#I was only trying to more clearly depict the difference in faces between the normal vs. dark maxim

[mewkwota]

"Was that really Maxim...?"

More lines from Harmony of Dissonance because I enjoy running through them that much (and I like the games only). I also really like drawing Maxim's other self if it weren't for how messy everything could get after. (But then you'd know it's him right?)

[chrollogy]

iv. NEW YEAR BLUES

miya atsumu x f!reader

── next: v. Misunderstandings | series masterlist

synopsis: After sending a risky text to Atsumu, you avoid your phone the next morning like a ticking time bomb until curiosity gnaws at your skin but it doesn’t take long before you cave. Thus, with a bated breath, you brace yourself for his response.

chapter content warning: college au, angst heh, shrine visit (poor depiction), implied alcohol use, tipsy reader (maybe a dumbass too), miya atsumu is an even bigger dumbass, hinata mention LMAO, mutual pining, slow burn, requited unrequited love, miscommunication (it just got even worse. rip.), not beta read.

word count: 4.1k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. woweeee one more chapter and then we’re done ehehehehe >:)

It was quarter to two.

The mellow hum of Hyōgo’s early winter morning settled into Atsumu’s bones like a pair of invisible shackles, holding him hostage between the borders of sleep, and sobriety. On other nights, it lulled him to slumber without any problem but not tonight, not when his mind was plagued with thoughts of you.

Out of all times, his brain decided to recount every single moment with you from the trip. First, it was the happy, mellow memories of the first day—stolen glances full of yearning, his crimson-tinged cheeks, and fluttering heartbeats, and then came the uncomfortable haze that drove a wedge between the two of you. God, Atsumu didn’t even want to think about that moment on the boat.

Atsumu was fully aware that you knew his response was a complete lie but could you really blame him? What difference would it have made if he said ‘yes’? At the end of the day, what he felt for you was one-sided, nothing was going to change the fact that you only viewed him as a friend.

In fact, maybe this wall between the two of you was the cure to his yearning heart—a space to help him move on, and forget the familiarity of loving you.

As Atsumu’s caramel gaze bore into the ceiling above, tracing the moonlit glow that seeped from the window, his phone illuminated the dark room for a brief second, a tinge of blue catching his attention.

Mindlessly reaching for his device that lay on the wooden nightstand, he let out a tired sigh, honeyed eyes squinting at the sudden brightness that invaded his vision. Letting his eyes adjust, Atsumu carefully read the notification banner on the lock screen.

It was a message from you. His heart violently stuttered. Thank goodness for the tight grip he had or else his face would’ve been aching from his phone falling on it.

As if on instinct, Atsumu sat up, clearly sobered up from the fact that you texted him at almost 2 AM. Were you perhaps also having trouble sleeping? Atsumu wondered if your mind was also filled with thoughts the past few days—thoughts of him. He could only fantasise.

The blonde positioned himself against his headboard before clicking onto your message with a shaky digit, and a thundering heartbeat.

It was an absurdly long paragraph.

‘hey. i know you’re asleep right now, and you’ll probably see this in the morning but whatever :) . .’

Atsumu swallowed thickly. For some reason, he felt oddly nervous about this message but at the same time, anticipated the context behind it. Maybe you were trying to salvage whatever was left of the friendship? Or maybe you just wanted to cuss him out with a long, detailed message.

Nonetheless, Atsumu kept reading,

‘. . . i’m not going to beat around the bush or anything so i’ll get straight to the point. i like you. i’ve had feelings for you since highschool and i know it’s cowardly of me to confess over text but i don’t mind being called one.

god, i cannot even remember the feeling of my heart acting normal around you. my heart is so painfully familiar to yearning for you that it hurts. whenever i see you, i just can’t seem to act right. i hate how my heart stutters, how my cheeks heat, how my body suddenly doesn’t know how to act normally. it’s bittersweet because i feel guilty for falling in love with a close friend but also i’m not ashamed of it because you’re so amazing, and caring.

i cherish you a lot, tsumu, i really do and i know you do too but i don’t think it's in the way i want you to. i’m not pressuring you for an answer or anything because i already know you don’t like me back but that’s okay. i don’t know what will happen after this but just know that i really admire our friendship.

like i said before, you don’t have to reply to this. i just really needed to get all the pent up feelings out of my chest so i can finally move on :) just give me some time to be myself again.’

One word. Speechless. Miya Atsumu was speechless.

There were so many goddamn emotions that ran through every single fibre of his body to the point where his brain couldn’t process it all. Atsumu didn’t know whether to be ecstatic with the fact that—holy shit—you reciprocated his feeling, or to be frustrated with the fact that you thought it was one-sided.

His heart hammered against his chest, the pounding of it reaching his very ears. He was so fucking nervous that he breathed through his parted lips, honeyed eyes re-reading every single word you typed. The winter chill that filled his room went awfully warm, mirroring the crimson tinge that painted his cheeks.

So he was the one you were talking about back then; that drunken confession where you told him you had feelings for a certain someone.

Atsumu didn’t know what to do—didn’t know what to respond.

In all honesty, you put him in a very tough spot. How was he supposed to respond after confessing your feelings but also stating that you did not, in fact, sought an answer. Not to mention how you practically put words in his mouth.

Who were you to decide if Atsumu reciprocated your feelings or not?

The blonde took a deep, shaky breath, palms sweating as he gripped the device. Atsumu knew he needed to respond with a calculated mind—as tempting as it was, he wasn’t going to let his heart lead this time.

Not when his mind painfully reminded him of the conversation you two had,

��I don’t even think I’m ready for a relationship.” “So . . yer jus’ gonna confess for the sake of movin’ on? Even if he likes ya back?”

He vividly remembered the way you solemnly nodded to his question, a sad, subtle smile lingering on your lips as if to reassure yourself that you’ll be okay.

Atsumu closed his eyes, letting the sounds of crickets chirping outside consume him. The gears in his head turned, and turned, working overtime to come up with a response. He had to be sensible, whatever he replied was surely going to change the course of your bond, forever.

Though, there was only one thing he knew—to respect your decision.

The morning came rather quickly, early rays peeked through your window, mellow hues of yellow, and orange painted the ivory walls of your room to cast a warm, inviting glow—a reminder of the impending day ahead.

As you reached for your device to check the time, you were greeted with a black, unlit screen, your sleepy reflection staring back. Oh, that’s right. You had turned it off right after sending that risky text message to Atsumu, wanting nothing to do with it.

Vivid memories of last night came flooding in, filling every corner of your mind. All the words you typed down, the feelings that came with it, the hammering of your heart—it came back to you, and now, you were twice as nervous. You wondered if Atsumu had already read your message, even more curious about his response—if he did send one back.

Just thinking about it made your head dizzy. There was a ray of hope tucked neatly at the bottom of your heart, it wasn’t big but you held onto it like it was the most precious thing.

You let out a sigh, and tossed the device on your bed before getting ready to brave the winter day ahead. There were four more days before the new year rolled around—how you were going to spend the last two days heavily depended on Atsumu’s response.

It was inevitable. Every now, and then, your eyes mindlessly wandered to the device that lifelessly lay atop your sheets, its blackened screen inviting you to turn it on. You turned your room upside down for anything to distract you from the silent beckoning of your device—from re-reading your favourite manga to blankly staring at the ceiling above.

There was even an urge to read a syllabus from one of your new classes this coming semester.

Four hours. You lasted four dreadful hours before curiosity settled into your skin like a painful bite—no matter how much you ignored it, it seemed to worsen.

And with a hammering heartbeat, and sweaty palms, you turned it on. Patiently waiting, you watched as it displayed the brand logo, and then a few seconds before it loaded your lock screen. A heartbeat passed as the device showed several notifications from last night, and this morning. Disregarding them, you scrolled straight down until Atsumu’s message notification came into view.

You sucked in a breath.

The thread of messages between you two quickly popped up as you clicked on the notification. Bracing yourself, your eyes wander down to the start of his response—god, it was equally as long.

It was sent at 2 AM. It made you even more nervous after realising that Atsumu was indeed still awake when you had sent the message.

‘hey :) first of all, i’m very thankful that you had the courage to bring this up to me so please don’t call yourself a coward, i know how hard it is to try and confess to someone. i find it admirable, really. i think it’s brave of you to decide something like this.

secondly, i am over the moon after finding out you have feelings for me. it feels such an honour to be loved by a close friend so thank you again for letting me know. like you said, i, too, cherish our friendship. i don’t know what will become of our bond after this but just know that i am very glad to be friends with you.

thirdly, as you’ve mentioned in your message, i don’t feel the same way. .’

You stopped reading to stare at the ceiling above, a foolish smile plastered upon your lips—it conveyed anything but happiness.

Oh.

Oh.

So, you were right. Atsumu didn’t feel the same way.

That little bundle of hope deep inside your heart disappeared, dissolving into nothing but what seemed like distant memories—memories of your saccharine moments together.

God, you already had a feeling he didn’t like you back but why did it feel like a hard slap on the face? As if reeling you back into dull reality after a haze of fantasy. This was what you wanted, right? To confess with rejection in mind so you could finally move on. But now that the answer lay right before you on a silver platter, why didn’t you want to move on?

You mustered every single bit of your strength to read the rest of his message, vision becoming blurry as tears slowly formed.

‘. . . you’re such a great friend. don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful both inside and out but my feelings for you are just platonic. i’m really sorry that i don’t reciprocate your feelings. i don’t know how much this will affect you but just know that if you want me to stay away, i will. it’s the least i can do to help you move on.

you’re an amazing person, and there are a lot of other guys out there who deserve you so much but i am not one of them. again, thanks for letting me know.’

You didn’t even realise hot tears started rolling down your cheeks until it hit the screen with a soft sound, one by one, droplets of tears scattered the surface of your device as if to wash away all of Atsumu’s words

A weird feeling blossomed in your chest, extending its sharp roots down to your stomach where it painfully planted itself. The grip on your phone tightened, other hand clutching—clawing—at your heavy heart, wanting to take it out from the confines of your ribcage and mend it with your own shaky hands.

Everything felt completely still, birds that hummed their usual morning song were no more, mellow sounds of the city became distant as you let yourself wallow in complete sadness.

It was odd, you felt nothing, and everything at the same time—the ugly feeling in your chest, the sting behind your eyes, the impending headache from your stuffy nose. Atsumu’s words repeated inside your mind, plagued it like an invasive plant which invited more pain to your strained heart.

‘I don’t feel the same way. My feelings for you are just platonic.’

It wasn’t just cupid’s stupid arrow agonisingly digging into the core of your heart, no, it also felt like he had wrung your heart dry with his bare hands, and he was laughing about it.

You felt like a fucking fool. Especially for hoping that somewhere down the line, Atsumu felt the same way.

The last two remaining days of the year were a complete haze, navigating through the last moments with a clouded mind, and an unmendable heart while putting on a brave face. And as the clock struck midnight on the 31st, you put on the happiest smile you could muster in front of your parents, and welcomed the new year with uncertainty. You tried not to think about Atsumu’s words but they were seared into your mind, a mocking reminder of your unreciprocated feelings.

It wasn’t long before the first morning of the new year greeted you with clear skies, and warm rays, paired with an early call from Suna. You already knew the reason for his call—of course, one cannot celebrate the new year without hatsumōde.

“It’s a surprise you picked up my call, you haven’t been answering my texts. Anyway, the twins, and I are visiting the shrine, coming?”

“How about Kita?” You asked. “He’s going with his grandmother tomorrow.”

With a sigh, you hesitantly agreed. It's only been two days since the confession, and you could already feel the awkwardness, and pain seeping into your bones. You knew you weren’t even ready to face Atsumu yet but you’ve never turned down a shrine visit from your friends, especially on new years.

Before you knew it, the crisp winter air engulfed your body. Clad in thick layers of clothes, you walked the quiet footpath to the local shrine, heart hammering against your chest with every step taken closer to your friends—to Atsumu.

His flaxen locks were easy to spot, standing out amongst the crowd of people with raven strands. Your heart violently stuttered but you kept your eyes on Suna, putting on a bright smile to greet them. They stood just before the grand torii gate which led straight to the shrine itself.

“Glad ya could make it.” Osamu greeted you with a hug, followed by Suna.

Throughout the whole exchange with the two men, you could feel Atsumu’s burning gaze on the side of your face, and god, was it an extreme sport to ignore it. The two didn’t notice the way you, and Atsumu awkwardly greeted one another—a tight-lipped smile, and a brief eye contact. You felt small, and naked under his honeyed gaze but it wasn’t anything intimate, you guessed this was the consequences of baring the contents of your heart two nights ago.

Tugging at the neckline of your clothes, you began to grow uncomfortable at the awkwardness that made itself known.

You weren’t going to lie, Atsumu looked devastatingly handsome as ever, and it pained your heart even more. Though, he had this familiar expression painted on his face—the one he always wore whenever he was upset about something. It was subtle but you noticed the way his bottom lip jutted out ever so slightly, the light crease between his thick brows.

It was hard not to wonder what Atsumu was upset about.

After showing respect by bowing at the torii gate, the four of you fell into a step. Since it was the first day of the new year, the shrine was packed with families, friends, couples and people alike; some were at the chōzuya—water purification pavilion—to purify their body & mind while others were already lined up to pay respects at the main shrine building.

Keeping to the sides of the main path, You, Suna, and Osamu fell into a mellow conversation—talking about the new year ahead, and the upcoming semester. Surprisingly, Atsumu didn’t join in the conversation, hands tucked deep inside the pockets of his jacket, he stared hard at the concrete beneath.

It shouldn’t bother him but it did.

You were the one who got rejected so why was he more upset about the situation? Why were you able to easily slip into a cheerful conversation with Osamu, and Suna while acting like nothing happened two nights ago? Atsumu half expected you to not even turn up today, he had to practically stop himself from overreacting after the brunette stated you’d come.

Well, it was good that you were already moving on but whatever. Atsumu decided shoving away the weird feeling in his chest was the best option.

After doing the ceremonial purification rite at the chōzuya, the four of you headed at the back of the line for the main shrine. It didn’t take too long until it was your turn, Suna, and Osamu went ahead first which left you, and Atsumu to pair up.

Watching as your two friends prayed at the shrine, you dug your nails into the plush of your palms, awkwardness eating away at you. It felt like everyone’s eyes were burning holes on both your’s, and Atsumu’s backs—as if they all knew what happened between the two of you a couple of nights back; it also didn’t help how you could practically feel Atsumu’s not-so-subtle stares from the side.

Sighing, you spoke to him for the first time since that moment at the boat, “If you’re uncomfortable with me, I’m more than happy to do it alone.”

You didn’t dare look at him, even when he fully turned to face you. It was dangerous, one look into his gaze, and you’d be a sobbing mess.

“It’s not that. It’s just . .”

Atsumu’s sentence trailed off as he noticed you walking up to the shrine. He closed his lips and silently followed, heart weighing heavy with every unspoken word that plagued his mind.

The two of you did the customs as usual: ringing the bell, tossing a 5 yen coin into the wooden saisen-bako, bowing twice, and clapping twice before praying. You, and Atsumu stayed still for a moment, eyes closed, and palms glued together to wish for good luck in the new year ahead. Ending the prayer with another bow, the two of you joined Osamu, and Suna.

“I saw ‘em distributin’ amazake. Wanna go grab some?” The younger twin pointed a thumb over his shoulder. His brother, and Suna agreed rather quickly, their throats bobbing at the mention of the sweet treat.

Feigning a yawn, you spoke up, “I think I’ll head home now. I didn’t really get much sleep last night.” This earned a unison of disgruntled sounds from Suna, and Osamu whereas Atsumu wordlessly looked over your way.

It wasn’t like you were lying, you really didn’t get much sleep, especially after waiting for the clock to strike midnight but it wasn’t like lack of sleep bothered you, no, it was the growing feeling in your chest the longer you spent time in Atsumu’s presence.

Bidding your friends a good bye, you headed home, each step taken away from Atsumu somewhat eased the strain in your heart.

Never in a million years would your old self believe that the feeling of being away from Atsumu brought a sense of comfort, a tranquillity in your heart. Albeit, not easy—nothing ever was when you’re taming a yearning heart—there were days where the urge to bask in his presence were strong, and there were days where you felt fine without Atsumu around.

Safe to say, your year started with the much dreaded new year blues.

Ever since the new semester started, you’ve busied yourself with assignments, weekly quizzes, and whatever else that allowed you to make several excuses just to not see Atsumu—whether it be movie nights at the twins’ apartment, afternoon library sessions, or simply just coffee runs with the group, you had an excuse

Before you knew it, it had already been a little over two weeks since you’ve confessed—two weeks since you last saw Atsumu at the shrine. Two weeks, and your feelings never wavered for him, not even once, that was the stubbornness you were dealing with.

“Whatever, I’ll come by your place tonight, and drag you out if I have to.”

You groaned, “Suna.” He said your name with an equally serious tone, his dulcet voice spilling from the speakers of your phone.

“You’ve been holed up in your room since forever, and we haven’t seen you that much. I miss you, the twins miss you, and Kita misses you. It’s just a few hours to let loose.”

“Isn’t it a bit too early in the semester to party? Also, Kita’s coming?” You tried your best to ignore the fact that your heart stuttered at the mention of the twins missing you. Atsumu missed you? Before you could pick Suna’s words apart, he spoke into the line,

“It’s not a party, just a small gathering with some familiar faces. And, no, he isn’t. He needed to work on an assignment.”

“I do, as well!” “Bullshit. I’ll see you at eight.” With that, he ended the call.

And that’s how you ended up in the twins’ apartment, lazily sloshing the alcoholic contents of your plastic cup. You don’t recall the amount of drinks you’ve drank but it sure was enough to have your head spinning.

There were familiar faces here, and there—which you took time to greet every single one—and some foreign faces. You assumed most of the people here were Atsumu’s teammates from the university team with how close they were with the blonde.

In all honesty, you had absolutely no idea as to why the twins were even hosting this gathering, it was so out of the blue. Though, you did hear an orange-haired male loudly exclaim to Atsumu at how much of a genius he was for organising a gathering this early into the semester.

So, it was Atsumu’s idea all along.

“Y’know, you can just talk to him, right?”

Suna’s slurred voice unceremoniously pulled you out of your trance, shifting your attention over to him. “What do you mean?” You coughed, cheeks heating, trying to hide the fact that Suna just caught you shamelessly staring at Atsumu who conversed with the orange-haired male. He sat beside you, body far back into the couch, narrow eyes fighting the sleep that slowly overtook him.

You didn’t like how your mind instantly agreed with his sentence.

The brunette let out a humourless chuckle but didn’t elaborate further, instead, he pulled out his phone to mindlessly scroll on it. Narrowing your eyes at him for a brief moment, you shifted your gaze back to the blonde, he had a big smile on his face, a tinge of crimson across his cheeks.

God, even under the shitty lighting of their apartment, Miya Atsumu still looked handsome as ever.

You stared at him for a moment, heart hammering against your chest, limbs tingling at the sudden urge to walk up to him. Oh, this was a very dangerous game you were playing, especially with the alcohol in your system. Your mind yelled go, go, go but you knew better than to play with fire, right?

Wrong.

In a heartbeat, you were on your feet, taking slow strides over to Atsumu. The sober part of your mind screamed at you to turn around, and sit back down but the tipsy part of your mind was stubborn—you wondered if it took after your heart.

The sudden urge to talk to Atsumu was fuelled by nothing but liquid courage—all the worries in your mind were magically solved; the weight that pulled your heart down was gone, and suddenly, it didn’t seem like a bad idea to even talk to him.

Deep down, you knew you were playing a very dangerous game right now but you couldn’t care less. Not when your heart pulled you closer to him.

As you neared, Atsumu cut the conversation short with his friend, and stared at you with expectant eyes, brows sky high in surprise. He sucked in a breath as you looked up at him through your lashes, the corners of your lips subtly turned upwards. Heart pounding, he shifted his weight from one leg to another as he waited for you to speak first,

“‘Tsumu, can we talk?”

Atsumu’s knees almost gave out upon hearing his nickname roll off your tongue, an icy shiver running up his spine.

—

taglist (closed)

tags:

@ushijimaschubbs @tsumudoll @starlitsawamura @littlemiyastars @h3art-ablaz3 @eggyrocks @integers @rrosiitas @food8me @schelamski @honeytwo @nyaaa-cat @cherribxio @aloesstuff @bontensh0e @willshebloved @yogurtkags @hyori2 @hibernatinghamster @theepitomeofswag @yawnjjunz @animesimpingismyjob @acowboykisser @rntrsuna @rjreins @prodhyuka @loonalockley @cheesypuffkins87 @kos-misch @iluvaquaphor (kindly turn on your mentions! :>)

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum !

© chrollogy 2024 | don't plagiarise, repost or steal my header.

[thattimdrakeguy]

TIM DRAKE NEEDS OUR HELP

I need people NEED THEM, oh baby, oh goodness do I NEED people who don't know much about Tim Drake to stop talking about the Boy Himself: Tim Drake.

Presented: An accurate depiction of an 18-year-old Tim. The over-sized T-Shirt that helps his already lean body make him look skinnier (therefore people would underestimate him, which is part of his personal fighting technique) worn for comfort over anything else adds to it greatly. He does not normally dress fancy, as is sometimes assumed of him. Wearing some of the Robin colors also help.

If you do not know what he looks like, that is fine, that is actually UNDERSTANDABLE. Like what am I to do, pretend I don't know why people don't know what he looks like? After over a decade of him mostly looking like a generic white guy super hero?

Y'all gotta realize, people did not care about Tim for a very long time, because he was basically the D-List Robin since he stopped being the main one. So they never did their research. He wouldn't even be written right. And his relationships and details of his character could change drastically between writing changes. It was awful.

So those that don't know, please try to learn why people sometimes say what they do about Tim. It's not all true, but in this case, it is true. And when we get to see what he's supposed to look like in a real comic, it's very exciting for us, because we don't normally get that excitement anymore.

I know, it's sad just to be happy to see our fav look like themselves, but it's the spot we're in.

Presented: Canon Proof of Tim's appearance, set when Tim was only months away from being EIGHTEEN-YEARS-OLD, he was still being confused for being TWELVE-YEARS-OLD. Showing how he does look for his age.

Like he's SUPPOSED to be VERY SHORT, he's supposed to look lean to the point of seeming skinny in his street clothes, people are supposed to underestimate him (which is why his appearance works so damn well), he's supposed to have a soft 'cute' look to him, especially young looking even for his age as you can see above, that is part of him, one of of his gags is that he's confused to be twelve even when he was nearing eighteen. HE PURPOSELY LOOKS LIKE THAT. It is an ACTIVE choice. It is not a weird thing people just randomly do, it is a purposeful character design choice, made for the character, for him to stand out, and be different from the other characters with.

It is NOT a fanon thing people made to infantilize him. That is just what he looks like. And it is exactly what some real people look like. It is ACTUALLY part of him. It is a CANON part of him. That is brought up so much, because people keep thinking it isn't CANON, when it is CANON.

Presented: A horrible drawing of Tim Drake, during an era that made a lot of people have misconceptions of the character we're only lately getting away from. But some people still believe to be the more accurate Tim, based on when they started reading. DO NOT DO THIS.

All because a lot of artists don't care to draw him right, doesn't mean his appearance miraculously changed within the canon. Or at least it shouldn't have, considering that'd be weird, and take an aspect of the character that made him unique go away. Which is not fun for any character to have them done to them.

So when ever an artist does DRAW him like that, can we gang together and say "HEY, GOOD JOB ARTIST, FOR ACTUALLY LOOKING UP WHAT TIM LOOKS LIKE"

Presented: ANOTHER VERY GOOD TIM. See how he's shorter than his friends (Bart's leaning), has a soft 'cute' face, leaner physique (looking skinny, but not scrawny like he isn't athletic), thick middle parted hair. These are the components of a well drawn Tim that people desire to see more. It will look different based on the art style of course. But these are what makes Tim's appearance suit what we know of Tim, and has been clearly established no matter his age. Here, he is presumably around 17-years-old. Possibly not even a year younger than he currently is.

Because seeing people who see him look different, when it's the right difference, and complain, because they are not aware Tim isn't supposed to look buff and tall and masculine, just because a lot of artists didn't care about who is ultimately at this point a D-List Super Hero...isn't really fair to the people who DO CARE ABOUT IT.

Presented: Something I'm definitely gonna delete from my device soon enough, but added for the sake of the post.

If you wouldn't take away from Dick's ass, don't take away Tim's appearance, please.

We know Tim is different, and that's why we love him the way we do so much.

[sirendeepity]

[ Gwynriel one-shot ]

A/N: the cake header didn't win in the end, but I kinda liked it so watch out because I might reuse it in the future. Anywaay Idk how to classify this, because it's many things and nothing at all, so- Enjoy?

P.s.: for all my Nessian lovers at heart, yes, this one-shot was originally meant for them, and only recently I chose violence and made it Gwynriel <3

P.p.s.: keep in mind that I was too lazy to do serious medical research on a fictional creature's anatomy, so if anything I said here makes no sense, just roll with it

P.p.p.s.: it's been more than a year since I first published this and the damn cake header- SO here it is. The infamous cake header. I love it so much, it's not even funny. If you're reading this now and have no idea what all of this is about, just know that the loser is now the winner, make of that what you wish

W/C: 2.7k

T/W: depiction of injury, blood

Gwyn closed her book with a loud thud, the sound echoing through the empty library down to its darkest corners.

“What is it?” She asked, running low on patience. Something was clearly bothering the young priestess, and that “something” had a name, a face, and even a title. Multiple titles, actually. Or nicknames, depending on who you ask.

Namely: Kingslayer (she was fine with it, so long as you addressed the other kingslayer the same way), Goddess of Death (“I am no such thing”), Princess of Decay (not her best, if Gwyn had to be honest, but she could live with it), Lady Death (this one, in particular, she enjoyed more than she let on, and Cassian’s personal favorite), Queen of Queens (so much for her pride and ego, as if Nesta didn’t have enough of them already), Valkyrie, General, Oristian (the one and only cause of many, many heated quarrels between the two of them. Take a bet, you’d be wrong anyway), and on and forward with mighty and frightening titles like Archeron, Sweetheart, Nes.

The latter, specifically, was the cause of the discomfort in the House of Wind. The sentiment, well, it belonged to its owner and creator, but it mattered little since it reflected on the building as a whole, and therefore anyone who currently resided in it.

“Nesta,” the redhead urged, drawing back the attention to the present moment, “what’s wrong? You’ve been uneasy and anxious all afternoon. And that damned knee-”

Nesta Archeron stopped her bouncing knee at once.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Nesta replied, burying her nose back into her book. The priestess knew her friend was not reading a single word since she hasn’t flipped a page once in the past half hour.

Gwyn just stared at her pointedly, waiting for the other to just give up any pretense and confess the cause of her distress, blurting out whatever was worrying both her mind and her heart. Normally, it would’ve taken a lot more than just a look to tear Nesta Archeron’s defenses down, but normally she wouldn’t have been in such a state in the first place.

With a loud huff of defeat, Nesta closed her book as well. “It’s Cassian,” she admitted.

“Yes, that I already knew,” replied Gwyn, not surprised in the least. “The real question is why? I mean, you’ve known each other for quite some time now, it’s not like this is the first mission he took part in.”

“Leading, actually,” Nesta corrected, “but that’s not the point, is it?”

The priestess shook her head, just a little, and gave her friend pause to find the right words to express herself. She was aware of the struggles Nesta still faced whenever she had to open her heart, to laid it bare for the world to wound. But Gwyn also knew that she was trying her best, fighting against her own mind, the old bad habits screaming at her to tear apart any threat with bared teeth because cowering—failing—was not an option. She just needed some time to rummage through her vocabulary, making sure she used the right words, so she wouldn’t end up being misunderstood and then had to find different words to repeat herself. Gods knew how Nesta despised saying the same thing twice.

“I know he’s been a part of many missions already, but this one is different,” Nesta said. “This one is big, and secretive. It’s a serious thing—more than the others, I mean. Azriel is the ‘secretive’ one, not Cassian.” Her index and middle finger curled in the air, stating her point. “Contacts of any kind have been banned between us, and…”

“And?” Gwyn prompted once the silence stretched on. Letting Nesta stay inside her head for too long was not wise, not while she was in these conditions: eaten alive by nerves and anxiety and doubts. You name it.

“And he shut me out. His end of the mating bond… It is not there. I can reach up to the very same point, and then nothing. It’s like walking on a bridge and at some point, it just stops. Or it goes on, but you wouldn’t know because there’s a wall of mist blocking you from reaching the other end. This is what is killing me. I feel nothing from it—from him. He could be injured or dying or already dead and I wouldn’t even know!”

Gwyn met her friend’s troubles with sympathy in her eyes and logic in her mind—there was space for only one kind of sentimentalism here, and it wasn’t hers. She couldn’t say she understood what Nesta was going through, exactly, but maybe one day she would. If it were up to her, there would be two of them worrying over their mates’ wellbeing and safety, but since it wasn’t up to her and her only, she could do nothing but wait and try and hope that he just opened his eyes and— Gwyn shook her head. Focus on Nesta, she thought. She needs you most.

“That’s not true, Nesta,” the priestess started, comforting words pouring out of her like water. “Even if he tries to block his end of the bond to prevent it from reaching out to you, there is just so much he can do. If something, anything, worth of serious notice happened to him, you would still know it. You would feel it. That’s one of the wonders of a mating bond. The same soul in two different bodies.”

Nesta rolled her eyes at the cheesy words, and Gwyn couldn’t help her own giggle.

You can pretend all you want, Archeron. I know you’re a romantic at heart.

The youngest covered her face, groaning into her hands. The sound came out muffled, just like her words. “It doesn’t sound so funny when you’re in my situation. I can’t even fucking function like a normal person. All I can do is walk around the House like an angry gremlin, biting everyone’s head off. I think I accidentally made one of the new acolytes cry a few days ago.”

“You do look like a bundle of nerves and pure evil.”

“Thanks.”

Gwyn laughed again. “Come on, we just need some cuddles and self-care.” Also known as cakes and bubble baths. They’d always worked wonders. She rose from her seat, the book forgotten, and extended a hand in her friend’s direction. Nesta eyed it for a moment longer before pushing the pillows aside and interlacing their fingers.

“We could call Emerie, too. Code Purple. I’m sure she would close down the shop and come her running on her own two feet if we only asked—”

The door of the private library opened, banging against the wall on its way, cutting Gwyn off. Both females turned toward the source of the disturbance, guards raised and brows furrowed.

Gwyn relaxed first. Speaking of the devil…

“We were just talking about you,” the priestess said in way of greetings, but her relief didn’t live long. Something was alarming the Illyrian, who bounced her brown eyes between pairs of teal and silver.

Something’s wrong.

As if on cue, Emerie took a shallow breath and voiced what was unsettling them all, “The guys are back. They’re not okay.”

One moment, Nesta was there. The next, she was gone, fleeing out of the room so fast that even Gwyn’s sharp reflexes needed their sweet time to register what has just happened. Only she and Emerie were left in the library now, their alarmed stares mirroring each other.

“How bad is he?” Asked Gwyn, needing to know what was coming her way if she wanted to help Nesta in any useful way.

Emerie just looked at her for a long moment, her dark eyebrows tipping upward. From concern to sympathy. No, commiseration.

“It’s not Cassian,” she said at last.

Gwyn’s heart dropped, free-falling to the ground. No. No, no, no, no. Her feet moved on their own accord, pushing past Emerie and toward the doors. To go where she didn’t know. She just needed to go. She felt the faint presence of her friend at her heels, saying something to her—of that Gwyn was almost sure—but she couldn’t hear a word over the high-pitched sound filling her head. It reminded her of that one time when Azriel flew them so high above the clouds her teeth started clattering from the frigid air and her ears popped. She threw it right back at him, screaming at the top of her lungs when he stilled his wings and hold her tight to him as they pummeled back toward the green of the mountains. The adrenaline rush left her so dizzy she couldn’t even stand on her own once Azriel got them both back to safety. She remembered throwing up her breakfast and then asking the Shadowsinger for a second round. She would laugh at the memory now if she hadn’t come to a stop in front of an open doorway, her eyes swiftly scanning the room. Not him, not him, not—

She registered the High Lord and his second, keeping themselves out of the way on the side of the room, following everyone’s movements like hawks, and not far from them stood Morrigan. Concern lined her usually soft features, yet she was still too much of a coward to just— Stop. Not now. She stepped further into the room, finding Nesta’s eyes next: she was glued to her mate’s side, trying to reign in her relief. She tipped her head toward the other side of the room, where her sisters stood around—

“Azriel,” Gwyn breathed, her voice no more than a strangled whisper.

He was on his knees, eyes closed, his chest barely rising enough for air to fill his lungs. His armor had already been discarded, left in a puddle of dark metal on the carpet, and the shirt—torn open on the back—was dripping with blood. His blood.

Elain’s hands were cupping his face, mumbling sweet nothings to him as he failed to contain his pained grunts whenever Feyre, on the other end of him, worked her healing magic. Or tried to, if her slightly panicked expression was of any indication.

Normally, seeing the Seer anywhere close to him made her see red. Now she could not see nor hear anything but him. The odd angle of his bent wings, the sweat crowning his brow, the trembles of his closed fists, so tight the knuckles were white as sheets, and the slow hiss escaping through clenched teeth as he tried not to show his friends the full extent of the pain he was in. Gwyn could feel all of it—that blinding pain. Almost like it was her own. The shadows, his loyal companions, were nowhere to be seen. They’re feeling it too, Gwyn thought. But they’re scared. And she knew why.

She set his jaw and steeled her spine, pushing her own concerns aside and locking them in the back of her mind, where they couldn’t distract her anymore, and walked as close to him as she could without stepping on the middle Archeron.

“What happened,” she demanded no one in particular.

It was Cassian who answered, his voice drifting toward her, dripping with guilt, “They were onto us, a stray arrow got stuck in the wrong part of his wings. I had to fly both the hell out of there while one of us still had wings to do so.”

Gwyn willed the High Lady’s attention on her. It always left her startled—the similarity: Feyre and Nesta’s eyes were like two drops of water, yet it was impossible to mistake one for the other. The same, but different.

There was no difference in the concern filling them now. “The wound’s not clean. The tip cut through the tendon, leaving the nerves exposed and on the brink of snapping. It’s hard to proceed now—he’s lost so much blood already, and the arrows must’ve been dipped in poisons of some kind because it’s like his body is fighting against me.” Feyre exhaled, backing her bloodied hands away from the torn skin. She shook her head slowly, “It’s such a mess.”

“Let me try.”

Silence fell. Gwyn’s voice sounded foreign to her own ears, but she repeated herself nonetheless, more security lacing her words this time around. “Let me try.”

The youngest sister exchanged wary looks with the other members of the family, the only people currently crowding the room.

“Gwyn,” Nesta said, probably trying to talk her out of it.

“Let. Me. Try.” Her sharp tone left no room for debate, one Gwyn had no intention of having right then. They could scream at her about her irreverence all they wanted once Azriel didn’t look like the ghost of himself anymore.

With a nod from the High Lady, Elain rose from the floor, stepping back and out of the way. As soon as she had enough room for movement, Gwyn took a deep breath and fell to her knees in front of the Illyrian warrior. He flinched slightly, muscles tensing, but kept his eyes closed and his head bent toward the ground. One hand slipped inside her pocket, gripping the cold stone she kept carrying around without fail and placed it on his chest. Blue stone against blue stone.

“Look at me,” she whispered against Azriel’s arched ear. When she received no response, she pressed her palm against his dark cheek, prompting him to raise his head. “Look at me, Azriel,” she said again.

He did, slowly opening his eyes to meet hers. She could barely make out the colors of his irises, glossed over and covered by black lashes. In the state he was in, even the tiniest action was a struggle. Gwyn didn’t waste any more time as she gradually drifted her fingers to his neck and down his back, ignoring the raging need growing inside her chest at the slick wetness meeting her fingertips, clawing her insides and screaming protect, protect, protect.

Gwyn didn’t blink once as her hand found its way toward the bleeding wound. She was glad she didn’t see the full damage of the injury or may the Gods have mercy on whoever did this to him because she would be out for blood. She knew she reached her target when Azriel’s scarred hand shot up and closed around her arm in a bone-shattering grip, startling her.

After a calming breath and various failed attempts, she managed to let the words past the lump clogging her throat. “Let me try,” she said, hopefully for the last time. “Please,” Gwyn begged, voice breaking. She leaned forward until their brows met, keeping them pressed one against the other as she waited for Azriel to accept her help—or deny it.

He let out a deep breath, the movement causing a bolt of pain to stiffen his crunching form, before unfolding the fingers from around her arm.

“Make it stop.”

It was all Azriel said before she felt him give in and give up to the agony, letting the weight of his body fall on hers as he hid his face in the crook of her neck. Gwyn closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in the feeling of him as relief poured out of her lungs. And with it, she got back to work. With a grounding breath to calm her wild heart, she opened up to the healing power of the Invoking Stone. It flew through his Siphon, restoring from the inside, and run through her veins, using her body as a conductor, making her skin lit up. That earned her a couple of gasps, making Gwyn acutely aware of the eyes now burning holes in her back. Only Nesta and Emerie had ever seen her like that—shining like one of the many stars in the sky. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Willing the stone’s power—the Mother’s power—to stitch him up for good, Gwyn buried her nose in his hair and inhaled his scent until she choked on it, just as his shadows shyly showed themselves again, wrapping around their embracing bodies like a dark blanket.

Mate. Oh, how she wished she could say those words out loud, screaming them for everyone to hear. The Spymaster of the Night Court is my mate.

She healed Azriel’s bleeding wings, but who would heal her bleeding heart?

[forestlingincorporated]

I wanna talk about Janet Drake

I’m not against exaggeratedly evil versions of Tim’s parents, tbh. It’s fanfiction, if we can depict an Exaggeratedly Good version of Bruce (which we can, and I do, and I love) then we can depict the Drakes as Exaggeratedly Bad. As someone who personally identifies with Tim, and his brand of complicated parental abuse in particular, I find it cathartic to uncomplicate that abuse and rescue him from the Obviously Evil Bad People. 

That said, since much of comics lore is passed down word of mouth, the oral tradition surrounding Tim has developed this idea of Janet as The Worse Parent between her and Jack that was never really present in the comics. We see much LESS of Janet, and we have 20 years worth of comics depicting Jack as a neglectful hotheaded idiot who ultimate does love his son. More importantly, Jack isn’t very much LIKE Tim, so there is a habit to attribute Tim’s traits to his mother... and, as someone who really really identifies with Tim, Tim has... some negative traits. Tim can be a bitch sometimes. He’s fiercely intelligent and sweet and kind, with a strong sense of justice, but he can be cold and judgmental and unthinking - he fights those traits, but he does have them. 

And it is perfectly fine to depict Janet that way. I’ve enjoyed depictions of Cold Calculating Janet Drake, but it’s not the ONLY option, and I want to challenge fans to consider different avenues. Tim could pick up these traits from anywhere: a nanny, Mrs. Mc Ilvaine (”Mrs. Mac”), a teacher, tv, Sherlock Holmes novels, Bruce Wayne himself. Tim is capable of not being like EITHER parent. 

So, what do we KNOW about Janet? (I’ll also touch on Jack, but only in scenes he appears with Janet.) 

When Janet was first introduced she was depicted as a gentle but “modern” woman. This was written in 1989, told by a 13 year old Tim, so this theoretically was meant to take place in 1979. I’m not here to give a lecture on the history of sex discrimination in the united states, but much of the legislation protecting women in the workforce or surrounding women’s bodily autonomy would have been very very new in this initial depiction. 

Here, Janet is shown to be encouraging, emotional, maternal, and projects her own feelings onto Tim. Jack is shown to be slightly sexist, possibly discouraging, but not overbearing. And the artist is shown not to know how to draw children. 

To insert some speculation, I think it’s important to note all the Drakes witnessed a terrible murder/accident that day. I point this out, because this is the last time Jack and Janet are depicted this way. It’s possible they changed as a result of this event specifically. 

However, this is also a story being told by Tim. It’s also possible these events aren’t really “real” at all, and Tim is misremembering what his parents were like as a three-year-old, possibly projecting a more palatable version of his parents into the narrative. This is entirely up to personal interpretation. 

In fact, the Drakes are shown in Legend of the Dark Knight attending Haly’s Circus, and the artist knows what a toddler looks like and they’re depicted as already having a slightly strained relationship. Jack is clearly on the defensive, and Janet seems to be passive-aggressive, though she could just be attempting to explain the situation to her toddler honestly. The intended tone isn’t especially clear. 

I do want to point out, in this depiction, Tim isn’t being carried like he was in the previous one. He’s walking ahead of his parents, which isn’t a terrible horrible crime, but could be dangerous in a crowded place like the circus. Might be a subtle hint to his parents overall neglect. 

Back to A Lonely Place of Dying, in Tim’s memories of the night he discovered Robin and Dick Grayson were the same person at nine-years-old, his parents are home, and watching TV together while Tim played... trucks, idk, in the living room with them. (This is semi-interesting, because you could say “oh, Tim liked vehicle toys as a kid” or you could extrapolate that this is another subtle indication of Jack’s sexism, providing Tim with appropriately “boy toys.” Either interpretation is valid. If Tim was assigned female at birth, would they have been given “girl toys,” or allowed to play with whatever they wanted?) 

This is, to my knowledge, the only panel of the Drakes when Tim is between ages 3 and 13. They’re all together, which might indicate that the Drakes were home more often when Tim was 9, only later going on business trips when Tim was “old enough” but... 

This is Tim’s boarding school when he’s 13. While most boarding schools in the US are for grades 9-12, Tim is clearly not a freshman at age 13; look how much younger the other kids in this panel are. In the US, the youngest you can attend most boarding schools is 7. 

That means Tim could have begun going to boarding school anytime between 7 and 13. He most likely spent all of middle school in boarding school, at least. There are an almost infinite number of possible ways the Drakes handled having a business that required lots of international travel, an archeology hobby, AND a very young child. Janet staying home until Tim was 7, 11, 13, is equally possible as the Drakes having a nanny until 7, 11, 13. Tim just doesn’t talk about that period of his life very much.

(”What about Mrs. Mac?” - it is unclear when Mrs. Mac begins working for the Drakes. We only see her when Jack comes out of his coma. She could either be a long standing staff member, or a recent hire.) 

Note: I’ve seen it said that it’s canon that “According to Tim, when his parents were home, they made a point to try and include him in their activities, bringing him along to events that were normally adults only.” I have never seen this panel, or I don’t remember it, so I cannot confirm, but I also cannot debunk this because... comics. 

By the time Tim is 13, Jack and Janet are away on business trips a lot, with limited communication, and no firm return date. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say it was harder to communicate internationally in 1990 than it is today. If I’m not feeling generous, I’d say the Drakes are extremely wealthy, and international communication was easier than ever before in the 80s and 90s. They’re not even going home to see Tim in a week or two, they’re going home and calling Tim at boarding school in a week or two. 

Even Bruce thinks its weird, though he doesn’t say so to Tim’s face. It’s written almost as if Tim’s parents’ neglect was meant to be a plot point that just got forgotten about. 

Tim’s parents are fighting at this point (their poor assistant), but Janet still goes with Jack on these business trips. And she’s clearly involved in the business, somehow, but the comics never SAY what Janet’s JOB is. We’re told Jack is the exec, but Janet is ONLY ever referred to as Jack’s wife, though they’re later described as the “heads” of the company, plural. 

Just to be clear, this is Jack’s business. There’s a perception that Jack is a bad business man because he and Janet fight over company decisions, and Jack looses the business after Janet dies, but Jack looses the company YEARS after Janet dies, and maintains it for about a year after No Man’s Land at that. We’re not told how Jack looses the business, but he’s got to be doing something right. Janet isn’t necessarily the “real brains” of Drake Industries. 

And I’m not... gonna... touch the... exploitation and racism because... I’m not qualified to do that. But, here’s the panel. The Drakes sure seem exploitative and racist in their business decisions. Someone else can... analyze that with more nuance. 

Regardless how how long they’ve been fighting, when their lives are in danger, the Drakes fall back into a loving husband and wife. Their marriage may be falling apart, but they do care about each other. 

I want to show these panels because it shows that Tim and Jack do have things in common. They’re both level headed in a crisis and can be somewhat cold in their practicality. Janet meanwhile and silent. Jack is later willing rant and rave at their captors, but Janet remains silent. 

That is, until they’re alone, and she finally lets herself fall apart. 

God, Jack can be obnoxious. Janet just looks miserable and resigned. I actually think Tim takes after his parents in this respect in equal measure. Tim can have a temper, but he can also be fairly melancholy and defeatist. 

Jack keeps reminding Janet to be strong and in control, which could be period typical sexism? But Jack seems so practiced and ready with the words of encouragement, and with Tim’s history with depression, I wonder if Janet has an inclination towards it as well. 

As the end approaches, when Jack brings up Tim, Janet seems to have a lot of regret. She talks about “wasting” the good things, and I don’t think it’s too big of a stretch to assume she’s talking about time spent with her only child. 

From this point on, Janet is at times spoken of, but not seen. Like here, when Jack says Janet wouldn’t approve of him and Tim being so “far apart.” He says this after he tells him he takes back his threat to send him back to boarding school, which might imply Janet was against the idea of boarding school? Though she obviously lost that argument when she was alive. 

Jack will of course renege on this later, but that’s Jack Drake for you. 

Or here in Tim’s illness induced dream, where he gets everything he wants. Though, since this is a fantasy of Tim’s, where his father and girlfriend are both more accepting and understanding than they are in real life, I would take this depiction of Janet with a grain of salt. 

After loosing Drake Industries, Jack thinks about Janet (though, they call her Catherine/Cathy for some fucking reason) during his depressive episode. And... uh... 

Hallucinates a Valkyrie???? Is this symbolic of suicidal thoughts, or is she... real? Or is he seriously hallucinating? 

Anyway, we’re not here to discuss Jack’s mental state, the fact that he forgot Tim’s birthday, or that concerning “I was going to knock some sense into you but you’re still bigger than me” statement from Tim, we’re here to talk about Janet. And even though this entire arc is about Jack mourning his first wife, they don’t SAY anything about Janet herself at all. I mean, they don’t even get her name right, so I guess what was I expecting. 

Then there’s Origins and Omens, which also doesn’t say anything about Janet, except that Tim’s memory of her is faulty - Janet was poisoned, her assistant Jeremy’s throat was slit on television, but Tim seems to have conflated the death he did see with the death he didn’t. 

The only piece of canon to suggest that Janet might be cold, is Tim compares her to Thalia. And even then, he’s really just saying Janet was protective of him. It’s kind of a scary look to make at your kid, but Bruce does the same thing, so. 

I do want to say... it’s not 100% clear if Tim is even talking about Janet. He could be talking about Dana. Dana was observably protective of Tim, though I don’t think he’s ever called her mom. He PROBABLY means Janet. 

And finally we have Tim visiting his mother’s grave (in a duel Christian/Jewish cemetery, make of that what you will), where Tim says she was “a little religious.”

And that’s it! That is all we know about Janet Drake in New Earth. Hardly the Mom From Hell, but she isn’t perfect. I’d be interested in seeing some alternate depictions of her within the fandom. 

I’m still gonna eat up Terrible Parents From Hell like a starving puppy dog, though. Just some food for creative thought. 

[salemwritesxx]

𝓽𝓼𝓾𝓫𝓪𝓼𝓪.

𝕋 𝕒 𝕜 𝕒 𝕞 𝕚  𝕂 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕠 | ℍ 𝕒 𝕨 𝕜 𝕤

     ⇴ male reader [25, Vigilantes, quirkless]      ⇴ all characters are depicted as [18]+

↳ request: Add on to the ask my bad! {Vigilante reader instead of hero-: When hawks found out he was expecting a baby he immediately kept it a secret from the reader and his friends. Since he doesn't want the hero commission/the public to catch wind of it cause it'll put both of their lives at risk also the public wouldn't be happy to know that their hero is in a relationship with someone who isn't a female- {{Angst!- The hero commission isn't supportive of hawks love life and unborn child_ if they found out about it, they'll probably blackmail the reader into doing their dirty work in exchange for hawks life.) But,, he soon tells the reader after being confronted about his change of behavior and appearance. About 3-4 months into the pregnancy. Time skip to where the kid is born- happy ending🤙🏾

↣ rating: general audiences ↣ warnings: mpreg, size / height difference, lil’ bit of angst with happy ending, discussion of abortion

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

“No… No, no, no. Fuck!”, he cursed quietly.

Staring in disbelief at the little plastic strip, he put it besides two others. All three of them were positive. There was no doubt. Hawks was… pregnant.

Falling back onto the closed toilet seat, he sighed deeply as tears welled up in his eyes. Keigo wasn’t one to cry easily, but right now everything broke apart. How would everyone react? How would the HPSC react? How would you react? Right now, it seemed like his past was catching up to him, what if everything turned out the same? What if history repeated itself? Would his unborn child have to endure so much as well? Wouldn’t it be better, if it was never born-

“Keigo?”, your voice made him snap out of his dark thoughts.

“[Your.name]?”, hastily wiping his tears and pushing the pregnancy tests into the trash, he tried his best to sound calm.

“So you’re here! I was worried, Kei! You ignored my calls.”, when he came out, you stood there leaning against the wall, a worried expression on your face.

“Ah, no. I was just busy, you know? HPSC needed me again today.”, Kei tried his best to lie and put on his best fake smile.

But you still found it suspicious.

“Are you okay, Baby?”, taking a step towards him, your big hand cupped his cheek and your thumb gently wiped over his red, swollen undereye.

Had he been crying? Keigo? That’s rare.

“I am fine, [Your.name], I am fine. What about you though?”, he kept smiling when he pushed away your hand and walked past you into the kitchen.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while, too, ya know?”

“Ah…”, was the only sound you made as you shyly scratched your neck.

“That’s true. I’m sorry if I worried you, Kei. It’s just… I had to hide for a few days. The police were especially pesky and I couldn’t risk being caught.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”, he waved aside, “It’s not like I was worried. I know you can handle yourself just fine.”

This was the last thing you thought you would hear from him, leaving you confused and maybe a little… hurt? Sure, you chose to be a Vigilantes and go out at night to take care of some things your own, but to think your boyfriend wasn’t even worried about you while doing so? Maybe he really did despise what you did and he just never said so out loud. Until now, he had never commented on the illegal things you did, because ultimately, you never destroyed anything and just helped the less unfortunate people, but maybe…

After all, you worried about him constantly and he was a licensed pro-hero, still – many things could happen. Like that, you had a weird feeling that Hawks was not fine at all despite him claiming he was.

And while normally, your little reunion would have been much different, Kei just couldn’t think about anything at that point. All he was thinking about was the baby growing inside of him and what he should do about it…

-

As weeks went by, you noticed Hawks was changing. His excuse of being “bloated” was weird and got old quickly. Furthermore had your relationship taken a big hit. Few kisses and almost no touching. It almost seemed like he was uncomfortable constantly. You wondered what it all was about. Was it just over? Did your relationship just slip right through your fingers and you couldn’t do anything about it?

Usually, when you were both home, the apartment was filled with dumb laughter. It was so nice being around you, but all Keigo was in the past few weeks was anxious, quiet and easily agitated. His home was his safe place, it’s where he could forget everything and relax. Not think about his work, about the HPSC, but with your child growing consistently, it was harder and harder to relax. In just a few weeks, someone who had a keen eye could probably tell that he wasn’t “bloated” anymore. Instead, he didn’t know what to do anymore.

-

Then, one day, it must have been around the fourth month of his pregnancy, someone rang the doorbell in the middle of the night. First, Keigo wanted to ignore it, however, as they kept ringing, a thought popped into his head. He hadn’t seen you in about a week, which wasn’t unusual per se as you had to hide from time to time, but for you to not contact him at all was a little… odd. Were you in trouble? Did they find about your connection to him?

Hence, with his own feather in his hand, he was ready to defend himself as he made his way to the door. The rain was drumming against the windows mercilessly. Perfect distraction if someone wanted to raid him.

Though, when he swung open the door, ready to cut anyone and anything, it all came differently. A large body was leaning against the side of the door.

“[Your.name]!”, his golden eyes widened as your own [eye.color] ones looked quite lifeless.

Before Hawks could do anything, you couldn’t hold yourself upright anymore, thus falling through the opened door. Quickly reacting, he caught you, but being so much smaller than you, his feathers had to help lift you and get you inside his apartment. Only then, when he pulled his hands back did he realize what was on his hands and what he had thought to be water, was actually blood.

His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. Rushing to your side, he literally ripped open your black coat and what was underneath, revealing a gaping wound on your side.

“Kei…”, you suddenly croaked, trying to reach out your hand, which he immediately grabbed and squeezed tightly.

“Don’t talk, [Your.name]! Everything will be alright, okay?!”, he visibly panicked.

He could hide his feelings very well. At least usually. But not this time. Maybe it was because he was hormonal due to the pregnancy, but just the thought of losing you made him cry. Hastily standing back up, he rushed into the bathroom to grab some towels and into the bedroom to get his phone.

“I… I didn’t know… where else to go… Kei…”, you coughed up a bit of blood, even though he had told you to not talk anymore.

“I know, I know. It’s okay, Baby.”, hugging you against his chest, all he could do was sob, “Everything will be alright, okay?!”

--

With a thumping heart, Hawks stood in front of the door for a few moments, before he knocked and entered eventually.

“Oh! Kei!”, you were just eating your pudding.

“[Your.name]!”, without holding back, he rushed towards your bed and jumped you.

However, hearing your painful whimper due to the ecstatic hug, he immediately pulled back with a small “I’m sorry.”

You, however, just shook your head and put the pudding and spoon away before gesturing him to come closer again.

“No, it’s okay, come here.”, you said with a soft smile as you pulled him in again.

Keigo just following your movement, scooching closer and in the end, hugging you again when you wrapped your own bandaged arms around him. You were so much more beat up than he initially thought…

“Thank you for saving me, Baby. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You did!”, sitting back up, his golden eyes were shimmering, “I was so worried about you.”

“Ehh? Didn’t you say you weren’t worried about me a few months ago?”, you just teased him, but Keigo was hormonal and highly stressed, so he reacted way too violently when tears welled up in his eyes.

“I know… But you know I like to talk big sometimes.”, he sniffled.

Quickly, you reached out to softly cup his face and wipe away the tears.

“I know. Hey… Kei. Tell me what’s going on, hm?”

“Huh?”, his golden eyes widened a bit as he stared at you.

“Baby… I know something’s going on. Things haven’t been normal lately and you act different, too. Tell me, if it’s something I did, I can change. I will do anything, but please be honest with me already… Last night, I thought, that’s it. I thought I’d die with things being so weird between us. It was horrible to think about it…”

Looking around for a moment, you were the only one in this room and even if it wasn’t the best location to finally say it out loud, Keigo just couldn’t continue to lie. He had wanted to get an abortion three times and canceled every time because he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Clearly, he wanted this baby. And he wanted you to know, it was just all so… complicated.

“Kei…”, you squeezed his hand one more time.

“Okay…”, sitting down on the bed properly, his other hand reached out as well, needing every bit of comfort and support he could get.

“I…”, biting his lip, he hesitated for a moment before looking up and straight into your eyes, “I am pregnant.”

Your eyes widened and for a second, you just stared at him in disbelief.

“Wait… you…? Really?”

“Yeah…”

“Oh my God… that explains a lot.”, you kind of laughed while shaking your head, but then you realized something.

“Wait… How long...?”

“17th week… Do you not understand, [Your.name]? I am pregnant.”

“Yes, I understand quite well and I think that’s amazing.”, you squeezed his hands again, a big smile on your lips.

“No, no! You don’t get it, [Your.name]!”, Hawks then suddenly stood up, “This is not amazing. Do you know what that means?”, he sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Kei…”

“We are fucked, [Your.name]. Do you know what happens when the HPSC or the public finds out? Let alone who the father is? What if… What if our baby has to endure everything I had to endure? What if… I become like them? Or what if the HPSC finds out and takes them away from us?”, his voice broke a little at the end, just imagining it…

“Keigo, hey.”, you turned around and placed your feet onto the ground, sitting on the edge of the bed, hence why you could take his hands again and pull him closer.

“You will never become like them.”, you cupped his face, gently wiping the tears away from the corner of his eyes.

“And, Kei, you already made a decision, no? You want to keep the baby – our baby – right? It’s already the fourth month…”

“I do… But… I don’t know what I should do. I am not myself, [Your.name]. I keep crying over stupid things, I can't concentrate when I’m doing my work and I am always scared someone finds out.”, eventually, you pulled him onto your lap, though he was careful not to hurt your side.

“I know you’re scared, Baby. I am too, but we can do it. Together. I will be with you every step. I will protect you.”

“[Your.name]…”, wrapping his arms around you, he buried his face in the nook of your neck, his small frame shaking.

“It’s okay. I’m here, Kei. And I won’t go, ever. We will do it together. And I promise… I promise I will stop going out during the night.”, you whispered this promise into his ear, earning his small sniffles as he clung to you.

“Our baby doesn’t have to grow up in isolation because of my recklessness. I will become a good father. They will have a great life, okay, Kei? We can do it. Whatever the HPSC throws at us, we will deal with it, together. I promise they won’t grow up like you had to.”

The last thing surely broke him as Hawks barely whispered a “Mhm.” back. But at the same time he was smiling, so grateful he was finally able to let you know as the last few months were really straining.

---

“I wish you were never born! You are a nuisance! You keep me from being free!”

“Why did I not get an abortion? Why did I do this to myself? You good for nothing!”

“-go! -igo! Keigo!”, his golden eyes opened at last.

Breathing heavily and with beads of sweat running down his temple, Hawks stared at you for a moment. Still not really sure what just happened the realization sank in little by little. A dream.

“[Your.name]…”

“Hey, I’m here. It’s okay now.”, you whispered and gently kissed him, before hugging him tightly.

Melting into your arms instantly, he buried his face at your chest as one hand reached down to his growing belly. He would probably pop soon.

“It’s weird… I haven’t thought or dreamt about them in over ten years and now… ever since I found out I’m pregnant… I …”, he mumbled more than anything, glad you were there to hold him.

“I know.”, was the only thing you whispered back while gently caressing his back.

When the HPSC trained him, he forgot, or rather suppressed most of his abusive and traumatic childhood. Maybe it was because he worried so much about your little baby that it all came crashing down on him eventually. But he would never become like them.

“Oh-“, both of you felt a little kick, making you giggle.

“Seems like our little baby girl wants to cheer you up as well.”, you whispered and nuzzled his head with your own while your hand reached out to his belly as well, softly caressing it.

“Seems like it.”, Keigo finally smiled a little.

“We will protect her.”, he quietly said after stealing a soft kiss from you.

“We will. And hey, the public took it really well when we outed us. The HPSC can’t do shit to hurt us anymore.”

“Yeah, I know. Thank God.”, cupping your cheek, Kei pulled you down again, before whispering against your lips, “Thank you.”

“Mhmh, for what?”, you chuckled and kissed him again, making him also giggle.

“Just… for everything. I love you, [Your.name].”

Smiling softly at him, you pecked his lips again and whispered an, “I love you too.”

For a few moments, it was quiet as you just cuddled and tried to calm down the excited little girl who was kicking and punching Hawks.

“Say… how do you feel, though? You haven’t been out in-“, but another kiss stopped him from continuing.

“I am perfectly fine, Shortcake. It… was hard, but it was the right decision. You are more important than anything or anyone else, and now with our little nugget growing… what we have is just so much more important to me than vigilante justice.”

The smile that spread across his face was truly warming your heart. It was the right decision and you wouldn’t regret it. You knew how hard his childhood was and you didn’t want that for your baby girl. She should be able to proudly say who her parents were and for that reason, you couldn’t continue your former lifestyle.

After sharing a few more kisses, Hawks then asked for cuddles, which you happily agreed to. Hence letting him shift positions and turn around, careful not to hit you with his wings, he hugged his pregnancy pillow. And then, you slipped your own arms around him, hugging him carefully and littering small kisses onto his neck.

He was so small in your arms, but that’s what he had loved from day one on. Keigo felt protected and loved when he was in your arms.

--

Calling out for you, Keigo carried the groceries into the kitchen, just to bite his lip instantly when he saw you laying on the sofa. Your little baby girl sprawled out on top of your broad chest, sleeping. Once Hawks came a little closer, he realized you were sleeping as well, thus with a soft smile he just kneeled down in front of the sofa.

“What would I do without you, [Your.name]? You two are seriously the light of my life.”, he thought with a big smile on his lips.

To think he was so incredibly sad when he found out, he couldn’t be more happier now. Everything turned out alright after all, just like you said. Leaning in, Hawks gently kissed his baby girl’s forehead before standing up again, leaving you and Tsubasa alone – at least that was his intention.

However, a soft tug on his clothes made him stop. And a glance back made him smile and turn once more, following your movement and laying down beside you, softly tucked under your arm, just where he belonged.

There were no words needed as you softly kissed him before your head fell back into the pillow. Your arm securely holding him and Tsubasa and just like that, you were able to hold the whole world in your arms.

And it certainly wasn’t any different for Keigo.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

⇻ salem.talks: I think I repeat myself every time I write for him but… KEIGO IS SO TINY ovo probably cuz I absolutely adore the EndHawk ship and their size difference gives me life? so I cannot help but make it happen when I write x reader with kei. like I can just dream of being as tall and buff as endeavor lmao but yeah this was nice I love preggo hawks!

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Hello! I am a huge fan of ur writing. I've loved everything I've read of yours. I've read alot of what you've posted, except for a couple of the tags that are squicky for me (so I'm very thankful you tag very thoroughly). No judgement for the squick, it's just not for me. & when I'm having a bad day, I usually just go thru ur ao3 and find something to reread. I think about Therapy's Bruce & Jason every damn day. While I obvs appreciate ur darker more "problematic" content (I really vibe with some of the themes you write about bc of my own trauma, & so it's very cathartic to read about in a fictional setting), I am truly a sucker for ur more happy content. The Happily Ever After verse also lives in my head rent free. Idk more wholesome stuff just seems more special when you write it. Anyways. I would die for you. But the point of this ask is cause I'm curious as to why you don't like Urban Legends? I'm sorry if you already talked about it here or on twitter and I missed it. I was just wondering because I really enjoy your take on things and would love to hear why you dislike it. I've been enjoying it so far personally, but I am always open to DC comics criticism.

Aw thank you so much! I'm so flattered by everything you just said. You're so sweet ❤❤❤❤❤

I haven't talked about Urban Legends here or twitter (I haven't been very active in either place lately. Just a lot going on and no energy 😔) but I'm happy to do it here.

Before I start though, I just want to add a standard disclaimer and make it clear that if you like it, there's nothing wrong with that and you don't have to let me ruin it for you lol. Like what you like.

That said, since you asked...

I said this when I was talking about it on discord, that there is a difference between hope and expectation. I always hope that a new story centered on Jason (or anyone really, but things have been especially egregious for Jay for 15 years) will be good or at least treat the character with a minimal level of respect (to be honest, the bar is super fucking low). But my expectations always temper my hope, to keep it from getting unrealistic. Because my expectations are based on experience.

The long history of Jason Todd, since even before his resurrection, has been one of retroactively trying to make him "a bad seed" in order to absolve Bruce of any responsibility in his death.

I don't even expect DC or their writers to start honoring the fact that Jason was not an angry, reckless Robin (and less of the later than Dick or Tim and definitely Damian). There plenty of ways that retcon can be folded into his history and be compelling and sympathetic. And if they're going to stick with that retcon, I'm only asking that they do it in one of those compelling and sympathetic ways because Jason was 15 when he died, heroically, in one of the most selfless acts in comics, to save a woman who literally handed him over to be brutally murdered. He was 12 when Bruce plucked him off the streets, he'd been homeless and fending for himself for at least two years. I personally think that Jason's story hits harder for him and Bruce if their original, canon relationship, of Jason as starry-eyed and eager to learn and absolutely devoted to Bruce and Bruce to Jason, is preserved. But Jason's origins does leave room for a meaningful interpretation of him as angry and frustrated at the lack of meaningful results of Bruce's methods.

And that's really where my irritation at stories like Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer and Batman The Adventure Continues has it's roots.

Every time one of these stories comes out, I think (or hope, rather) that this will be the one that remembers and respects the origins of the Jason and the Red Hood, that takes into account the changed sensibilities of comics readers in the 30 years since Jason's death and the subtle, 20 year, retroactive campaign to make him the "bad Robin". The "born bad" trope is played out and literally no one likes the message it implies. That some kids are just bad eggs and there's nothing parents or the adults around them can do. Especially when it's played as the kid's fault. If Jason's time as Robin is going to be characterized by anger, then it should be rooted in anger at the social injustices he witnessed as he grew up in an impoverished, crime-ridden, area and the horrors he faced raising himself when every day was a battle for survival. There are topical, meaningful, stories to tell with that backdrop.

But those are never the stories we get.

⚠⚠ Spoilers for Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer ⚠⚠

I'm particularly disappointed in Urban Legends because for the first issue, it looked like that was the kind of story we were going to get. I was put off by the first flashback of Jason being mesmerized by Bruce's guns, and I got that feeling in my gut that it was a bad sign. Jason depicted as impatient and overconfident and the scene with the guns is heavy-handed foreshadowing that got my spidey-sense tingling. I had a inkling then (in the first three pages) of how this story was going to play out, but it was early and I could still see many narrative paths that could lead to a satisfying story. My concerns were soothed somewhat and the little flame of my hope fanned, with the flashback of Alfred scolding Bruce, with Barbara's concern for Jason. A bit of worry returned with the way Jason ruthlessly pursued an addict who didn't appear to be a dealer and with the ending of the issue. The stuff with the addict sat wrong with me but the ending was tempered some by how despicable Tyler's dad was written. The scene was clearly set so that the reader could sympathize with Jason's decision and the scene with the addict could be brushed aside as a side-effect of comics over-the-top need for constant action, so I still held hope.

Issue 2 made me uncomfortable and it's where my hope starts to take a backseat to my expectations. I can dismiss Jason's self-deprecating internal monologue as unreliable narration, except that the flashback reinforces his thought process to explicitly show that it's not unreliable narration, and should be taken at face value. Jason faces physical abuse at the hands of his mother's drug dealer and when the flashback continues later, Jason kills the drug dealer. To be clear, this is a pre-Bruce Jason. His mom is still alive. He's like... 10. He kills this guy for shoving his head into a wall and implying Jason's mother paid for her drugs with sex. This is a scene that serves a single purpose. To show that Jason has always been prone to violence.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is the small chance the drug dealer might not be dead. But the story obviously wants the reader to think he is, and it hasn't done anything to change that yet.

Starlin already did this story with The Diplomat’s Son in 1988 and he did it infinitely better. AND that’s still technically canon. So now I’m supposed to believe that Jason lost his cool bad enough to kill two douche bags before his sweet 16? Like it’s totally normal for abused kids raised in poverty, who’ve led hard and heartbreaking lives to just... haul off and kill people? That’s bullshit, and when taken with the Jason in the third issue, who is little more than an idiot thug, this story is really doubling down on some fucked up stereotypes.

Which brings us to the most recent issue. I went into this installment with very low expectations. I thought this story was going to be about Jason, through this experience with Tyler, a young boy with a similar background to Jason's, coming to the realization that Bruce's way is the best way and that Bruce did his best by Jason.

That would be annoying (in no small part because it takes increasingly absurd levels of plot armor to keep Bruce's no kill rule relevant, let alone irrefutably right). But I can probably live with that, if only because maybe if Jason officially falls back into line with the Bats crusade, maybe I'll get stories that treat him with respect, stories that don't relegate him to comic relief, dumb brute, or a background body with no lines in a story about the Joker burning Gotham (like Jason would just fucking stand there quietly for that).

And that may still be where the story is going, Jason realizing Bruce is right.

But holy shit do I not have the right words to describe how fucking insulting and gross issue three is.

From start to finish--including the flashback--Jason is written as cruel and fucking stupid. Like straight up dumb.

The entire issue is Bruce explaining the fucking basics to Jason like it's his first day. And Jason flies off the fucking handle and terrorizes a doctor he knows isn't a part of making the Cheerdrops, beats the shit out of some random addicts, and finally, when he can't accomplish anything on his own because he's a dumb brute he calls Barbara for help and rushes in with no information where he's promptly incapacitated and must now wait to be rescued by Batman.

This panel is the least of the issues sins but I can’t screenshot the entire story but it’s representative of the tone for the whole issue (and retroactively tainted the prior two issues).

This is beyond insulting. The only conclusions Jason comes to in this issue are the ones Bruce leads him to by talking to him like he can’t make the simplest connections. And like... in this story Jason can’t make the simplest connections.

This (and the Jason throughout the entirety of this issue) is a far cry from the Jason we fell in love with in Under the Red Hood, who was competent and strategic and intelligent enough to seize control of Gotham’s underworld from Black Mask (who’s no fucking slouch, he’s the first and only person to unify organized crime in Gotham) AND elude and manipulate Bruce until the time and place of his choosing.

This is a far cry from even the Red Hood and the Outlaws Jason who is competent enough to fight the League of Shadows and Ra’s al Ghul (among very dangerous and skilled others) and smart enough to create antidotes for mind control nanotech viruses.

As he should be, by the way. Jason Todd is one of the best, most comprehensively trained fighters in DC’s stable of non powered vigilantes. He’s not irrational or hot headed. He’s pragmatic, tactically minded, and patient. He’s a detective. Right now. Has been since he was 12. Bruce doesn’t have to make him one because he already is. 

Jason is not a stupid thug who uses his fists because his brain doesn’t work. And I can’t tell you how so very exhausted I am by this narrative. 

This is actually the most egregious example of Jason’s skills and intelligence being not just undermined but dismissed entirely. Even Morrison’s Jason had some degree of competency. 

The one, single redeeming factor of this story is the art. It’s beautiful. And Marcus To is a godsend he seems to be one of only a couple of artists who remember that Jason was a child when he was Robin and I’m literally only buying this book because of him. 

Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to come out so... um... passionately lol. I’m just very very tired. My intention with this isn’t to ruin it for you, if you like it, that’s fine. 

But this issue shot this story to the top of my "Vehemently Despise” list. 1) Batman: Urban Legends (Cheer), 2) Battle for the Cowl/Morrison’s Batman and Robin, 3) Batman The Adventure Continues.

I hope the next issues somehow salvage this dumpster fire. But I’m not expecting it.

(Damnit. That sounded harsh again. To reiterate, I’m not trying to judge anyone who enjoys it, I just personally hate it and you asked me why lol 😅)

[oh-hush-its-perfect]

Alex Fierro's Introduction Full Breakdown

Okokok so. This is going to go full English-professor mode, where I'm drawing conclusions that are gonna seem a little far-fetched. That's what's fun about media analysis! I can say something is a symbol, and even if I don't have enough faith in RR's competency to know if he meant for it to be a symbol, it's still true! That being said, a lot of these choices I'm sure are intentional, either at a literal or subliminal level. Page numbers are going to be used not to assert a kind of authority or whatever— this is a Tumblr post, not an essay— but to help readers find the pages I'm referencing in case they'd like to do some digging of their own. Also, this is going to be really long. Really sorry to anyone with ADHD; I might make an audiofile of this so you can get the information without having to read the whole thing. With all that, let's get into it!

To kick off, let's talk about Alex being in the form of a cheetah when she first meets Magnus. Of course, there's the obvious impact of him seeing her but only so breifly, as well as introducing the conflict between her and the rest of Hall 19. But that could have easily been accomplished by almost any animal. The choice of a cheetah being implicated implies two qualities of Alex that will be recurrent throughout the two books she's in: 1. She has a tendency to run away, as we'll later learn when she describes how she became homeless, and 2. To Magnus, she's elusive. She can't be caught or held down. The event that shows this so transparently is how Alex refuses to define their relationship at the end of the series, despite it clearly surpassing the normal bounds of friendship.

But the cheetah isn't the animal Alex is in the form of when Magnus first gets a good look at her; she's a weasel. Weasel's bring up all kinds of connotations: ferocity, slickness, a lack of charm. When we want to describe someone as an untrustworthy person, we call them a weasel. RR had Alex take this form to play up her comrades' feeling of distrust towards her. She could be a double-crosser. But paradoxically, the up-front and vicious mannerisms of a weasel also have a transperency. She does not try appealing to her Hallmate's sense of goodwill because she doesn't have anything to gain from it. So even though there is the implication that she might be an antagonist, there's also evidence from her actions and mannerisms that she isn't. The weasel's long and skinny frame also allow for a smooth transition into Alex's actual body, which is convenient.

As Alex transforms into her usual human form, Magnus describes her as "a regular human teen, long and lanky, with a swirl of dyed green hair, black at the roots, like a plug of weeds pulled out of a lawn" (pg. 50). That simile at the end is of particular interest. Let's compare it to another time Magnus describes Alex's hair, in Ship of the Dead: "Her hair had started to grow out, the black roots making her look even more imposing, like a lion with a healthy mane" (pg. 136). By contrasting these two different examples, we can see the development of Magnus and Alex's relationship. The first time he sees her, he thinks of her hair as something nasty— note the word choice "weeds." Later on, though, he becomes more affectionate towards her, more complentary. The immedient negative reaction is less his actual impression, though, and more the reaction he expected to have based on everyone else's reaction to Alex.

Her clothes are equally as interesting; as Magnus describes it, Alex wears "battered rose high-tops, skinny lime green corduroy pants, a pink-and-green argyle sweater-vest over a white tee, and another pink cashmere sweather wrapped around the waist like a kilt" (pg. 50). Aside from the obvious fact that this outfit is a) bizzare, b) fire, and c) Alex's signature colors, which add a layer of style to what can otherwise be a somewhat boring series fashion-wise (excuse me, Blitz), the outfit reveals a crucial facet of Alex's backstory in a kind of subtle way. These are expensive clothes, like the Stella McCartney dress in Alex's room. Note the mention of fabrics (corduroy, cashmere) and patterns (argyle). These indicate wealth and status. Even the high-tops; shoes like that don't come cheap. But I'd like to return to the very first word of the section: "battered." Alex's wardrobe show-cases a proximity to wealth, but also shows that that proximity has been strained and lengthened, maybe for an extended period of time. Alex dresses like a rich person, but she isn't one. Least, not anymore.

The last word of that outfit-introduction is also of interest: "kilt." At the current moment, Magnus thinks that Alex is male. No one has indicated otherwise to him. Everyone has been referring to Alex with he/him pronouns. Samirah called Alex her "brother" (pg. 29). His first thought in seeing what he at first perceives as a guy with a jacket wrapped around the waist is That looks like a kilt. This thought tells us about Magnus: despite being open and accepting, he still has some lingering notions of gender conformity from his years in wider American society.

Magnus also indicates that the outfit "reminded me of a jester's motley, or the coloration of a venomous animal warning the whole world" (pg. 50). This is rather self-explanatory, but it's still worth noting that Magnus sees the outfit as something bizzare, strange, and even perhaps comical. This places Alex at odds with the other people Magnus has met. It also reveals that Magnus has zero fashion sense. But we already knew that.

After finishing up staring at the ensemble, Magnus finally gets around to actually looking Alex in the face. First Magnus says that he "forgot how to breathe" (pg. 50), which, yeah, relatable. This is justifed by saying that Alex has the same face as Loki, but the very same sentence that asserts that that's the case also suggests an alternative reason: Alex has "the same unearthly beauty" as her father. Here we can see the beginnings of Magnus's attraction to Alex, though at this point, he still has a lot of internalized homophobia. Though there's certainly some truth in that Magnus was unnerved by Alex's resemblance to Loki, the idea that Magnus pointed out that Alex was pretty without elaborating on that thought until about a chapter later— after he was informed that Alex was presently a girl— can tell us a lot about how Magnus perceives sex and beauty.

Of course, Alex's eyes are given special attention. She has cool eyes; what can I say? But I'd like to focus in on how Magnus here depicts Alex's heterochromia as "completely unnerving" (pg. 50). Again, let's contrast this with how he describes them after getting to know Alex a little better in Ship of the Dead. In Chapter 3, Magnus describes "[Alex's] dark brown eye and his amber eye like mismatched moons cresting the horizon" (pg. 25). Once again, this shows the development of their relationship— but this time, it's in a much more personal way. Eyes are the windows to the soul; they are culturally important and biologically important in inter-personal connections. In you look into someone's eyes, you're giving them your full attention, and you're implying a kind of closeness. The way that Magnus describes Alex's eyes in the second passage is downright intimate. At this point, he is in love with Alex, and it is clear when contrasting the two descriptions.

As my last point, I'd like to discuss Alex's first words on page: "'Point that rifle somewhere else, or I will wrap it around your neck like a bow tie'" (pg. 51). First of all, Alex saying this with a "perfect white smile" (pg. 51) on his face implies that she is used to being threatened. She is not afraid of being shot; she counters the promise of an attack with a promise of her own. This pleads the question: why is Alex accustomed to violence? What events of her past or qualities of her life have brought her to this point? The threat itself reveals Alex's trauma from being genderfluid in a society with rigid gender norms, as well as her antagonistic relationship with her father. Magnus makes a comment that Alex "might actually know how to tie a bow tie, which was kind scary arcane knowledge" (pg. 51). Like Alex's wardrobe, the idea that she may have experience in high-class fashion also implies her former status as a rich kid.

I could go on. I could break apart Alex saying "'Pleased to meet you all, I guess'" (pg. 51). There is a wealth of information in this short page span that tells us things about Alex Fierro in the present moment, quietly demonstrates things about her past, and characterizes the narrator Magnus Chase. This passage is also effective in hindsight in marking the progress of Magnus and Alex's relationship.

But I'd like to take a step back and look at not the pieces, but the whole picture. Alex Fierro gets a full page of pure description— her outfit, her face— and about a chapter of introduction. This comes after several chapters of build-up. Alex Fierro is an important character you need to keep your eyes on. Alex Fierro is emotionally significant to the main character, Magnus Chase. Alex Fierro is one of the most developed and well-rounded characters that Rick Riordan has ever written— heck, she's one of the best characters in middle-grade books period. The extended emphasis on her and her alone tells us exactly what role she's going to play in this story: she's the star.

[evakuality]

Matteo - Episode three

Social Media - There’s so much of it this week!  At the time, I only followed a couple of accounts and then only saw the rest when it was posted to the tag.  I think I’m grateful for that.  This is absolutely overwhelming, the sheer volume of things the characters were putting out.  But it’s also really nice that we get all this normal teenage life stuff.  It really does allow an immersive ‘this is real people doing real stuff’ feeling to everything.  Particularly people like Kiki and Sam who have little to do with the plot.  It keeps them real and alive through a season where they were a bit more sidelined (and I love that Matteo and David’s little trip later on keeps them alive in a way that doesn’t overpower Amira’s season - this is a really clever way for the producers to keep fan favourites active without having to shoehorn them into places where they don’t belong).  I am also a bit concerned about some of this though - how on earth did the boys not get in trouble for filming the dancing girls and posting it to social media?  At most schools I know that would have resulted in some serious discipline action.  However, the most fascinating thing about the social media is the party at the end of the episode.  Sara didn’t start posting much on her stuff until much later in the evening (the reason this post is so late is because I was waiting to watch through all the social media before I worked with it - and there was so much for so long that I was able to notice the patterns in it in a way I didn’t at the time) and then Leonie took over and it was interesting what she chose to show and how non-perfect it all was compared to what Sara was trying to do before she got really incapacitated.  I know it’s not technically part of this episode but the text string between the two of them the next day where Sara panics over how Matteo might take seeing her in such a sloppy drunken state is very telling.  She really really wants to put on a show to make sure he’s not turned off by her not being ‘perfect’ - again, this is all very subtly done but there’s a really strong push to show how much of what is put onto social media isn’t a real and true depiction of who we really are.  And of course that’s most important for Matteo himself.  He’s still very actively putting on a front and it’s only partly to try to cover for the fact that he’s interested in boys not girls.  He’s really not happy or at ease with pretty much any aspect of himself, but he’s also not really willing to show it to anyone.  Except David.  Which we’ll see as we go through the clips.

Clip one - Matteo’s shelf in the fridge is so sad!  Someone (a parent maybe?) should really be making sure he has food and is looking after himself.  We touched a bit last episode on food and nurturing and what we see here is Matteo very much not nurturing himself.  Even more so than Sara, he has no care for his own wellbeing.  Also he’s relying heavily on other people (Hans in this case) to do the heavy lifting for him.  It’s also a major contrast to the playful, if disgusting, sandwich he made with David.  Here it’s really just about putting something in to his body and there’s no thought for anything other than basic survival.  Which is, tbh, a good metaphor for Matteo’s approach to his life at this time.  The chat with Mia again veers close to things that are difficult for Matteo - he’s wearing David’s beanie, trying to get that bit of closeness to him, but then Mia starts asking awkward questions about why the kitchen was so terrible and what Matteo was up to and it’s all a bit tough.  Matteo tries again to deflect and lie to cover his tracks.  Which... is he ever going to learn?  This lying is forever getting him in hot water when he’s caught out.  Jonas even calls him out on it, basically saying ‘if you’re going to use me as an excuse then give me a heads up first’ showing that he has Matteo’s back, but is incapable of helping him if he won’t help himself.  At this point, of course, Matteo has closed off because there’s a lot he finds too hard to talk about but Jonas is already giving those hints that he’d be there for Matteo if only Matteo would let him be.  But at least Mia’s pushing serves one purpose - Matteo makes contact with David again and they manage to connect and get over the little hitch that David’s ditching caused.  Both are still hiding bits of themselves from each other (David more so obviously), but both are quite happy to make these connections and are comfortable with each other.  That David responds is so nice; it sets up the dynamic so different to the original and Matteo is much more secure in David’s friendship than Isak was with Even at this point just because of this.  Then of course Matteo does the gay test, and it’s clear he already knows but he’s just sort of trying to work through some things.  It leads to some of the things he says later that are quite unfortunate (both to the boys about the dance teacher in this episode and to Hans later about the ways to be gay), but I think there’s a genuine desire to figure out what gay might look like rather than any truly homophobic stuff.  societal expectations and stereotypes and our own internal biases mess with us big time!!

Clip two - There’s not a lot of difference with the dancing girls clip, but it’s nice to see David again and the interactions between him and Matteo are a lot more natural than with Isak and Even.  I guess because these two are in the same year, it’s much easier to pass off knowing each other and so Matteo really is a lot more casual than Isak ever was.  The tone of the ‘why does he have to be so gay’ is different here too - Matteo’s much more low key and subdued when he’s called out on ‘why do we insult gays’ and he’s apologising fairly quickly.  It really is much more obvious that he’s trying to work out what ‘gay’ is than trying to distance himself from the idea of being gay.  He has a lot of issues and a lot of stuff to work through but it’s entrenched in an entirely different way to the og even though the words are almost exactly the same.  The power of acting and body language!!  Of course, this makes sense for both characters too - Isak and Matteo have different experiences and different lives and so they each act in a way that makes sense for them.  I’m super impressed that the same conversation can look so different - both actors are very very good.

Clip three - This scene with Matteo and Sara works much better for me than the one with Isak and Emma.  But perhaps that’s because Sara is allowed to be much more of a rounded character rather than a plot device.  We can say all we like (and Leonie is so clearly right there with us) that Sara needs to wake up and see how badly Matteo is treating her, but the way this is developing makes it clear why she thinks and acts the way she does and we can have a lot of sympathy for her even while rolling our eyes at how obviously this is not working out.  This right here is the moment where Matteo really should have said ‘yeah sorry, this isn’t working for me’ but he chooses not to because he still wants that security of having ‘someone’ if the thing with David turns out the way he expects it to (eg, David and Leonie being a thing).  He wants the ability to hide and say ‘see, there was nothing there, I have a girlfriend so I’m not at all upset that David has one too’ and it’s shitty behaviour and it’s totally unfair to Sara, but at this point Matteo can’t see beyond his own needs.  Sara is very clearly not happy with the situation and she rightly feels sidelined and unappreciated but she is still willing to accept his word when she puts those words into his mouth.  She’s still invested in this fantasy in her head and she is carefully scripting it so that it goes the way she wants it to.  Like last week when she was talking over Matteo to avoid hearing anything he’s saying, here she’s literally telling him what to say to get the outcome she wants.  Leonie has quite obviously got a better handle on the situation, but Sara doesn’t want to hear it.  Sara, again bless her, is very open about what she wants and needs from a relationship and how she’s feeling.  She refuses to take Matteo’s very half-hearted attempt at sweet talking her at face value and demands some accountability.  But it’s the very nature of those demands that sets her doom.  She tells him what she needs and he gives it to her - only it’s a very pale and weak imitation of what she would really like.  He uses her communication skills to play her.

Clip four - I loathe how no-one takes Matteo’s wants and needs into account, pretty much ever.  He’s in such a rut of being used to just going with the flow that even when he tries to assert his own wants people straight up ignore him.  It’s sad that he allows Kiki etc to basically commandeer his home for their party but it’s very much in keeping with how everything else is going.  Last week, Kiki was super irritated because she had a picture of how things were going to go (they would have their event and Matteo would host it) and she couldn’t deal with things not being under her control.  I suspect that if Sara hadn’t been with them and hadn’t done the speaking for Matteo, he would have been bullied into doing what she wanted then too.  He clearly doesn't want to do this , but at least he uses it as a way to get closer to David.  ‘Well, this party idea sucks, but maybe I can get this guy I like there’ and so he goes right up to him and invites him.  While he’s quite checked out of significant parts of his life, when Matteo really wants something he’s not scared of going after it.  Of course, as we see in later events, this gets him in trouble at times.  But for right now it’s nice to see him taking some small control of his life.  This is only possible, of course, because he was able to connect with David fairly quickly after he left last week.  The fact that they are able to do this is testament to how easily they do understand each other and even while its awkward, this relationship doesn’t have the underlying tensions that the one with Sara does.  It’s awkward in a positive way.

Clip five - there’s lots going on in this one.  The studying and how little interest and engagement Matteo has with it.  The consequent stalking of David on Sara’s account, the flow over into looking for David’s favourite movie, and of course Hans and his intrusion into Matteo’s quiet space again and then his attempt at using grindr.  It’s a slow, fairly quiet clip and yet Matteo ends up doing a lot in it.  It shows again, I think, just how much he values his time by himself and how much it works for him to be allowed to do things at his own pace.  I’ve said before I really enjoy seeing the characters in their own environments being chill and just hanging with themselves.  It shows us a lot of how they are.  In this case, Matteo moves very quickly from the boredom of the studying to things he has more interest in.  Like David.  He’s restless and disengaged, using all of his tricks to try to distract himself (playing with plants etc) and then very quickly giving up on what he should do.  I like that we get these sorts of smaller, lower key indications of how much David means to him as well.  It’s not big grandiose expressions of interest, but he watches the movie because David likes it.  He can’t even let himself stare at the picture for too long because it feels like a huge admission (he literally breaks eye contact with it and looks away the way he often does with David himself).  It’s in these unguarded moments in his own space that we really see Matteo and he’s a mess, but he’s a mess who really does want connection and to find meaning with someone.  

Clip six - We all love this one, right?  It’s such a nice moment with David and their almost-kissing is very intense.  But there’s a lot going on before that that I also want to look at.  First, the way the boys call Matteo a ‘player’?????? how???? That’s his girlfriend?????  He is playing her and stringing her along when he shouldn’t, but he’s not playing the field which is generally what we mean when we say this sort of thing.  He has one girl and that one girl has made it pretty clear that he is hers.  In many ways Matteo would be better off if he was playing the field - then there’s no expectations and he gets a rep as a ladies man.  But this works better for him - he can sort of fall into it and follow along with it without having to put any effort in at all.  She literally speaks for him, even.  I have always found it fascinating how much Matteo keeps to himself in this clip.  He hugs the walls like they’re his home and Sara is out there in the middle and there’s such a disconnect between the way they’re both acting.  How would Matteo have coped with the expectations Sara outlines about sex had she not got so blind drunk she had to be taken home?  It seems like it would have led to something very awkward and maybe she’d have finally got the picture.

Laura's little visit to see Matteo is cute too.  Obviously she knows that David is interested and so she checks him out.  It’s a shame it’s interrupted by Hans who then monopolises Matteo, but she was quite deliberate in finding him and speaking with him and I love the sibling support.  David’s shirt he chooses to appeal to Matteo is hilarious too.  The thought process (and the discussions with Laura at home beforehand) must have been brilliant.  ‘I always wear black and am mysterious and aloof and cool, but to attract this boy I will wear a white shirt with a stupid picture on it’ - that it does attract Matteo just shows how attuned David is to his future boyfriend.  Maybe he’s stalking the instagrams too - the Matteo Monday and Florenzi Friday do suggest that this is something that might appeal to Matteo.  

Hans and Andi bother me too.  In much the same way that I dislike that Sara assumes that Matteo not wanting sex with her means he’s gay (like?  It’s okay not to want sex!!  It doesn’t say anything about your sexuality), I don’t like that Hans has talked about Matteo to Andi and allows him to be so forward and aggressively sexual with someone who is very obviously not willing to be out.  I know Hans is trying to be there for Matteo and to encourage him to accept himself (I think it’s pretty clear that he knows or thinks Matteo likes guys).  But this is a party with all of Matteo’s friends.  What did they think would happen?  Why did they think he’d react in any way other than the one he does?  Hans looks confused when Matteo pushes away and leaves, but why?  This behaviour is entirely consistent with everything we know of his character. That it ends in an actual panic attack makes it all much more sad and difficult to watch.  Honestly, outing people when they’re not ready is not cool and Hans should know this.

The panic attack itself is so well done.  There’s no dialogue and yet we can see very obviously how Matteo is feeling and just how ‘normal’ this is to him.  He has a set of behaviours that he follows to try to take the edge off.  He throws things (this is his go-to when he’s stressed and he does it a LOT), he tries weed and he finally tries music and sitting by himself, cuddling a cushion for comfort.  I know a million people have discussed this at length, but I don’t think we can speak about this clip without at least touching on it.  Everything about it is done so well and it all combines to allow Matteo’s feelings to shine through.  I love that it’s allowed to happen at a party and that we see very clearly how these things can be overwhelming for characters.  I won’t go on anymore, but it’s just great and the acting is so perfect.  I genuinely think this small part of this clip is probably my favourite acting out of everything in this show.

And then of course we have the stuff after everyone else has left.  Again, a million people have discussed this in a million ways, but I love how this scene again shows how easily they get each other, how good they are at communicating with each other and how quickly they get on the same page.  Matteo has no trouble at all saying what he thinks and pressing for information.  This parallels Sara in some ways - she is like this with Matteo, making her wants and needs clear and putting herself on the line.  Again, this is all very good set up for later on when Matteo finally finds himself in her position and realises just how much his behaviour hurt her because he’s living her side.  However, unlike Matteo, David is quite clear and honest back.  And that’s why they can so quickly move into a potential kiss.  As with Matteo and Sara, there are close ups as they lean into each other, but somehow it feels like there’s more space for them to breathe here.  The camera allows them both to be in the frame naturally, whether Sara is often invading into Matteo’s shots.  Here, they’re both on board and both want it.  I like that Matteo gets a moment to be open and himself after his experience with Andi.  It must take a lot of courage to do this after he was so badly affected earlier.  Testament to David’s calming presence which reassures rather than pushes, and how honest they are with each other - there’s no way David could miss how relieved Matteo is when he finds out that Laura is David’s sister not his girlfriend.  They’re both very brave here - David for telling Matteo he looks good and Matteo for trying to take that next step even after his panic attack.   And I think that’s a nice place to leave this.  Because that’s already such a lot and this has all already been said before.  

[yellowmagicalgirl]

No Reason for Love

Krel wakes up to find Douxie sleeping on top of him.

So, what was that saying? Write while exhausted as the pills to make you tired kick in, edit the next morning? That was me with this fic because I wanted to get it done before RotT. This only has vague spoilers for the trailer.

CW: Body dysmorphia, self esteem issues, offscreen death, one gore reference, and one reference to sex (in terms of differences of Akiridion vs human reproduction; the gore reference is more graphic than the sex reference, and all characters depicted are adults)

AO3

FFN

Krel woke up to the feeling of pressure running along his body. He opened his eyes.

Oh. Right. Douxie and Krel had been watching a movie on Krel’s phone, and they had fallen asleep together. Or, more specifically, Douxie had fallen asleep on top of Krel, with his head directly on top of Krel’s core.

No.

On top of Krel’s cores.

That’s why they were here, after all. Krel was in (self-imposed, because his friends and family trusted him too much) exile in a quadrant of deep space, where he shouldn’t be able to hurt anyone. That had been the plan after Krel had stabbed himself with Gaylen’s core. Oh, he was strong enough to defeat the Arcane Order, but he was dangerous. He was too dangerous to be around people.

His boyfriend had decided that he was the exception to this rule, and Krel had been too selfish to say no, that they’d have to date at an even further distance than they had been for the six weeks they’d been dating.

And yes, Krel knew that Douxie had come with him for more reasons than Krel’s benefit, but Douxie could surely grieve Nari and Archie in a safer way than running off to live alone with the dangerous newly-made abomination of a god. Yes, Krel was an abomination, even if his friends, sister, and boyfriend all hated it when Krel used that word to describe himself. But what word was he supposed to use? He had two cores.

And with one of those cores, Krel could feel every minute exhale that came from Douxie’s sleeping form.

That was right. He was wearing one of Douxie’s shirts. His normal clothes didn’t quite fit him anymore given his wings and his second core, and so he’d taken to wearing human clothes that had been tailored to fit him and his arms and his wings.

Douxie had enchanted his own clothes to fit Krel, with holes opening up for Krel whenever he wore them. Douxie had offered to enchant Krel’s normal clothes, but as much as Krel liked how Akiridion magic and technology were compatible he…

Krel couldn’t remember what excuse he’d used, but he’d really wanted to just keep wearing Douxie’s shirt even though it exposed both of his cores with how low the neckline was. It shouldn’t have mattered, not with how Krel was rather indestructible now, but every time he caught sight of his double-cored reflection he was reminded of just how much he hated himself.

Douxie shifted in his sleep, inadvertently nuzzling his face against Krel’s cores.

Krel tried very hard not to cry. Douxie needed to sleep. He deserved to sleep. He was sleeping peacefully. Krel couldn’t wake him.

But Krel felt so loved and he didn’t deserve to be. This couldn’t last. One day, Douxie would realize that the man he’d fallen in love with had been sacrificed and an abomination was all that was left. He tried to keep still as tears began to slip out of his eyes, but he began to shake nonetheless.

Douxie lifted his head away from Krel’s cores. Krel found himself missing the point of contact, and feeling horrible for missing it, and began to cry harder. Douxie shifted his body, propping himself up with one arm and using the other hand to brush away some of the tears on Krel’s face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” His voice was so soft and gentle despite how exhausted he looked.

“I love you,” Krel said. Douxie’s eyes widenend.

Oh.

Right.

Krel hadn’t told Douxie that he loved him, not when Krel was still himself instead of an abomination. Douxie probably wouldn’t want Krel’s love now. And even if Douxie loved Krel before the seals had been broken, surely he wouldn’t now.

Krel looked away. “I understand if you don’t –“

Douxie turned Krel’s face back to him. “I love you too.”

Krel didn’t think he could have cried any harder. He proved himself wrong.

Douxie inhaled sharply but his voice was still so soft. “What did I do wrong? How can I fix this?”

Krel didn’t know how the situation could be fixed without killing his relatives. It would be proper to have one heir to House Ventis and one heir to House Akraohm sacrifice themselves to power the cannon, but Aja might want to sacrifice herself so she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of killing her brother.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I still made you cry. Harder, anyways.”

“It’s… it doesn’t matter.”

Douxie frowned. “It does. You being happy matters to me. So, please tell me why you’re crying, and what I can do to make you feel better.”

Krel swallowed down tears. “Your head was on my core. Cores. Touching them is very intimate –“

Douxie’s face grew grave and flushed. “Krel, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that, er, I didn’t know where those parts of your body were and –“

Krel rolled his eyes. At least the shock made his tears slow their deluge. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Let’s just say that Akiridion and human reproduction are more similar than you’re thinking, at least in location.”

Douxie nodded. “Okay, so I didn’t cross that line, but I clearly crossed a line. Which one?”

“I don’t know if there’s a good comparison? It’d be like you holding my literal heart, I guess?” Douxie grimaced at the mental image. “But not exactly. It’s just, since you’re not immediate family or trying to save my life, you’d only be doing that if we were at a level of intimacy of being at the last stages of our engagement.”

Or maybe other Akiridions had that level of intimacy at sooner stages. Maybe it was an old-fashioned, stuffy royal way his parents had raised him and Aja. He knew at least one of his grandmothers believed that core-touching should have been reserved for marriage, but it was possible that she was simplifying it down for Aja and Krel.

“And I know our friends have made elopement jokes before, but…” Krel looked away, trying to will himself not to start crying harder again.

Even if Douxie loved Krel, surely Douxie wasn’t interested in marrying him.

“Would you want to?” Douxie asked. “This isn’t a proposal, but would you even be interested in marrying me?”

Gently, Krel pushed Douxie away so that Krel could sit up, half-facing his boyfriend. There was an urge to wrap his wings around Douxie, but no. That shouldn’t happen.

“Only if I was sure you understand the consequences.”

“Consequences? Like what? Having to get a second pair of arms grafted onto me?”

Krel tucked his wings closer to himself. Douxie sighed.

“I’m sorry, I’m tired and wasn’t thinking. But, what do you mean by consequences?”

“Why do you love me? And no, ‘you’re you’ isn’t an answer, because I’m not. Not anymore.”

“You are still you even with the wings and everything, but I’m too tired to have this argument again. If you won’t let me use that reason, then how about I just do?”

Unconditional love felt wrong. “That’s circular reasoning.”

“Well, do I need a reason to love you?”

Yes, because if Douxie knew his reason for loving Krel then he would be able to pinpoint when that reason wasn’t itself anymore.

No, because if Douxie knew the reason why he loved Krel, then Douxie would leave and Krel was too selfish to want to be exiled alone.

Krel started sobbing again.

Douxie drew Krel into his arms, gently stroking Krel’s back between his wings.

The next time Krel woke up, his head was directly on top of Douxie’s heart.

[blossomingimagines]

Icarus

Harley Quinn x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,703

Summary: Like Icarus she had flown too close to the sun and fell-- though you were certain the fall Icarus suffered from wasn't a descent into madness. It was unfortunate that she had always been your own sun. Always pulling you in no matter how far you may go to escape. You just hope you won't get too close this time. As you were sure this fall would be the greatest of all.

Notes: I saw this idea floating about and decided to give it a try. Hopefully it isn't too disappointing for you all. This is going to be left open-ended in case you all want more in this universe, which I don't know if you will. (You knew Harley Quinn before she was Harley Quinn. You were rivals, in whatever capacity, and she always beat you. Until suddenly you were her therapist at Arkham.)

I also got the idea from @kiraimagine. (Wanted to give credit where credit is due as this idea was a really good one and I enjoyed writing it.)

Warnings: Mental illnesses as depicted in Arkham.

The tale of Icarus was one that you were familiar with. How he had dreamed of something for his entire life and that had ended up being his downfall. Flying too close to the sun, despite the many warnings beforehand, and his plummet back to Earth. It was a tale that you associated with personally. For you were Icarus-- wanting something so bad that you would do anything to achieve it. No matter how far you would fall because of it.

Harleen Quinzel was your sun.

You had known her for most of your life. Meeting on the playground at the start of fifth grade-- you had tripped over something and ended up sprawled in front of her and her friends. Her golden-white locks pulled back into a loose ponytail as she stood above you. Her blue eyes mocking as she took in your expression. You had scrambled to your feet with fumbling apologies escaping your mouth. Your face became as red as the shirt she had been wearing. Despite your efforts, however pathetic they may have been, she had barely given you a second glance before walking away. Her ever-loyal posse following along like lap dogs. And, even as you turned to head back towards your friends, you couldn’t get her bright blue eyes out of your head. Making you feel like you were falling all over again. 

From then on a rivalry was born between the two of you-- whether you were aware of it or not. You were a person that wasn’t even in the same galaxy as her radar and suddenly you became the direct center of it. Whatever things you took interest in, Harleen always followed. Of course, it always looked like a complete coincidence that she ended up taking the same courses as you. Always excelling at everything she put her mind to-- you in a close second. 

Even as you aged, going from knobby-kneed kids to maturing teenagers, Harleen had made it her mission in life to always one-up you. To always make sure that she was around no matter what. The first day of your sophomore year had been a clear indicator of that fact.

The crowded hallways of Gotham High were roaring with life. From incoming freshmen that were trying to get their bearings to returning seniors that were establishing their claim as the rulers of the school. You just rolled your eyes at all the showboating that was going on as you made your way to your locker. A hand clutching on your bag as you were jostled for the millionth time by a football player. 

Finally catching sight of your locker was like a breath of fresh air. A small sliver of sanctuary that you needed within the bustling halls. However, as quickly as the happy feeling appeared it vanished without a trace at the sight of the woman leaning against the locker adjacent to yours. 

Harleen Quinzel-- in all her glory. 

Light blonde hair falling loosely past her shoulders. Painted lips pulled into a smirk as she listened to the jock standing before her. Though you could clearly tell she wasn’t actually listening. As her, normally sharp blue eyes were dull at the incessant rambling of the boy. 

Hoping that you could quickly open your locker and deposit everything before she noticed, you slowly made your way towards them. Seeing that she was still distracted by the jock, you felt a small smile tug at your lips. Glad that at least something was going your way today. 

You shouldn’t have celebrated so early. 

The moment you made contact with your lock a perfectly manicured hand appeared on top of yours. Your heart-stopping at the feeling of her smooth skin on yours. Your wide eyes meeting her devious blue as she smirked at you. Numbly you noted that they were once again the sparkling blue that you were so familiar with. Though you couldn’t find it within yourself to celebrate the fact. Not when she was leaning towards you ever-so-slightly. 

“Y/N,” she purrs. “I was wondering when you were going to show up. The school is not the same with my best girl gone.”

For a moment you actually think she cared for your wellbeing, but the glimmer in her eyes made you think otherwise. Your lips thin into a line as your annoyance grows. You didn’t think you had the patience to deal with her today. 

“What do you want, Harleen?” 

A faux look of hurt flashed across her face. “I’m wounded that you think I need something from you, Y/N.” Her other hand rubs your arm-- you try to desperately ignore the goosebumps that appeared because of the action. Though you were certain she was aware of it-- if the look on her face was anything to go by. “I was just wondering if you knew that we were both in the same AP classes?”

Your stomach drops at the news. Her devious smile only causes your nerves to fray even more. “How? I changed my schedule three times.” 

Harleen shrugs. “Looks like it was a match made in heaven.” 

You shake your head with a frown starting to furrow your brow. “No, I know you did something. There’s no way we accidentally ended up in the same classes again.” Your annoyed gaze meets her amused one. “Why? Why do you like doing this to me? Don’t you have better things to do?” 

At your questions, her smile falls from her lips. A sharp look flashing across her face as she leaned closer to you-- almost to the point of her nose brushing against yours. You wanted to take a step back but the hand on your bicep stopped you. You had never seen Harleen look so angry before. Even if she wasn’t completely showing you everything she was feeling. You could tell by the darkening of her eyes-- an almost desperate quality hiding underneath. 

“I think you know exactly why I do what I do,” she hisses. “You just refuse to see what’s standing right in front of you. You choose to be blind to everything.”

Her voice elevates slightly towards the end of her sentence. An almost shrill quality to her tone that you had never heard before. It causes a small wince to flash across your face. Your eyes glancing towards the other occupants of the hallway. You didn’t want anyone to be listening in on this… whatever this was.

Harleen, noticing where your attention had diverted to, seems to pull herself together as she takes a step back from you. Her hand finally releasing your bicep out of the death grip she had imprisoned it in. Though the same darkened expression in her eyes remained even as she smiled at you.

“But that’s no matter,” she continues in a calmer tone. As if her outburst had never happened. “Just know that until you realize what you’ve been blind to I’ll always be here.” Harleen inclines her head ever-so-slightly towards you, her voice dropping into a whisper. “Nothing will ever be better than that.”

Then she was gone. 

Only leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and the confused feeling in your very soul. 

Even now you still had no idea what she had meant. High school passed you by in the same manner as your other school years. In a standoff with Harleen Quinzel for the top student position, which she won by barely a point. Not that you were too surprised she beat you at that too. No matter how egotistical she may be, you could admit that she was highly intelligent. In another life, you could even see yourself being friends with her. If only life had turned out slightly differently for you both… 

College seemed to be the only reprieve you were ever going to get from her. So you were excited to apply to as many as you could. Wanting to have as many options to choose from as possible. Anything to minimize the chance of Harleen choosing the same one-- even if deep in your heart you wanted nothing more than for her to do just that. 

Learning at graduation that she was going to Metropolis for school had been a shock. As you had been deliberating going there as well. That was before your mother got sick and you decided to stay in Gotham, however. A fact that you didn’t think twice about sharing with Harleen. 

Sometimes you look back at the night and curse yourself for opening your mouth. 

The party was already in full swing as you stepped into the house. Loud music blaring through the speakers. The sound waves caused the very house to shake. It was lucky that the host of the party lived so far away from anyone else. It wouldn’t do to have the party shut down by what was left of Gotham’s police force. Moving deeper into the party, you bypass throngs of people dancing to the beat of the song and random couples that were lost in each other. Your eyes scan the room for a quieter place that you could just rest in until the rest of your friends arrived. 

Thankfully, the search didn’t take that long as you quickly found a relatively abandoned corner. You gratefully lean against a wall once you reach it. Thankful that you had been able to find a spot that you could hide away in. As the party scene had never been a place you thrived in. Rolling your neck, you try to get rid of some of the tension that had settled over your shoulders from the past few days. Things at home were only getting more complicated but you know you made the right decision in deciding to stay. Even if Metropolis would have been a hell of a lot nicer than Gotham. 

Movement from in front of you causes your eyes to widen as a solo cup is thrust into your hands. The flimsy plastic bending in your hands as you stared at the woman who had given it to you. Your mouth pressing into a thin line at the sight of her devious smirk. 

Harleen Quinzel, of course. 

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Harleen,” you sigh. “Why don’t you go hang out with your friends and leave me alone?”

Harleen pouts. “But you’re my best girl, Y/N. Why would I leave you all alone?”

“Because your friends are probably looking for you.” You try to offer in hopes that she would just leave you alone. You didn’t feel like hearing her gloat about getting the valedictorian spot. Her laughter was not the response you were expecting, however. 

“Oh, Y/N/N, what am I going to do with you?” She asks but you’re sure it was rhetorical. Though at your continued silence her eyes flash with annoyance. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

You sigh, Harleen and her mind games were not what you signed up for when you agreed to come to the party. “I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to be getting, Harleen. Maybe if you actually told me then I might.”

She grins at you. “Now where’s the fun in that?” Her head tilts ever-so-slightly as she appraises you. As if she suddenly realized that you were wearing a low-cut dress-- courtesy of your best friend. Her blue eyes shone with varying emotions that you couldn’t even begin to decipher. Though they soon snapped back up to your face as if she suddenly realized something. “But that doesn’t matter really. I’m certain you’ll figure it out when we’re in college.”

Her words make your stomach drop. “What?” 

“When we’re in college, Y/N.” Harleen drawls. “You know the place where we’re going to be going for the next four years?”

“What do you mean we?” 

Her laughter, once again, catches you off guard. “Didn’t you know? We’re going to be going to the same college. I heard through the grapevine that we both got accepted to Metropolis University. Go Sharks.” 

You frown, your next words coming out before you could even think. “But I’m not going to Metropolis University.” 

Harleen completely freezes at that. Her eyes turn razor-sharp as the smile falls from her face. “What?”

You gulp. “I’m not going to Metropolis University, Harleen. I was but then some personal issues came up so I’ve decided to stay in Gotham.” You shrug with a rueful smile pulling at your lips. “I’m going to Gotham University. So it looks like I’m going to be a Nighthawk and you’re going to be a Shark.”

The smile falls from your face, however, at the look, Harleen gives you because of the joke. Her expression darkened even more as each second ticked by. Only the call of her name from her friends pulled her attention from you-- though she seemed more annoyed at the interruption. Thinking about the quickest escape routes you could take, to hell with your friends, you begin to shift away from the wall. Only to have Harleen suddenly grab both of your forearms and yank you towards her. Your face almost smashed against hers as she held you. Her voice coming out in a low whisper.

“We’ll see about that.” 

Before you could react, her lips pressed against yours in a brief kiss before she was gone. 

Only the scent of her perfume and the feel of her on your lips remaining. 

You hadn’t been surprised that come fall she had appeared in your lecture hall. Her ever-present smirk flashing towards you as she took her seat a few rows in front of you. You weren’t even surprised that she had taken the same major as you. After all, you both had always been eerily similar in your interests in that regard. 

Sometimes you wish you had chosen something else. 

Anything else. 

That’s all that could run through your mind as you made your way down darkened halls. Your heels clicking against the floor with a resounding presence that almost made you wince. The faint moans of the criminally insane echo from deeper recesses in the building. You try to not tense at the sounds. Your armed escort led you down various halls and security checkpoints before you finally reached your destination. 

A door, plain as all the others, stood between you and the reason you had returned to Gotham. You didn’t want to, God did you not want to, but getting a call from Mayor Hill had changed things. You had met the man on several occasions and you had never even considered the possibility of him begging anyone. Hearing the desperate plea within his words flashed you back to a time when your mother was still alive. When there wasn’t a giant bat protecting the streets of Gotham. You hadn’t had the heart to decline.

Even if you wish you had now. 

Turning to one of the guards stationed at the door, you nod. Steeling yourself for what you are about to witness. Your back straightened as your hands tightened on the various files you were holding. Your resolve only wavering as you stepped into the room. Your eyes take in the large abundance of space that surrounds the single cage in the direct center of the room. A single figure entwined with silk in the middle of it. 

Moving down the staircase, you try to ignore the way the figure's burning gaze followed you. The intensity behind it is both so familiar and completely foreign. Standing directly before the cage, you finally are close enough to the figure to see the way burning blue eyes took in every small aspect of you. A familiar smirk began to make its way onto her face when she finally met your gaze with hers. 

“There’s my best girl.” A grin takes the place of her smirk. A sight that causes your heart to lurch in your chest. Yet another reminder of why you didn’t want to come back to Gotham. Why you never wanted to return to the place that had taken everything from you. “I was wondering when you were going to visit me.”

“Hello, Harleen.”

[jesusology]

having a hard time with Kazui, but I decided to go through his MV step-by-step and see where my thoughts lead me !! let’s gooooo

I think the green apple is an interesting choice. Normally, if you’re going for a “temptation” or “forbidden fruit” type of thing it’s going to be a red apple… because red represents passion, after all. But the green makes me think there’s some other reason for this.

Okay, so the apple is placed on a stage on a small table and there’s a spotlight over top of it. I feel like the apple is maybe meant to represent “temptation” but not in a “forbidden romance/adultery” type of way.

It could be symbolic of temptation in other aspects of life. Maybe he was wanting to leave his “ordinary, common” life and pursue things that are deemed unrealistic - especially for someone of his age, even though he’s really not that old.

Which, again, he brings up his age a lot. I guess you might feel self-conscious when surrounded by people younger than you but even so… he seems really hung up on his age and being an “old man”. He probably feels like it’s too late for someone like him to make a “big” change in his life and it’s easiest to just keep going as normal, pro status quo.

The color green can also mean something like “greed, envy, and life”. Wouldn’t even be surprised if all three of those potentials were meaningful in relation to Kazui.

I mention this in like every single one of my theories but again not everything here is literal. So what we’re seeing here, Kazui at the bar drinking with a woman other than his wife… it could mean something else entirely and not the obvious assumption of an affair.

A thought I just formed, but could that other image of Kazui at the bar with a different woman just be his imagination at work? He’s still sitting with his wife at home but he’s imagining that he’s out at some classy bar with a woman other than his wife. Maybe he wants something more glamorous, something other than this “plain” situation at home? Or maybe that woman is meant to represent something else entirely. A “dream”, a different life entirely.

Not sure if this is indicative of anything or even means anything, but there’s a pillow sort of wedged between them…

Maybe he never really wanted to be married but he felt like he had to because he really DOES love his wife and it’s just the natural course of things to get married. He had other things he wanted to do, but they ultimately never came to fruition because of the normal societal expectations. He’s hiding aspects of himself just to have that illusion of normality.

Just now noticed what looks like another figure in the distance sitting with him? Is that meant to be his wife? Is that also why he looks kind of surprised? The apple is between them, it’s sort of a divider.

His eye color…. Is so pretty….

He’s “playing a part” and so he’s seen in various costumes throughout the MV. Depending on the situation, he swaps his mask in order to appropriately fit in. It could be seen as living a lie, or it could be seen as a simple survival instinct. He sees no other way to live, because he doesn’t want to sadden/disappoint the people around him.

I’m not sure what his dreams could be or what he REALLY wants out of life, but either way, it clearly creates a rift.

Hmmm this line gives me pause. It makes it sound like part of the problem is his wife, as if she were maybe cheating or wanting to leave him? Or it could be that she disapproves of his “dreams”. Could also be that she’s suffering emotionally in this marriage and he doesn’t appear to take notice and this causes them to drift further from each other.

I wonder if the chair is meant to represent his wife in some way. I don’t really have any evidence for this, it’s just more of a feeling. What kind of uniform is that he’s wearing, anyhow? I feel like it’s possibly important...

A lot of Kazui’s theme has to do with “lies” and “hiding”. Does he feel like he’s living a lie in his common life? Is this because he wants to be something so much more, but he can’t because - to him - it’s almost as if his wife is the one holding him back? Again, I feel he truly does love her. But I feel as though their love has fizzled from something romantic (if there ever was romance) into something milder.

I wonder if he was starting to view her as more of a burden than a partner. He loves her, so he isn’t sure what to do. Leaving isn’t an option. So lying is all that’s left. He’s struggling with which he should listen to - his brain, or his heart.

He wears his wedding ring throughout the entirety of the MV which makes me think it probably isn’t an affair… I mean, if you’re going out to bars in the hopes of meeting someone new, you probably wouldn’t want to leave your wedding ring on.

A lot of distance here, clearly depicting how their marriage is just… silently falling apart.

I don’t think he’s referring to loving a person here. I feel like it’s more of a concept that he’s talking about, a dream. The dream here is being personified as a human woman, his mind is creating a scenario where his dream is essentially like “cheating” on his wife. This really feels like I’m pulling stuff out of my ass like I’m trying to make him seem less “bad” than he is, but I just. Really feel like we wouldn’t be getting this so straight-forwardly if it were an actual affair.

Also he’s still wearing his wedding ring here which again would make no sense to me if you were going to a bar trying to find other people.

There still seems to be some level of distance here. He doesn’t directly touch the woman’s shoulders and he doesn’t especially move in closer toward her. Again, his “dream” feels untouchable and like something he HAS to keep inside because if he does “touch” his dream then his life with his wife - no matter if he’s happy or not - will be shattered.

I feel like he’s talking about memories with his wife here. He might be recalling happier times and he wishes he could just banish those from his mind because it would make dealing with everything so much easier.

Here the both of them are, but the spotlight remains on the apple on the stage. His mind is elsewhere. He’s with his wife, a woman he loves, but he isn’t fully committing to her and her own wants and needs. He’s instead thinking of a dream, something he isn’t being honest about.

Hindsight is 20/20 and I feel like he really does regret whatever he did. The grass is always greener on the other side, I guess…

But it makes me wonder if he ended up telling her whatever his deal is or if someone ELSE did? He’s saying that “not one word will reach you” but it must have somehow.

I like how he grabs her hand, the one that has the ring on it… nothing to add to it, I just… it makes me feel things

Spotlight is back on him, he looks to be in their apartment. He isn’t in a costume, he isn’t wearing a mask. I like the focus on the balcony in the background, it’s ominous.

No mask. And his voice seems more pained, his expressions look more hurt. Taking off the mask is stopping his lies, and it seems as though that may not have been the best decision on his part.

Again, I feel like the chair is meant to represent his wife. She was a comfort to him, regardless of the feelings they had for each other. He might not have felt the same way in their marriage, not any longer, but he did love her and the comfort she brought him. Does he want that to disappear? Definitely not. But can he abandon all other thoughts and what he wants in life? Unfortunately not.

I HAVE THINGS I WANT TO SAY ABOUT THIS IMAGE IN PARTICULAR BUT MY BRAIN CANNOT ARTICULATE IT

I think I saw that green can also be representative of cowardice. And I feel like that’s also a big theme here, that he felt too cowardly to be honest with his wife and ultimately it led to the greatest loss of all. This also seems to be a big “miscommunication kills” type of scenario. Communication could have also been the killer here - there’s just not enough info here to make a firm judgment.

Either she jumped from the balcony or he accidentally pushed her. I feel like it’s either one of these. I’m sorta leaning more toward the “he accidentally shoved her in a fit of passion or some sort of argument”... because it just feels like he might’ve had a literal hand in it

Curse this image being so blurry. He’s holding out his hand and his hand is outlined in red, so it’s very important… could he be trying to lunge forward and catch her or is he about to like... push her. HMMM this image does make it look more like he’s trying to grab onto her in hopes of saving her.

Broken shards of glass that I think are representative of their marriage and her fall from the balcony. What’s shattered can’t so easily be put back together - and in some cases, it can’t be put back at all. Something he’s learned in a very hard way and something he might have known all along.

He took a bite from the apple, it’s gone. He made his choice. But what’s left is broken in pieces.

And he goes back to putting on a mask… because I think it’s too hard to face otherwise. Now then! Onto some other things that might shed a little more light because I’m honestly not sure about this. Kazui’s is so… subtle and vague. It seems so obvious on the surface that it makes me think it really ISN’T that tangible from first glance.

Let’s take a look at some of his other things.

He really does seem pretty hung-up on his age lol… I guess I can’t blame him because I do the same thing and I’m only in my twenties.

This is a really interesting tid-bit from him. Why would they find him embarrassing? Because of what happened in his life, because he opened up about something and let down his mask for a bit? I really want to know more about this because it seems so telling.

Another theory I’ve seen go around that I support quite a bit could also be that instead of a “dream” he was hiding he was instead trying to deny his own sexual orientation. If Kazui were gay, that could explain a lot of things in this. Putting on a mask to hide who he really is, staying in a marriage with a person he loves but not in a romantic nor sexual way… his family “being embarrassed” by him… I could honestly see this being the case. He’s playing a part in life and it’s really not HIM because he doesn’t feel he can be himself.

What’s clear is just how much Kazui doesn’t even seem to know what it is that he REALLY wants. He doesn’t seem satisfied no matter the option, it’s just a lose-lose situation all around for him. If he chooses to go with being himself/his dream then he loses his wife. If he stays with his wife, it doesn’t stop his thoughts from wandering elsewhere. He won’t be satisfied.

On another note, Kazui continues to hide behind a mask even with MILGRAM. He tries to pass himself off as someone who is mild-mannered and relaxed but at the same time he’s a bit contradictory because he also calls himself anxious. He says things to others that don’t really reflect his actual thoughts - such as when Yuno asked him about his type of woman and he says something that’s just… not really well thought-out because it seems like he’s pretty private. He wants to be private because opening up with his true feelings hasn’t worked out well for him.

Unrelated but I got this screencap and I’m like… i need a kiss from this man ASAP. i need it like i need air to breathe 

Okay that’s it for now!! So interested to see what direction his story takes in the next MV for him. I really want to learn so much more about Kazui, his entire MV is just so subtle. Let me know your thoughts!! Would really love to hear what you think of Kazui and his cryptic demeanor. Thank you for reading! please tumblr don’t delete like half my post thank u <3

like. on one hand i could very well see cheating being the entire case here. it would make sense what-with choosing to “forgive” or “not forgive”. but i also like to have a bit of fun and see what other possibilities might be. who knows! we shall find out in time

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Seven: daybreak trains Words: 3.3k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Hopeful Ending

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Daisy sighs and stands, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her trousers. “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’ll still visit.”

“I know,” Jon signs, his hand gestures a bit too wide. “I’ll still…” He pauses, his hands lingering in the air for a moment as he tries to figure out what the next sign should be, before giving up and stepping forward instead, reaching for Daisy’s hand and capturing it in his. He squeezes tightly, looking up at Daisy with an open, vulnerable expression. Then, he brings her hand up with his as he presses it against the left side of his chest, a few inches above the jagged line of scar tissue, and settles his other hand on top of it. He may not know how to sign I’ll miss you, but he’d learned love early on.

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of canon-typical worms)

.

A quick note that all sign language in this chapter (BSL) is indicated via italics in quotation marks. I recognize that BSL has different grammar and sentence construction than spoken English, but for the purposes of this fic and for clarity’s sake, I’ve written all sign language as it would be translated into English syntax and sentence construction. Further disclaimer that I am not deaf or mute and that I don’t speak any version of sign language, so if I’ve made an error in depicting the dialogue here, please let me know!

.

Jon raps his knuckles on the frame of the bedroom door, and Daisy glances up from where she’s crouched on the floor next to the bed, halfway through packing her bag next to the cot they’d gotten so Daisy didn’t have to sleep on the couch. (Though they have been saving up for a new couch, a decently nice one that doesn’t sag in the middle and leak stuffing. Martin’s new job at the village’s library pays adequately enough, but in the three months it’s been since the world snapped back to normal, they’ve only managed to accumulate a few hundred pounds in savings. It’s all right though, Jon thinks. They have time.)

“You don’t leave until tomorrow,” Jon signs, his hands still a bit clumsy around the words but adept enough to get his point across. He still carries his notebook with him for when the modest collection of signs Daisy’s been able to teach him so far aren’t enough for him to convey his thoughts, and he has a cell phone now with a speech-to-text app that he uses occasionally even though he finds the mechanical voice grating, but he’s been having to use them less and less. He still likes having the notebook, though. It feels nice to look down and see his words still scrawled on paper even after the conversation is over. A reminder that, for all that his voice has been used and stolen and manipulated over the years, his words are still his own.

“I know,” Daisy says, tucking a few more things in her bag before zipping it closed. She sits on her heels and looks up at him, her hair loose and falling just beneath her chin from where they’d cut it a few weeks prior. “But now it’s done, so.”

Jon sighs lightly and shakes his head, more an expression of resignation than irritation. The spot where Daisy’s things used to sit looks empty now, barren. It makes something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. It must show on his face, because Daisy sighs and stands, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her trousers. “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’ll still visit.”

“I know,” Jon signs, his hand gestures a bit too wide. “I’ll still…” He pauses, his hands lingering in the air for a moment as he tries to figure out what the next sign should be, before giving up and stepping forward instead, reaching for Daisy’s hand and capturing it in his. He squeezes tightly, looking up at Daisy with an open, vulnerable expression. Then, he brings her hand up with his as he presses it against the left side of his chest, a few inches above the jagged line of scar tissue, and settles his other hand on top of it. He may not know how to sign I’ll miss you, but he’d learned love early on.

Daisy’s hand relaxes underneath his, and she stares at where their hands are clasped, mouth settling into something warm and fond. “Yeah. Me too. But it’s… time.” Her mouth twitches into something halfway displeased. “Basira’s waited long enough.”

She can wait a bit longer, Jon thinks, even as he nods and lets go of Daisy’s hand. Besides, he… he knows she’s right. The longer she stays, the less of a chance there is of her leaving at all, and he knows that it’s for the best if she goes. For her and for him.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Daisy must see the vaguely sullen look on Jon’s face that he’s trying to hide, because she gives Jon an amused look and says, “You’ll be fine. No need to be so… grumpy.”

“I know,” Jon signs again, perhaps a bit more forcefully than is strictly necessary. “I’m not.”

“Sure,” Daisy says, her eyes wandering past his face and over his shoulder, where the door is sitting ajar. Jon knows Martin isn’t out there—that he’s still at work, will be for another hour or so—but he still has to resist the urge to follow her gaze, to check for himself that the doorway remains empty. “You’ve got my number? So you can call if you need to?”

Jon nods, signing the numbers just to make sure, and Daisy hums. “Good. I know the reception’s shit out here, but if I call three times with no response, I’m on the next train to Scotland. Understood?”

Jon rolls his eyes and tries to pretend like the fact that Daisy cares doesn’t make something warm and comforting settle in his chest. “Yes, mother.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” Daisy says, amused.

Daisy’s bag of things—clothing, toiletries, a few other items she’d accumulated over the past few months—sits accusingly by the door as Jon goes through the motions of making dinner, timing it so it’ll be ready by the time Martin gets home. It’s achingly domestic, and though Jon doesn’t really mind it, he’s found himself restless more days than not, hands itching for something to do that isn’t practicing sign language with Daisy or dusting the windowsills for the twentieth time. He thinks he’d be fine finding a job in the village; Martin insists that it’s still too dangerous, that people are still too angry. It’s a recurring argument, so old that almost all of the vitriol has bled out of it by this point, but still, they have it. Every moment he spends confined in this house is just another aching reminder of why he’s confined, and it builds and builds until some part of it springs free and brings with it all the frustration and hurt and pain that he just can’t seem to shake.

Maybe that’s why Jon’s so frustrated about the… therapy situation.

He stabs the knife through the pepper he’s cutting with a bit more force than necessary, and it makes a dull thunk on the cutting board. Daisy glances over from where she’s taking spices out of the cabinet, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to wear a hole through the plastic if you keep doing that.”

Jon sighs and sends her a withering look. “Thank you,” he signs with a roll of his eyes, the motion sharp and forceful, before turning back to the cutting board and continuing to slice with clipped, jerky motions.

Daisy exhales slowly, turning back to the cabinet. “What’s wrong?” she says, reaching in and sorting through the frankly obscene amount of spices they’ve accumulated over the past few months.

“Nothing,” Jon signs without looking away from the pepper. “It’s fine.”

“Hm.” Daisy locates the spice she was looking for and pulls it out of the cupboard. “Is it because I’m leaving? I told you, it’ll be fine.”

Jon sighs and shakes his head, brushing the cut peppers off to the side and starting in on the onion. Daisy is quiet, busying herself with the spices and clearly waiting for Jon to elaborate. She’s patient, and he knows from experience that she’ll wait and wait and wait until he finally tells her what she wants to know. It reminds him distinctly of a persistence predator, stalking their prey and waiting for them to tire before they pounce.

Jon makes it all the way through the onion, ginger, and mushrooms before he finally sets the knife down with a clatter and signs, “It’s Martin.”

He leaves his hands in the air for a lingering moment, three fingers pressed tightly to the palm of his left hand, before forcibly relaxing his hands and dropping them. After a moment, Daisy prompts, “Okay. It usually is. What about Martin?”

Jon flexes his fingers by his side a few times before resigning himself to the fact that Daisy won’t let this go until he explains himself fully. He turns to gather his notebook from the kitchen table, sets it flat on the counter next to the cutting board, and taps the pen on the page a few times before deciding to just be blunt. I don’t understand how going into town for therapy is different than going into town for any other reason.

Daisy hums. “Are you upset about the therapy part or about the rest of it?”

I’m fine with the therapy part, Jon writes, a bit messily in his haste and frustration. So the rest of it.

Daisy crosses her arms, clearly waiting for him to explain.

It’s just, Jon writes, then scribbles it out. I just don’t understand, he tries, before scribbling that out too. Finally, with a frustrated huff of air, Jon settles on, I don’t think doctor-patient confidentiality is going to be as protective as Martin thinks it will be.

“Hm.” Daisy leans back against the counter and taps her fingers against it thoughtfully. “Maybe he thinks it’s worth the risk.”

Jon makes a breathy hmph sound, not sure if he’s displeased about the fact that this is what finally convinces Martin that it’s ‘worth the risk’ or about the fact that Daisy has a point.

“Why don’t you talk to him about it?” Daisy asks. Which is a perfectly reasonable question, Jon knows, so there’s no reason for him to grow even more frustrated when Daisy asks it.

He sighs, stares at his notebook, and eventually just shrugs wearily. We just haven’t been very good at talking lately, he writes, feeling every bit of his energy seep out into the ink. The end of the last letter bleeds when he leaves his pen pressed there for too long, which he thinks is fitting. That’s sort of the point of the therapy.

It’s not that Jon’s resistant to therapy. He’s not. He’d done a few sessions with a child psychologist when he was eight (that had eventually dropped off when he’d decided that never think about it again and pretend like it never happened was a much better method of coping than trying to explain something unexplainable to a smiling woman in a pantsuit), a good month or two in uni when the stress of it all had compounded and he’d shut off sometime after exams, and they were… fine. He’d taken away a few tools that he still uses—breathing techniques, the occasional bout of journaling that he’d never managed to maintain, things to help him at least identify when his thoughts begin to spiral—but nothing had really ever seemed substantial enough to justify going back. Even when things had gotten… bad, in the Archives, he’d never entertained the thought, because what would he say? He’d sat in his flat after Prentiss, laptop open as he scrolled through the available services, and found the phone number he was meant to call. His wounds itched underneath his bandages; he tried not to scratch them. The ones in his mind were a bit more difficult to let be.

He hadn’t called, in the end. He’d imagined it—sitting in a sterile office, bandages from head to toe, trying to explain being half-eaten alive by worms without saying those words—and had felt a lump that was equal parts desperation and despair rise in his throat, so acute that he’d shut his laptop with a bit more force than necessary. Therapy just… wasn’t in the cards for him, he’d decided.

And then things had gotten more complicated, and he’d been paranoid then on the run then comatose then just trying to fight against the hunger, and he’d resigned himself to the fact that he… he couldn’t be helped. Every aspect of his life was so entwined with things that he couldn’t explain to someone else, with things that a therapist wouldn’t understand, and to try to separate the parts of him that were human from the parts of him that weren’t seemed like an impossible task. Better just… not to try at all, he’d decided. He’d be fine. He always was.

Jon supposes that now, the problem is quite the opposite. Before, he’d avoided talking about the parts of himself that were supernatural because the therapist wouldn’t understand. Now, he’s avoiding talking about them because they’ll understand a bit too well.

“I think you’re still meant to try,” Daisy says, and Jon’s confused for a moment before he remembers oh, right. Talking to Martin. “Besides, he’ll… be able to help more than I can. I can’t tell you what he’s thinking; only he can.”

Almost flippantly, Jon signs, “I know.” He sighs and, after a moment, writes, I think it’ll be easier if I just trust him on this. If he thinks it’s safe, then

Jon pauses, pen still sitting on the paper, before finishing with a bit more conviction than he feels, then it’s safe.

Daisy just watches him for a moment, forehead slightly creased, before shrugging. “All right. If you need somebody to tell you that that’s fine, then here I am—telling you that it’s fine.”

“Thanks,” Jon signs with a fond sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Very helpful.”

“You’ve got to work on your ‘sarcastic’ face, or I’m going to start taking you seriously.”

“Ha ha.”

“Hm. Much better.”

. . .

The bus from the village to the train station in Inverness leaves just after dawn. Jon shifts from side to side by the door to the safehouse as Daisy does a final check to ensure she hasn’t forgotten anything, Martin trailing close behind. When they finally join him by the door, Martin hardly has time to open his mouth before Jon signs, quick and crisp, “I’m coming with.”

“Jon—” Martin starts, but Jon shakes his head.

More emphatically, he signs, “I’m. Coming. With.” When Martin opens his mouth again to argue, Jon holds up a hand, digs his notebook out of the pocket of his jacket, and scribbles, If we can visit a therapist for the foreseeable future, I can go into town once to say goodbye.

Martin’s lips purse, but after a moment, he sighs. “No, you’re- you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“Scared?” Jon signs, one hand still holding the notebook and the other brushing against his chest.

Martin’s expression deepens, and he nods.

Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then reaches forward and takes Martin’s hand in his. He squeezes it gently, reassuringly, then threads their fingers together and holds it tightly. Martin takes a deep breath, lets it out, and squeezes back. “Okay,” he whispers. “Sorry. I just- I worry.”

I know, Jon thinks. He nods and fumbles to tuck the notebook back in his pocket, then brushes his fingers gently against Martin’s cheek. I’ll be okay.

He hopes the sentiment comes across. He thinks it does, from the way Martin leans slightly into his touch and takes another, more even breath.

“I think I’ve got everything,” Daisy says, breaking through the tension between them a bit indelicately but not without purpose. “We should start walking.”

Martin presses his face into Jon’s hand for a moment more before pulling away, and Jon drops his hand back to his side. “Yeah,” Martin says with a short, firm nod. “Let’s go.”

The trip to the village is surprisingly short. It might be because of the anticipation building in Jon’s stomach, half from the knowledge that he has at best another hour with Daisy and half from the clawing worry that he’s horribly miscalculated and the moment he steps past the village limits, an angry mob will coalesce around them and demand reparation for all of Jon’s past mistakes.

It doesn’t happen. They arrive at the village and the streets are quiet, most people still asleep or preparing for the day as the sun tickles at the horizon, tinting the landscape around them with a soft morning blue. The few people they do pass pay them no mind, save for an older gentleman who wishes Martin a good morning and nods politely at Jon and Daisy. As they get closer to the bus station, Jon relaxes in increments until, by the time they reach it, he’s nearly free of tension entirely. A new wave of anxiety rushes through him as he sees the small crowd clustered by the pickup area, but they stay away from the crowds, instead stopping a bit further away near a grouping of benches. Jon settles down gratefully, the walk having made the ache in his knee flare up slightly, and after a moment, Martin and Daisy sit down as well, one on either side of him. They’re warm and solid, and even as a few more people begin to filter into the station, Jon relaxes once again as he stretches his leg in front of him carefully.

The bus is there too soon. Jon cuts off halfway through his sentence, his pen pressed against the paper as the rumble of the bus fills the air and people start to shift and stand, making their way towards where the bus is slowly rolling to a stop. He looks at Daisy, suddenly feeling a bit lost, and she places her hand atop his and applies a gentle, firm pressure. “Call,” she reminds him. “Twice a week, at minimum. I expect you to be alive and well when I come back to visit, okay?”

Jon takes a deep breath. When he lets it out, it hitches in his throat. “Okay,” he signs. He flutters his hands in the air for a moment, caught between signing I love you and Be safe, then gives up and leans forward, wrapping Daisy in a tight hug instead.

She huffs out a laugh, but after a moment her arms curl around him and she settles her hands flat against his lower back, pressing down lightly. “Yeah, yeah,” she says softly. “I’ll miss you too.”

And then she’s standing and walking towards the bus and boarding and the bus is pulling away and then it’s just him and Martin, sitting side-by-side on the bench and watching the bus disappear from their line of sight. After a moment, Martin settles his hand on Jon’s knee and says quietly, “You okay?”

Jon takes a deep breath, lets it out, and nods. “Let’s go home?”

Martin nods, shifting his hand so it slips into Jon’s and squeezing tightly. “If you’re sure.”

Jon runs the fingers of his free hand along the cover of his notebook, now lying closed on his lap. The back half is filled with words, thoughts, some carefully inked and others scratched down quickly before Jon forgot them. He has another two just like this one, tucked away in his drawer in the bedroom underneath his jumpers. There’s so much contained within them, so much more that’s still contained within himself, and the path ahead—the one where he sits side-by-side with Martin and faces a trained professional and tries to iron them all out into something manageable—is a daunting one. But he wants to try. God, he wants to try. So badly he aches with it.

“I’m sure,” he signs, then reaches down and picks up his notebook and pen. For all the uncertainty he’s faced in the past, all that he still faces, that, at least, is clear to him.

“All right.” Martin bumps his knee gently against Jon’s once before standing, helping Jon to his feet. Jon’s knee twinges in protest, and without missing a beat, Martin slips his hand out of Jon’s and around his back instead, subtly supporting his weight as they make their way out of the station and back to the paved road that turns to gravel that turns to dirt that leads to the small wooden cottage at the top of the hill.

Right now, the soil outside their house is dark and barren. But in a few months’ time, Jon knows, it will grow warm and the days will grow longer and he will be able to sit outside and look at the sky and think of just how lucky he is that he’s allowed to have this. That, despite all of the bad that has happened and all of the bad that has followed them still, he’s allowed to be happy.

And in the spring, the daisies will bloom once again.

[theajaheira]

okay i watched that scene at the end of the dark age in full and it is making me wanna bash my head against a wall a little holy shit because the intended implications WITHIN the episode become something SO different when taking into account the entirety of jenny’s trajectory in the narrative! like, there’s what the writers were clearly trying to convey WHEN the episode was written, and there’s what the episode DOES convey about jenny as a part of her story. 

because within the context of the episode, the end leaves things between giles and jenny very resolutely Finished. giles comments that “i don’t think she’ll ever really forgive me,” and there’s nothing in jenny’s mannerisms that disabuse the viewers of that notion: she physically recoils from his touch and from any promise of future intimacy between the two of them. the takeaway is very clearly intended to be that jenny wants nothing to do with giles Ever Again -- that this is a horrible and heartbreaking tragedy for both parties where no one is to blame, and that jenny and giles’s paths have diverged irrevocably. it’s an excellent moment and it stands on its own very well.

but the thing is, jenny does get back together with giles after like TWO WEEKS! which of course can be chalked up to how the writers literally never thought about her beyond “what can we make her do that will add some spice to giles’s storyline,” but it’s also like ... that just does not mesh with the attempted depiction of a traumatized woman who needs her space. the first scene in ted, sure, where she’s very awkwardly making it clear that she cares about him but that she’s still pretty fucked up about eyghon, but EVERYTHING following it DOES NOT CLOCK if we’re supposed to read jenny as pulling away from giles because she needs her space to heal. like, jenny is a woman of intense and stubborn convictions, and she was absolutely in the right to tell giles to leave her alone! if she was genuinely serious about not wanting to be around him, she would NEVER have followed up with him at the cemetery.

so then because of that, there’s this really insane implication in the dark age that CLEARLY isn’t intended to be there! because if jenny’s pulling away from giles entirely after an intensely traumatic event but is somehow also still very very devoted to making things right with him -- enough to put her own recovery on hold when she feels that she’s injured him -- then she is full-on SERIOUS about a relationship that up until that point had been portrayed as very casually flirty on her part. that’s a discombobulating realization to have, and one that completely explains the dissonance between the dark age and ted, ESPECIALLY if her full background is accounted for -- this was supposed to be a very non-serious distraction, and now it’s serious, and in a moment of intense trauma and fear she turned IMMEDIATELY and INSTINCTIVELY towards him for comfort. 

in the latter half of the season, jenny is depicted as a very guarded and secretive person who genuinely tried to neatly separate her familial obligations and the connection she’d forged with giles. it would make SO MUCH SENSE for that person to pull immediately away from a genuine connection with someone, especially if it’s someone she was dating as a superficial attempt to distract herself from the mundane isolation of her own supernatural responsibilities! but in the episode itself, it’s very very clearly presented as “jenny’s traumatized and doesn’t want anything to do with giles anymore,” because the narrative just literally cannot conceptualize the idea of jenny having interiority and depth until passion (and then at that point it’s really just to make giles’s story more tragic). and that dissonance between jenny as she exists episode-to-episode and jenny as she exists within the narrative and with her backstory in mind makes me fully and completely insane.

it’s just like .... often i DON’T watch early jenny episodes with her backstory in mind, because it’s very very clear that there was no intentional work done there to create the character she eventually becomes. and i feel like that’s really the sane way TO consume any kind of fiction -- looking at the character as they’re presented in the moment, because a good piece of fiction is writing a character with a pre-planned arc from the beginning -- which in turn means that it’s very very easy to miss weirdness like this, because if you’re watching the dark age and you’re not staring at jenny you really only pick up on what the episode is saying about her. but the retconned backstory and the fact that she is there with an agenda adds this insane layer to literally every interaction she has with giles! she’s presented as this very casual and breezy computer science teacher who’s dating giles mostly for the lolz and because she thinks he’s hot, and the dark age implies that when faced with the reality of what he has to deal with on a daily basis, she cannot handle it and opts out.

thing is, though, her backstory is that she is someone who has been working since angel’s arrival in sunnydale to carry out a mission of vengeance for her family, and that she believes angel to be capable of change. that’s not someone who can just “opt out” of the more serious supernatural aspects of giles’s life -- that’s someone who understands shit like eyghon INTIMATELY and might actually easily empathize with the concept of your past hanging around like a shadow. that’s someone who looks at giles and has the capacity to UNDERSTAND what it is like to be a cog in the machine. her sympathy for him and her attraction to him is presented in the narrative as somewhat casual and superficial, especially in the early seasons -- but if her backstory is allowed to be a part of their early-season relationship, it becomes this story about a woman who is constantly holding her truest self at a distance, because she is afraid. 

but the early seasons don’t HAVE that context, so they’re intentionally telling a story about a cute little relationship that giles is having with a techno-witchy lady -- something that is an escape from his fucked up supernatural responsibilities and is just refreshingly normal. something that is heartbreaking in the dark age, because this normal thing that he’s had is finally and inevitably crumbling to bits. and that is so drastically different from what jenny becomes when this added context comes to light.

[ezrasarm]

Coming Out As Asexual/Aspec

Pairings: Javier Pena x reader, Marcus Pike x reader, Din Djarin x reader, Ezra x reader, Frankie Morales x reader

Word count: 2.3K (oops)

Warnings: discussions of sexuality, depictions of main characters as Aspec

A/n: I apologize these were meant to be head canons and a few of them wound up turning into mini fics. I would like to thank @dishonouringmycow for supplying many ideas and helping me concoct these for you and @kiss-evans for her insight as well. These were a lot of fun to write! We’ve written these HCs in hopes that they will be inclusive and relatable to most ace/demi-/greysexual folks and anyone in between. We hope you like them!

[masterlist]

Javier Peña

Telling Javi is a little tricky.

Given the time period, and the fact that asexuality was hardly a word let alone a widely accepted concept, Javier didn’t stand a chance when you went about explaining to him your “unconventional” relationship with sexual attraction.

You didn’t even fully understand it yourself at that point which is why you were terrified when you felt you owed him an explanation for turning him down.

You and Javi had been dancing around each other since pretty much the moment you landed in Bogata.

You knew you cared about him more than the average coworker and Steve didn’t hesitate to tease either of you mercilessly for it with every chance he got.

But there was a reason you had been avoiding acting on those feelings you harboured for him and a reason you were so terrified when he reciprocated them.

Silence overwhelms the small stakeout vehicle when you tell him.

He doesn’t get it.

“Oh.”

The disappointment that pours off of him is palpable.

This really wasn’t the reaction he was expecting to the heartfelt confession he had mustered up the courage for only moments ago.

“Javi,” You sigh, “It’s not like that. It’s not personal. I don’t feel attracted to anyone that way.” You reiterate but he still seems convinced that this is just an elaborate attempt to spare his feelings.

“You don’t have to do that, you know? You don’t have to let me down easy.”

“That’s not what this is. I really just don’t operate that way.”

You had seen the girls coming and going from his apartment across the hall. You knew how he chose to blow off steam after stressful days at work and you knew you couldn’t keep up with that.

“I don’t think I can be there for you like you want me to.”

It takes a moment for it to dawn on him what you mean and you think he finally takes the hint when another ‘oh’ escapes him.

“I don’t need-“ He starts up but cuts himself off when you give him a pointed look.

“I really, really wanted this to work.” He says after what feels like hours of you discussing all the reasons you would wind up resenting each other if you went down that path. All the fears you had of starting something up with him.

“Me too.” You hum solemnly when you deflate to lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quick to shake his head and whisper a quiet “Don’t apologize.” When he wraps an arm around you and places a kiss to the top of your head.

You both walk away from that stakeout with heavy hearts but lighter shoulders and although it takes some time to heal you learn to show how much you care about each other in different ways.

Now he slings an arm around your shoulders when you’re getting unwanted attention on a night out.

You stay up drinking with him so he doesn’t have to brood alone after a particularly tiring day.

Soft touches and reassuring words come easier between you two.

Most importantly you’re both happy and you haven’t lost each other.

Marcus Pike

Marcus is a little less clueless.

He knows Asexuality exists and has a vague sense of what it is, he just doesn’t know a whole lot about it.

There’s not much pressure when you tell him.

It comes as a bit of a disclaimer early in your relationship and you try not to make a big deal of it. You just want to make sure that he’s aware as your relationship progresses.

Marcus, ever the sweet and compassionate boyfriend is attentive and understanding as you speak.

The words that seem to stick out in his mind come at the only point when the slightest bit of doubt weens it’s way into your voice, “I just wanted to make sure that that’s- that I’m enough for you.”

His heart stops and he’s overcome by a feeling of both shock and sorrow that you could ever think such a thing of yourself.

“Of course. Of course, you’re enough.”

“You’re more than enough. You’re… you’re everything.”

What you don’t see is the way that after this conversation he finds himself wracking up more and more questions that he’s too scared to ask you. Not because he’s afraid of the answer but because he doesn’t want to overstep or make you uncomfortable.

So naturally, he turns to the next best thing.

The internet.

What he fails to realize is how broad a spectrum of asexuality there is and all he gets is more and more confused.

Marcus accidentally develops a following on Aspec Reddit forums for trying to ask people questions and them all just going “aww, Hun” at this poor clueless bean and swooning over how much he cares about you.

Despite the enthusiasm and volume of their responses, they don’t really add much clarity beyond “Hey, maybe you should ask your SO”

Instead, he runs around treating you like glass while he tries to buck up the courage to actually talk to you about it until on a movie night as he awkwardly tries to contort himself around you so he’s cuddling you… without touching you, you finally snap.

“Marcus! What is going on?”

That’s when he finally and rather sheepishly admits that he wants you to tell him more about your sexuality.

“Oh.”

You pause the movie and give him your full attention as you try and talk him through as much as you’re able to explain until suddenly you’re stuck for an answer and you look up at him with rather watery eyes as you admit you have no idea and suddenly you’re the one having the existential crisis.

“Oh, oh no. It’s alright, we can figure it out together! Shhh, it’s all fine. Please don’t cry! Reddit didn’t tell me this would happen!”

“Who-ddit?”

Din Djarin

Coming out to Din is rather anticlimactic.

He doesn’t have much to say beyond “Okay.”

You’re a little confused at first.

That went… too well.

It’s a while later when he brings it up again that you begin to realize why.

There’s no hesitation or taboo, he’s quite straight forward when he asks why you were so nervous.

At first, you’re not so sure what to say. Wasn’t that kind of obvious?

“Not everyone takes it so well.” You shrug thinking back to past relationships where your partners seemed to expect you to give them more than you were willing to.

You could practically see the gears turning behind his visor and it’s only now that you connect the dots and his reaction from before seems to add up.

To him, that was the norm.

It makes sense the more you think about it.

In all the time you had spent travelling with him, all the objectively beautiful women, men and everyone else in between that had crossed your paths, all the slurs that had been thrown at him by drunkards in cantinas about how he fucks with all that armour on, all the rather compromising situations you had found yourself in with him before and you had never caught his gaze wander or heard him express any indication of interest in yourself or anyone in that way.

You had always put it down to his creed. As far as you were aware such things were forbidden for people of his faith but you’re left with an odd sense of comfort as you realized that wasn’t the case.

Perhaps this was his strange little way of letting you know you weren’t alone.

Ezra

When you met Ezra you were prepared for the worst.

A guy as cocky and loquacious as him and you just trying to keep your head down in the busy bar and enjoy your drink in peace after a rough day.

You didn’t have high hopes when he swung into the booth across from you and started down whatever elaborate story he had decided would impress you enough to get you into bed.

“It’s my missing appendage, isn’t it?” he asks when you quite clearly don’t bite.

He’s already moving to leave you be when your eyebrows knit together in confusion and your eyes blow wide as you’re hit with a sudden wave of guilt.

You had grown used to deflecting advances like this but something about the way he said it, the bold, charismatic man suddenly looking like a kicked puppy made your guts churn.

You didn’t normally give an explanation, you didn’t feel you owed anyone that, especially not a stranger and yet here you were.

“What? No! No, I actually think you’re very good looking and charming and all those things people look for in a partner, I’m just not particularly one for casual hookups.” You say looking around the room where you now felt wildly out of place with just about all of its inhabitants presumably looking to get laid or trying to forget someone they couldn’t do so with.

“...Or any hookups really.” You correct yourself and watch as the disappointed look on his face morphs into a glint of curiosity.

“You a uh- a spade?” He asks resettling into the booth, an oblivious smile settling on his cheeks when you laugh at him.

You spend until last-call deeply enthralled in conversation and comforted by one another’s company.

That’s all either of you were here for in the first place, to feel a little less lonely.

You’re only pried apart by the closing of the bar, the nag of sleep hot on your heels and the promise that this wouldn’t be the last you saw of each other.

Frankie Morales

Frankie knew you were asexual.

You had told him before, he just didn’t entirely understand what that meant until much later on.

He seemed familiar with the term but his knowledge of the concept didn’t seem to extend beyond a basic definition.

Frankie’s first wife was his first for a lot of things. First girlfriend, first kiss, first love, first lover, first breakup.

He took the divorce pretty hard, as anyone would.

They’d gotten married so young, before he was deployed, that the guys had never seen him single before and neither had he really.

It took a long time for him to recover and by then he was content. ‘not in a particularly big rush to start down the relationship path and get hurt again’ is how he had phrased it to you once in confidence.

But another factor that he failed to recognize fully at the time was that he just hadn’t found anyone he was interested in in that way.

He’d tried going on a couple of dates but none of them clicked and it just left him feeling more alone.

It was after Tom died, almost five years after his divorce that the guys finally called him on it.

At first they just assumed the way he had been acting was about Tom and in a sense it was, Tom was the only one who had been through a divorce before, he was the only one who really understood and talked him through it when the going got tough.

Will was the one to put the pieces together and realize that the issue wasn’t Tom so much as Frankie getting more and more tired of being on his own.

His intentions were well meaning. They were just trying to help.

All they wanted was to see him happy but the more the boys seemed to try and set him up, the more resistance they were met with and even Frankie couldn’t figure out why until he was sat, venting to you about it one night.

“How did you know you were ace?” He blurts out suddenly and you’re a little lost for words, you weren’t really expecting this conversation to go this way but it was obviously something he had been considering for a while.

“Sorry that wasn’t a fair question,” He says when he notices you’re struggling, “I just- they keep trying to set me up with, who I’m sure are some really great people, but it’s all on this little tiny screen and all you see are a couple photos and maybe a blurb if you’re lucky and there’s just no…”

“Connection?” You suggest. Those big puppy eyes shoot up to you from where they were fixed on the counter in front of him and he gives you a slight nod.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He sighs and your heart breaks a little looking at him like that before you round the counter and pull him into a hug. “I’ve felt attraction before but I look at the guys and it feels like it takes so much more for me to get to that point than them.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” You assure him gently, brushing your fingers through his hair when you pull away to give him a reassuring smile. “Sounds like you could be on the asexuality spectrum.”

“There’s a spectrum?”

[masterlist]

Permanent Taglist: @agirllovespancakes @chaoticspaceidiot @engineeredfiction @pedropascalito @dreamgirl-67 @wickedfrsgrl @hillarymurray4 @din-damn-djarin @yespolkadotkitty @wille-zarr @oloreaa @browneyes-djarin @marydjarin @roxypeanut @opheliaelysia @cryptkeepersoul @prxtty-boah @aliciaxglasgow @elena-myth @theocatkov @bioticgoddess @edencherries @kandomeresbitch @mrsparknuts @hayley-the-comet @rachelxwayne @thirstworldproblemss @andriecastana @justanotherblonde23

Pedro Boys Taglist: @theravenreads @mrschiltoncat @seasonschange-butpeopledont @dishonouringmycow @deafspaceperson 

[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?