abdominal hair. “Non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

“What?” he said, eyes glued to the wall right in front of him, hands gripping his shirt hard in concentration. “Didn’t catch that.”

You memorised his number, then said a quick, “You can pull your jeans up and shirt down now.”

Harry did so, watching you stroll back to note his hip. He noticed he was panting slightly, like he had run up a set of stairs. Closing his mouth, he shook his head and willed himself to act normal, to be respectful. It was a little hard, however, when he had been single for so long and a pretty lass stood right in front of his crotch. As you came back and stood in front of him the exact same way as the time before, Harry settled his eyes on the white boards again. This time around, you brought the book with you, wanting the crotch and leg area to be done with as quickly as possible.

“Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.” You said again, measuring around the widest point of his seat.

He didn’t respond.

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

You giggled, writing down the measurements before inhaling hugely. Inseam next. “Did you catch what I was saying?”

“No, I-“ He stopped himself as your hand came up to the inside of his upper thigh, not having seen it coming. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay.” You said quickly, doing his inseam, knuckles softly gracing that spot between his thighs.

“I, uhh, I didn’t understand what you were saying.” He admitted quickly, hands on his hips and gaze faraway.

You wrote down the inseam, and got up, taking the book with you. His eyes instantly fell on you as you stood face to face again; him biting his lips together and your eyes big. Turning around, you placed the book down on the table again, running your finger over all the measurements so far.

“Could you come here, please?” You asked, hearing Harry walk towards you, hands on his back and ready for the next steps. You had been a bit scared to command him earlier, but now that you had talked and been between his legs, you felt it almost got a little easier to be around him. As if the awkwardness had gone away. Now you didn’t have to go far to write his measurements because the table and book and pen were right beside you. You walked over to the white board, mentally jotting down how and where Alessandro wanted the shirt to end and how it was supposed to sit on Harry. Meanwhile, Harry craned his neck to watch you. Still wearing your glasses, he watched your lips move as you mumbled to yourself, the dark blue of the rainstorm from the window beside you, made what Harry looked like seem like a painting. The calmness of you against the raging madness outside. He glanced back at the book, then at the soft fabric hanging beside him, mind wandering to the different places these campaigns would take him. He read over his measurements, about to turn the pages to see some of his other lengths and widths, when he felt a sharp pain in his finger.

He hissed.

You glanced over at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Harry was fast to answer, putting his index finger in his mouth to get some of the blood off his finger.

Walking back over to him, you didn’t pay much attention to how he was quick to put his hand behind his back again where it had been earlier. “Modena isn’t too far from Florence.”

Harry’s brows met above his nose, feeling a little lost at first, but as he slowly started putting two and two together, his grimace evaporated. “Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

You nodded your head twice, giving him a little smile. “Esattamente.”

“Exactly.” Harry translated.

You raised your hand, offering Harry a high five which he happily answered. What he forgot in that second however, was his minor accident just a minute earlier. Right before your hands met, you noticed his finger, and your eyes went immediately to his.

“What happened to your bleeding finger, mate?”

“Oh-” Harry looked at it, looking unsure for a second before he huffed. “Oh that,” he huffed. “That’s nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re bleeding.”

“And you’re a tailor.”

“What…” You shook your head. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“Thought we were stating the obvious.” He shrugged. “Just a papercut. I’ll survive.”

“Of course you’ll survive, just wondered how you were able to start bleeding out of nowhere.”

Harry chuckled. “Not to worry, I’ll be able to use my hand as normal in no time.”

“Knob.” You mumbled automatically, immediately regretting it. That was not at all professional. And you were in a very professional setting. You were at work. You couldn’t call your client a knob right to his face. Oh my god oh my god oh my god, you thought to yourself trying to row yourself back to safe territory. You scrunched your nose up as you inhaled sharply. “Can’t even remember the last time I got a papercut, to be frank.”

“Speaking frankly now, are you?” He joked. You looked up at him again, and a second after your eyes met, you both started laughing. You put your hand to your heart, shaking your head at how silly the two of you were when you were under strict orders from Alessandro to get Harry’s measurements. But the fact that he hadn’t taken you calling him a knob seriously, the fact that he was able to joke about it and take the piss, it made it impossible for you not to laugh with him.

Your eyes met, both teary eyed from laughter.

“What’s knob in Italian, anyway?” Harry asked, making you laugh even harder.

And that launched the two of you into easy conversation. Almost a little too easy for the two of you to just have met. The fact that you were in a work environment didn’t seem to face you at all, which was incredibly refreshing for both. The seriousness of the meetings you had to endure most of the time so unnecessarily boring and dry that this was like a breath of fresh air. Alessandro had been right when he said you had loads in common, which you figured out in between you taking his measurements. There didn’t seem to be a topic untouched at the end of Harry’s session, and though he was done with his measurements and such, he stuck around. You two stood by the table you stood at earlier, you still holding onto the tape like once you stopped, Harry would immediately leave. Neither of you noticed how the door opened slightly. Didn’t notice Alessandro looking through the crack and at the two of you, having heard voices from behind the door when he came back from his meeting. He smiled to himself, seeing Harry laugh at something you said before he closed the door again, leaving you two to it.

You became fast friends. Though you could go a week without texting, or a day without thinking about one another, you still knew that when you next met up, you would pick up where you left off. You had formed an easy friendship like that, one which you both appreciated and knew you could come back to without problem. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you would befriend someone as high profile as Harry Styles when working as a tailor. You hadn’t really thought you would befriend any celebrity when working as a tailor, actually. But here you were, friends with Harry Styles, and not at all thinking of him as someone who made hit singles or who was the new face of Gucci. Someone who made a living off of singing and who had a huge bloody fanbase supporting him. That part of his life felt surreal, but yours and Harry’s friendship was so genuine, so effortless, that you didn’t really care about the other aspects of his life as long as he was a good person.

The second time you met was at the chip shop, The Camp, in St Albans, Hertfordshire, where the photoshoot and commercial would take place. It was cloudy, the skies a dull grey that threatened with rain, but you knew would just fly right by without interrupting the film crew. The wind was annoying however, bitter at the touch, but you knew Harry was a warm blooded person and would have no problems exposing his chest and hands to it. You strolled up to the Camp School parking lot that was littered with cars and a huge white truck where you knew Harry would be, getting ready. Alessandro had other business to attend to and most of the people on set worked for Gucci, but you were there to see that the suits you had made were okay and that they properly fit. For the first fitting some weeks ago, you had been busy with another client, so Alessandro had done that himself. But he still wanted someone on sight in case something happened, because no way in hell were anyone but him or you allowed to repair a pair of torn trousers or a ruined shirt.

You knocked on the door of the truck, heard a “Come in”, and stepped inside. Harry was sitting in a makeup chair, a woman doing his hair and make-up, readying him for his first ever Gucci shoot. He opened his eyes, meeting yours in the mirror before him. Your smiles were identical when you realised who you were looking at.

“Knob.” You said, standing by the wall behind Harry.

“Wanker.” He answered, grinning at you. “You alright?”

It was something the two of you had fallen into the habit of calling one another ever since the ‘knob’ incident of your first meeting. No one really understood why, especially not the people around you. Alessandro, who thought he had been the mastermind behind a match made in heaven, was surprised to see just how good friends the two of you were. Seeing you two hit it off in his office at first, he had immediately thought he had done it, found each his friends a potential partner, but after months of nothing romantic happening, he had given up. It was clear the two of you just looked at each other as friends and nothing more. Very good friends at that.

“Yeah,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing out beyond the door you had just walked through. “Looks like it’s about to rain.”

Harry chuckled. “Worried about that, are you?” He thanked the make-up artist before he got up, gesturing for you to walk out first.

“Yes.” You answered, stepping out of the van. “You’ll look like a maniac if you get wet in that.”

“A maniac?!” Harry sounded appalled. “You might have to elaborate on why.”

“Wet hair, wearing a suit with no shirt, striking orange necklace, and holding a chicken?”

“No, that’s art, babe.”

You laughed. The two of you started strolling towards the chip shop.

“If anything, I’ll look irresistible wearing this and being soaked.” Harry said, saying a quick ‘hi’ to someone walking by. “You won’t be able to resist me.”

You huffed. “If I saw someone walking down the street looking like that, being soaked through, I’d have my pepper spray ready and already dialling 999.”

“Admit it, you’d not be able to keep your hands off me.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me thinking you’re fit?” You laughed. A short silence followed. Your knuckles brushed against one another. Something warm lit up your chest for a single second. Harry just looked at you for a moment, as if seriously contemplating the question. But before you got the chance to look to your left and at your mate, to make sure he was fine, someone interrupted.

“Harry,” one of Glen Luchford’s assistants walked toward the two of you. “We’re ready for you.”

The photographer stood beside the art director – Christopher Simmonds - further down the street, just outside the chip shop, talking amongst themselves about something. A slight breeze blew past you, Harry’s cologne graced you for two lovely seconds as you watched the man himself follow the main photographer’s assistant. You were a couple of steps behind them, standing by yourself and watching the whole commercial unfold. Harry was handed the chicken, who flapped its wings upon being in Harry’s grasp. The look on Harry’s face had you laughing, and Harry immediately looked over at you, giving you a stern look. However, you were laughing, so it was hard for him not to crack a smile as well. Your phone vibrated in your pocket some minutes later, and you walked a distance away as not to be in the way.

“Lallo, hiya.” You greeted, scrunching your nose up as you felt the first droplet of rain hit it.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro greeted, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “How’s the photoshoot?”

“Not really done much yet, but everything’s fine so far.”

He sighed again. “I am glad to hear. Did the suit fit nice like it’s supposed to?”

You glanced at Harry over your shoulder, standing on the pavement further down, ready to film. He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the white sky with big eyes. It was almost as if you could see the peaceful green of his irises. His neck was stretched as he bowed his head back, closing his eyes and letting a few raindrops fall into his face. He looked almost dreamy; peaceful for a few moments as he collected himself. Someone shouted something and Harry blinked his eyes open, looking at the director. Suddenly, his eyes went to you, but they flickered away just as quickly. You looked away.

“It fits.”

“Nothing bad’s happened?”

You kicked at a stone on the ground. “What does that mean?”

“Harry ruining the suit.”

You huffed out a small laugh through your nose. “Do you have that little faith in him?”

“He gets clumsy when he’s nervous.”

You frowned. “Harry isn’t nervous.”

“Are you sure?” Alessandro asked, you could tell he was narrowing his eyes and putting his hand on his hip. He was challenging you. “Really sure?”

“Look,” you started walking towards the make-up van, aware that you most likely had to go get the make-up artist and hairdresser out if it was going to start raining. “Everything’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. If you were worried this was going to be a fail, why didn’t you prioritise this event?”

“Fine, fine. It’s not you I’m worried about, no? It’s that…” Alessandro paused for some seconds. “It’s Harry’s first Gucci shoot and I’m not there. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then I’m there to fix it. Why I’m here, remember?” You spotted the van. “I’m your eyes, ears, and hands today.”

Alessandro laughed. “Il mio amore, what would I do without you?”

“Do not know. I really don’t.”

He laughed again and you two hung up just as you knocked on the door to the make-up van. Informing them that it was drizzling out and that they might have to come do a touch-up if it got worse, you walked in as they got everything they needed. A selection of suits hung on a rack on one end of the van, some twins in case something were to happen, and others were lone ones. Regardless, you always found Alessandro’s ability to make clothes into a form of art so inspiring. It was what made you want to work with him in the first place. An abundance of colours and fabrics, of softness and roughness, of modern and rustic. The things he thought to make you’d never in your wildest dreams think of, which made doing anything for him so fascinating. Always something new, always something spellbinding.

You followed the crew out and in the direction of the shoot. It wasn’t drizzling as much anymore, but this was still England, something that meant it would happen anytime soon. The artists were chatting amongst themselves as you made your way over, you read over an email on your phone. Suddenly though, the heels that had walked right beside you stopped. You glanced up from your phone, over your shoulder at the three ladies you had gotten to help you. They stared straight ahead, and when you averted your eyes, letting them land on what they were seeing, you almost dropped your phone.

The hen Harry had been holding was flapping about, two crew members chasing it while a third one ran over to help. Someone was shouting “Stop recording” and someone else “Get the fucking chicken”. But the worst part of it all – at least for you – was Harry getting up from the asphalt. There was a furrow to his brows as he checked his suits for scratches, stopping when he saw the rip at his knee. Your brain immediately flashed back to what Alessandro had just told you.

Harry’s eyes shot up, hastily scanning the crowd around him, and you quickly realised he was looking for you. Stepping forward, you saw him relax some when his eyes landed on you. He jogged over, groaning through his teeth.

“I-“

“-Get to the bloody van, I need to take a look at the rest of your suit.”

“But there’s only the knee.” Harry said as you two started walking.

“I’m not taking your word for it.”

This seemed to become a theme for Harry’s shoots. His anxiety would get the better of him, though he did get more confident with each one that went by. It wasn’t something he was amazing at at first, but something that grew on him overtime. Just like the seasons changed from winter to spring to summer, Harry slowly got his feet off the slippery ice he seemed to have been on that first shoot in England.

However, a few months later, you were back in Italy, doing another shoot with Gucci. Harry was wearing one of the suits you had tailored for him; a checked one, a blue shirt, a silk bandana around his neck and another one in his hair. Since the last shoot, the two of you had talked over the phone, texted, and sent each other funny memes on Instagram. You hadn’t met up a whole lot, maybe the odd café trip or two with some friends, but nothing beyond that. So, meeting him in Italy, your second home, was incredibly special to you.

You were on the outside of Rome, Villa Lente, and you had spent most of your morning yawning and getting looks from Alessandro when you did so. Harry yawned with you when he caught you doing so, the two of you giggling at how ridiculous you were being. With raised eyebrows, Alessandro watched the two of you, giving you a slight flick to the arm when you distracted Harry.

But it was when Harry was perched on the stone wall, dragging some hair out of his face as he placed himself steadily on it, that was then it happened. The sun hit him just right, making the ruffle of his curls look like a golden halo around his head; green irises switching to the colour of autumn leaves where the light hit them. He looked ethereal. And in the middle of all of this, Harry reached for the lamb he was supposed to be perching on his shoulders. No one thought Harry would actually fall off the wall. No one thought he was that clumsy. But as he was hurtling towards the ground having lost his footing completely, the realisation that he was indeed that clumsy hit you just as Harry hit the stone staircase beneath the wall.

Alessandro exclaimed a few crude words in Italian, running to Harry’s aid. You stood there blinking, getting yourself back from the slight daydream you’d just had about the poor man that laid on the ground with a dozen people around him. One second he had looked like something straight out of a dream; like an angel that had come down to earth. He had looked too good and you simply had not been able to look away from him. You knew Harry was good looking, you weren’t blind, but something about the sun hitting him like that, when he smiled down at you watching him, how carefully he styled his hair when he at up on that stone wall. It did something to you.

But all of that disappeared right away when Harry hit the ground, exclaiming a grunt of pain. Alessandro was by his side in seconds, speaking so fast you had trouble understanding him. Harry held onto his knee, yet again having ripped the suit and once again bleeding, only this time it was his hand. Why was it always his knee and why did he always end up bleeding? It was only so clumsy a person could get, wasn’t it? And yet, Harry Styles seemed to be proving you very wrong. No one was as easily affected by their anxiety as him.

People crowded him, ready to be of help and to get him standing. It wasn’t like he had broken any bones, because he was able to get up onto his feet without trouble, but the fall had definitely hurt regardless. Your eyes locked as Harry’s arm came to rest around Alessandro’s shoulders, the designer helped him over to the van. Once again, Harry had to change trousers.

“How?” you simply asked, unsure what best way to even address the whole situation.

“Don’t,” Harry shook his head, not in the mood to have you take the mick out of him for this. “Hurts like a fucking cunt.”

Alessandro pinched Harry’s side, making him yelp and put more pressure on his knee than he wanted to, ultimately getting him to gasp. Harry glanced at the designer, an annoyed furrow forming between his brows.

“Why’d you do that?”

“You were being rude.”

“Pinching a wounded man is rude.” Harry removed his arm from around Alessandro, limping towards the van. “I’m getting changed.”

You glanced at Alessandro, both of you knowing that no matter what, Harry would be in a bad mood for a bit now. That always happened when something didn’t go according to plan; he’d get grumpy and need some time alone. One of the assistants was about to follow him, clearly having gotten some orders from the photographer, Glen Luchford, or art director, Christopher Simmonds. You put your hand out warning them from following the already irritated and hurting star of the photoshoot. He just needed 10 minutes to cool off, and then you’d be off after him to make sure he was alright.

Once 10 minutes had passed, you knocked on the door of the make-up van, hearing a grumble of sorts before stepping inside. Harry was standing unzipping his trousers and shimmying them down his hip. It reminded you a bit of the tailoring you had done at the beginning of the year, how he had pushed both his trousers and boxers down so you could get his measurements right. He glanced over his shoulder at you before he sat down, now only his boxers covering the top part of his thighs and crotch.

“Don’t stand there looking for too long,” he said, bending over to get the trousers completely off. “I might end up turning you on.”

You stepped inside, closing the door and walking over to the first-aid kit. You felt Harry’s eyes on you as he sat back, placing the ripped trousers on the chair beside him. Getting some cotton, you put a mild soap on it and poured it under water before walking back over to Harry. You sat down in a chair, getting closer to him, and taking his hand. As you turned it over to look at the scratch on his palm, you could tell that it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be, but it still looked like it’d hurt. Carefully, you dabbed the wound, making sure to clean it up. Harry hissed through his teeth, watching as the cotton came out dirty. It hadn’t been the cleanest ground he’d landed on and you didn’t want him to get an infection.

Getting up, you got another piece of cotton and did the same, dragging the chair even closer to Harry now. Taking his hand this time around, your knuckles brushed his thigh, the dark downy hair you hadn’t noticed till now. How his boxers rested tightly around his thighs, and how far up they were, revealing more than you were intended to see. Your cheeks felt hot and you focused on his hand, lifting it from his leg so you didn’t have to feel his warm, bare thigh against your knuckles. There wasn’t really a trace of any dirt on it now, but you wanted to be sure you’d gotten everything before you let him outside again.

You were very aware Harry could rinse his own wound himself. He didn’t need people to do everything for him, he liked doing most things himself, in fact. And though both of you were sat there knowing you didn’t have to, neither stopped it. Slowly, Harry’s eyes came to rest at your face. They stayed there, just watching you tend to him so carefully. When people go out of their way to help you, to make sure you’re okay, those are the kind of people to hold onto for life. The kind of people who will buy you sweets when you need it on a bad day, who will force themselves to be in a cheery mood to better yours, who will kiss your eyelids when you go back to sleep after a nightmare. The kind of people who will rinse your wound when you get hurt when you’re perfectly capable of doing so yourself.

You didn’t know why you looked up, didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was your subconscious that knew if you did, you’d find something you’d been searching for your whole life. Maybe something inside you knew that glancing up, you’d see something you hadn’t before. Your eyes met Harry’s, and though you had stared into them on numerous occasions before, something shifted in that moment. With his hand in your hand, his bare knee resting against yours, eyes glancing intently into yours; it was like something bigger than yourselves took over. You felt it on your heart first, like a warm tingling that spread out to every single one of your limbs and cells. It felt like you were drunk; head hazy and feelings heightened. Everything about Harry before you was greater, brighter; more.

“You need to finish the shoot.” You said, knowing that Alessandro would undoubtedly not appreciate the two of you taking this long.

Harry didn’t answer. He just stared at you, like he was seeing something spectacular for the first time and he couldn’t look away. The look in his eyes softened as he gulped, his Adam’s apple moving with a lump in his throat he clearly had trouble swallowing. For a split second, you could swear you saw his eyes rest to your lips. Following the shape of them, savouring the colour of them. Neither of you realised you were moving in. It wasn’t till the sight of Harry started to blur and the room seem to fill with electricity that you realised just how close you were. You stopped, pulling a bit away till you saw him clearly, but a slight wrinkle to his brows told you he hadn’t appreciated that. Just as you were about to lean in again, to an unknown fate between the two of you, there was a loud knock on the door and a second later it flew open. You pushed away from him, barely even touching his hand as you finished rinsing the wound. Harry blinked, clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder at Alessandro who stood there glancing back at him.

“Well?” Alessandro asked, gesturing behind him at the shoot that had been momentarily stopped.

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes meeting yours before he dragged his hand out of your grip. “Just a sec.”

Harry got up, walking over to the wardrobe to get changed. Instantly, you threw the cotton away and walked outside with Alessandro, ready to forget the whole moment and never think of it again. But it was easier said than done. The rest of that shoot, that day, that week, it was all you could think about.

Unfortunately, after that shoot, you and Harry hadn’t been able to see one another  It was finally that time of year when you had a bit of time off to relax, and this time it happened to fall in the middle of July. It gave you the perfect opportunity to do nothing more than wander the streets of your home, see some old friends, and fully enjoy the beauties that an Italian summer had to offer. But no matter how happy you were for the time off, it was bittersweet because although Harry had just finished his world tour and now had an abundance of free time on his hands, he was fully booked until you’d see him for your next shoot.

You didn’t fault him for how he spent his time off, he did just get home after a long year long world tour, and that did warrant some time alone. But you did have to admit that you missed seeing him. Somewhere in your mind, you recall him saying he was spending some time in Italy up north with his family, but the dates were jumbled and you didn’t want to disturb his peace. Instead, you settled for knowing you’d see him again in a few short months.

You had set out for the day in order to find some new houseplants, seeing as the young girl who kept yours tended to while you were away - Lilliana - always seemed to let them wilt. It was the most perfect day to stroll down to the market and see some of the florists you’d missed while you were away, what with the sun shining it’s brightest and only the tiniest breeze ghosting by your cheeks. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. This was your time to bask in the sunlight before heading back to dreary London for some time.

Sandals clapping against the cobblestone walkway echoed through the quiet street, the sound of faint music playing from a nearby open window was carried by the breeze, filling in any silence that would be there otherwise. This was the life you had dreamt about as a child, the kind of life that you only got to read about in books or watch in films, yet here you were. It was yet another reason you had to be thankful to Alessandro for.

“Mi scusi, signora.”

You often walked down the small side street with your eyes closed briefly, not only knowing it like the back of your hands, but also basking in the warmth of the sun, so it wasn’t anything new to have someone speak up to let you know they were near. But something about that voice was familiar. Like when you walk into your home for the first time in a while and you can smell you. Like you can’t exactly put a finger on it, but you know it’s familiar, so you investigate. Which you did, and it caused you to gasp.

“Harry?”

“In the flesh.” his smile could rival the brightness of the sun that was shining between in the tall buildings as he walked up the slight incline of the street towards you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood and through I’d stop by. See my favorite tailor.” Once he finally reached you, your arms were instantly wrapped around one another, squeezing like you hadn’t just been together weeks ago.

“Wha - how are yo-?”

“Don’t tell me you’re speechless. You? Of all people?” he laughed, pulling away after giving a few rubs to your back.

“I know you didn’t come all the way to Montaione to take the piss, Harry.” you took this time to really look at him after your surprise meet up. He looked remarkable, something that quite annoyed you considering he was dressed so casually. Then again, the man could pull off close to anything. He was wearing a pair of grey trousers; a single pleat running from his waist to ankles down the middle of the leg, a plain white t shirt that perfectly accentuated his dark tattoos, and a royal blue bandana that hung loosely from around his neck. The pair of sunglasses he had worn when walking up to you were now being hung from the bandana so that he could get a better look at you, and if you had to look at his sparkling green eyes for any second longer, you were sure you would combust.

“Despite how easy it is to get under your skin, I, surprisingly, didn’t come here to do anything other than see you for a few hours.”

“A few hours? You traveled down from Modena just to hangout for a few hours?”

“Knew I was in Modena then? Keeping tabs on me while we’re apart, are you?”

Your hand jut out and shoved him hard enough to make him lose a bit of balance while you two started walking down the street, just enough so that he had to take a few steps to the side to stabilize himself.

“Thought you weren’t here to take the piss, knob.”

He laughed, nodding his head and sliding his sunglasses back onto his face. “Alright alright. Truce. But to answer your question, yes I did. That a bad thing?”

“Uh, no it’s not. Just a bit surprising is all. That’s a bit of a journey just for lunch.”

“And I’d make it countless more times for you.”

Over the last two years, you grew to know Harry and when he was being serious or having a laugh, so you could instantly hear the sincerity behind his words. Despite the goofy grin playing at his lips, you knew that he was being truthful, and the thought made butterflies awaken in your belly.

“It’s good to see you, Harry.” the nod you gave was more towards yourself, but when you glanced up at Harry, you saw that he was already watching you, smiling as he took in your relaxed aura.

“You too, doll.”

“How’d you find me, anyway?” just as you did each time you met up, the two of you fell into easy conversation as you made your way towards the village square. Harry was one of those people that you could go months without talking to, yet somehow, the second you met back up again, you were able to pick up right where you left off.

“Alessandro may or may not have given it to me.” his voice was timid, like he didn’t fully want to admit he had asked your boss where you lived.

“Of course he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s obsessed with you, you know?”

“He’s not.”

“Mhm. Says you’re his shining star. ‘M sure the man would create a whole collection surrounding you if you give him enough time.”

“Says the woman who he looks at like his next of kin.”

“Don’t make this into a pissing contest, Harry. You know he adores you.”

“Just him?”

It felt like spending time with a lifelong mate when with Harry, but when he said shit like that, when he made your tummy flutter with his mix of words and longing gazes, it made it hard for you to see him as just a friend.

“Didn’t you say that you only had a bit before having to get back?” you changed the subject quickly, not wanting to answer his question.

“Not get back, ‘m not headed back to Modena.” he shook his head when you sent him a soft, questioning ‘no?’ “Nope. Flying down to Sicily for a few days for Google Camp.”

“Google Camp?” your eyebrows shot up in question when he told you, “A sumit for the rich and famous to talk about climate change while flying in on private jets and yachts. How very unlike you mister Styles.”

“Oi, lay off. Got invited, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to turn it down. Besides,” he shrugged, “‘M flying commercial and carpooling. Being as eco friendly as possible.”

“Course, of course.”

“I have four hours until my flight, so just shut up and come get lunch with me.”

The room had gone totally dim during your trip down memory lane, indicating that it was time for everyone to begin getting in their places so that the show could begin. But even in the low lighting, it wasn’t hard to miss the look of fear and doubt flash through Harry’s eyes. The look was something that appeared before every shoot or campaign you had been present for, only lasting seconds, yet always intriguing to you. The man before you was a superstar, someone who pranced around on stage in front of tens of thousands of people every night, without a care in the world. Yet, as soon as your exquisitely tailored clothes touched his body, his shoulders would tense, and he looked like a scared child. You’d never understood why.

“You’re nervous.” It came out as more of a breathy statement than a question.

“‘M terrified.”

You heard those words regularly from your models, especially the new ones, but hearing it fall from between his lips made your stomach tighten. Harry was such a natural at all of this; the superstardom. It was easy to tell that he felt right at home while on stage, how perfectly natural his body reacted whenever the camera was on for a red carpet, how easy going he was when it came to hair and makeup and outlandish outfits. All of it came so easy to him and it blew you away every time you got to witness it. And while he was so good at adjusting quickly to new environments, his team and fans constantly cheering him on with every new endeavor, he was still just a normal twenty five year old guy. He still FaceTimed his mum to get her opinion on new looks, still went out and enjoyed his free time with mates, and still got anxious when trying something new. He never seemed to want to disappoint you or Alessandro when he was wearing the clothes you’d made for him specifically. That was what got to him, you thought, the prospect of ruining spectacular clothes you’d made from scratch. The moments in time you’d just thought back on was indicator enough.

“It’s gonna be great. We saw you during the runthrough yesterday.” you smiled, reminding him how well he had done during the practice show.

“But that’s different. This time it means somethin-” he was cut off by Alessandro yelling it was time for all models to officially line up for showtime. “What if I go too fast and I step on Mae’s shoe, fuck up her walk? Or too slow and clog up the entire runway? Or the hat fal-”

“Hey!” To stop his incessant worrying, your hands grabbed either side of his face, making him stop for a second and look directly at you. He blinked once. “Stop it. You’re going to do amazing. Alessandro wouldn’t have put you in this show if he didn’t have complete confidence in you. And you should know by now I wouldn’t have wasted my oh so precious time making any of this fit you perfectly if I didn’t believe in you.”

Harry’s breathing began calming down, going from almost hysterical to a gentle, rhythmic, intake, indicating that he was coming out of his panic bubble. His eyes never left your own, quite different from all the times they had openly roamed your figure.

“You can do this.” You whispered, nodding slightly and sending him a loving smile as your hands dropped back down to your sides,

Alessandro’s voice yelled over everyone, demanding everyone be in their place immediately, but Harry made no move to leave your side. He continued staring at you, taking a few deep breaths every few seconds and nodding to himself, seeming to give himself a pep talk in his head. The lights went out in the museum, leaving the audience in complete darkness, and you knew the intense sound of an alarm would soon be echoing through the building to start the show.

But none of that held your attention.

In what could have only been a second, Harry’s lips were pressed against yours. It was so quick that you didn’t have time to register what had happened before he was turning to run and join the other models, but it left you stunned. Like being in the warmth of your home during a snowy day and suddenly opening the door, letting the freezing wind hit you in the face.

And as much as the kiss had taken you off guard, it felt so very right that small second it happened. He hadn’t even given it a second thought, leaning in to kiss you like the two of you had been an item for years and it was part of your normal everyday routine. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the thought alone made your fingertips ache to be on his skin again. Shaking yourself out the haze that had formed around you mind, your focus and priorities flipped like a switch as soon as the siren began playing, looking around the room to make sure everyone and everything was where it needed to be.  

Just as the precession of models began exiting the dressing room, and The Shadows Die Twice by Br1002 ranging throughout the museum, you made your way up to stand beside Alessandro. There was never a time you saw him truly stressed; not when you first started working with him and you accidentally ruined an entire bundle of fabric, not when he was in charge of creating dozens of different looks for the Met Gala, and not even now, watching as his newest collection strutted down the runway, making its worldwide debut. He was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.

“There she goes.” You admired, resting your head on your boss’ shoulder and watching all 217 of the looks he created and you helped bring to life, be released into the world.

The sense of pride that rushed through your veins each and every time you got to see the pieces you put your heart and soul into, was similar to what you could only imagine it was like for a parent to watch their child flourish. You could remember all the moments during the months leading up to the show that you wanted to quit, when you would get so frustrated with Alessandro and his brilliantly creative mind every time he brought you a new look idea, how badly you wanted to scream after pricking your fingers so much they started to bruise. You remembered all of those times when holding such an important job at Gucci felt like something you just weren’t ready for at the age of twenty four. But every hardship was worth it the moment your work came to a culmination. This moment of absolute pride and excitement.

“How are you feeling?”

Alessandro wrapped his right arm around your shoulder, pulling you so close to his body that it was most comfortable for you to wrap one arm around his back and one around his waist, your hands joining together at his hip. “I feel so much love.”

That was the only way to describe what the two of you were feeling as the show progressed through the museum. Even though the room was dark, tall lighting setups hung in every direction, and hundreds of guests were posted up in chairs, the beauty of the location still shined through. Black and white marble covered the floor throughout the entire building, the diamond pattern flowing easily from room to room, and sculptures of ancient men lined each side of the hallway, seemingly growing from the walls because of the similar colors. About halfway down the hallway, models made a left turn and entered the large area known as Palazzo Nuovo. The “New Palace” was constructed over 400 years ago and was an identical replica of the Palazzo dei Conservatori that Michaelangelo created. You had been to the location many times before since spending 6 months at a time in Italy, but you had never seen it as a place to hold a show. Not until Alessandro had brought you one day and explained his vision as you roamed the hallways.

The quick pass of a red beret on one of the monitors, set up for the backstage team to watch the show, caught your attention. He stayed on camera for a bit, and you wished you could watch his fans meltdown over it in real time because he looked exquisite. Despite the darkness of the room, Harry was glowing. The way the strobe lights would hit his face every few steps and accentuate his already angelic features made your stomach clench. You had spent countless hours up close and personal with Harry, while there was very little fabric covering his body; very intimate and unforgettable moments. Many a-second-too-long looks, smiles when the other wasn’t watching, and an intense almost kiss. And an actual kiss. A tiny kiss. A kiss you still felt on your lips. But now, you were getting hot and bothered thinking about his lips while he strutted down the runway in one of the most conservative outfits of the line.

There was something about the lapel rolls of the jacket flapping open slightly with each step, beautifully showcasing his sparrow tattoos and delicate pendant necklace under the dim lights, that excited you. But it was the faintest smile that graced his lips the second before he left frame that made your heart swell.

The overall look he was sporting was extremely similar to that of his first Men’s Tailoring campaign, with the long robe like jacket and exposed chest, but the glint of both happiness and confidence in his eyes reminded you of the moment you put him into the pink and red ensemble of his latest campaign. Something that still made something inside your tummy flutter and the corners of your mouth tip upward.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Harry said. “I will die. 100%.”

“Stop being so dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, holding the pink blazer up and letting him put both his arms through it. “It’s just pigs.”

“That will have my head if I get too close.”

“This is a Gucci shoot, you’re not on I’m a Celeb.”

Harry huffed, looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting the blazer over his shoulders properly. “Watch me go on I’m a Celeb and die when I get attacked by an exotic animal or summat.”

“A pig won’t be the death of you and it’s not an exotic animal, now shut up and sit down.” You wagged the red bandana at him. “I need to put this on you before we can get this started.”

“Alright then.” Harry shoved his wrists out for you. “Go on.”

You tried to give him a disappointed look, but you simply were not able to. Laughing, you shoved Harry into his seat, standing between his legs as you tied the bandana around his head. This time around, the shoot was mostly indoors, so there weren’t many ways Harry could fuck this one up. Alessandro was busying himself and so were other crew members, walking about you two and shouting orders at someone else, but neither of you noticed anyone but the person before you. Since the lunch in Florence, you had been incredibly busy, so you hadn’t really had much time to meet up. Harry, who was currently travelling and making his second album, hadn’t been available much either, but you were both over the moon that you got to spend this time together. You really missed each other the time you were away.

Since last time, Alessandro had gone out of his way to make rings for those he held dearest. Gold Gucci rings with each person’s initials, one for each letter, big and bold. It had taken you off guard, as you hadn’t thought yourself to be as important to Alessandro as he was to you, but he had insisted and showed you his own. He told you “Dear friends match” and that did it for you, you simply had to wear his rings without question. And since then, you had been wearing them every single day. You felt part of his little family. So when Harry showed up to your third shoot together, wearing matching rings to yours, you felt your heart skip a beat and Alessandro’s knowing eyes on both of you. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew how you both felt for one another, and he thought, by giving you these rings, you might realise how special you were to him and then see how special you were to one another as well.

“You’ll just have to forget about your fear of geese and be a professional.”

“I don’t have a bloody fear of geese.”

You shrugged your shoulders, tying the bandana properly.

“I don’t!”

“Alright, mate.”

Harry paused for a second. “Don’t ‘mate’ me.”

You shook your head, choosing to ignore the comment and how it made literally every inch of your body heat up. Taking a step back you studied him, giving him a thumbs up before you walked over to the other suits you had to check up on for the shoot. Harry watched you for a few seconds before he got up from the chair, going to check himself out in the mirror again. Your phone suddenly vibrated against the desk right in front of the mirror, and Harry’s eyes instantly fell to it. A furrow appeared between his brows.

“Who’s Jack?”

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry read the text you just got. “Hey!”

“Who is he?” he asked again, looking over at you as you came rushing over. You took the phone, pressing it to your chest as if it was going to make Harry forget what he’d just read. He tried to add a playful undertone to his voice, a slight smile across his lips.

“None of your business.”

Harry looked away from you, nodding as he busied himself with trying to get some kind of lint off his coat. “You’re right.”

You put the phone back in your jean pocket and walked over to the suits again, hunching down to check the seam on the hem on the trousers. You felt your phone vibrate with another notification or vibrate as a reminder that she’d gotten a text two minutes prior. Getting up and about to reach back to check what Jack had wanted, she felt a breath against her neck.

“You’re seeing him then?”

You jumped, holding your hand to your chest as you turned around to face him. “None of your business!”

“Oh, come on!”

You shoved him out of the way, way too much to do to be distracted by Harry’s nosiness. Strolling over to the desk, you started looking through your calendar when Harry showed up beside you again. Leaning on his elbow on the desk, he looked up at you, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible considering how curious he actually was.

“Is he fit at least?”

“He’s not annoying.” You said, covering his face with your hand. You felt him smile into your palm. “Ever tried that?”

“Tried being annoying?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”

You shoved him away, making him lose his balance some and lean both his elbows on the desk. He watched as you walked back to the suits, looking at which ones Alessandro said were to be used by Harry and which ones were to be used by someone else at another time. Just as Harry was about to ask another question about Jack – who was just a mate from back home you hadn’t ever talked to him about because he’d never come up in conversation -, there was a knock at the wardrobe door. Alessandro stood there, a raise to his eyebrows and a small smile on his lips that was almost hidden by his dark, thick, long beard. He’d stood there watching you two for a little while, you thought to yourself.

“Is Harry ready for the shoot?”

“Yes,” you glanced at Harry and pointed at Alessandro. “Go.”

Harry sighed but got up, walking over to Alessandro who was smiling, encouraging Harry to do the same. As he passed him, a small beam was on Harry’s lips, but as he walked through the door, you couldn’t tell if he was still smiling or if he just did it to Alessandro wouldn’t make him. The creative director looked over at you, crossing his arms but not losing his smile.

“What?”

Alessandro shrugged.

“No, what?”

“You could’ve at least told him who Jack was.” Alessandro chuckled.

You rolled your eyes.

“But I get that you want to watch him suffer. It’s funny seeing someone you like be jealous.”

“Harry isn’t jealous.” You said, closing the calendar and placing it neatly back on the desk. “He’s just nosy.”

Alessandro didn’t say anything in response, instead he just walked on over to the shoot, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You weren’t really sure why you hadn’t just told Harry who Jack was. It wasn’t like anything was going on between you and Jack, you were simply mates and he wanted to check up on you and see how things were going. You had absolutely nothing to hide. Especially nothing to the point of keeping your phone close to your chest so he wouldn’t reread the message you’d just gotten, holding no significance whatsoever.

Maybe Alessandro was right. Maybe you did want to see if he was jealous or not. But he didn’t seem jealous to you, just his nosy self. Sighing, you followed Alessandro, ready to be of service if something should go wrong. They hadn’t even started shooting when you walked into the room, they were still walking around, placing the different statues and other props around the place to get it to look exactly like the producer wanted it to. You stood watching for a bit, knowing that your phone was still in your back pocket, untouched since Harry had seen the innocent text from Jack.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, saw a shadow mingle with yours, and you recognised the messy hair and the bandana you’d wrapped around his head earlier. Smiling, you continued to stare ahead, waiting a minute before Harry felt brave enough to answer.

“Did you answer Jack then?” You felt the breath of his words against your hair.

“He just wanted to know how I was, Harry.”

“I know.”

You bit your lip, not looking back at him.

“Guess he just wanted to talk. To feel close to you in a way.”

You huffed, standing your ground and not looking back at him like you knew he wanted you to. “And the point of this is…?”

“Being close to someone you love can calm you down.” Harry said, voice low so only the two of you could hear him. You felt a shiver run up your spine. “Like shelter in a storm; entering a small house and staying for tea before braving the terrible weather again, a little stronger this time with some motivation from those you… hold closest to your heart.”

Your breath hitched somewhere in your throat, feeling both Harry’s breath and eyes on you. It took everything in you not to look at him, to see his soft expression after uttering those equally soft words. “I’m not in love with Jack, Harry.”

Harry was quiet for a second before he said, with the hint of a smile in his voice, “Okay.”

You smiled yourself, wanting to say something in response but not knowing what would be appropriate. You weren’t even sure why you were feeling this much or why Harry being elated you weren’t seeing someone made you this happy. He stood right behind you, just as close, not wavering, till he had to go do the shoot. Walking backwards, he made sure to catch your eye, give you a small smile, before going to do his job. You hated how your cheeks felt hot, that every single time Harry’s dimples appeared you heard something inside your head scream and the every single one of your cells react to him. Glancing over at Alessandro, you caught the creative director watching you with a grin on his face. As soon as your eyes met, though, he turned away, forcing his smile away and pretending like he hadn’t seen a thing. You rolled your eyes, focusing all your attention on Harry, who didn’t let his anxiety get the better of him this time around.

“He’s doing very well.” Alessandro commented, his left hand resting on his chin in a pondering manner.

“He is.”

“Because you replaced his nerves before the show.” From under his hand, you could see a small smirk playing on his lips, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

“I - what?” Lifting away from his side, you stared at Alessandro’s face. And your wide eyes must have made you look like a deer in the headlights because he started chuckling.

You were positive that no one had seen your moment with Harry, considering how dark the little corner you were stood in was. Backstage at a fashion show was crazy enough, there’s no way anyone had been paying attention to the tailor in the back of the room. But the knowing look in your boss’s eyes told you otherwise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you muttered, folding your arms across your chest.

“Eyes all over my head, il mio amore. I see everything.”

Alessandro had been like this from the moment he introduced you and Harry, almost two years ago at this point. Always motioning from across the room for you to stand just a bit closer to Harry, informing you whenever Harry was remotely near the office, and always leaving the two of you alone each time he was scheduled for a fitting. It was like he was making it his life’s mission to get his two prodigies together.

“Don’t laugh at me. This is your fault, you know?”

Feigning offence and his hand moved from his chin to his chest, Alessandro turned away from the monitor to finally look directly at you, “Mine? Why do you say that?”

“‘You have a lot in common.’ or how about, ‘look at my two loves together!’ or my personal favorite, ‘The two of you together, assolutamente da togliere il fiato!’”your impersonation of him had gotten extremely good over the last few years, bringing a soft smile to his lips. “Any of those ringing any bells?”

“Only encouraging what you both know to be true, cara.”

“You’re absurd.”

At this point, the first model had made his way back to the dressing room, immediately going to line up for the final walk through. It was scheduled to be a quick show, only about thirteen minutes from first walk to last, but you never imagined it would go by this fast. As the models began to line back up, both you and Alessandro separated, going to either side of the line to join the other tailor in making sure each outfit was still in its pristine condition. You you had a few loose threats to snip here, and a broken necklace to dispose of there, but overall, everyone was still looking perfect.

Especially Harry.

His head was craned, watching you as you made your way down the line behind him, and as soon as you stepped in front of him to quickly examine his apparel, he whispered your name.

“Haven’t tripped yet.” he smirked, adjusting the red glasses on his nose.

“I know, I was watching.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. We were talking about you. Turn around.” grabbing hold of his shoulder, you pulled forward, “Making him proud, you know.”

His shoulders relaxed under your palms, like hearing the news of making one of his idols happy set him free and he could now have the utmost fun with the final walk through.

“Alright. Good luck.”

But before you could get to the next model, his hand caught your arm. In any other situation, you’d be annoyed that you were being stopped from completing your job, but the look on Harry’s face made all worries about any other model fade from your mind.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you proud?”

The question took you off guard. Was really that concerned with what you thought of his performance? He was one of the most renowned superstars in the world, who danced his heart out on stage and did what made him happy no matter what others thought. But your opinion was the one who made his hands clam up? And had you ever made him feel like you weren’t proud? You always thought your quick jabs to one another were all in good fun, but maybe you had gone too far and made him doubt himself.

“Always proud of everything you do.”

It was the honest answer. Getting to watch him excel in every aspect of life he threw himself into, make decisions that helped so many people, putting his friends and family first, and making sure he was happy above all else, was inspiring to say the least. There was never a day that went by where you didn’t feel immense pride for even just getting the chance to know Harry. And in that moment, you promised yourself that you would make it more apparent to him from then on.

A large smile spread across his face, and even in the poor lighting, you could see the apples of his cheeks turn a rosey pink. He looked undeniably cute and following your heart as well as Alessandro’s previous encouragements, you decided to take a leap of faith.

“Come find me after the show. Gotta talk.”

The happiness faded from both his face and his eyes, and you instantly regretted the way you phrased your sentence. “Nothing bad, I promise! Just come find me, yeah?”

You had moved on to the next model, giving her a smile and a quick “Hello Mae” and began checking her dress as Harry was still processing your request. His hands were fidgeting with the fingerless gloves and he was undoubtedly about to break skin with how hard he was biting his lip. You felt like a proper idiot for making him nervous again after he was so happy.

“Calm down, would you? You’re starting to stress me out.” you laughed, giving Mae the okay and moving onto the next model. Sending him a wink, you nodded your head, making him well aware of how unserious this conversation was going to be.

A faster paced rendition of The Shadows Die Twice started playing, just as you finished checking over your designated models, indicating that it was time for the final walk through to begin. After these final few minutes, all the garments you had worked tirelessly on for months, would be totally completed. And usually, you would be filled with ease and comfort knowing you would have some time off before your next project. But this time was different.

This time, Alessandro had consulted you on many of the pieces making their way down the runway, showing just how much he valued and trusted your opinion. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be where you are today, but because of the man standing next to you, believing in your talent and putting your passion to use, you were living out a dream that you never knew you had.

“Thank you.” You whispered

“For what?”

“For believing in me enough to hire me four years ago. For not letting me give up when I was confused. For always encouraging me. Just - thank you.”

“Never have to thank me for those things, tesoro. The potential and passion inside you needs to be explored! I’m honored I get to be the one to help you embrace them!” Alessandro pulled you into a tight hug, the two of you swaying as you watched the models capture the attention of each guest one last time.

Lifting to stand on your tiptoes you whispered in Alessandro’s ear, but even though your statement was barely loud enough to be heard over the booming music, apparently it was just loud enough for your boss to hear, because his head snapped back and he grabbed you by the shoulders, holding you at arms length.

“What?!”

“Mhm.”

“Together?”

“Mhm.” It was hard not to continue your giggles at his bewildered expression.

“How come?”

You shrugged, “I guess I just have a bloody persuasive boss.”

Once again, models began entering the dressing room, but this time, instead of staying in strict model mode, they were letting loose. Smiles were spread all over their faces, rushing to give each other hugs and words of encouragement. It was a beautiful sight to watch, the release of pressure the show brought to the models and the absolute joy they were now basking in.

“Il tuo tempo per brillare, rockstar.” your time to shine, rockstar. giving his shoulder a pat, you watched as he sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself to walk the runway and accept the congratulatory applause about to be thrown his way once the last model had arrived backstage.

It was during this part, for some reason, that you always saw a bit of his nerves pop out. Maybe it was because of all the wandering eyes and unknown opinions, but walking out to thank the guests for attending seemed to be the only thing that ever made Alessandro nervous. And you would never admit it to him, but you enjoyed seeing him a bit on edge, reminded you that he wasn’t just some fashion robot, but a man who just wanted to be accepted for his unique and creative mind.

Your position in the back room made it easy to be a part of both atmosphere’s; the juxtaposition between the loud, bustling back room and angelic, calming sound of Bach - St. John Passion BWV 245: Herr echoing off of the marble walls was like a metaphor for your life these last few months. How at times, everything around you was so busy and fast paced that it was sometimes hard to get a handle on what was happening. But then moments like this happened and none of failures or pricked fingers mattered. Because watching your boss, the man you admired with all your heart and were lucky to call a friend, walk down his own runway, accepting love he deserved, on pieces you had helped create, was the most heavenly feeling you could imagine.

You watched as he made his way through the museum quickly, stopping every so often to bow his head in gratitude and send kisses to everyone in the audience.

“I see why you like this so much.”

Harry stood next to you, hands buried deep in his pants pockets, the long overcoat pushed back behind his arms, just enough that you got a good view of the sparrow tattoos and the very tip of the bird cage on his rib peaking out from under the white tank top. He didn’t look at you, instead, his eyes were trained on the monitor, watching the man who gave you each the chance to flourish in a world you never expected.

“Hmm? Why’s that?”

“Fucking exihlerating walking down that runway.” he admitted, the sentance coming out in a breathy laugh like he couldn’t believe how much fun he had. “Can’t imagine what it’s like for the people that created it all.”

“Yeah, quite hard coming down from a high like this, so he usually takes a week or so off before jumping back into things.” you chuckled, thinking back to when you’d received an influx of text messages the last time Alessandro had gone off the grid, depicting how much he loved bees and would be incorporating them into the new collection after staying on a bee farm for a few days.

“Alessandro did a phenomenal job.” he paused, finally taking his eyes away from the screen and turning his entire body so that he was now facing you. “But so did you.”

If he hadn’t been staring directly at you, he would have missed the roll of your eyes. Of course, you were thankful to be a part of something so extraordinary, but this was all Alessandro. It was all his vision and even though you were asked to help finalize a few looks, this masterpiece was all thanks to him, and you wouldn’t take credit for any of it.

But before you could explain all of that to Harry, he said your name softly, moving a tad closer so your elbow was just barely touching his stomach. “‘M serious. These may have been his finalized pieces, but you quite literally put it all together. There would be no final product without your work.”

“Harry -”

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me, wanker, you’re bloody amazing at what you do. But you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone walking around this room is example enough.”

Receiving compliments from Harry wasn’t anything new to you. For as long as you’d known him, he was always looking for the good in people and making sure they knew about it. If you had to guess, that was probably one of the his main qualities that initially drew fans in, because all anyone wanted in life was to feel good; appreciated. And that’s exactly what he had been doing for you since the day he walked through your office doors. It was the little things that made your stomach turn to mush; holding your pin cushion when he knew it would make a session easier for you, bringing you a smoothie when you’d told him you didn’t have time to eat before a shoot, sending you funny memes in the middle of the night, or even just seeing his dimpled smile appear when he finally got to see his immaculately executed wardrobe. No matter what the circumstance was, simply being around Harry made you feel happy, calm, and you didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

“Just look around an-”

“Do you want to go on a date?” when you’d asked him earlier to find you after the show so you could chat, you didn’t exactly expect the conversation to start out so blunt, but he just looked so cute and sincere telling you in his own way how proud of you he was.

“Wh-“

“There’s, um, there’s this really great restaurant not too far from here. Most delicious pasta you’ll ever eat, not to mention the cutest old couple on the planet runs it and they’ll def-“

“I haven’t eaten since this morning, so if you’re going to keep talking, I’ll just go eat this amazing pasta by myself.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right, that was a dumb que-“ it wasn’t his words that made you stop mid sentence, but more the soft smile that spread across his face, his dimple popping out slightly beneath his growing facial hair. There was no hesitation in his acceptance to your dinner date, contrary to what you were expecting, and it made the tips of your ears warm up. “Oh! Um, perfect. Yeah, great. Okay.”

Never had you been so flustered by the man standing before you. This wouldn’t be the first time you grab a bite to eat with him, and definitely wouldn’t be the first time the two of you spent time alone, but the way he was looking at you, like none of what he just did mattered, was definitely a first.

“Okay, um, just get dressed and I’ll meet you outside?”

“‘M serious, hurry up. Might starve to death while you’re busy chatting.” Harry joked, slowly walking away while still facing you, his finger coming out to point right at you, “Then you’ll have to explain to everyone how your desperate need to talk to everyone you come in contact with, was the reason behind the death of the Harry Styles.”

“Oi, fuck off. Says the man who made sure to learn something about every single person setting up the show today. Go get dressed before I slap the Harry Styles.”

The slight shake of his head kept your attention as he weaved his way through the bustling room, back towards the vanity he had claimed as his own. You’d watched the scene in front of you play out many times before; models spread out throughout the room, some having changed immediately into their own comfortable clothes, some tossing their heads back in eased laughter, and some every sitting back with their feet up, enjoying a basket of chips. No matter how each of them decided to unwind after such a monumental show, it never got old. Because just as they did, you had your own post show ritual.

You didn’t divulge in unhealthy foods or put on your most comfortable pair of socks; you organized your kit one last time. From the moment Alessandro sits you down with his new vision until the last model walks off the runway, you know to keep millions of pins, thread of all colors, buttons of every shape and size, and even some super glue on you at all times. They would undoubtedly get used throughout the months of alterations and mishaps, if not by you, then by a member of your team. So, taking a moment to sit and go through everything once the night was officially over was a sort of release for you. A way for you to touch and feel just how much hard work had gone into your work. How the container holding your pins was considerably lighter, the spool of black thread had nearly vanished, and the pile of band aids in the lower pocket was down to three. All signs that you put your heart and soul into this collection.

There was never any guarantee when Alessandro would find inspiration next and when his next project would begin, meaning you never knew when the next time you’d be opening your kit was. But this time, that wasn’t the case. He had planned at least three more shoots before the years end, so you were only allotted a few weeks of laid back free time this time around.

“Packing up so soon?”

“You know how I like to close out a show.” You chuckled, not turning to look at your boss, but seeing his hand reach out and fingertips graze over the very top of your bag.

“How many this time?”

“28 buttons, nearly the entire tin of pins, 64 band aids, and two mini bottles of wine.”

“You should be proud, il mio amore, that’s two less bottles than last time! It’s about progress!”

“Two less because someone yelled at me less this time around.” Finally getting back to your feet, you turned to face him and noticed that he had thrown his hair up to get it away from his sweaty forehead. “No need to drink if you aren’t crying in the fabric closet.”

“Lo faccio solo con amore, Tesoro, lo sai.” I only do it with love honey, you know. His smile was contagious as he took your hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Look at how far you’ve come. Such beautiful art comes from these hands.”

“Do you know what you’ll do until the fragrance shoot?”

“I will be taking Vanni to see my brother. A nice peaceful place to become one again. Where will you go?”

“My flat in Florence has been calling my name for weeks, Lallo.” He smiled fondly at the nickname. “Will probably do some redecorating while I’m there.”

“And some dates, no?”

“I really don’t know why I bother telling you anything. Like my father, you are.”

“Well I am the reason for this, am I not? Seems only right that I know all the details.”

“Details of what?”

“How I’m redecorating my flat in Florence.” Your response was quick, and you sent Alessandro a stern side glare so that he knew not to bring up anything of what you were just speaking of.

“Yes, I told her that I expect pictures.”

“Oh, add me to that list as well then! I’d love to see how you decorate. ‘M always looking for new inspiration.”

“Um, yeah sure. You ready?” if Harry could sense how awkward you felt when he joined you and Alessandro, he made no move to indicate it. Especially now, smiling at your agreement.

“Yup. Ready to enjoy some of Earth’s finest pasta.”

“Oh!” Alessandro brightened at Harry’s words, his back straightened, and eyes widened. “Are you taking him to Chiaro Di Luna?” you nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Magnifico! A wonderful place you will love!”

“Well he won’t love it if we keep standing here so…”

“Have fun my prodigies!”

Both you and Harry laughed quietly as you finally walked away from the man of the hour. You may have known him in different ways, but each of you got the chance to see a side of Alessandro most people didn’t – parental type figure who wanted nothing but love and prosperity for you both.

“He’s like that with you all the time as well?”

“Hmm?”

You took a glance at him when pressing the button for the lift, just to be met with his warm eyes already looking at you. He looked handsome after the show – not that he wasn’t always handsome, but something about seeing him work so hard and then look so comfortable made your chest tingle. He was wearing a pair of dark yellow corduroy pants – the flare at the ankles not nearly as large as some of the flares he owns, but wide nonetheless – paired with a red and blue striped shirt, a tiny Mickey Mouse head embroidered into the upper left breast and a black bomber jacket.  He looked relaxed and everything that spending time in Italy embodied.

“Does he turn into dad mode on you as well?”

Harry laughed, “He means well.”

It was no surprise that Harry had brought along a plethora of fans, all eagerly awaiting his presence back outside after the show, so there was no way the two of you could casually stroll out of the front doors to get to your late dinner date. Instead, you were walking through the basement hallway so that you could make your speedy escape through the lower side exit, directly across from Cafe Capitolino.

“You think you’d do another?”

“You think I’d be asked to do another?”

Your hand found it’s way up to his forehead as the two of you strolled through Piazelle Caffarelli - the quaintest little park directly across from the museum. In the bright moonlight, the beds of flowers and statues almost appeared to glow, directing your path through the garden.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking to see if you have a fever.”

“Huh?”

“You must be sick because I’m not seeing your ego anywhere.”

“Oh piss off.” he laughed, lifting his own arm so that he could slap yours - playfully - away from his face. “‘M serious.”

“So am I. You’re one of the most confident people I’ve ever met. I’ve seen you doing your music thing Harry. You’re good and you know it. Where’s that attitude here?”

He was quiet as the two of you finally made it out of the garden and crossed the main street, focusing on stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and tugging it closer to his torso. His hair had grown quite a lot since the first time you’d met him years ago, and the curls, wild from being kept under a cap for hours, were blowing in the small breeze.

“‘Dunno. I was nervous when I did the film as well. Guess doing something new like this makes me question if I’m given the chance to do it because I’m genuinely good at it, or just because they want my name on it.”

That was a surprise to you. From the moment you met him, you could feel the confidence he emitted. In fact, it rubbed off on most who were working with him. He made the people around him feel confident in themselves and what they were doing, and always encouraged when someone was feeling down.

“You’re very much wanted on this team for what you bring to it, not your name. I’m sorry if you were made to feel anything less.”

“No!” he quickly rebutted, gaining the attention of the few people wandering the street late at night. But he paid no mind to them, only focused on looking at you to make sure you heard what he was saying cearly. “You haven’t, at all. None of you have. Just don’t want to be known as the guy who gets jobs because he was in a band.”

“Can promise you that Lallo wouldn’t have asked you to be a part of so many shoots and such an important show if he didn’t completely and wholeheartedly believe you were perfect for it.”

You watched him nod and mutter a quiet I guess, the moon peeking over the Gran Caffe Roma and highlighting his eyelashes and very tip of his nose so perfectly that he began to look like a statue.

“Lallo?”

“Yeah.” a quick chuckle left your mouth, a hand coming up to rub your cheek while you thought of your response. “After I finished my first collection for him, it was a small one so he could see if I was right for the position, he took me out for drinks to celebrate me getting the job. Long story short, we both had a few too many and I started calling him Lallo and it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.” his hand was wiggling about, trying to escape the confines of the jacket pocket, and when it finally did, it brushed against your own. You both looked down at the close proximity of your hands and you felt the air immediately get thicker. He must have felt the same because when you briefly look up at him over your lashes, he was staring straight ahead; very apparently trying not to make any sudden moves.

But the millisecond the warmth of skin left yours, you wanted it back. Maybe it was the tiny kiss you shared backstage just hours ago, or the built up tension between the two of you that had started during his second campaign shoot, whatever it was, you were done dancing around the obvious. Without giving it a second thought or looking anywhere but straight ahead, you lifted your pointer finger ever so slightly. Just enough so that it gently rubbed against his. You wanted to give him the option of pursuing anything further, so just as quickly as the contact began, it ended; your fingers settling by your side yet again.

However, the breeze working it’s way between your hands didn’t last long, because almost immediately after your little move, you felt his fingers slowly creep around your hand. He didn’t move fast, almost as if he was letting the calm Italian breeze join your hands together. And slower than you would have liked, your entire hand was enclosed by his, feather touches to make sure the other was comfortable with where things had gone.

You wanted to make sure Harry knew just how okay you were with his hand keeping yours warm, so you continued talking as if nothing had happened. “‘M the only one who gets to call him that though, so don’t go parading around saying it.”

“Loud and clear. Your secret's safe with me.” he laughed, his grip on your hand tightening when a strong gust of wind blew through the small alleyway you were walking down and you shivered, “Cold?”

“No, I’m alright.” you lied, the air outside always making you significantly colder after leaving the sauna that was a fashion show back room.

Instead of letting go of the idea of you being cold, Harry lightly tugged on your joined hands, stuffing them into his jacket pocket, which then forced you to move closer to his side. Italy in May wasn’t a time you would consider cold; the sun shone nearly every day, warming your cheeks, and there was no need for anything more than a light jumper, but the warmth radiating from Harry’s side made it feel as if you were strolling around on an August day. But you welcomed it, despite the race of your heart.

“Looking forward to having some time off?”

“Absolutely. I really do need to redecorate my place. ‘M sure Lilliana hasn’t been taking care of the plants as often as I’d like so I’ll have to make a stop and pick up some new ones.”  you were mostly speaking to yourself, so you elaborated when he didn’t respond. “Lilliana is a girl who lives across the street. She’s sixteen, and has been watching my place ever since I started with Gucci. Doesn’t want to get paid or anything, only wants me to get her a meeting with Alessandro when she turns eighteen. Told her I’d see what I can do, but he’s already seen some of her designs. She’s very talented.”

“You’re really wonderful, you know.”

The compliment made the tips of your ears warm, and you were worried that the palms of your hands would start to clam up if you thought about the way you could feel him looking at you, so you quickly changed the subject, your hand clumsily sliding out of his pocket to point at the tiny restaurant in front of you.

“Here we are!”

Nestled at the very end of the alley, was your destination. Only two tables were set up outside, the tiny patio was past picturesque; it was straight out of a movie. A metal fence was surrounding the seating area on two sides - the third wall was created by the muted terracotta building and the fourth was left open for easy access. Wrapped around the very tops of the fence were some fairy lights, not enough to cover the entire thing, but enough to give a bit of lighting on the otherwise dark road, and creating a pathway to the front door, sat a nice variety of potted plants. And with the green doors to the shop left open, the smell of freshly baked bread immediately hit you and Harry in the face.

“This is amazing.” his voice was full of wonder and you appreciated the fact that even he, someone who had been around the world and back many times, never took for granted the small beauties of the world.

“Just wait until you try the food.” you smiled, bringing your hand up to your mouth in a mock chef’s kiss. “Deliziosa!”

The boisterous laugh that fell from between his lips was enough to catch the attention of whoever was working inside. It didn’t take long for them to walk down the front steps, seeing as the inside of the establishment was also small. But the second his face lit up from the wall mounted lights, you smiled.

“Lorenzo! Così bello vederti di nuovo!” Lorenzo! It’s so good to see you again!

“Mio dolce! Mi sei mancato!” My sweet! I’ve missed you! His arms opened wide as he walked down the single step, instantaneously enveloping you in a hug. He smelled of pasta sauce and pizza dough, the evidence of his hard work sprinkled across his withered cheek.

“Mi dispiace! Sai quanto può essere intenso il lavoro! Soprattutto con un capo come il mio!” I’m sorry! You know how intense work can be! Especially with a boss like mine!

You watched Lorenzo’s face light up when he pulled away from you and heard your boss’ name. The two had met ages ago and he was the one who had introduced the two of you. “Ah! Alessandro! Confido che stia bene! E chi hai portato con te questa volta, cara?” Ah! Alessandro! I trust he is doing well! And who have you brought with you this time, dear?

Feeling bad for leaving Harry out of the brief conversation, you angled your body so that you were now facing him, moving your hand between the two men in front of you. “Lorenzo, this is Harry. Harry, Lorenzo.”

True to his nature, Harry immediately stuck his hand out and offered a ‘you alright?’ to the older gentleman, but Lorenzo was having none of that. Completely ignoring the waiting hand, and having to stand a bit on his toes in order to wrap his arms around the younger man’s upper back, he pulled Harry in for a tight hug.

“Any friend of hers is a friend of mine! Benvenuto!”

“Hai un… posto bellissimo qui!” Lorenzo’s smile grew as the two separated and Harry slowly racked his mind for the right words. “Was that right?”

“It was! Thank you, we do love it here!”

“Speaking of..” you cut in, “I know it’s late but do you think we could steal a plate or two?”

“For you, mio caro, anything.” he lifted his calloused hand to gently pat your cheek. “Why don’t the two of you sit down and I will bring you a few dishes. I’ve got some fettuccine alla carbonara if you’d like. I’m sure I can find something else if-”

“That sounds wonderful, Lorenzo, thank you.”

You watched as his frail figure made its way back into the shop, taking an extra second to carefully climb the single step. It was the perfect night to sit outside and enjoy one of your favorite meals, but even more perfect to turn around and see Harry holding a chair out, waiting for you to join him at the table.

“Thank you.” you hoped the smirk you were trying to hide wasn’t visible in the dimly lit back alley and he couldn’t tell how much the small gesture made your heart race.

“So tell me,” he sighed once he finally sat down next to you, his forearms leaning against the small wooden table so that he could look directly at you. “You really like the food here or do you just keep coming back because he adores you?”

“I take offense that you think I’d use my charming personality just to get a free plate of pasta.” the stare shared between you both was one of comedy - his eyebrow raised in question and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I use it for two.”

“I knew it.”

“It really is the best, swear it! Tried to get him to teach me the recipe once but he won’t budge. Says he won’t allow it to leave the family.”

“He always here this late? Seems to be a bit… old… to be here at quarter eleven.” he never broke eye contact while speaking to you, but his fingers began to roam around, slowly inching towards your own empty hands. There was no move to do anything more than brush his fingers against yours, but you longed for him to envelop your smaller ones in his.

“For as long as I’ve known him. Always comes in to prep for the people who come in at five the next morning.”

“Good bloke.” he nodded, craning his neck a bit so he could look around him, “You know, I’ve always wanted to have my own restaurant.”

A deep belly laugh spilled from your lips upon hearing his words, your body’s finally making contact when you lifted your hand and placed it on his forearm to ground yourself.

“What’s so funny about that?” his voice held a certain aura of feigned offence, but you knew not to take it too seriously by the bright smile covering his face. It was a different kind of smile than you were used to seeing him give, but you welcomed it and never wanted to see it end. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle a tad more than normal, mouth open a bit wider, and entire body lean forward.

“Harry, I’ve known you nearly three years. Never once have I heard you mention wanting to have your own restaurant. I’ve been told a lawyer, a florist, even a physiotherapist, but a chef? Can you even cook?”

“Now I'm offended! I’ll have you know that I used to cook for the band all the time!”

“Beans on toast doesn't count as cooking, Harry.”

“Leave off.” somewhere during your mock argument and Harry laughing at you, his hand had fully found its way to yours, wrapping around it carefully as not to disturb the perfect peace the two of you had going. “You’ll just have to come over so I can prove to you just how good I am.”

Obviously he didn’t mean it in any other way than a friend inviting another friend over for a nice meal, but the way his tongue jut out before speaking, leaving his lips shining and nearly begging for attention, made the sentence mean a lot more to you than he led on.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that, mate.”

“Don’t mate me while I’m holding your hand, mate.” you swear it was like Harry was trying to push every single last button you had. Not only was he smirking while giving your hand a squeeze, but with each word, he seemed to be gradually leaning closer to you.

Almost as if he was waiting for the most perfectly inopportune moment, Lorenzo made his presence known with the clink of two wine glasses that echoed through the small alley. The sound made you and Harry separate as quickly as possible and look towards the older man.

“Two dishes of my world famous fettuccine paired with the best bottle of wine you could ask for!”

“But we didn’t ask for wine, Lorenzo.”

“It’s alright because you are new here, but when I give you a bottle of wine, you take it.”

“He says it makes for a better experience.” you shrug, taking the glasses and bottle from the tray so that he would have an easier time setting down your plates.

“Non puoi goderti i frutti del tuo lavoro senza un po ‘di divertimento!”

“Yeah yeah, as you say. Now take this before I stay here all night and give it to Mateo, because you know he’ll take it.” you tried handing him a few folded up fifties, but you weren’t surprised when he didn’t accept, but insead, backed away from your outstretched hand.

“Mio caro, no. I do not want that from you. I just enjoy seeing your beautiful face every now and again.”

“Lorenzo, you know I won’t stop. Please”

“You are too much, ragazza dolce. Please come tell me if you need anything more.”

“What did he say to you just then? I caught fruit and fun but that’s where it stops.” Harry asked as soon as the older man was out of ear shot. He was trying hard to look at you, but the steaming plate of food before you both was enough to pull anyone’s attention away, so you didn’t fault him for being mesmerized.

“Come on, hot shot, have your Italian lessons taught you nothing?”

“Wow you’re really riding me tonight, huh?” if only. “I’m busy alright. Got a lot going on up here.” he used his pointer and middle finger to tap against his temple, “Gets hard to remember things sometimes.”

“You know I’m just taking the piss.” unable to wait any longer, you began to twist your fork in the pasta while giving him an explanation. “Said you can’t enjoy the fruits of your labor without having a little fun.”

“He’s got a point you know.”

“If you try and tell me that I need to be prouder of my work, I will dump all of that food on the ground before you even have the chance to try it.”

“You wouldn’t dare. Not if it’s as good as you say it is.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m serious, love.” Harry had called you many pet names since your first meeting, but love had never been one of them. It sounded so comforting falling his lips, like it was the only word you wanted to hear for the rest of time, and it made your insides instantly warm - and it wasn’t from the wine. “You’re outrageously talented. Everyone on the planet can see it except for you.”

“I’m proud of what I do, Harry. Just don’t feel like it’s right to take any bit of credit for something I only helped put together.” sure, you helped transform the clothing from pieces of mixed matched fabrics into the collections that hit the runways, but they weren’t your ideas or designs, so you felt only fair to give credit where it was rightfully due.

“Alright. Fine then. If you won’t take credit for your work, I’ll do it for you.” he cleared his throat after finishing off his glass of wine, back straightening and his chest puffing out after filling with air. “Hello!” he shouted, followed by introducing your name, “I am the lead tailor for Gucci and I just completed my fourth Cruise Collection!”

“Shh!! Harry!” you really did try to keep it together while tugging on his arm, but you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped as he kept shouting praising about you to the empty Roman streets.

“I’m one of the best in the world and everyone is absolutely dying to work with me!”

“Harry!” you laughed again, this time, cupping your hand over his lips that he couldn’t say anymore. “I get it, my god.”

“Do you? Because I can do it again. Hello -”

“I do, thank you.” your smile was genuine, truly appreciating the fact that he always had such nice things to say about you and your work. “But please just shut up and eat, yeah?”

Finally the two of you were silent, smiling to yourselves so that you could enjoy your awaiting food. Until you weren’t.

A loud moan from next to you quickly made your head snap up in desperate need to see where it had come from. There was no one else it could have come from, but to hear the sound fall from Harry’s mouth wasn’t something you were prepared for. Nor was the sight of carbonara sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck you were right.” he moaned again, this time much smaller, “This is the greatest pasta on the planet.”

“Thought you would’ve learned by now that there are very few times that’d I’m not right.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the man indoors, who when you looked up over Harry’s shoulder, you saw standing in the window smiling and giving you a thumbs up. Of course he was on the same page as Alessandro and would be trying to put both you and Harry in the mood for a romantic night. But to hear the chords of ‘So This Is Love’ play through whatever speaker he had in his kitchen, really did surprise you.

“Lorenzo!” you yelled, not caring about waking whatever kind of neighbors he had

“What?”

“Really?”

“I just turned on my music, mio caro! Please enjoy your meal.”

Snickering from next to you made you roll your eyes,  “Don’t laugh at him, you’re only egging him on, Harry.”

“‘M not, I’m not!” you sent him a pointed look, taking the last gulp of wine from your glass and pouring yet another. “Alright, maybe just a little. But only because I think ya look cute when you’re flustered, is all.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you’re a right bellend.”

“Only to a select few!” the sound of his light laugh was drowned out by the creaking of his chair as he pushed it backwards. In a second, he was at his feet, ignoring your question of ‘what are you doing?’ to stand in front of you. “Signora.” his mouth may not have made any movements to smile, but you could see his eyes holding one back.

He mocked bowed, resting one arm behind his back as the other hand engulfed one of your sitting on top of the table. The pads of his fingers caressed the inside of your hand as he gently picked it up, slowly slotting your two hands together. It felt like an out of body experience, like you were watching the scene happen as an onlooker, instead of being a part of it. Because the second he picked his head up from the bow, his eyes met yours. Hundreds of unidentified thoughts raced through your mind and your breathing stopped when he picked up your hand completely, the distance between it and his lips growing short and shorter every second. With one quick, quiet, exhale falling from your lips, he placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, keeping his eyes set on yours.

It could have been every innocent moment the two of you had spent together over the last two and a half years, or watching him perform his heart out just hours ago in garments that you literally built, or maybe even the way his eyes sparkled in the Italian moonlight, but staring at him as he stood back up straight, his hand still holding yours, you wanted nothing more than to jump his bones.

“Care to dance?”

It wasn’t the spark that radiated through your hands or the wind pulling at your blouse, but the look of endearment in Harry’s eyes that made you stand from your chair, accepting his offer. His free arm wound around your waist while yours rested on his shoulders, your body now flush against his. It wasn’t the perfect setting for be slow dancing; the twinkling lights were barely bright enough for you to see where you were stepping, the cobblestone beneath your trainers made the arches of your feet hurt, and the open space was very limited between the table and building, but the soft instrumental of ‘Bella notte’ playing from inside the shop and the wine flowing through your veins, made it something out of a dream.

The sun shone in through the window and straight into your eyes, making you blink awake with a small wrinkle between your brows. First thing you noticed was that you were sleeping in the cream blouse you had worn the night before, your trousers off and hopefully, you thought to yourself, so was most of your make-up as well. Second thing you noticed was the hand on your hip and the other under your head, the breathing against your skin and the forehead against your neck. Third… was something else entirely…

Memories from the night before came back in bits and pieces, bringing a small smile to your face. How you and Harry had both drunkenly stumbled down the hallway at like one, how you had struggled to get the key to your room in the lock, and how Harry had playfully pushed you out of the way to help you with it. How he helped you indoors, and how you’d asked him to stay. There hadn’t been a sexual intent behind the words, just an infatuated drunk speaking truthfully to another. You remember asking Harry to not look as you took your trousers off, and that you thought it’d be a good idea to take your bra off but sleep in your silk blouse. Harry on the other hand, kept all his clothes on, laying down beside you in bed and told you goodnight before you’d even managed to get yourself properly under the sheets. He must’ve been exhausted. It’d been a long day after all.

You woke up in the spooning position; his arm resting across your hip, breathing onto your skin, forehead against your neck, holding you close. Even before Harry woke up and noticed what was going on, you tried to understand why you felt like something wasn’t as it usually was. You felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath behind you and then him moving his head away from you, lifting the hand that had been placed on your hip, running it over his face. It wasn’t till you were about to turn around to face him that you both realised what was resting between you. You both stopped abruptly, silence filling the room around you.

“Bollocks.” Harry hissed between his teeth, glancing down at where his morning wood pressed against his yellow trousers and your ass and thigh. “So sorry.” He didn’t really know how to move as to not make it worse. Walking away from bed would mean you’d have to see the bulge in his trousers, but staying there would be absolute fucking torture.

You tried your hardest not to giggle, feeling a flush wave through your body.

“I-I… I don’t know what to do now. Sorry.” Harry said, feeling so embarrassed he was unsure what the next right thing to do would be.

Thinking back on everything that had happened, on everything that had transpired between the two of you, you suddenly felt a surge of dominance run through you. The countless times you’d waited for Harry to kiss you, the times he could’ve reached for your hand in the silence of the moment, the hundreds of hours you’d spent smiling at each other. The numerous missed opportunities. All the ‘what if’s. You hated them all, but they’d led you to this moment. It had all came down to this. Here, now. You two, in bed, Harry grunting in frustration into the pillow and you smiling to yourself, not at all sorry for him waking up hard against you. In fact, you didn’t mind it at all. After everything last night, this felt right. After absolutely everything you two had been through, it didn’t feel weird.

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry there with his eyes shut tightly.

“What’re you doing?”

His cheeks were red, obviously incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “Willing my woodie away, what does it bloody look like?”

You couldn’t help your laughter, shaking into Harry who smiled at the sound of your exclamations of joy. Slowly, you moved your arse against him, feeling his erection between your bumcheeks. Harry stilled, watching you with wide eyes as you did it again. Reaching behind you, you took a grip of Harry’s hand that had been on your hip earlier, placing it back there so he could feel you swaying against him. You felt an inhale of breath against you, then Harry’s fingers instantly grip onto you. He watched you as you continued to roll your hips against him, loving the hot feeling it sent to the spot between your legs. You hummed, biting your lip as you glanced down at Harry’s hand on your bare skin, letting him see just how much you liked this.

Instantly, he moved closer to you, wrapping the arm he’d been resting under your neck around you, taking a grip of your shoulder. The other one he slowly slid further down, moving closer and closer to the space between your legs that ached for him. You closed your eyes as he hovered above you, laying his palm flat against your cunt, the breathy and barely audible moan that left your lips driving him insane. Laying some pressure on you, you inhaled sharply, both your hands gripping the arm wrapped around your neck. The heat that had started in the very bottom of your stomach intensified, and got even hotter when he ran his fingers seductively over you. Feather-like touches, soft kisses to your cheek and neck, absolutely nothing mattered but the fire that was being ignited in your core.

Harry pushed your knickers aside, running his ring and middle finger between your folds. While doing so, he pushed your hips to rock against him, causing a friction between the two of you unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. You gasped, opening your eyes and looking at Harry who was watching you more intently than you’d ever seen before. He looked so hot like that, demanding you to please him while he was pleasing you. Wanting to make you feel just as good as you’d made him feel.

You reached down, wiggling your hips as you dragged your knickers down your legs. You threw them somewhere far away before turning back to Harry. This time, you sat up and onto his lap, looking down on him while you rested your hands at the zipper of his yellow trousers. He let out a small breath, heart hammering against his chest as he watched you sit on him like that; look at him like that. He’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to find himself in this position, and yet, here he was. You reached for his zipper, undoing it as Harry did both the buttons. You sat up on your knees helping Harry as he tried to get out of his trousers, but it seemed harder than either of you thought.

“Just get them off.” You said, reaching behind you to push them further down.

“Not so easy when you’re on top of me like that.” Harry answered, sitting up to drag them off. Your faces were suddenly very close.

“Alright, I’ll get off-“

“-No,” he answered abruptly. “Please don’t.”

You stopped, letting Harry take his trousers off and throw them to the ground, not breaking eye contact with you once. You felt him against you, felt how hot he was for you like you were for him; how badly he wanted you. His eyes flickered to your mouth before he glanced back up into your eyes again, lips parting as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know the right words for it. You had taken control so far, so you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. And it was as if he knew your thoughts exactly. He took a grip of the back of your neck, bringing you to him.

The second your lips met, you closed your eyes, melting into the kiss and melting into Harry. You hadn’t really shared a proper kiss till now, only having had that small peck and him kissing your hand. But this was a real kiss. You tasted him, felt him. Surrounding you and everything you knew in those sublime seconds your lips were pressed against one another. Heavenly, carefully, gingerly, Harry slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you welcomed him completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. He pulled you to him, devouring one another unapologetically. Now that you were kissing, dragging out the delicious moment, you weren’t holding back anymore. The kisses were hungry, desperate, wet. Nothing had ever tasted better than Harry, nothing had ever felt better than him either. You wondered why you’d waited so long to kiss one another, what had taken so long. Because now you couldn’t think of not doing just that.

You wanted to kiss him till the end of time. Wanted to feel as his hands roamed your body, how his tongue swirled around yours, how his lips got more and more swollen as you continued on making out. Forever, and maybe even longer than that if you were allowed; you wanted to kiss Harry forever. It felt so good, so right. Like tasting every good thing that had ever happened to you all at once, combined into one thing. Harry.

Moaning your name, you felt him grip your bum, squeezing it hard as he dragged you over him. He wanted some friction as bad as you; wanted you. It felt so good knowing Harry was as desperate as you, that he felt the same way and wasn’t ashamed of admitting that he did. You had no idea where your infatuation had begun, had no idea how you had fallen in love with Harry. You just were and that was how it was supposed to be. It had always supposed to be the two of you. Whenever something feels right, you get a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, like it’s your soul telling you that you’ve reached your final destination; you’ve gotten where you’re supposed to be. And you felt that very feeling right now, in Harry’s arms, kissing him, feeling him hard against you.

You pushed him back down on the bed, bending over him to continue kissing. He instantly gripped your arse again, begging you to rock against him so he could get some small friction. You refused however, and instead buried your hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, Harry thought to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to force you to do anything as he didn’t want this moment to be over. If you wanted to drag this out, then he would not stop you. He was making out with you, you were almost naked on top of him, he got to touch you all over. He wasn’t going to take this for granted.

There didn’t seem to be an end to your kisses, they seemed to be going on and on and on. Not that either of you were complaining, but at one point it was hard to remember how the rest of the morning had gone before you’d started snogging. You suddenly realised just how naked you were, that only your cream blouse was covering your torso, that the rest of you were on display for Harry. But he was way too busy kissing you to pay notice to anything else.

You tugged at the end of his tee shirt and he quickly took it off, letting it fall off the side of the bed before turning his attention back on you again. You ran your hand down his front, wanting to feel his skin under yours unashamedly. Every time you’d touched him before had been under a work setting, but this one was quite different. The hands touching him now were those of a lover, not his tailor. They were the hands of a desperate woman who wanted nothing more than to be with Harry in any way one human could be with another.

Resting your hands at the top of Harry’s boxers, Harry frantically followed your lead, being there to help you get them off. He was ready to do exactly as you told him to, knowing that he was and always would be at your complete and total disposal. As his boxers came off, his cock sprang loose, and you couldn’t help but look down at it. Harry watched you as you took him in, finding you checking him out like this incredibly hot. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through him, so captivated and altogether in love with you that he was sure in that moment and every moment that followed, he would lay down the rest of his life and himself to you wholly.

You took a grip of his cock, looking into his eyes after positioning him right at your hole. He didn’t take his eyes off you, knowing that what was just about to happen would change everything for you and your friendship. Not that all of last night and the rest of this morning hadn’t done that already, but sex complicates things. It’s hard not to form an emotional attachment to those you choose to have sex with, and it’s even harder to forget said person you have sex with if you’re in love with them. But regardless of that, both of you wanted to do this. You wanted to shag; wanted one another.

You guided him into you, holding onto him till he was all the way in. Your lips parted and Harry let out a low moan, your warm walls around him almost being too much to take. Positioning your knees well on either side of his waist, you sat up on his lap again, and started moving your hips over him. Harry gripped your thighs, squeezing them tight and looking up at you with his mouth agape. Your blouse hung loosely off you, unbuttoned to the point of one of your tits showing. It fell off one of your shoulders as you rocked over Harry, revealing even more of you to Harry in the bright morning light.

He moved one of his hands upward, running it up your arm, over your collarbone, to your neck. His thumb ran over your jawline, wanting to feel all of your soft skin under his fingertips. You looked down at him, a moan leaving your lips as your eyes met his. Already the familiar burn of a climax started building up in your core, reminding you of how long it had truly been since you’d found yourself in this position prior to this. Not that it even mattered, because right now you were having sex with Harry and he felt so fucking good inside you and underneath you, you would never get tired of this feeling.

You slid your hands down his front, dragging your nails along this skin till you reached his abdomen, where you let them rest. Harry’s eyes fell to your hands, relishing in the feeling of you touching him everywhere, of you being everywhere. Nothing mattered but you and the magic you were creating between the two of you. The soft skin of the inside of your thighs resting against his hips and ribs, his tattooed arms caressing your entire body. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

He moaned your name, hand sliding down your chest, rubbing his thumb over your exposed nipple. The burn in your core was really starting to build up now, and you knew it would burst any second. Harry sat up, wrapping an arm around your middle. You gasped a little in surprise, but your heart instantly started beating faster at him being so close to you. His grip was tight, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening, it sent a wave of butterflies straight to your tummy. All of them flew directly to your core as Harry started moving his hips more with yours.

“Look so good on me like that, you do.” He whispered against your lips, his voice still having that morning rasp to it that sent a shiver up your spine.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, resting the other one on his shoulder as you continued to rock your hips against him. His eyes were hooded, but there was something in them that was so soft it took your breath away. When you know someone inside and out, you notice every single little change in their behaviour. This wasn’t tiny, though, because there was a type of vulnerability in Harry’s eyes that you hadn’t seen there before. He was laying himself completely bare, both physically and emotionally, wanting to connect and attach himself to you on every level a human possibly could.

Being this close, your movements got shorter and quicker. Bending his knees, Harry brought you flush to his torso, your hips and his moving rhythmically, hard against one another. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. You wanted to melt into him and have you two sitting like this for eternity. Wanted to stare into his eyes, feel his warm breath on your skin, have his arm around your waist and the other hand on her cheek. Having him inside you like this, feeling him grip you hard, whimper against your lips, moan your name, you felt incredibly powerful and so, so good. There was something so magical about this moment, about you two joined like this. Something words lacked the ability to articulate and something your hearts didn’t quite understand yet but wanted to. He reached his hand down to your bum, squeezing you hard.

“Harry.” You moaned, feeling your hips and knees begin to ache from sitting like this. Not that you cared much, because the wild look in Harry’s eyes was enough of a reason for her to endure it a hundred times more.

“Yeah?” he mumbled against you. “You like that?”

Biting your lip, you glanced into his eyes, letting your look speak for itself. Harry moaned, letting his hand fall to the bed and the other to your thigh, pressing you harder around him. You were both close, clinging harder onto one another. The heat in the pit of your stomach grew bigger and bigger, threatening to burst with every grind, every moan, every touch. He thrusts harder into you, entranced as he watched you gasp and moan loudly.

“Fuck me.” You said, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck.

“As much as you want me to, baby.” He kissed your jawline, nails digging into your thigh. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

You gasped, feeling the heat get more intense. Harry felt your movements get more frantic and he moved his hips quicker, meeting yours and creating a friction so heavenly it caused you to lose all control.

“Don’t stop.” You gasped, looking into Harry’s eyes as everything started to blur.

“Fuck.” He hissed, feeling your legs start to shake around him. You came hard. Harry watching you intently, holding back his own release to watch every last second of yours; to make sure you were done before he allowed his own climax. You gasped for breath and moaned ad repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it felt like it was the only word you were able to pronounce.

Harry came right after her, a furrow appearing between his brows and lips parted. His hands tightened around her, holding onto her for dear life as he came in her. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. It was so hot, he sounded so sexy. You watched him till he came down, feeling his cum sliding down the inside of your thigh as he slipped out of you. You breathed together for a few moments before looking at one another, suddenly laughing a little at what you’d just done. He rested his forehead against your chest, feeling you breathe with him.

“That was a thing that just happened.” You said, making Harry laugh.

“That just happened.”

“We just did that.”

You both laughed, holding onto one another still, not willing to let go. For the time being, you two were the only thing that mattered, nothing outside your room existed. But then you laid your eyes on the clock by the nightstand and jumped off Harry. He watched you, wide eyed and confused.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m supposed to be at Alessandro’s hotel room in five minutes to go over yesterday, and some other stuff.” You said while you ran to the bathroom, needing to get washed up and dressed as quickly as possible.

Harry got out of bed, quickly putting his boxers and tee shirt on. “When’re you done?”

“Dunno.”

“Meet me for breakfast.” Harry said as you ran back out, new pair of knickers on and rummaging through your wardrobe. “I’ll text you the location.”

“Harry, I-“

“-Please.”

You looked over at him as you put your trousers on, smiling at his pleading words. “Text me.”

He smiled back before looking around the room. “Where are my trousers?”

“I’ll find them later, just piss off because I need to leave.” You ran towards the door with your laptop in hand and Harry – looking quite mortified – followed. He pulled his room key out as you were closing the door, about to run down the corridor for Alessandro’s room when you felt a hand around your wrist. Harry pulled you back toward him, pressing his lips against yours. You both smiled into the kiss, feeling absolutely elated and still not sure how to process what had just happened.

“Hurry.” Harry mumbled against your lips before kissing you again. “I’ll be waiting with that morning after pill.”

“Good.”

Harry smiled. “Now, be off.”

You giggled, giving him one last peck before running down towards Alessandro.

Everything that happened between you and Harry over the last 30 months had culminated to this point; you rushing out of the room after sharing an unexpected, intimate morning together. Looking back on it, you knew that each longing look you gave him had a hidden meaning behind it. You wanted this. Maybe not right away, but the more you got to know Harry, the more you wanted to be more than just his tailor. There had always been more between the two fo you, you just had not figured it out till now.

The way he watched you with admiration while you worked, gave you praises when you were feeling down - quite literally shouting them from the streets - and spoke to you in a way that had your mind in the clouds, it all slowly built over time.

It built until you couldn’t handle it any longer and needed to show Harry just how deeply you were falling for him.

Knocking on Alessandro’s door you quickly tired to fix your hair, aware that you looked like a right mess. Because of your morning antics and inability to keep track of time, you hadn’t given your appearance a single thought. Once Alessandro opened the door, his eyes widened as he saw you standing there panting and looking distressed, instant regret hit you for not at least brushing through your hair. Alessandro would know something had happened, having known you for so long, he’d see right through you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Alessandro smiled knowingly, nodding his head as he let you in. You just raised your eyebrows, but Alessandro didn’t make another comment. You’d told him enough.

“I stopped by Harry’s room last night, wanted to congratulate him on the show and how well he did, but he wasn’t in. Any idea where he was?”

“Nope. None. Maybe he was having a wee.”

Alessandro nodded again, walking over to sit down by the table in his suite along with his event manager, head stylist, and fabric coordinator. Tons of sketches of new outfits and plans for upcoming events laid out on the table, ready to be discussed. You sat down with them, ready to take notes. You had already been a little late, so you didn’t want to do anything else wrong today. Full on concentrating, you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop for almost 30 minutes, and when you did, it was to check your phone. You’d gotten two text messages, both from Harry.

Harry Don’t forget my yellow trousers. They’re my favourite pair. x

Harry Had an amazing time this morning, by the way. Can’t wait to see you later. x

You couldn’t help the smile that spread out over your face at the messages, and you didn’t realise just how wide your smile was till Alessandro cleared his throat beside you. You looked up, turning your phone around and looking right back at your laptop as if nothing had happened.

“What’s got you smiling?” Alessandro questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“Hmm? Nothing.” You answered, trying to refocus on the document before you.

Alessandro looked down at your phone, smiled, and went on with the meeting. There would be no hiding what happened between you and Harry. Somehow, someway, the man sitting before you would hear how his ‘two prodigies’ had finally gotten together, and when that day happened, you’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he constantly reminded you that without him, the two of you would have likely never met so it was his doing that you had a best friend in Harry.

So what was he to say when he found out you and Harry were now more than friends?

[welllpthisishappening]

Three Strikes [you're out]

It was his fault, really.

Wearing that jersey at Citi Field practically required Nina to hate the mass of muscle sitting in front of her on sight. Plus, he didn't know how to score a baseball game. So, honestly, it made sense. To hate him. Ardently, even. To push buttons, metaphorical or otherwise. A game within the game.

And, if, she found herself having fun, well, that was neither here nor there.

———

Rating: T, with sports and kissing because of who I am as a person Word Count: 9.1 K, also because of who I am as a person AN: I don’t know, guys. I got thoughts. I got feelings. The only way I know how deal with either of those things is to write about them with sports and kissing. Did I suggest that being a Mets fan was a bit like being Grisha? Perhaps! Perhaps, I did! If this is out of character just...don’t tell me.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll

———

The suggestion that an idea was capable of boiling a person’s blood, even in the most abstract and metaphorical sense, had always appealed to Nina. Not in a particularly violent way, of course. More in regards to the visual. 

Conjured up all sorts of possibilities. 

Little bubbles beneath her skin, searing emotion through her veins that inevitably led to tufts of smoke pouring out of her ears. Like one of those old cartoon characters, she could now only dimly remember. In moments like this, especially. When she wasn’t quite boiling, but certainly racing toward the vast and admittedly surprising precipice of abject hatred. Directed almost solely toward the mass of muscle who dared to wear a Chase Utley jersey to Citi Field on a Thursday in May. 

He needed a haircut, she thought. 

The muscle. Not Chase Utley. She couldn’t possibly care less about the state of Chase Utley’s hair. Unless he was choking on it, somewhere. Obviously. Then Nina cared very much. About Chase Utley. And this guy. With too-long strands that she was starting to believe fell almost artfully across the back of a vaguely golden-skinned neck, as if they existed solely to torment her. 

On a Thursday in May. 

Sitting there, with a seat digging into the middle of her spine and her frustration threatening the enamel on the back of her teeth, Nina was loath to admit, even to herself, that she couldn’t stop staring at him. Partially because of the hair. Which looked very—pushable, really. As far as her finger’s potential went. But mostly because of everything else. Watching the muscle was a bit like watching a statue at the Met, waiting with bated breath for it to actually surge to life because when she was that same kid who watched cartoons on weekend mornings, she rather strongly believed that the statues at the Met were wholly capable of smiling and turning and living. Artwork prone to the mystical and potentially magical.

She blamed Ben Stiller for that, honestly. 

Amy Adams to a slightly lesser degree. 

Robin Williams would suffer no criticism in this argument, naturally. 

The muscle shifted. 

Twitched just a hint in his seat. Altered the angle of his, frankly, impressively wide shoulders. Rolled his neck between them. The seat was too small. He was too big. That jersey must have been ancient. 

And, really, when it came down to it, Nina hated him most for the pencil. Tucked behind his right ear, it looked comically small whenever he pulled it between his fingers, scratching across a legitimate scorebook because in the thirty-seven minutes or so she’d spent observing this fascinating specimen of humanity, she’d noticed it was, in fact, a scorebook. 

Not a piece of paper.

Not a printout. 

Not even the one she was only vaguely confident they handed out in the rotunda downstairs. 

An actual scorebook. 

That he brought with him to Citi Field. 

She glanced down to make sure she had not actually burst into literal flames in section 205. Row F. Seat 27. No such luck. Weird. 

The pencil was back in his hand. One leg crossed the other, leaving his knee propped in the air, and there was just so much of the muscle that it was a rather small miracle of an exceptionally narrow field of science that it didn’t collide with anyone around him. Instead, it provided a built-in desk, that stupid scorebook propped up against jean-covered skin and even more muscles, pushing against fabric like they were personally offended by the concept of the blue-colored prison. 

Nina bit her lip. 

Tried to keep breathing. Because fires required oxygen, and there could be no boiling without fire and—

“‘Scuse me, ‘scuse me, ‘scuse me, just trying to—” Blood flooded Nina’s mouth, making it impossible for her to open that same mouth and let out the laugh already pushing against her lips. There were at least four little wrinkles pinched across the small expanse of Jesper’s nose, two boxes of popcorn clutched in either one of his hands and a soda between the slight bend of his elbow. He tiptoed his way around disgruntled fans, glaring at a few red jerseys for good measure. As if he actually wanted to be there. Nina kept biting her lip. “Just trying to get back to my seat,” Jesper finished, “won’t bother you again, rest of the game, absolutely, one-hundred percent guaranteed.”

Nina’s lips tilted up. 

Scrambling to her feet, she couldn’t quite balance on the edge of the seat that immediately swung back up. Something sticky stuck to the bottom of her shoe and eventually, she would find herself wondering why she didn’t simply move into Jesper’s seat. For a myriad of reasons, she assumed. 

Some of which might have mystical and potentially. 

Goddamn, Ben Stiller. 

“Accommodating sort of group, isn’t it?” Jesper mumbled, pushing past her and Nina had to applaud his dexterity. Not a kernel lost in the battle. 

“Should have waited ‘til the middle of the inning. This is just bad form on your part.” “And miss all—” He waved an imperious hand toward the field. “What am I missing, exactly?”

Opening her mouth, Nina was certain she’d come up with a reasonable explanation for the romantic nature of baseball, only she was a little busy. Keeping her head connected to the rest of her body. 

Snapping to the left, her breath caught. In that dramatic sort of way that always seemed like the perfect soundtrack to any great sporting moment. Eyes wide and fingers digging into her palm, hope mixed with the bubbles and the boils, and she barely noticed the awkward angle of her bent knees. Or just how close she was to—

Him. 

The muscle. 

She heard his pencil drop, she swore. 

Oh, Gods, but he had blue eyes. Sharp and staring right at her, Nina resisted the very real urge to let herself melt right there. In section 205. Row F. Seat 27. Well, in front of seat 27, technically. 

Pulling her knee back did not do that same knee any favors, muscles almost audibly objecting to the force of Nina’s split-second reaction, but then she forgot about the pain and the concept of depth perception. The yell tore itself out of her lungs, found its way to the rest of the noise circling the stadium, wrapping its way around people until the hope of that one, singular moment settled on the tips of her eyelashes and the backs of her heels and she wasn’t sure if she heard him at first. 

No one should be capable of possessing a voice quite so gruff, that’s why.

“Not going to make it.”

Glaring at the monstrous mass of muscle and questionably good hair wasn’t so much as a decision as something far closer to instinct, pulling her brows together and letting her tongue push at the bottom of her teeth, and he—

Looked. Right at her. And her tongue. 

Shoulders tensing, a hint of nervous energy appeared in those same ridiculously blue eyes, gone almost before Nina had a chance to realize it was there at all and she didn’t see the play. Heard it, though. The groans and the grunts, complete despair, and the first shreds of desolation drowning out the hope and pulling it from a grip that was always a little tenuous. 

No home run. No hit. Just a run-of-the-mill fly ball in center field. 

One side of the muscle’s mouth tugged up. 

“Told you.” “Oh, fuck off.”

Surprise, she thought, was a very good look on him. Most of them would be, she imagined. But right then, on a Thursday in May, with two outs in the bottom of the fourth, Nina relished the surprise. 

And sat back down. 

To be a Mets fan, was to believe in the impossible. 

The amazing, even. 

It was right there in the slogans. The advertising campaigns. On a variety of shirts, both legitimate and those sold at the bottom of the 7-train stairs. To accept the amazing, to wish for it, even, was part and parcel of the history of an organization that relished its underdog status. Thrived in its role, the second team in a city that toed the line between excess and restraint. 

Winning with this team was unexpected and unpredictable. Came without much pomp. Certainly no circumstance. Only a few trades that drew national eyes and back page headlines. More often than not, this was a team that discovered amazing when it simply should not exist. 

Misfits who created something wonderful. Who sparked something among people who, at least for nine innings, believed orange was a worthwhile color to wear. Who smiled at a mascot with a massive baseball for a head. And his wife, who sported some rather impressive eyelashes, actually. 

To be a Mets fan, was to understand heartache. 

To accept being the butt of jokes across decades. 

Every year, the knowing smiles came. Paying goddamn Bobby Bonilla. Cracks about pyramid schemes and owners who couldn’t find their way out of a money-based paper bag, team antics that occasionally drew those headlines, and players who fell in wayward ditches on their farms, ending their season before it ever really began. 

Winning didn’t come often, but it was loud when it did. The crack of a bat and a ball finding the back of a glove, shoulders slamming into the left-field wall with its massive M&Ms ad. Feedback from a microphone as David Wright thanked the Seven Line Army, in all their orange-clad glory, memories of that near-perfect October and what could have been imprinting themselves across a generation. 

To be a Mets fan, was to live and die with each pitch. Each hit. To hold your breath and wait for magic that lingered beneath skin and forced its way into bloodstreams. 

To be a Mets fan, was to hate anyone wearing a Chase Utley jersey. 

“Stew, stew, stewing, a rather hearty beef stew.” Nina narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?” “You are stewing,” Jesper said pointedly, as if it was an obvious affliction and they both hadn’t casually descended into madness caused by extra innings. Putting a runner on second was supposed to help avoid all of this. Runs were meant to be scored in extra innings. Nothing had happened yet. “Any more and that little divot between your eyebrows is never going to disappear. Then what will we do?” Answering would only acknowledge that the divot was more like a rather obvious ravine now, and the little half-moon circles left by her nails were going to be permanently etched into Nina’s palm. 

He was still keeping score. 

How he hadn’t run out of columns in his scorebook was beyond her, but Nina figured if the muscle was someone willing to purchase a scorebook, he probably made sure it was one that also included, like, fifteen innings on each page. 

If they made it to the fifteenth inning, she would cry. 

It would be embarrassing. 

Jesper probably wouldn’t come back for the rest of the series. If she cried, that was. And she needed him to come back for the rest of the series. Sitting anywhere else wasn’t all that appealing, even if it might have been warmer up there now. 

She wrapped her arms around herself. Better to stew with, that way. 

“Do games normally last this long?”

Nina shook her head. 

Jesper groaned. Loudly, complete with his head thrown back for extra emphasis and even clearer frustration and she didn’t think she imagined the way the muscle tensed. Staring at him was becoming something of a pastime in the middle of a more acceptable one. Light didn’t quite reflect from the hair she was starting to become just a hint obsessed with, but it certainly appeared determined to try, and his ability to hold so much tension in the region directly surrounding his jaw would have been impressive in any other circumstance. 

As it was, Nina was a little concerned about the state of the muscle’s back molars. 

It was why she didn’t react as quickly as she should have. Or so she would argue for the rest of time. 

Once she got the popcorn off her feet. 

A waterfall of butter-coasted kernels landed on her shoes, a few bouncing as she did, thrust out of her seat like a canon. Whatever bit of her heart that existed solely to document the ebbs and flows of the New York Mets success flew into her throat, where it immediately took up residence directly in the middle. Wide eyes immediately started to water, which brought her straight back to the entirely metaphorical cliff of her potential embarrassment and the muscle was leaning forward. 

With his own brand of emotion. 

No obvious tension, just that steady sort of hope born among the din of baseball-type sounds and, even more importantly, baseball-type feelings and Nina was mumbling. 

“Turn ‘em, turn ‘em, turn ‘em, two, two, two, two, get the—” Suggesting she screamed made it seem as if she weren’t in complete control of her faculties. And despite the potential of extra innings insanity, Nina was just as lucid as ever and just as capable of throwing her hands in the air, while also screaming. 

Undeniably so. 

As soon as the ball jumped over the outstretched glove at short, Francisco Lindor’s lanky and overpaid body stretched out across the infield grass. Curses flowed from Nina’s mouth, some of them sharp enough to make even Jesper choke on whatever bits of oxygen he was able to gulp down, and she didn’t stop. Kept screaming and shouting, increasingly mobile hands and dexterous shoulders, miming her own throw home because whoever was playing left field was not moving quickly enough for her. 

He didn’t make the throw. 

Not in time, at least. 

Dirt flew into the air as a leg stretched over home plate and the umpire’s arms were nearly as impressive as Nina’s. Marking the runner safe and giving the Phillies their first and only lead of the night. 

Frustration mingled with out-of-place despair, far too early in the series and the season to be feeling quite as desolate as Nina suddenly was and, really, she wasn’t sure why she looked. Something about magnets, or simple curiosity, but her eyes drifted and her head tilted and she felt her jaw drop as his stupid, little pencil scratched out E6 in his scorebook. 

“What the hell, man?”

He didn’t turn. Figured. Screaming was becoming her base setting, so Nina wasn’t entirely surprised that the muscle didn’t acknowledge it, but then she was moving and leaning and tapping on a shoulder that somehow seemed sturdier when she had kneed it several innings earlier. 

“That’s not an error.” Moving in slow motion only made sense if the man was, in fact, a piece of marble. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, acting as little paths toward his eyes and they were still blue. Good, that was good. Bad, that was bad. 

Jesper wasn’t even trying to contain his laughter. 

“Excuse me?” “Not an error,” Nina repeated, careful to pause between each word for emphasis. The muscle didn’t flinch. Stared at her incredulously, though. “Did you not see that hop?” “I saw your multi-million dollar man throw his arm out without much regard to actually making a routine play. Is that what you’re talking about?” “How is that possibly an error?” He lifted a shoulder. She was boiling over. “Should have made the play.” “It was impossible!" “C’mon now,” he chuckled, and the good fought with the bad. A symphony of contradictions blaring between Nina’s ears. Neither of which were steaming, it seemed. “Nothing is impossible in baseball.” “That was!” “Might need to come up with a better argument.” “Home scorer is not going to give Francisco an error on that. He had to dive!” “Maybe he should have been in better position, to begin with.” “The shift was on.” “Well, the shift is ruining baseball, so—” Nina gagged. Let her tongue push between rows of teeth that she couldn’t believe were going to survive the rest of the night if the acid churning in her esophagus was any indication. He looked. Again. Whatever heat lapping at the base of her spine was only marginally distracting. “A baseball purist cannot possibly wear the jersey you are wearing.” “I wasn’t aware of the rules, but, please, go on.” “Fuck. Off.” “Getting less and less creative.” His eyes hadn’t moved. As if he was documenting each twitch of her lips for his own personal posterity. Nina found she didn’t mind the idea as much as she should. 

Jesper was going to crack a rib. 

“Chase Utley is an asshole who doesn’t know how to slide.” “Ok.” “An asshole!” “I heard you the first time,” he said, losing the war with his lips. Curled up, they cut across the serious mask his face had become in the world’s least serious conversation. It was nice that Jesper ended up crying before Nina, honestly. “And he wasn’t a Phil when he hurt your guy, so I don’t think that should count at all.” Nina did not know what noise she made. Wasn’t human. Hurt a little. “Did you just call him a Phil?” “Guys,” Jesper mumbled, but she couldn’t be bothered with something as menial as the bottom of the inning when the muscle in front of her kept doing that thing with his eyes and his hair and—

Reaching out, she managed to bypass his rather impressive reaction time, grabbing the pencil before he could stop her and the crack of it between her fingers was as loud as any grand slam this slightly ugly ballpark had ever witnessed. 

Not that Nina would ever admit she thought Citi Field was slightly to moderately ugly. 

It was the color scheme. Way too much green involved. 

She gave herself exactly seven seconds to relish the look of pure amazement on the muscle’s face. 

“Use a pen,” Nina sneered, “at least stand by your scoring convictions.” “Chase Utley is going to be in the Hall of Fame.” “As a Phil?” “World Series champion.”

His ability to emphasize words with meaningful pauses was far better than Nina’s. “It wasn’t an error.” “You’re paying that guy more than anyone in the world deserves to get paid, if he’s going to lay out for a liner, then he should be able to make the play, don’t you think?” Nina bit her lip. Boiled. Stewed. 

Ah, damn. 

Her silence was an answer in the middle of a sea made up of equally disheartened fans. Who all suddenly remembered how terrible they looked in orange. Always worse after a loss. 

The muscle nodded. Once. Exhaled. Through his nose. As if he’d won, and not just his team, and Nina didn’t offer to replace his pencil. 

On a Friday night in May, Nina genuinely believed that he wouldn’t come back. Hoped for it, even. And something else almost akin to the exact opposite. 

Both were very strange feelings to feel contained in one human, body. Draped, even as it was, in blue and orange and New York City’s less famous pinstripes. With PIAZZA splashed across her back, Nina felt as if she were obligated to sit a little straighter. As if slumping in her seat — by herself tonight because Genya was not at all interested in sitting in the stands and Zoya would have laughed at the suggestion, and Jesper had to get back to the Crow Club — would somehow tarnish the reputation of a name that didn’t belong to her. 

Didn’t it, though? Just a little. Wasn’t that how sports worked? Throwing yourself into the camaraderie with both feet and occasionally flailing arms, willing to sit in an uncomfortable seat that she’d have to mention to Nikolai at some point because these were starting to feel a bit like torture devices masquerading as plastic, and a piece of paper floated onto her lap. 

He’d folded the piece of paper. 

The muscle. Not Nikolai. Who was sitting in the owner’s box, in fact. Nina assumed those seats weren’t rising up in revolt against him. 

The muscle wasn’t wearing a jersey this time. A cup of what smelled like over-brewed coffee, though, was held tightly in his left hand, while the right clutched his scorebook as if it were made of gold. Nina’s tongue swiped her teeth. 

He watched. 

Documented. 

Kept track. 

“What the hell is this?” “Is that your favorite curse, you think?” “Why are you throwing paper airplanes at me?” Lifting shoulders appeared to be his default form of response. “Felt just quirky enough not to be overtly threatening.” “Because of the guns generally associated with fighter planes?” “What do you know about fighter planes?” Rolling her whole head did not get her a smile. Or even a hint of such a thing. It did get him a few grumblings of frustration from those whose view he was blocking. Because there was so goddamn much of him. Imposing, that was the word for it. Taking up space and settling into the seat with a near amazing amount of grace, practically folding in on himself, like he was made of smooth lines and crisp edges, capable of soaring through air in a way that belied that flimsy nature of paper airplanes, and there was that word again. 

“Always liked the ones that had painted teeth on them,” Nina said, somehow fully prepared for the huff of laughter that fell out of him. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. 

To hand to her. 

“You would.” “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?” “It means,” he said, nodding at the pen when she kept gaping at it, “that in my limited experience with you, Ms. Met—”

“Thought we covered lack of creativity last night.” He ignored her. Eventually, it might be a good idea to learn his name. Where that might also be the worst idea in the history of the world. Maybe Nikolai could track him down. Like through ticket sales, or something. That seemed like a breach of power, though. 

“You do have a rather impressive set of teeth on you, yourself.” “Oh, that’s an insult.” “Should unfold the paper airplane.” Most of her wanted to crumple up the piece of the paper, toss it back in his face and then possibly stab him with his own pen. But Nina also didn’t know the muscle’s name, and cold-blooded murder on a Friday night in May required a certain sense of personalization that they hadn’t quite reached yet. So, there was no crumpling. Her fingers didn’t shake. Her heartbeat held steady in her chest. 

Unfolding the paper with his eyes on her, Nina did hold her breath. For eight straight seconds, approximately. Until it all rushed out of her, entirely amazed and perpetually annoyed because the paper airplane left creases between the boxes of what was very clearly her own personal scoresheet. 

With provided pen.

“This is a trick.” “That not being a question gives me pause,” he said, but it sounded like an admission. One tinged with regret. Presumably for Chase Utley’s tendency to be a complete and utter asshole. Prone to injuring Mets’ middle infielders. 

“Is it not?” He shook his head. And the pen in his hand. “Get to stand by the convictions of your scoring actions.” “Errors occur only on routine plays.” “Yuh-huh.” “You’re here by yourself.” “Also not a question.”

“Or an answer,” Nina pointed out.

“Where’d your friend go?” “What do you put in your coffee?” “Nothing,” he answered, “seriously, where’s the friend?” Something lingered on the edge of the question. Something Nina didn’t want to notice, but couldn’t possibly ignore. Not when it came with concave shoulders, curling toward her like they were preparing themselves to block wind and glares in equal measure. The second of which was really a more pressing problem at the moment.

“Had to work.” “As a stand-up comedian?” “Hardy har har,” Nina grumbled. Leaning back against the force of his ensuing smile was as natural as wearing a Mike Piazza jersey and searching for the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. What she was less prepared for was the ability of that same smile to twist its way between her ribs, lighting another new and imaginary fire and if her mouth dried just a bit, then that was neither here nor there.

Between her and the baseball gods, fickle as they were. 

“You don’t put anything in your coffee?” He shook his head. “Sugar makes me nauseous.” “God, what a depressing way to live life.” “Eh, there are things that make up for it.” “Chase Utley?” “I think you might be obsessed,” he said, dropping into his seat so as to avoid being pelted with cheese fries from Shake Shack. The guy three seats away looked real serious. “Going to write him a letter asking for a game of catch?” “You’re making pop culture references.” “Not a question, either.” “No, a stunned statement of fact.” She wanted that laugh on loop. Wanted it to play as the soundtrack for the rest of the night and the rest of the series and quite possibly the rest of her life, lingering softly in the background of everything she did for the rest of forever. 

Matching in perfect rhythm to the predisposed nature of her blood to boil. 

“Where are all your friends, then?” Nina asked, almost desperate to change the direction of the conversation and her internal dialogue. The blue evolved. Right there in his eyes. Darkened until it looked like the sky before a storm and that was ten-thousand times worse than any other drivel she’d come up with so far. 

Licking her lips was idiotic. Naturally, that’s what she did. 

“Not here,” he replied, “but I know the hitting coach.” Strictly speaking, that should not have been quite as awe-inducing as it was. Nina hadn’t paid for her tickets, after all. Had no intention of paying for tickets ever again, if she was being honest. So, really, seeing how caution swept the muscle’s face was kind of a dick move. 

On her part, specifically. 

“Should I be impressed?” Shoulder lift, right on cue. “I knew him in college. Was, uh—” “—Wait, did you play baseball?” Color didn’t rise on his cheeks. Not in any romantic way. Nothing about it was swepping, which was good because the Phillies had won the night before, meaning any sweeping would also guarantee Mets losses. It arrived in splotches. Bits of pink and nearly-red, tiny pinpricks of unregulated emotion that immediately affected the ability of Nina’s pulse to stay even. 

She grinned. 

Wide and honest, ignoring the strands of hair that fell in her eyes when she let her head fall. 

He didn’t look away. 

She’d think that was important, later. 

“You contain multitudes, Muscle.” “Insulting,” he grumbled. “Quite possibly the tallest man I’ve ever encountered in the flesh.” “That can’t possibly be true.” “You don’t look like a baseball player.” Back to the correct shade of blue. Just for a moment. Disappearing in the haze of a 90 mile per hour fastball. Right up the middle. But Nina had always been fairly good at tracking pitches, and she might not have been a former baseball player, but picking out the slider amongst a never-ending stream of heaters was like her personal superpower. 

“So I’ve heard.” “From scouts?” “Sometimes, yeah.”

“Of the professional variety?” “Every now and then.”

Letting out a low whistle, Nina’s spine relaxed. Tension that had taken root between her shoulder blades loosened, watching the face in front of her and the mask it was so obviously clinging to. Kept slipping, though. While staring directly at her. 

It was, she would argue, why she did what she did. Without mumbling. 

“You wanna sit?” “With you?” “Rude. You threw paper at me.” “It was a well-constructed airplane,” the muscle argued, “so you could also score the game. This was a nice thing I was doing.” “Past tense.” “Am doing,” he corrected. “Currently.”

“That mean you're going to sit?”

She counted. Seconds. Moments. Breaths. Dug her teeth into her lower lip. Against the side of her tongue. He nodded. 

And climbed over the seat. 

So, that was only going to marginally mess with her brain. 

“Alright then,” Nina said, doing her best to flatten her paper against the bend of her knee, “tell me everything about your baseball tale of woe.”

He didn’t. 

At least not at first. 

It took until the fourth inning for them to begrudgingly agree that mowing patterns in the outfield was an abstract art form that did not often get the credit it deserved, before deciding, in no uncertain terms, that the NL East boasted some of the better uniform options in all baseball, even if that was mostly because of the Marlins and—

His hand moved to his shoulder. 

The right one. More than once. Gently massaged the muscle there, a slight grimace that Nina only noticed because she was sitting squarely in the middle of objectification and she didn’t even know his name. Yet, she reminded herself. 

They’d get there. 

They didn’t. Not in that game, anyway. 

A Saturday afternoon in May didn’t present the same sort of chill that required scalding hot coffee with absolutely nothing else in it, but Nina was playing with hope and resting on her not-so-cautious expectations. Seeing how wide his eyes could get was extra. 

Sugar on top, if you will. 

They got very wide. Frozen, even. Stuck halfway down the row, still no jersey, just his dropped jaw and slumped, possibly injured shoulders, ignoring the jabs from nearby season ticket holders who were starting to believe this mountain of muscle existed solely to block their sight lines. 

Nina figured that’s what it was, at least. 

He smiled. 

That smile. Her smile. When she’d begun to claim it, she couldn’t begin to pinpoint, but it might have been six and two-thirds innings into last night’s game when his left arm had bumped her right, just enough warmth wafting off him to be noticeable. To leave goosebumps in his awake, too. 

“There’s no sugar in it,” she promised, “so you don’t have to worry for the state of your stomach.” “I didn’t once think you were trying to poison me.” “High praise.” “Deservedly so.” She flushed. Ducked her eyes. Tried not to chew her tongue in half, or allow the burning-hot blood racing through every single one of her extremities to burst its way out of her skin. That would be off-putting. And traumatic. 

“Here,” he added, tugging another folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, “for you.” “Are you printing these off in the hotel?” “Should be a private investigator, Ms. Met.” “Did your coach make you stay in Queens, Muscle?” The hand that landed on her waist — to move her, just to move her — was warm and blistering and those were two very different words with a pair of very different meanings and even more jarring consequences, and he sat down next to her. 

Huh. 

Huh. 

“Been taking the train in from Grand Central.” “Ugh, he’s making you stay over there? There’s no good food in that part of the city.” “Quiet, though.” Sticking her tongue out when she gagged continued to be one of Nina’s less impressive traits. “I blew my shoulder out my junior year of college.”

One of Nina’s knees buckled. Only one. The right one, actually. She refused to believe that was a sign. From baseball gods, or otherwise. “Hitting?” “Throwing. Probably because of the hitting, but the blowing out actually happened on what was considered by most in the know to be a pretty routine throw from left field. Hurt like hell.” “Yeah, I bet.” “I don’t remember a ton of what happened right after. Might have yelled? Quite possibly blacked out. Definitely heard something snap, which admittedly terrified me, but then there were a bunch of people talking and walking me down the tunnel and more lights and tests. The phrase never the same again was thrown around with alarming regularity.”

Cold. Nina was cold. Freezing beneath a mid-afternoon sun, one of those May days that tease of summer yet to come. They smell like cotton candy and potential, of a distinct lack of responsibility and SPF 70. 

She had sensitive skin. 

“Were you by yourself?” Asking questions she somehow already knew the answer to was equal parts cruel and unusual, particularly when asking it of a man whose name never got to back pages. Or her ears, it seemed. She swallowed whatever was sitting in the back of her mouth. 

“Brum was there,” he said, but it sounded like an excuse. A practiced line that had started to reek of insincerity. “My—well, my parents had been gone for a while. Same old sob story you always hear, y’know? Kid loses everything, finds salvation in the dogma of sports, gets pretty good at it, and then—” “—Loses it all again?” Nina finished. She thought she did. Whoever was talking didn’t sound like Nina. Sounded like someone who had painstakingly refolded her paper airplane the night before. To keep on the nightstand next to her bed. 

“Some of it, yeah. They wanted me to stick around. Stay on staff. Coach. But that was—” He clicked his tongue. Distant eyes stared past that goddamn M&Ms ad, and Nina didn’t think. Wasn’t that how the best athletes were, though? All instinct and lightning-fast reaction times. Responding to a situation before the rest of us mere mortals could even begin to fathom the circumstance. 

He didn’t push her hand off his. 

The coffee was going to go cold. 

“Very maudlin way of approaching things.” She chuckled. Tried not to cry, for entirely new reasons. “Impressive vocabulary for a jock.” “Keep workshop'ing your insults, Ms. Met.”

“Brum, he just got hired by the Phillies, right?” She knew that answer too. “Is this the first game you’ve been to?” His eyes slid to hers. In that same slow motion as before, and that couldn’t possibly have been less than seventy-two hours ago, but life had a tendency to be weird like that and good like that and, well, you can’t predict baseball, Suzyn.  

“Why the Mets?” It wasn’t the question she expected. Felt far too big and more than a little terrifying, jumping into the deep end of the pool from the highest diving board. But that same pool was always crystal clear, the sort of blue they wrote songs about. Summertime and the living was easy. That sort of thing. 

“Because there’s something wonderful in a team that defies every bit of sports conjecture. That breathes in the chaos and spits out something that, every now and then, is absolutely beautiful. That lets me be bigger than myself for nine innings and a minimum of one-hundred and sixty-two games. That takes all my shortcomings and accepts them because one time this team claimed there was a raccoon fighting with a rat in the dugout tunnel. Because they don’t play The Imperial March during lineup announcements.” Something, something—she needed better sunscreen. 

So as to not get burned by the force of his sun-like smile. 

“I think a raccoon could probably take a rat, don’t you think?” “I don’t know,” Nina wavered, “I own a fair amount of Staten Island Pizza Rat merch.” His hand flipped. Fingers curled around hers and held on with an ease that settled her acid and cooled her blood, finally finding that middle ground between frigid and fission. 

“Explain the single seating.” “I had a friend here on Thursday.” “And he had to go back to work. Where does he work?” “Bar in Jersey.” Curiosity flashed in the blue, but then it was gone and Nina must have imagined it, looking for more common ground and mutual understanding. Her fingers looked minuscule between his. 

“If I told you that I know the new owner of the Mets,” Nina started, “because I went to college with his girlfriend, and he’s been listening to me talk about this team for the better part of a decade now, so he decided to spend some of his inherited millions to buy it, and now that same girlfriend is sitting up there perpetually confused why I like to be out here, do you think you’d hate me on principle?” One blink. Two. Head tilt. Jaw clench. His lips popped when they opened. 

“No.” “No?” “No,” he echoed, “Nikolai Lantsov shouldn’t have spent so much money on your shortstop’s contract.” “Wasn’t an error.” Both shoulders lifted.

“Nina Zenik,” she said, a tardy greeting that should have happened well before the hand holding. The hand holding continued. 

“Matthias Helvar.” “Did you bring a pen?” He pulled another one out of his jacket pocket. 

They disagreed on no less than half a dozen calls. Impressive, since they didn’t actually start paying attention to their separate score sheets and books until early in the third inning after Nina had barely cleared the cheese sauce off the corner of her page. 

Introducing themselves made it feel as if they’d crested another level in whatever the proper term for this not-quite relationship was. 

Jabs weren’t nearly as sharp, but elbows brushed and noses scrunched. Makeshift disdain blurred against subtle infatuation, sunshine in his hair and pressing against the barrier of Nina’s consistently reapplied sunscreen. They talked. Laughed. Shouted and screamed, standing at different times. Much to the chagrin of everyone around them. 

She didn’t bother asking about the Chase Utley jersey. Knew that it was as much a part of Matthias’s fandom as the Piazza jersey was to hers. Connecting him to something that was only partially his, because no matter how much this sport might be capable of sweeping over them, of bringing them along with the current, there was a riptide always threatening just below the surface. Capable of drowning and filling lungs, leaving them both taking on water and hastily constructed metaphors. 

Plus, they both hated the Yankees. So, they talked about that. 

Talked about places in the city they liked to go, Nina’s knowledge of hole-in-the-wall restaurants leaving his eyes as wide as she’d hoped they could be, tiny pools she was more than willing to dive into. With perfect form. 

Laughter became the new normal for the pair of them, chancing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. They always were. As if those magnets were real and forceful, leaving them both grinning like idiots whenever they were caught in the act. 

Once an inning, then. 

Matthias didn’t sing during the seventh-inning stretch, but Nina was loud enough for the pair of them. Especially when she was standing on her seat, a hand flat on the small of her back. 

“So you don’t fall,” Matthias explained, and the words immediately branded themselves on that corner of her brain where Nina kept good things. 

They shared a plastic helmet of swirl ice cream. With rainbow sprinkles. 

He called them jimmies. 

She made fun of him. 

And then—

It was over. 

No drama. No walk-off hits. No extra innings. Just a Mets win that didn’t require the bottom of the ninth. And she was happy with that, she was. Less so with the way her stomach dropped as soon as her knees bent and her chin lifted, barely tempered hope and the sort of want that did not require magnets to direct her gaze. 

Matthias loomed above her, casting shadows and the desire to finally push her fingers into his hair was nearly too much to ignore. Nina did. In favor of what came next because she knew what came next, and this was not that serious. Sitting on opposing lines of a flimsy at best baseball rivalry did not mean she couldn’t push up on her toes and catch the mouth of someone who no longer felt like a stranger. Until that same mouth inevitably opened and she got to do whatever she wanted with her tongue. 

Only—

One of the season tickets started grumbling, and the sea of fans pushed forward and the only way Nina stayed upright was because of the arm around her waist. Matthias’s nose ticked her skin along the back of her neck. 

“Told ya,” he mumbled, and if he saw the goosebumps, he didn’t mention them. 

That was nice. 

He was nice. 

She was—

A mess, at best. 

Mostly because there was no kissing. Almost like they were nervous of what would happen if they did. Of shattering this tremulous understanding and shaky alliance, but Matthias’s fingers squeezed Nina’s hip before he said, “See you tomorrow.”

She did not see him tomorrow. 

When tomorrow was tonight and now and Zoya and Genya kept doing circles around the room. 

Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN required a certain amount of protocol and it was the first broadcast with Nikolai in the owner’s box, which meant plenty of shots at the owner’s box, and Nina sat in her very plush, decidedly warm seat, with only minimal argument. 

There was champagne, so. That helped. 

Plus, she figured she’d— “Is it a guy?” Genya asked without preamble, propping her chin on her hand. “Is that why you don’t want to hang out?” Nina sighed. “You know me better than that.” “Sure, sure, sure, looked real cozy down there, though.” “Are you spying on me?” “Nah, Zoya was.” Frustration clawed at Nina’s consciousness. Surprise did not. This was par for the course and several other out-of-place sports cliches. 

Zoya finished her drink before adding, “I didn’t leave this suite all afternoon, yesterday, the security guards that Nikolai knows in that section though…” “That’s splitting hairs,” Nina argued. “And they were just doing their job,” Nikolai added, shouting in a way a multi-millionaire absolutely should not. Zoya rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever they were doing,” Nina said, “they didn’t need to be doing it. What if someone got robbed while they were watching me?” “You think people are getting robbed in broad daylight inside this stadium?” “Maybe!” “Were lots of Phillies fans here,” Genya pointed out. Laughter clung to her words, quiet snickers from the rest of the assorted peanut gallery. Before they noticed that Nina wasn’t lacking. Might have paled, if the matching expressions she was met with were any indication. “Oh,” Genya exhaled, “good looking Phillies fan, huh?” Nina grit her teeth. “He knows Brum.” “The bastard,” Nikolai sneered. 

“Most people don’t like him.” “Because he’s a bastard, yeah.” “How’d the Phillies fan know Brum?” Zoya asked, and it wasn’t like Nina wanted to tell them. Words poured out of her all the same, excitement carving its way into the conversation because even if she could rationalize the lack of kissing after a three-day conversation and occasional argument, none of her friends could understand how she didn’t get his number. 

Neither could she, quite frankly. 

“This is either disgustingly romantic,” Nikolai said, “or it’s exceedingly dumb. Of both of you.” Genya clicked her tongue. In agreement, Nina figured. “Second one, for sure. Do we have to go arrest him for something? Bring him up here, nervous and scared—” “Same sentiment,” Nina mumbled. “—Only for him to see you, awash in a sea of moonlight and outfield lights, and then you live happily ever after despite your baseball allegiances?” “He hates the Yankees too.” “Something, at least,” Zoya said, but it was missing the edge. The acid. The anger Nina had almost prepared herself for. “You going to go down there, or….”

Finishing the sentence was pointless when Nina was already standing, Nikolai’s laugh ringing in her ears as she did her best to push her finger straight through the elevator button. She bobbed on the balls of her feet, impatience skittering up her spine and there were too many buttons and too much laughter, but that was likely a good thing, and the security guards didn’t stop her. 

From running into the section. 

Only to find two sets of empty seats. His and hers. A weird, depressing, matching set. 

Nina waited. Stood at the top of the section stairs, waiting for a flash of familiar hair or those eyes that she probably hadn’t dreamed about the night before. Never came. The goosebumps did, for an entirely new and even more depressing reason. 

The security guard asked her to leave. Twenty-eight minutes after the last out. 

Matthias hadn’t been at the game. 

To be a Mets fan, was to wait. 

For wins. For David Wright’s body to heal. For that same rush that came in 2015, only this time, it also came up with a World Series championship attached to it. 

Nina wasn’t very good at waiting. 

Summer crept forward. As it was apt to do. Going back to the ballpark was second nature to Nina, but the Mets were on their West Coast swing, and spending a week and a half with Zoya and Genya touring the greater California coast wasn’t entirely appealing. So, she was in New Jersey. 

Leaning against the bar of the Crow Club, Nina watched the crowd. Most of them saturated with fruity alcohol, drinks that never came with those little umbrellas because the thought of such a thing would have set Kaz’s teeth on edge, but this was Atlantic City and that required a certain level of nonsense to be met consistently. 

Plus, Nina knew Inej liked those drinks. 

And that was that, for Kaz. As they say. 

Heads turned at tables while she watched, conversations that only occasionally acknowledged the baseball games on TVs hanging above them, others recounting beach exploits from that afternoon and plans for the rest of the evening, a steady din of noise and humanity that somehow made it easier for Nina to breathe. 

It smelled like salt when she did. 

“Looking awfully thoughtful,” Inej said, appearing out of nowhere to grin knowingly at Nina. “Give you a nickel for them.” “They’re not worth that much.” “What about one of those tokens from the casino down the boardwalk?” “Does Kaz know Jesper went to play there again?” “Absolutely.” “And?” “And what?” Inej parroted. “Who are you looking for, exactly?” “No one.” It was the wrong answer. A telling answer. An answer Nina didn’t realize she was capable of providing until the very moment those five letters in that specific order passed between lips in desperate need of ChapStick. And kissing. Gods, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t kissed him. 

“Our dear, darling Nina is pining,” Jesper explained. Drink in hand, the soft clink of casino tokens was as absurd as it was not, a mix of youth and age and responsibility and not. The perfect blend of summertime status. 

Nina took a sip of his drink before he could offer. She assumed he would offer. 

“For that,” Jesper hissed, “I’ll tell Inej the rest of the story.” He did. Spared no expense, really. Recounted scorebooks and shouting matches, although some dramatic license was taken at that point, drawing a small crowd that included a guy Nina had never met before, staring openly at Jesper like he’d hung the moon. She’d make fun of him for that. Maybe. After the story. Probably. 

Inej was a rapt audience, taking in details and occasionally letting her eyes flit toward Nina. Who never once disputed anything. There was nothing to dispute. The goddamn paper airplane was still sitting on her goddamn nightstand. 

“And you just never saw him again?” Inej asked. Nina shook her head. “That’s tragic. Not—maybe not grand scheme, world level, but tragic all the same.” “No kissing either,” Jesper added. 

Nina’s heart dropped. Shattered at her feet. Like one of those plates, you could shoot at in the arcade. “How do you know that?” “I didn’t, until right now. Simple assumption, though. Who could pine at your level if there’d been previous making out?” “Two different things,” Inej murmured. 

Jesper hummed in agreement. “And Nina wanted both. Fraternizing with the enemy.” “He hated the Yankees, too.” “So, what? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? My good-looking friend?” “He was good-looking, right?” That earned her another hum — and got Jesper a look of passing consternation from the guy at his side. Nina desperately needed to learn names in a more timely fashion. Determined to remedy at least one situation, she took a deep breath and immediately, very nearly died. 

It was very dramatic. 

Sweeping, even. 

Because the door opened and she knew the music didn’t stop and the Earth didn’t pause mid-rotation, but it felt like her center of balance had been inextricably altered and that wasn’t the bad thing it should have been when Matthias Helvar took his first step into the Crow Club. 

Not falling over really was a rather monumental miracle. 

If she decided to move, Nina did not remember it. Could not bother with something as menial as cognitive reasoning or the ability of the neurons in her brain to properly fire, not when she was twisting around tables and reminding herself of all the very important properties oxygen possessed. In regard to continued consciousness. 

He didn’t move. He waited. Watched. Documented her, it felt like. 

She wasn’t entirely opposed. 

Their shoes nearly brushed. 

“Huh,” Matthias breathed, slumping slightly to get into her eye line. Or just closer to her. The specifics didn’t matter. “I was right, then.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You said your friend worked at a bar in Jersey.” “This is a bar in Jersey.” “Yeah, we might be going in circles, actually.” “What are you doing here?” Nina was dimly aware of Jesper shouting something, but the buzz between her ears was far too loud and even the concept of pulling her gaze away from Matthias’s made her want to grit her teeth together until she ground them down completely. 

She licked her lips. 

He smiled. “After I got hurt,” Matthias explained, “I didn’t know what way was up. So, I went...up. Best as I could, really, up the Shore.” “Is that a joke?” “No, I thought your friend looked familiar. Was driving me nuts, honestly.” “How?” “Twenty questions, Ms. Met.” “Matthias!”

Her voice cracked. Her foot stomped. Air crackled and the world very likely did shift because the hands on Nina’s cheeks were warm and perfectly sized to pull her that much closer and she was legitimately proud of herself. For not stepping on his feet. He didn’t really give her the chance. 

Rocking against each other, there was a joke about tides and current to be made and Nina pushed them back, down or up, and direction didn’t matter and time didn’t matter. Sports allegiance was the least of her worries. Not when Matthias’s arm found her waist and there was something to be said for the stretch of his upper body. Capable, as it was, of lifting her up and he was ten-thousand times better at any tongue thing than she could have possibly imagined. 

Tracing her lips and twisting around her own, like he was taking a very personal and detailed inventory. One of his thumbs brushed against Nina’s cheeks, but she honestly couldn’t figure out which one. Everything was sensation and feeling, a bases-clearing double that kept the rally alive and the roar in the background wasn’t the crowd at Citi Field, but Inej perched on the edge of the bar and Jesper balanced on the rungs of a rickety stool, and they only broke apart to fall back together. 

Nina closed her eyes. 

Better to remember, that way. 

To let her breath catch whenever Matthias’s neck dipped again, the sort of angle that sonnets were written for, and epic romances documented. Right side up and cross dimensions and Nina’s eyelashes fluttered. Open, closed. Once, twice. 

He was still there. 

“You go down the Shore, everybody knows that,” Nina whispered, still somehow sounding like herself. Good, that was good. And only good, that time. 

“I think you’re getting paid by the disagreement.” “I liked shouting your name.” His eyes—

Sparkled, maybe. 

She didn’t even hate herself for thinking that. 

“Probably about as much as I enjoyed hearing it,” Matthias said, “and I’ve been here before. Spent that summer drinking at,” his head jerked toward the corner where Inej waved, “that corner. This was as far away from school and baseball and everything I thought was gone as I could find.” “Ah, the scorebook makes sense now.” “Does it just?” “You know baseball isn’t often predictable nor nearly that organized. That’s the appeal, so people claim.” “They do,” Matthias admitted, “but I—is that demon-looking guy still working here?” “Kaz owns this bar.” “Of course he does. You know everyone, don’t you Ms. Met?” “Impressive like that.” Humming wasn’t really her favorite of the audible, non-word responses, but Nina heard something different in that sound than she ever had before. Almost like hope and something worth waiting for, if only because the waiting found her first. 

She kissed the bottom of his chin. 

It was all she could reach. 

“I really wanted you to be here, Nina,” Matthias said, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t there Sunday. For that game, I—that wasn’t part of the plan, but...well, Brum had set up this whole interview with a college team in the middle of nowhere, thinking I’d be good with that and—” “You weren’t good with that?” His hair shook when his head did. “Not really, no.” “Did he kick you out of your hotel?”

“Smart too.” “Total package.” “Yeah,” Matthias said, a note of awe that made Nina’s skin prickle, “anyway, I’m pretty much in New York full-time now, but trying to find you there seemed impossible.” “So you figured you’d try a bar in the middle of Atlantic City?” “I leave a very strong impression,” Jesper yelled, practically jumping off the stool when Kaz glared. Inej’s smile was hypnotic. 

“Something like that,” Matthias agreed, “so this is the part where we actually give each other our phone numbers and then—” His arm tightened again, finding a bit of space that certainly hadn’t been there twelve seconds before. Just enough to make sure Nina heard him mumble I like you before he kissed her. Or she kissed him. 

Either or, really. 

They went to Yankee Stadium on Labor Day weekend. 

Nikolai pulled some strings to get them suite seats with complimentary well drinks and never-ending popcorn and both Matthias and Nina wore wholly out of place jerseys. Supporting neither of the teams on the field. Just each other, maybe. At least without much argument. They had better things to do, anyway. Fingers laced together, Nina shouted at the field and Matthias stared at anyone who dared glance in their direction and it was weird and wonderful and exactly what sports was supposed to be. 

Caring about something beyond reason, something bigger and better than any one person was alone. 

[sazc94]

Pietro and Bunny

Here is my second entry for the wonderful @msmarvelwrites 2k Challenge.

This a spin-off from my Bucky fic: The three times Bucky broke your heart. Part 1 linked Here.

It follows the same timeline and explores the relationship of Pietro and Reader (Bunny) More.

Words 4890 ish

Themes. Angst, Suggestions of smut. But mostly lots and lots of fluff. 18+ Because of the smut suggestions.

Part 2. (Part 1)

2015. Pietro and you stayed in touch. Both getting swept away in your busy year. Pietro had gone into Business with Wanda creating a fashion company. His dad was helping to fund the start-up costs, but Pietro was never one to take a handout so worked an extra job, he mostly did courier services. this allowed him to be flexible with his days.

Meaning he was able to pick up supplies and do whatever else it was his sister had him running around the city for. It also helped pay towards the rent of his apartment, his father covering half. One day in the summer when Pietro was rushing around he entered into the Baxter building and literally ran smack into a head of blonde hair.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I keep getting told I should slow down.” Pietro said bending offering a hand to the woman he had knocked over. “I’m just as much to blame, honestly I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and all though I may be nicknamed The Invisible woman, I need to remember that I’m not actually invisible” replied the blonde brushing herself down.

She was pretty in that conventional way but her piercing blue eyes drew Pietro in. “Pietro”, he said sticking out his hand. “Susan, but you can call me Sue”, she replied shaking his hand.

Pietro and Susan began dating in the autumn. All though you and Pietro still stayed in touch. The contact was dwindling. He also found it incredibly hard not to call you by your old pet name. “Hey sis, Vis”. Pietro said walking into the small office space they rented in downtown NYC. Wanda was hard at work behind her sewing machine.

“So you’re dating Susan Storm,” Vision said. It wasn’t a question but Wanda’s eyes shot up from her machine to look at Pietro with an acquisitional look. This was news to her. She knew you were dating someone but Susan Storm was practically a celebrity with her brain and looks, plus her high profile relationships with Reed Richards and Victor von Doom. Not to mention her dad was a renowned Scientist too.

“How did you know?” Pietro asked grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the space. “Your pictures from last nights date are all over the internet. Someone called Prez Hilton broke the story” Vision said shrugging. Wanda shot Vision a puzzled look, he may be great with technology and smart enough to work with Tony Stuck, but Vision didn’t usually follow much on the internet. “Ah yes, Pepper Potts showed me how to set up google alerts”. Vision said before heading out the door.

2016

Pietro knew you and Bucky had grown closer over recent months, but it still took him by surprise when he heard from you that you had gotten back together. He knew he had no right to be jealous as it had ultimately been his decision to break up, and he was dating the stunning Sue Storm. But it didn’t stop the small seed of jealousy he felt.

What didn’t help matters was that Sue had been working later and later at the Baxter Building, and getting closer with her ex, Reed. Pietro tried to shrug it off but ultimately after almost a year of dating, he could see that Sue’s heart belonged to another, and if he was being honest. Part of his heart still belonged to his Bunny. So, after a night out in NYC Pietro had kissed Sue Storm goodnight for the final time.

Pietro respected you too much to ruin your newfound happiness with Bucky and it seemed like he had finally turned a leaf over. That was until he got a text from your cousin explaining that Bucky had been unable to get the time off for your Grandma’s funeral.

Pietro didn’t even think twice about using his links to his dad to secure a flight out of NYC for the funeral in September. His heart shattered when he saw you at the airport, with tear-stained cheeks, a red nose, and puffy eyes. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into a huge hug.

“Shhh Bunny” – the old pet name slipping out. “It’s okay, I’m here. She was a wonderful woman. She wouldn’t want all these tears” he said releasing you from his grip. It had been two years since you’d last seen each other in person. Other than the brown in your hair having slightly grown out, no doubt due to your mind being on more pressing matters. You looked exactly the same. His Bunny.

After the funeral Pietro planned to catch the first flight out of Miami back to NYC. With the launch of Scarlett Witch fast approaching Pietro didn’t want to leave his sister to deal with all the pressure herself. At least that’s what Pietro told himself was the reasoning. Truthfully it was that he couldn’t bear to be around you and not be with you.

But when your family had insisted on putting him up for the night and feeding him, he couldn’t refuse.

After the wake when your Mum had insisted on Pietro leaving the dishes, he grabbed two beers from the fridge and went looking for you. He found you sat on the private beach your grandma’s house backed on too.

You sat with one of Bucky’s jumpers wrapped around you. It wasn’t cold but still, you felt cold, so you had grabbed his jumper as a source of comfort and warmth. Pietro stopped for a second before swallowing. This wasn’t about him; this wasn’t about Bucky. This was about you and being there for you whilst you waded through this grief. 7

“Hey Y/N. I thought I’d find you here. Your grandma used to tell me about how she found the sea hypnotising” Pietro said sitting down on the sand before offering you one of the beers he had grabbed.

That night Pietro sat with you in solidarity offering you nothing more than friendship and a pillar of support whilst you cried and then laughed, and then cried some more reminiscing about your cherished times with both your now deceased grandparents.

After Pietro returned to NYC, he put the thought of you out of his head, instead, he turned his efforts to focus on the upcoming December launch party. Thanks to their dad’s connections. Wanda’s hard work and a few strategic tweets and IG posts from a hard-working friend who did add campaign work for a living there was a real buzz around Scarlett Witch.

“Hey Brother, I was thinking of asking Y/N to attend the launch and to wear something from the evening collection for the launch, Jane is in town and already said yes, she’s bringing her Boyfriend Thor, I extended two further invitations to them encase Thor’s brother Loki is around. What do you think?” Wanda said throwing herself onto the grey sofa opposite Pietro. They were at Pietro’s apartment as he had the most amount of spare room.

“Excellent idea, she should bring Bucky too,” Pietro said sipping on his coffee. Pietro wanted to remain in your life and after the funeral, your conversations had been a bit more frequent. Most importantly Pietro wanted you to be happy.

Pietro brought a date along to the event; her name was Crystal and they had been on a few dates before. However, they both had an understanding that this was more of a casual thing and that neither of them were looking for a relationship with each other. Crystal had gone off to schmooze with some of the guests when you arrived. Pietro made a mental note to introduce you both later, he was sure you would both get along with your similar senses of humour. Pietro couldn’t take his eyes off you the moment you entered the event. You looked stunning, Wanda had asked for Pietro’s input when choosing the outfits that You, Wanda and Jane were going to wear. Pietro had chosen a silver two-piece skirt and top for Jane, a scarlet red ensemble for his sister and a Black strapless dress, the top was form-fitting made from chiffon fabric, the skirt cut out the front made of black tulle sparkled with the touches of glitter.

Pietro had chosen the ensembles for two reasons, one they were undoubtedly the showstoppers from Wanda’s evening collection and they all complimented each other well. He made a mental note to ensure Peter Parker got a photo of the three of the ladies together before the evening got away from everyone.

“Bunny! I agree absolutely amazing. Bucky, you don’t look too bad yourself” Pietro said kissing you on the cheek. Pietro was wearing a deep blue suit; it made his hair and ice-blue eyes pop. Wanda had insisted on the blue over a grey suit Pietro had originally planned on wearing. Pietro didn’t miss the smile on your face after they had complimented you, it was as big and bright as it had been that final summer. And you've got a smile That can light up this whole town

After photos and ensuring everyone’s, drinks were full, Wanda and Pietro left the small group of old school friends in the private area of the event and made their way around the guests. The press contained fashion bloggers, small fashion magazines, social media influencers and gossip columnist too. Pietro found his way back to Crystal after he’d finished making the rounds. He was on his way to introduce you when he spotted an unfamiliar red head amongst the group.

Thor introduced her as Natasha, Pietro tried not to give away the surprise in his eyes, but he could sense that there was some tension as you avoided making eye contact with both Pietro and Bucky. Pietro kept his nose out of it for the most part, but when the pair of you said your farewells for the evening, he couldn’t help but assure you that he was there if you wanted to talk.

“Was that Natasha Romanoff I saw hanging around Thor and Y/N’s group most of the evening?” Wanda asked when she and Pietro slipped into the back of the waiting car. “Yes it would appear so, did you know she was coming?” He asked loosening his tie. “Vis said Jane had asked to bring a friend along as Loki couldn’t make it, I told him to tell her it was fine as she technically had four invites. I didn’t realise it was going to be her”, Wanda explained, there was an emphasis on her.

Regardless of her brother's relationship status with yourself she genuinely liked you and always would, her loyalties lied with you and as far as Wanda was concerned, she didn’t even want to know Natasha, something about her didn’t sit right with her from the few interactions they’d had over the years.

“Will Crystal meet you at your apartment? I didn’t see her as we were clearing away”, Wanda said changing the subject. “Huh? Oh, no she’s meeting her friends downtown at the Voodoo Lounge, something about a magic night” Pietro said looking out the window as the streets of NYC blurred into one. He couldn’t help but worry about you, you could put on a bright smile and laugh all you liked, but Pietro knew when you were faking.

2017

The launch of Scarlet Witch had gone better than Pietro and Wanda had hoped. When the label opened up to online orders in February, they had sold out of everything in 30 minutes flat. Now they were looking at opening up an in-person store in the lower east side sometime early next year. Pietro was working late one night in the office when Vision turned up.

“Hey Vision, it's good to see you but Wanda’s not here,” Pietro said sitting back down behind his desk. It was late and the numbers had started to dance around the screen but Pietro was determined to get these figures finished before the weekend. It was the least he could do as Wanda had been working flat out, she insisted on sewing as many of the items herself as possible, and when she had hired two seamstresses, Wanda still checked all their work.

“Thank you, Pietro, but I know she is back at our apartment. It is actually you that I came to see” Vision said. James or Vision as everyone called him very rarely looked nervous, yes he sometimes missed social cues but he was never one to act nervous. Pietro sensing this was important saved his spreadsheets and shut down his computer.

“What’s going on Vis?” Pietro asked walking over to the sofa area where vision, stood awkwardly. “Traditionally, this question would be asked to your father, but as your father was not in your lives much until recent years, I felt it better to ask you” Vision babbled on. Pietro had a pretty good where this was going, but this was Visions plan and Pietro wasn’t about to jump the gun, besides if this was going where he thought it was, it was only right to make him suffer ever so slightly.

“Well Vision, I’m all ears. What is it you want to ask?” Pietro asked grinning. “Well you know how much I adore your sister Wanda, and we have been together a good many years now. So I would like to ask your permission for your sister's hand in Marriage” Vision asked. Vision’s heart was pounding so loud and fast he thought that he might collapse. Pietro’s eyes watered, he was happy for his sister and he was of course going to say yes, but he wanted to have a bit of fun first. He quickly stood and turned away from Vision, heading towards the small fridge of the small office kitchen.

“So you want to marry my sister, are you certain about this Vis? Because once that ring is on her finger, there is no backing down, even if you get cold feet.” Pietro remarked. “I assure you Mr Maximoff, I want this with my whole self” Vison responded. Pietro couldn’t continue with the charade anymore. “Of course you have my blessing Vision, I would be honoured to call you brother,” Pietro said handing Vision a beer.

Vision proposed to Wanda that summer on the fourth of July. The three of them attended Tony Stark’s exclusive fourth of July bash at Stark Tower. Vision had a good relationship with Stark and Pepper was a hopeless romantic at heart. Shortly before the fireworks, Vision and Wanda wandered off to a private balcony three floors above the outside decking where everyone else would watch. Tony introduced the display then the three of them slipped out of the crowd as the fireworks got underway.

Tony had his AI software J.A.R.V.I.S set to record the whole thing. As the firework display got underway. Vision got down on one knee and popped the question. Wanda of course squealed and said yes between tears. That’s when Pietro, Pepper and Tony appeared with glasses of champagne and toasted to the happy couple. “Congratulations Sis, also please let me be there when you call Y/N and tell her, I know she is absolutely going to flip her shit when she finds out,” Pietro said kissing his sister on the cheek.

Sure enough, Pietro was right, three days later when Wanda Facetimed you to show of the ring your excited screams were loud enough to be heard all through NYC. “Oh my god. He did it, he finally proposed! I was wondering if he was ever going to pull his finger out and propose. Oh Wands I am so happy for you, you deserve this” you said. Wanda was so elated she missed the small crack in your voice towards the end of the sentence, but Pietro didn’t.

“Here Pietro want’s to say hi. Go on tell her all about how you had known about this since March! I’m going to get ready Visions parent’s got into town today and we’re meeting them for dinner before they see a show tonight,” Wanda passed the phone to Pietro before heading off to her shower. Pietro had come round specifically to hear the call. Pietro waited for the door to close before he turned his attention back to your face on his sister's screen.

“Everything okay Y/N?” Pietro asked. You sighed before letting your hair out of its ponytail, You were avoiding the question. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m tired, going out later with Peggy Carter, she’s the girlfriend of Bucky’s teammate, Steve. We’re going to get some lunch and do a bit of shopping, Steve’s working on some projects and Bucky said he’s running some extra training drills at the stadium. Not that he needs to the season doesn’t start for another two months, oh I’m sorry. I’m wittering on, how are you? Had any good dates recently?” you asked forcing your voice to be light and carefree.

Pietro knew what you were doing but it wasn’t his place to call you out on lying. “Naa, not really. None that would ever go anywhere” Pietro said. The two of you stayed on facetime for a few more short minutes before Pietro reluctantly advised he had to get going to the office.

September 2017

“So Y/N I have a very important question, will you be one of my Bridesmaids?” Wanda asked. Pietro walked into Wanda’s office just in time to hear you scream your response. “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU KIDDING OF COURSE I WILL” Wanda moved the phone from her ears and looked up at her brother who just grinned. “You owe me 20 bucks I told you she would scream,” Pietro said making himself comfortable in the chair opposite his sister's desk.

“ I should be offended, but I’m in too much of a great mood to care” you chuckled. “Oh, is that so?” Wanda teased. Pietro felt sick, had Bucky proposed? Worse, were you pregnant? “I got offered this amazing job opportunity, it would be working for Stark Industries, Pepper Potts approached me directly about it the other week, I shot it down but she called me again today doubling the offer,” you squealed.

The weight that had threatened to crush Pietro lifted, not that his sister hadn’t noticed the change in his complexion a few moments ago.

“Oh my god Y/N, That’s amazing! Are you going to take it? I miss you and would love to have you nearby like old times. And I am not only saying that so you can do my wedding planning for me” Wanda sang. “I don’t know, I said I would think it over and get back to her after the weekend, I’m going to talk it through with Bucky tonight” you replied. “It sounds like a great opportunity Y/N” Pietro responded with earnest.

“Huh, that’s weird, I wonder what she’s doing here,” you said out loud “Who’s where?” asked Wanda. “Oh um nothing, look I got to go I just got to Buck’s and I’m cooking dinner, going to talk to him about Tony’s offer,” you said before hanging up. Wanda and Pietro just looked at each other. Pietro got up to leave but Wanda shot him a look as if to say she wasn’t finished with him.

“You still love her” she spoke plainly. “He doesn’t deserve her. He’s always posting pictures of him and that Natasha doing “Official” Lions events” Pietro replied simply. “You are right brother, he doesn’t deserve her, but like I told you all those years ago. If you had asked her she would have waited. You don’t get to complain that she moved on with someone who was a big part of her life for 13 or so years” replied Wanda.

She was right and Pietro knew it. He sighed before lifting his gaze to meet his sister's cold blue eyes. “You’re right.” He said simply before exiting the room.

Pietro awoke to his phone ringing at 2 am, he wasn’t going to answer it until he saw your name and the picture of the pair of you from Uni flash up on his phone. “Y/N? Is everything okay? It’s 2 am.” Pietro asked rubbing a hand along his face. You didn’t respond.#

“Y/N, are you safe? Should I call Bucky?” he asked urgency surging in his voice. “NO!” you practically shouted. “Sorry, no please don’t call Bucky,” you asked quietly.

Pietro shifted leaning over to turn on his bedside lamp. “Bunny, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?” Pietro pleaded. The comfort in his voice was enough to break you all over again. You started sobbing all over again. How you had any tears left was beyond you.

“I’ll fucking kill him” Pietro growled. Pietro knew, the pictures Bucky had been posting on IG, the tears now, the way you had withdrawn recently. You didn’t need to say it for him to know. “Please don’t, I don’t have enough money to bail you out of prison” you managed to squeak.

Pietro felt his heart shatter, all he had wanted since you two had started dating was to save you from the heartbreak you had experienced in the summer of 2010 and he had failed you. That night Pietro stayed on the phone with you until 4 am where you finally fell asleep exhausted from the day's turmoil.

May 2018

Pietro and Wanda had helped you apartment hunt. They helped decorate and furnish your apartment ready for your move to the Big Apple in January. Wanda had introduced you to her friends slash employees but to Wanda, they really were her friends: Doreen Green, Janet Van Dyne, Julia Carpenter and Laura Kinney. Including you on many girls nights.

Vision and Pietro always walked you home after nights out. Wanda made sure to invite you to brunch with her and Vision when Pietro was attending. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to give you and Pietro another shot, it’s just you weren’t certain he would want you, after all, Bucky had really done a number on you again.

Sighing you picked up your phone and decided to take a leap of faith and text him, the two of you hadn’t spent any time alone together since you had moved in January.

Pietro’s Pov

Pietro’s phone buzzed. You, me and that little cafe in times square tomorrow = date? – Y/N x Pietro was stunned, he was sure that the time for you guys to be a couple had long passed. “Brother, are you listening?” Wanda asked agitated at her brother's lack of respect, the two of them were going through the plans for the rest of the year. Plans for when they would drop certain collections, run certain in-store promos. When they would run online promo’s.

“Sorry, it’s just Y/N just text me, asking me on a date” Pietro’s voice came out dazed. All though Wanda was miffed, she couldn’t help but smile. Looks like Y/N had finally listened to the girls last night when they went out for Monday night happy hour. “You had best text her back then brother” She responded raising her eyebrows at Pietro. I thought you’d never ask. How does 5 pm work? Pietro shot back.

Perfect x Your response came through almost immediately.

Your Pov

You got to the café early, you were too nervous to focus on anything in the office. And as you were only scheduled to work until four, you decided it was just easier to go to the café and wait with a book or something, you had to deal with this nervous energy somehow. You walked in expecting he’d be late, but Pietro got there early and he stood and waved. You walked to him Pietro pulled your chair out and helped you in. Pietro sat down opposite you and shot you a small nervous grin.

“I ordered you a hot chocolate and a cookie, I know how much you like hot chocolate even if it’s warm out like today,” he said shyly. “Thank you,” you said, you felt yourself blush. For goodness sake Y/N this is Pietro, you dated him for three years get a grip you silently berated yourself.

As the date got underway you felt yourself relax and slip into a comfortable bubble, you told Pietro about a recent mishap where one of your colleagues Darcy Lewis had accidentally thrown toner waste all over you.

You couldn’t help but smile as Pietro threw his head back laughing like a little kid. He took your hand and rubbed small circles on the back of it, that familiar feeling made your stomach erupt in butterflies.

I've been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again.

December 2017 Pietro’s Pov. The snow was falling, and the streets of New York City were quitter than usual, a sign that Christmas was just around the corner. You had finished for a nice long Christmas break earlier that week and last night Pietro had taken you out for drinks and dinner as a surprise. However, due to the snow the restaurant had been unable to open as staff couldn’t get in due to all the delays on the subway. Pietro had felt crestfallen.

Right up until you had suggested that the pair of you skipped dinner and went back to Pietro’s straight for dessert. Pietro had struggled to leave you this morning. As he only had a few things to deal with before Scarlett Witch shut down for three weeks for a well-earned extended Holiday break he hadn’t left until later that morning around 10:30.

You had once again found your way back to the bright bubbly person you and everyone else knew you to be. Pietro as always being that safe place for you to heal. The way you danced around the kitchen cooking pancakes had Pietro beside himself. You really were ultraviolet. That fire you ignited, Good, Bad and undecided, Burns when I stand beside it Your light is ultraviolet. Pietro thought to himself.

All though you had only been back together since May this time Pietro was never going to let you again.

Pietro was leaving the office for a late lunch when his phone pinned with a google alert. James “Bucky” Barnes announces engagement to Natasha Romanoff! Read the headline. Fuck. That piece of shit. Pietro felt rage on behalf of you. He knocked on Wanda’s door. “Hey, Wanda. I know were almost done here anyway, but I got to go early” Pietro shifted uncomfortably.

“Why?” Wanda asked simply. They were almost done but Pietro was meant to be shutting down the website whilst Wanda finalised everyone’s surprise Christmas bonuses. Pietro didn’t say anything simply handing his phone to his sister. Wanda scanned the headline and the article. Sucking in a deep breath. “Go. I’ve got this. Go check on Y/N” she said her eyes softening.

Pietro practically raced home. Just as he was coming out the subway his phone rang, caller ID showing Sam. “What the fuck is that dickhead playing at?!” Sam asked. Pretty much the entire friend group had cut ties with Bucky after they found out he had been cheating on you again.

“I have no idea, but he better hope to god I never see him, because I will not hesitate to rip him a new one, look I’m just letting myself into my apartment building, Y/N stayed here last night as she didn’t have work today and we’re meant to be going to Stark’s Christmas gala this evening. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later. Pietro said ringing off before Sam could respond. Pietro knew Sam would understand.

“Hey handsome how was your day?” you asked not taking your eyes away from the street below. Pietro breathed a sigh of relief, he was certain he would have come home to find you curled up in bed, or worse the floor crying. You were happy together but that didn’t make Bucky’s betrayal sting any less.

“It was good, busy” he replied taking off his coat and walking over to join you at the window seat. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. He smiled to himself as he caught sight of the kids below. He could faintly see in the reflection of the window that your eyes were rimmed with red.

“How about you Bunny? I saw a news alert. I’m guessing you know about the engagement?” he asked. You hummed a response. Pietro knew you loved him; he also knew that you knew how much he loved you. But that didn’t make seeing you hurt any easier. Suddenly you shifted turning around to face him. His floppy silver-blonde hair covering those beautiful ice blue eyes, they looked at you with such love and endearment, they also spoke a silent promise. You kissed him gently on the lips before standing up.

“Come on Quicksilver let's shower before the Stark Christmas Gala,” you said pulling your boyfriend along behind you shooting him a knowing grin. God, he fucking loved you.

All this time how could you not know, baby? You belong with me

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

1- you know JC stans always try to deflect claiming LQR LXC LWJ and NMJ are all equally at fault bc they didn't stand for trhe wens either but JC and WWX are literally the only two people who know the truth about the wen sibs and he decided not to tell anyone so the public has no means of knowing everything they did and risked for him, they literally committed treason to save the jiang sect and protect them from the wen army but in the eyes of the public they are known as loyal disciples to WRH-

Thank you for the question anon!

Relevant passages in regards to this issue posted first since a lot of it gets very misconstrued with what blame lies where with the Sect Leaders before the events when it came to the massacre at Nightless City and the deaths of the Wen Remnants. This is not necessarily clean cut after the fallout with Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun's deaths. This is also still with the underlying plot of Jin Guangshan aiming for the Yin Hu Fu. There is a lot of political intrigue that goes ignored with this by manipulation of the Jin Sect and Jiang Cheng being blinded by his own jealousy.

“… Four inspectors were harmed. Around fifty of the remaining Wen Sect members escaped. After Wei WuXian led them into Burial Mound, he summoned hundreds of fierce corpses to patrol the base of the mountain. Our people still can’t get any further.”

“… Four inspectors were harmed. Around fifty of the remaining Wen Sect members escaped. After Wei WuXian led them into Burial Mound, he summoned hundreds of fierce corpses to patrol the base of the mountain. Our people still can’t get any further.”

When he finished, silence filled the Golden Pavilion.

Jiang Cheng only spoke after a few moments, “What he did was indeed a bit too much. Sect Leader Jin, I apologize to you in place of him. If there’s any way at all to help the situation, please let me know. I’ll definitely compensate for things however I can.”

What Jin GuangShan wanted, however, wasn’t his apology or his compensation, “Sect Leader Jiang, at first, for your sake, the LanlingJin Sect didn’t intend on saying anything. However, some of these inspectors weren’t from the Jin Sect. There were a few from other sects as well. This makes it…”

Jiang Cheng’s brows were knitted. He rubbed the vein that throbbed at his temple and soundlessly took in a deep breath, “… I apologize to all of the Sect Leaders. Everyone, I’m afraid you don’t know that the Wen cultivator whom Wei WuXian wanted to save was called Wen Ning. We owe him and his sister Wen Qing gratitude for what happened during the Sunshot Campaign.”

Nie MingJue, “You owe them gratitude? Isn’t the QishanWen Sect the ones who caused the YunmengJiang Sect’s annihilation?”

Within these few years, Jiang Cheng insisted on working late into the night every day. That day, just as he decided to rest early, he had to rush to Koi Tower overnight because of the thundering news. He’d been suppressing some anger under his fatigue since the beginning. With his natural competitiveness, he was already quite agitated since he had to apologize to other people. When he heard Nie MingJue mention the incident of his sect again, hatred sprouted within him.

The hatred was directed at not only everyone who was seated in this room, but also Wei WuXian.

Passage 2:

Using the atmosphere, Jin GuangShan turned to Jiang Cheng, “He’s been plotting for a while to go to Burial Mound, hasn’t he? After all, with his skills, it wouldn’t be too hard to set up a sect of his own. And so, he used this as a chance to leave the Jiang Sect, intending to do whatever he pleases in the bright skies outside. You rebuilt the YunmengJiang Sect with so much work. He’s got a few controversial traits in him to begin with, and still he doesn’t restrain himself, stirring up so much trouble for you. He doesn’t care about you at all.”

Jiang Cheng pretended to stand his ground, “That probably isn’t that case. Wei WuXian has been like this ever since he was young. Even my father couldn’t do anything about him.”

Jin GuangShan, “Even FengMian-xiong couldn’t do anything about him, huh?” He chuckled a few times, “FengMian-xiong just favored him.”

Hearing the words ‘favors him’, the muscles beside the corners of Jiang Cheng’s mouth twitched.

Jin GuangShan continued, “Sect Leader Jiang, you’re not like your father. It’s just been a couple of years since the reestablishment of the YunmengJiang Sect, precisely when you should be displaying your power. And he doesn’t even know to avoid suspicions. What would the Jiang Sect’s new disciples think if they saw him? Don’t tell me you’d let them see him as their role model and look down on you?”

He spoke one sentence after another, striking the iron while it was still hot. Jiang Cheng spoke slowly, “Sect Leader Jin, that’s enough. I’ll go to The Burial Mounds and deal with this.”

Here the sect leaders were aware of the Wen Sect remnants as prisoners of war and saw it as a justifiable reason to keep the remaining Wens imprisoned regardless of age status etc. When Jiang Cheng is asked by Nie Mingjue for clarification on the matter of the debt owed by the Wen siblings it is deflected by Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao with clever wordplay to rile everyone up. This leaves those who either asked for more information, Lan Xichen who is shutdown by not having enough information by the majority and Nie Mingjue distracted by his hate of the Wens already, and Mianmian and Lan Wangji who argued that Wei Wuxian was protecting innocents and was not trying to cause a coup ignored as being irrelevant opinions. Wei Wuxian is eventually labelled a defector and danger due to Jiang Cheng exasperating what they had actually planned in the staged fight.

After this several months pass until Lan Wangji comes to tell Wei Wuxian of Jiang Yanli's marriage in a week's time. Several days later the Jiang siblings arrive with the same news and Jiang Yanli is the one to extend a peace branch to try keeping the three connected with the courtesy naming or Jin Ling. Almost a year's time later Wei Wuxian is in fact invited to the one-month celebration as another peace branch by Jin Zixuan who was the one to extend the offer. Jin Guangshan, Jin Zixun and Jin Guangyao planned the murder of Wei Wuxian in Qiongqi Pass against Jin Zixuan's knowledge. This leads to the mess of his murder and Wei Wuxian being hunted down as well as all of the remaining Wens on order of Jin Guangshan in retaliation after Wen Qing is killed as the remaining leader of the Wens and Wen Ning secretly suppressed. This leads to days later to the Pledge Conference at the city which holds Jin Zixuan's body and Jiang Yanli who is there to keep the death vigils (Shou Ling) as family. It's also why her and Madam Jin are wearing the white robes when Wei Wuxian sees them and by bad luck comes across the sect leaders pact when he tries to flee.

After the the wine had seeped into the dirt, Jin GuangShan stated, “No matter the sect, no matter the surname—this cup of wine is to the soldiers who have died.”

Nie MingJue, “May their souls live on.”

Lan XiChen, “Rest in peace.”

Jiang Cheng, however, still had on a darkened expression. He didn’t say anything even after he poured the wine.

Afterward, Jin GuangYao walked out from the LanlingJin Sect’s array and presented with both hands a square box made of black iron. Jin GuangShan took the box with one hand and raised it high in the air, shouting, “Here lies the ashes of the Wen Sect’s remnants!”

After he spoke, he sent forth his spiritual energy and shattered the box with his bare hand. The iron box broke into pieces, and white dust drifted alongside the cold wind.

A scattering of the ashes!

A series of cheers exploded through the crowd. Jin GuangShan raised his hands, signaling for the people to be quiet and listen to him talk. When the cheers slowly died down, he continued, raising his voice, “Tonight, the ones whose ashes had been scattered were the two leaders of the Wen Sect’s remnants. And tomorrow! It will be the rest of the Wen-dogs and—the YiLing Laozu, Wei Ying!”

Suddenly, a low laugh interrupted his grand speech. The laugh was too untimely, sounding both stark and jarring. In unison, the crowd turned to look at where the sound came from.

The Palace of Sun and Flames was a rather magnificent palace. A total of twelve ridges made up its roof, and at the end of each ridge were eight heavenly beasts. Yet, right now, the people realized that on one of those ridges, there were nine. The laugh from before came from over there!

The extra beast shifted slightly. The next moment, a boot and a corner of black clothes dangled down from the roof, swaying softly.

Everyone placed their hand onto their sword hilt. Jiang Cheng’s pupils shrunk. Blue veins lined the back of his hand.

Jin GuangShan was overcome with both shock and hatred, “Wei Ying! How dare you show yourself here!”

The person opened their mouth to speak. What came out was indeed Wei WuXian’s voice, but he spoke in a strange tone, “Why should I dare not show myself here? Do you people here even add up to three thousand? Don’t forget that back in the Sunshot Campaign, let alone three thousand, I’ve fought against five thousand on my own before. And by appearing here, haven’t I granted your wish? No need for you to come all the way to my home tomorrow to scatter my ashes.”

A few of the QingheNie Sect’s disciples died in the hands of Wen Ning as well. Nie MingJue spoke coldly, “What arrogance.”

Wei WuXian, “Haven’t I always been arrogant? Sect Leader Jin, how does it feel, having slapped yourself in the face? Who was the one that said he’d let the matter go if the Wen siblings went to Koi Tower and gave themselves up? And who was the one that just said he’d scatter my ashes and the ashes of the rest of the Wen Sect’s remnants tomorrow?”

Jin GuangShan, “Let’s consider things as they stand! At Qiongqi Path, you slaughtered over a hundred of the LanlingJin Sect’s disciples—this is one thing. You made Wen Ning kill at Koi Tower—this is another…”

Wei WuXian, “Then let me ask you, Sect Leader Jin, at Qiongqi Path, who was the one being ambushed? And who was the one to kill? Who was the main schemer? And who was the one being schemed against? In the end, just who was the one that came to provoke me first?”

Keep in mind none of the other sect leaders were privy to the scheme between Jin Guangshan, Jin Guangyao and Jin Zixun. And they believe they are certainly fighting off a crazed Wei Wuxian and what they think are his fodder Wens meant for corpses. After this Wei Wuxian desperately fights against Lan Wangji who is trying to calm him down before it's too late which is unsuccessful leading to Jiang Yanli also trying to calm him down enough to get him away and talk some sense to get him out of there to run and get to the Wens. After her death he mentally blacks out and Lan Wangji is left trying to take him away to safety close enough to Burial Mounds. Lan Wangji then fights off his elders as Lan Xichen gathered the Lans to find them. Immediately after this is in sequestered secrecy Lan Wangji is punished. Lan Xichen presumably stays with his own brother while Lan Qiren is the acting Sect Leader for the actual Siege that the other three are part of as support. That leaves Jin Guangshan with the ulterior motive of getting the Yin Hu Fu, Jiang Cheng who wants revenge for the death of Jiang Yanli, and Nie Mingjue left to think he is killing what he considers disgraceful Wens.

So, in short, each of them had different motivations for actually being there, and different accounts for those reasons. The Jins for more power, Jiangs for revenge, Nies for justice and the Lans in solidarity. And the fault of it isn't meted out equally as all had misunderstandings and manipulated by Jin Guangshan's pull to each of their morals as cultivation sects. In the end each of the four were there to kill the Wens and Wei Wuxian aside from Lan Wangji and arguably Jiang Yanli when she was caught up trying to get Wei Wuxian to run.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hot Blood [1]

Warnings: non-consent sex

This is dark! (mob) skinny Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Synopsis: Steve Rogers is on the rise in the New York underground as you’re trying to keep your own place there.

Note: This will only be two parts because I couldn’t fit it into a oneshot. Yes, I took liberties in terms of not making Steve brittle as a twig so forgive me for that. Also this is back in the 1940s, so keep that in mind. :) Otherwise, I love writing my skinny boy and hope you like it too.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You wanna prove you're the better man You wanna reach for the things that nobody can

🌆

You checked your watch as you strode down the sidewalk. You felt the snugness of the bundle just under your jacket as you pulled your hat lower over your eyes. At the right angle, you seemed a man about his business. A closer look and you were nothing but a woman in pinstripe trousers.

Another day, another drop. You were tiring of the tawdry tasks but the reality of your position, of your sex, was inevitable. The men were back from the war and the women were expected to return to their kitchens. Well, most of them.

It was easier in the days before victory. When you were the one sending others on your tasks. But Vic had survived his campaign in Italy and he was back with a vengeance, and few scars. The only thing which kept him from tossing you entirely was that you’d kept his organization afloat in his absence. You’d even thrown the feds off his trail and onto another’s.

Even so, life wasn’t what it was. You had to take orders, had to swallow your pride. Well, it was better than living as some bastard’s wife; better than a secretary in a tight skirt. You checked the time again and looked ahead to the brick building with the rusted horseshoe over its door.

You neared and leaned against the bricks. You turned to face the street and watched pedestrians pass. You knocked with your elbow. Two knocks, a pause, then three more. You waited and listened. The door shifted and you spun quickly as you muttered “iodine” and the code word saw you past the man on the other side.

And yet, another change. The warehouse was empty. You looked to the man who’d answered the door. It wasn’t the usual fellow. You frowned and your hand went to your waist and felt the wooden inlay of your pistol.

“Wouldn’t do that,” The man warned. “Boss is on his way. He doesn’t care for corpses. Too much clean up.”

“Boss?” You kept your hand poised but didn’t draw. “And who exactly is your boss?”

“People fall for that?” He ignored your question as he pointed to your jacket. 

“Fall for what?”

“You don’t exactly fill out a three-piece,” He reached into your pocket and you gripped your gun. He pulled out a silver cigarette case and popped it open. “Well, you know…” He gestured to his shoulder, “In some ways.”

You scoffed and shook your head as he offered you a smoke. He shrugged and put one between his lips.

“You didn’t tell me who your boss was,” You said as he struck a match and lit the cigarette.

“Vic didn’t tell you?” He asked. “Heli don’t run Brooklyn anymore.”

“He mentioned there was trouble but there always is in Brooklyn,” You tilted your head and ran your finger along your pistol handle. 

He chuckled and took a drag.

“Bucky,” He held out his hand. “Boss will be here soon.”

You shook his hand and retreated, pacing two steps back and forth as you waited.

“This isn’t how it goes. I drop the money and go.” You stopped. “Never more than five minutes.”

“You got somewhere to be?” He asked. “You must be popular with the boys. Hell, war was so long, they’d fuck a hole in the wall.”

“I usually tell em to use the wall,” You countered. “You’re boss better show in the next five minutes or--”

The back door of the warehouse opened and shut suddenly. You turned as a shadow fluttered in the small slats of light which peeked in through the high windows.

“Kid took a wrong turn,” The voice sounded as footsteps cut through the silence. “You get the money.”

“Drop’s right here,” Bucky said as he nodded to you.

Your mouth fell open as you saw the man who appeared before you. Short, slender; skinny, actually. Even his tailored suit added little to his figure and his chin seemed even sharper in contrast to the angles of his hat. His blue eyes met yours and he removed the hat.

“Miss,” He seemed as surprised as you felt.

You laughed. You didn’t mean to. You covered your mouth before you could guffaw and looked at Bucky.

“That the new boss man?” You asked.

“Steve Rogers,” The skinny man said tersely. “And yes, I’m the boss man so you talk to me, not him.”

“Course,” You said coolly. “Vic wants a single load through Brooklyn.” You carefully reached into your jacket and dislodged the bundle of money from the waist of your pants. “Tomorrow, clearance till noon.”

He watched you and then his eyes flicked to the money. Usually, they saw the green first.

“Your husband let you run around playing these games?” He asked.

“We know this isn’t a game,” You said. “And, if I did have a husband, he couldn’t keep me from my business.”

He chuckled.

“Sorry, I’m just, a little amused. I expected a man.” He said.

“Me, too,” You tossed the money at his feet. “But I guess they’re all busy doing the real work.”

His smile fell. He toed the money but didn’t take it.

“You gonna wear the pants, you gonna be treated like what you’re pretending to be,” He beckoned Bucky forward. “Cause I don’t see a lady.”

“No, you don’t,” You said defiantly as Bucky came closer. 

Steve nodded and Bucky bent to grab the money. You held Steve’s gaze, the anger obvious in their glint as his narrow jaw ticked.

“Tell Vic he’s got til noon. Sharp.” He said. “Bucky, see her out.”

He put his hat back on and turned away. Bucky waved you away and you followed him back to the door. His hand rested on the metal handle and he paused.

“Put the torch to this place,” He said. “Next drop will be on our ground.”

“Sure,” You said and he pushed down.

“Oh,” Bucky stopped as he opened the door just a sliver. “I’m not much for advice but work on the lip. He won’t put up with that for long.”

“Not my boss,” You uttered. “He got his money.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shook his head and opened the door. 

You stepped out into the sunlight and strode away. You’d have a word with Vic. You’d think he’d have enough sense to mention a change in personnel but he hadn’t had much sense since he returned.

🌆

You sat along the bar as voices buzzed in the late morning din. The old pub which had glowed during Prohibition had grown darker over the years. With rationing, it had become lifeless, barely revived in the post-war jubilance. It didn’t matter much; it had never been meant for just booze, merely a cover for more illicit trades.

As usual, Vic was in his office. He wasn’t the same talkative man he had been, though his temper had worsened. When he wanted to be heard, he made sure of it. His propensity for violence had turned to an indifference to violence. There was no barrier left between him and blood. His hair trigger made him vulnerable; it made you all vulnerable.

The bar door shook and you looked over. Several bangs before the latch busted and Donny burst in with Richie hanging from his shoulder. He dragged the bleeding man inside and dropped him onto the floor as he fell to his knees. You rose and quickly shut the door. No one used that door during the day.

“Get rags,” Arnold called and rushed behind the bar.

Donny’s arm was bleeding as Richie gripped his side, his hands red and wet. Arnold tossed you a rag and you bent beside Richie. You took his hand and pressed the rag between it and his side. You applied pressure as Donny tied up his arm with his belt.

“What fuck happened?” You ask as you leaned on Richie and tried to stem the flow.

Arnold ran out calling for Pauly. He’d been a medic during the war but tended to drink away whatever use he had left to the organization. He was likely sleeping off last night in one of the stinky rooms above that were rented out by the hour.

“Where’s the cargo?” Vic asked as he appeared in the broad archway which parted the barroom from the kitchen and his office.

“Christ, he’s bleeding out, Vic,” You hissed as Donny handed you another cloth and grabbed another for his arm.

“We got hit.” Donny leaned heavily on a stool. “It’s gone.”

“What the fuck?” Vic swore. “Who--”

“Rogers,” Richie gasped and you scrambled to keep the crimson from leaking past your fingers. “He said…”

“Take was short.” Donny finished. “Five shy.”

“Five shy. No, I gave him the right drop,” You insisted.

Arnold brushed by Vic and Pauly ambled in beside him. The former dropped the small chest of bandages and the like beside Richie as the latter came around to you and yawned as he knelt. He casually waved you away and took the rags from you. He peeked under them and pressed down.

“Got a lighter?” He asked. “Get me some tweezers.”

You held up your bloody hands and Arnold got down to search through the box ox of odds and ends.

“New boss, new prices,” Donny uttered. “S’what they said before they…” He looked at Richie and blanched.

“God fucking dammit, I new that little rat was up to no good,” Vic punched his palm. “Had the gall to come in here and put an offer down on this shit hole like he can buy what I built for a couple bills.”

“What?” You reeled as you tried to wipe clean your hands. “He made you an offer?”

“He’s a goddamn upstart,” He snarled. “I seen his kind back before the war, when the Depression had us scraping trash cans for dinner. He’d sell his own mother. Probably has.”

“How can he-- Heli didn’t have that much going on.” You argued.

“The twerp spent a couple years up in Chicago before he decided to come home and make his stake,” Vic said. “Too skinny to serve so he ran wild over there. Now he’s got a gun and some money and he thinks he can just take the whole city.”

“Hold him down!” Pauly yelled and you looked over as he was digging the tweezers into Richie’s side. The wail which rose was sickening.

“Vic, you didn’t even tell me he’d taken over,” You snarled. “Now I double counted that take but you’re the one who arranged it. He said fifteen not twenty, right?”

“I told him I wouldn’t give him any more than I did Heli.” He sneered.

“And?” You urged.

“He said we’d see. And I never heard nothing else.” He growled.

“You didn’t hear anything or you just made an assumption?”

“I handled worse over in Italy,” He grumbled. “Little twit doesn’t scare me.”

“It’s not just him,” You huffed. 

It was so much easier when he was gone. You and Arnold had been a great team. He was too old to serve and he was wise; pragmatic. Don’t play big, play smart.

“Another word,” Vic warned. “I’m tired of the fucking mouth on you. Men go away for a couple years and all you bitches learned to bark.”

“If we hadn’t, you’d have nothing to come back to,” You retorted. “And I learned more than how to bark.”

“You think you know it all. You run around in your suits and play gangster, little girl.” He snarled. “I saw men holding their insides; I ran into a haze of bullets and you did what? Gave away your stockings and baked cakes without sugar.”

“You got a man holding his insides right here,” You snapped. “I should’ve let Crane have this place. I drove that snake out on my own. Me. So don’t you call me little girl.”

A knock interrupted him as his face turned red. The front door had fallen open as a figure leaned in the doorway. So slim it could only be one person. You reached for your gun along with Vic and Donny. The other men continued their struggle on the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Rogers?” Vic pulled the hammer back on his gun.

“Wow,” Steve stopped a few feet inside and several men, including Bucky, entered behind him, guns in hand. “I’m not here for a fight, if I can help it. I’m here for the rest of my take.”

“You already shot my men. I don’t owe you shit.” Vic hissed.

Steve chuckled and put his hands on his hips. He looked to the floor, the blood, the whimpers, then to you. He took his hat off and nodded in your direction.

“But I see they’re still alive.” Steve said. “And I got your cargo. More than willing to hand it over so long as I get my dues.”

“Maybe it wasn’t that skinny fucking ass that kept out of the war; maybe it was that peanut brain,” Vic said.

“I’m all for negotiating,” Steve said coolly. “But I’m gonna need you to calm down, Victor.”

“Calm down. I want my goods.” He insisted. “And my money back.”

“I don’t often give warnings,” Steve’s voice was even and quiet. Scarily calm. “But I will allow you one. I will finish what my men started and then I will burn this place with your bodies inside of it. Then I will hunt down every man who ever tied himself to your limping horse and put them next to you in the ashes.”

“Bull,” Vic scoffed.

“Jeffrey, by the bridge,” Steve said. “Friendly guy. Knows a lot about the city. Gave me an interesting little map. Looks like safe houses… in your neighbourhood. I don’t need to barter with you, Victor, but I am, because I can be nice. I prefer it over having to get mean.”

“Jeffrey,” Vic shook his head. “That shit.”

“Oh yes, if it wasn’t for his ties out west, I’d already have done him in myself but… he has his uses.”

Silence but for Richie groans and the squelch of flesh and blood. You glanced between the two men. Vic looked tired. You realised he was halfway drunk.

“How long? For the five I owe you?” He slowly lowered his gun.

“How long?” Steve smirked. “I’m not leaving without it.”

“Don’t keep my safe here. That’d be too obvious.” Vic said.

“No? Or maybe… you don’t got it?” Steve challenged. “Besides, I can’t trust you to send anyone for it because I can’t have them returning with more than the bills, can I?”

Victor was quiet and you glanced back at him. He looked lost. It was a look which had become common for him. As if he was far away.

“But…” Steve said. “There is value beyond paper.”

“Take a cut,” You intoned as Vic remained speechless. “That would more than even the debt.”

“And have to sell it myself? No.” He said. “But I do see something that I want.”

Steve’s heels tapped on the old floorboards and he stopped before you. You stared at him then looked around. You lifted a brow as you looked back to him. He touched your gun and you lowered it. You wanted to raise it again but Richie’s cries tugged at your ears. He took the pistol.

“I’ll take her,” He touched the lapel of your jacket.

“What? No, that’s not--”

“Fine,” Vic agreed a little too quickly. “All yours. But I’ll let you know, she’s a mouthy one.”

“Oh, I know,” Steve winked at you. “But you won’t get anywhere if you’re not bold.”

“You can’t--”

“I can,” Steve leaned in as he lowered his voice. “Because if you leave this bar without me, you won’t get far. I put the word out and you’re dead before nightfall…” He straightened your jacket. “But I prefer you living.”

He drew back and walked back to his men.

“Truck’s out front. All is accounted for. Ledger’s are balanced.” He said. “For now.”

You were jolted forward as Bucky grabbed your arm. You hadn’t seen him approach and he easily dragged you along as Steve left with his men in tow. You were numb but angry. You struggled until Bucky had your arm twisted behind your back.

“I told you,” He said. “He doesn’t like the back talk.”

🌆

You were silent as you peered through the windshield then glanced at the man in the driver’s seat. Bucky had wrestled you into the car himself but it had taken the flash of a muzzle to get you to stay.

Steve sat beside you in the back of the long car. He still had your pistol in hand and you watched as he emptied the bullets and dropped them in his pocket. He turned the gun over in his hand and ran his fingertip along the wood inlay carved with intricate grooves.

“This is a nice piece,” He said. 

He checked the chamber one last time and handed it back to you. You holstered the pistol and leaned into the door as you looked out onto the streets. The buildings were strangely familiar.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“You talking to me?” Steve countered. You turned to him and arched a brow. “Because when you are talking to me, you need to look at me, doll.”

“My name isn’t doll,” You crossed your arms. “This isn’t Brooklyn.”

“We’ll get to that,” He said. “You should be more than familiar with these slums.”

You squinted and shook your head.

“How did you--”

“I got eyes across the city and a woman like you sticks out,” He said. “Now, I’d like to forget our first meeting and start off on a better note.”

“Yeah? Do you usually buy people like race horses.” You scoffed.

“You’re a fine mare,” He grinned. “But that mouth does you a disservice.”

“So, what exactly do you want? You want me to say you’re a big man? Tell you you’re the boss?” You taunted. “I wonder how that ego fits in that body.”

“One thing at a time, doll,” He said.

“It’s not ‘doll’,” You growled. 

He chuckled and propped his elbow up on the door.

“My eyes have ears. They’ve told me a lot about you.” He said. “Must be hard with all the men back in town. I dare say, you might have been rooting for the other side.”

“Oh?” Your nostrils flared at the implication. “You running with those double-dealing bastards down in Chicago and you’re accusing me of sedition.”

“Chicago was a stepping stone,” He waved you off. “And a valuable ally. This world’s a whole lot bigger than five boroughs.”

The car stopped and you looked past Steve. Your building stood just outside his window and you sighed.

“No doubt bigger than you,” You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dumb enough to think you’re just giving me a ride home…”

“We got ten minutes,” He checked his watch as he opened his door. “Grab what you need. I got a schedule to keep.”

He got out and you pushed open your own door. You rounded the front of the car and peered down the sidewalk. You could run. The thought was tempting, but if Steve could figure out where you lived in less than a day, he could likely suss you out just as easily.

You followed him up the cracked walk of the building and he opened the grated door for you. You shot him a look before you stepped through. You fished around for your keys and unlocked the second metal door. He trailed you up the narrow staircase and you came to your door among the row of cramped apartments.

You entered with him behind you. His footsteps were light and barely disturbed the creaky floorboards. He closed the door swiftly as you glanced around your tiny home. There wasn’t much to it but it was yours. 

He brushed past you and went to the small kitchen which was barely more than a sink and stove. He pulled open the drawers one at a time and shuffled through them.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

He held up a box of bullets and shook them.

“Grab some clothes,” He said as he continued his search. “And anything else you need.”

You let out a breath and rounded the threadbare sofa. You went to the small closet on the other side of the apartment and slid open the accordion door. Inside hung jackets in varying tones of monochrome and pants to match. Dress shirts and vests filled out the rest of the assortment. You sensed movement behind you as you reached for a hanger.

“That’s all you got?” He asked as he came up beside you and tutted. 

You looked over at him as he slid the hangers from side to side and examined your clothes.

“No, no, this won’t do,” He said. 

“What are you--”

“This,” He tugged on your sleeve. “Is doing you no favours. Not to worry, I’ll send for some nice skirts, a couple dresses--”

“No,” You said pointedly. “No, I won’t--”

“You’re not getting this, are you?” He sneered. “I don’t need some pussycat in a suit, I got more men than I can count.” You stared at him as foreboding roiled in your stomach. “What I need is a gal on my arm,” He reached out and touched your cheeks. “With a pretty smile,” His fingers crept down your neck and rested on your shoulders, “In a pretty little number.”

You grabbed his wrists and tried to shove him away. Despite his slim figure, he was stronger than you expected. He twisted his arms around and grabbed your wrists. He drew you close.

“If you were a man, you wouldn’t have left that warehouse,” He growled. “So consider yourself lucky…” His eyes drifted down. “The walk gives you away. Your hips…” He tilted his head from side to side. “The ass…”

“Get off of me,” You hissed and pulled away. He released you and you nearly stumbled.

“Don’t bother with the clothes,” He sighed. “But grab whatever else you need; hairbrush, soap… I guess you wouldn’t have lipstick, would you?”

“You really that hard-up for a girl?” You laughed dryly.

He smiled and licked his lips. “Women aren’t as complicated as they pretend to be. Not if you got your pockets full. So no, not hard-up for a girl… just you, doll.”

“Not doll,” You huffed and spun away from him. His low laughter made your lip curl.

“Five minutes,” He warned.

[ohnobjyx]

To the snowy summit side by side

红尘中毁誉得失如何去量?

Part 7: And now... what?

This is a post long overdue. I must admit, this is the most difficult one, so I was putting it off, reading again and again what I had already written and browsing through the internet to try and get the most complete picture.

Disclaimer: in this case, almost all of the post is my personal opinion (I tried to keep the previous post objective). I’m biased because of the XZ friendly content I’m usually exposed to and by my own views of their situation. Open to discussion, but please make sure you’ve enough information to do so.

Let’s go back to anon’s original ask:

Hello could you give us an update on xz's situation? I know we*bo and his studio has taken some steps recently but how has this affected public opinion on xz? Has it improved/ are more people favoring him or has it gotten worse?

I think I have been answering your first question in the past posts. However, about the next two:

When I was compiling information and writing the previous posts, a song kept coming back again and again to my head, specifically, this part of the lyrics:

红尘中毁誉得失如何去量?

In the mortal world, how can praise or condemnation, success and failure be measured?

(Yes, it’s from WuJi-无羁)

Innocence

What happened to XZ was a combination of incredibly bad luck, strenuous social circumstances (the pandemic), high stress in the public and a set of underlying issues that had been festering for a long time.

From being a celebrity on the way up, he suddenly became a scapegoat for a conflict he hadn’t caused and the receiver of a lot of senseless hate. He didn’t do anything from start to finish in the 2/27, but ended up the most affected from it, as the consequences reverberated all the way from March to July.

Because XZ didn’t ask the author to write such a fanfic. He didn’t request for it to be taken down. He didn’t ask his fans to report anything. And he didn’t have anything to do with ao3 being banned in the country as a response. From start to finish, he didn’t participate in any of it.

Many of the analysis I’ve watched/read determine that the cause of the problem  were his fans. One of the bloggers even said that “his fans are the ones that have hindered his career the most”.

But, from my point of view, the saying of “two people can’t have an argument if one of them doesn’t want to” also applies here. From start to finish, the issue was filled with overreactions and exaggerated responses from both XZ’s fans and the rest of the people that engaged in this ridiculous fan war with them.

However, let’s keep in mind that “XZ’s fans” is also a huge generalization. Most of the people don’t have the necessary time, resources and mental energy to engage in ridiculous crusades in the name of their favoured celebrity.

Part of the reasoning of the anti-XZ faction is that he should have taken measures and steps to make sure that his fans didn��t cross the line. However, even if the people leading all of this are only a small % of his fans, they are still a lot of people. Being the receiver of their fans’ love and admiration doesn’t make him and his team able to discern who is a reasonable, sensible fan, and who is a crazed troublemaker. And being famous and admired shouldn’t make him the responsible of all of his fans actions (in my opinion). I think this is also how Western society would view the situation.

I was surprised to discover that c-society did expect him to “guide” his fans, because he has a huge influence on them and he’s supposed to guide them towards more civilized behaviour. It’s not of course what everyone thinks, but the stance his studio has taken also points in recognizing that they should have done that (there are more reasons to their stance, of course, explained in the part 5+6).

However, people did realize (I think) that most of the people that follows him gives him support silently. There are of course ardent and fervent people who jump to defend him, but even that kind of behaviour is discouraged by XZ’s studio (applying that ignoring the antis is the greatest way to defeat them).

So here it came the lyrics from WuJi. It’s true that a fraction of his fans have caused him a lot of trouble. But this kind of fans (there is a fine line between very invested and obsessed) are also the ones who push forward a lot of events, who create things like “XZ’s fans Association” and who promote his works the most. His studio did call them out in the end, and said that everyone should relax in their support, but it’s also true that this fans also had a great hand in pushing him to the top of the charts. There’s a very fine line between gain and loss here, so how can one measure the value?

(But the antis who disguise as his fans and create trouble just for the sake of ruining his reputation are a whole other issue. No excuses for them).

Finally, the answers

To answer (I know we*bo and his studio has taken some steps recently but how has this affected public opinion on xz? Has it improved/ are more people favoring him or has it gotten worse?) more exactly:

When we are talking about public opinion, it can actually be divided into 3 factions: his fans, the antis, and the actual general public who is neutral by default.

1. His fans stayed the same, supporting him through the storm. The opinion of the fans isn’t so easily swayed (though he has lost some in this process, he has also gained new followers), and the main feeling they have towards him now can be summarized in 心疼 (”xin teng”, a feeling that, in this case, can be described as “I’m really sorry that all of this has happened to you because I know that you were innocent in this”). I’ll explain a little bit more about his fans support in the last part of the post.

2. The antis can also be divided into 2 groups: “regular” antis and “professional” antis. The 2/27 Great Union community still exists, but it’s a closed off community and to enter it, the new member has to be approved by a moderator. I’ve seen public comments with the 2/27 Great Union tag, that after his interviews have morphed into “I’m a commoner and I hate XZ”, but they are a lot less active these days. Even if they still have hate after everything that happened, the average anti has gone back to their usual life after quarantine was lifted, so it’s less active.

Some of the “regular” antis will stay active, but that’s to be expected. For example, some of WYB’s solo fans were all exploding over the new vlog XZ’s Studio updated three days ago. While it’s ridiculous for the rest of us, these people will continue their “XZ is using WYB to further his own fame” campaign.

However, it’s different with the “professional” anti. As we said in previous posts, people like “B” has a lot of time, energy and resources to invest in a smear campaign against XZ. Where does all of that come from? I don’t know. What I do know is that once XZ’s topic cools down enough and another scandal of another idol, no matter how small, appears, they’ll shift to hate content about the other idol. What matters to them is to produce content that people will engage with, so they get more views and followers, and profit with it.

3. And now, the “neutral-by-default general public”. There is a problem in how we, as netizens, manage the information. In the previous post, I talked about a hater who had written an assessment because “XZ’s fans” had insulted her parents. While the main objective of the document wasn’t to see how the general public views him, I took the data she had extracted.

The general public isn’t so neutral anymore. While it’s true that XZ keeps gaining fans (he’s still riding on CQL’s success train), what general public, the average passerby, has heard from him is:

A XZ fan has stolen a deceased person’s account to keep promoting him

“XZ’s fans” attack a user’s parents on Father’s Day.

A primary school teacher promotes her favourite idol in her class.

These are bound to create a bad image and reputation in people’s mind. We know (I explained all of those incidents in previous posts) that only the teacher incident was truly caused by a XZ fan. There’s no proof that the person who insulted that user’s parents was a XZ fan, and w/ibo has proved that the “stolen” account incident was a scheme from start to finish.

However, the headache in all of those incidents is that the initial issue (“a XZ fan stole a deceased person account to continue to promote him!”) is announced widely and loudly, attracting people’s attention to it. However, people won’t dig up more information. Less than half will actually read the article or investigate more about it. W/ibo actually investigating it and discovering that it was all a plot to frame XZ isn’t given importance, nor does it go on the hot search chart. People only know what happened at first, but don’t know how the story ended. And this is a huge problem for him, because people accuse him but don’t care to know if he was actually the culprit.

(Wow, just like WWX in CQL).

So I found this to describe it.

There are still neutral people: those who couldn’t care less about the tabloids, and that never read gossip sites. These are still a great part of the general public. Anon was asking about the public opinion: the fact is that previously neutral people have only heared bad things about him for half a year, so that’s bound to affect their image of someone they’re not invested in.

If XZ were defeated, and retired, I’m sure a lot of articles like “framing the innocent” would appear. We people just like to have something to talk about.

His fans’ support

XZ ended 2019 with his followers on w/ibo numbering on 21,690,000. The exact number of his w/ibo followers right now is 26,458,877 (26,459,350 two hours later, by the time I’m editing this to post it). He continues to be liked by more people, and antis may try to reduce his popularity, but it’s a fact that his talent and effort are appreciated by people with no hidden agenda. 

XZ is also slowly coming back to work and to his endorsements, which are very good news. We saw him recently in the R/SEONLY add for Chinese Qixi, in the event for Cao Yu’s anniversary, the vlog the studio updated.

Less directly, Kai Xiao Zao, one of the brands that didn’t stop working with him even after 2/27 (they are a smaller brand, and they must have invested a lot in their endorser, so they can’t just put him aside like other bigger brands did), recently put up little stands in malls all over China to promote their new product. In every stand there was a wall for customers to write and a couple of XZ cardboard cutouts.

In his interview in Yunnan, XZ had been seen wearing his red cord bracelet, to ward off bad luck. So fans started to add their own amulets to ward off bad luck and offerings to the cutouts.

They started off like this...

Fans came...

And they ended up like this. The funny fact it’s that people started to add plush toys, hats and even food to the cutouts, so based on what “XZ” is wearing one can guess where was the photo taken.

This was a widespread phenomenon in all of KXZ stands. So to say that XZ has lost support from his fans would be certainly false.

His dramas are also expected to be aired soon and have been confirmed to. His patience is paying off little by little, and he’s coming back to work.

The moral of the story

I hope we can all learn something from this. If anything, it has changed my own attitude on the Internet. I used to be very quick to answer with extreme words if I felt strongly about a topic. Now I try to tone down my responses. I’m not saying that you’d all do the same, but it’s a lesson I extract from other people’s experiences. History should serve to avoid mistakes others have committed as much as possible.

In the technology and communications based world we live in, to believe that what we do on Internet doesn’t affect real people’s everyday lives is a huge lie. So, now that we can see that XZ is slowly coming back, let’s all remember that this once happened: let’s all be kind on the internet and avoid engaging with people who dedicate themselves to spread hate.

It has been hard on him. But he’s going to top the snowy summit. Let’s do our best to support him rationally.

Prev: Part 5 and 6: A snowy summit