#also quick note that she actually does have plenty of wiggle room in there for curling up or stretching out

[thatswhatsushesaid]

betrayal most foul!!!

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 4

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 6.6k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, non-graphic description of blood and injury, cursing, alcohol consumption Summary: You and Mando choose Sorgan as your place to lay low, only to get wrangled into a risky job. Notes: I didn’t post last week, so have two chapters! Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme​​ @beskarhearts​​ @dincrypt​​ @honey-hi​​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00​​ @red-leaders​​ @zoemariefit​​

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

The next few days passed in a haze of planning and training. You helped instruct the villagers in hand-to-hand combat alongside Cara and firearms training with Mando. When Cara asked why you happened to be proficient in both skills, you told her that working with the clientele you did occasionally necessitated self-defense. That was true enough.

After a day or two, however, you decided it was best to leave the blaster training up to Mando. You focused on assisting Cara, who was good company, and joined the crew that was constructing barricades and digging trenches.  

It was irritating to feel a tinge of jealousy at the comfortable way Mando interacted with Omera so soon after meeting her. She was beautiful and clever, welcoming and kind. You understood her appeal. Still, despite yourself, you were annoyed by their borderline flirtatious interactions.

You could practically feel Mando’s heart drop when Omera was the only villager to raise her hand when he asked the group who knew how to shoot. He looked like he might actually be in physical pain as he watched her hit the pan she was aiming for over and over in quick succession during target practice. He was visibly tense, holding his shoulders back uncomfortably far as he regarded her, deeply impressed.

You were honestly even a little nettled by easy relationship that had developed organically between Cara and Mando. Their connection was strictly platonic, but they acted like they’d been friends for years. 

Why is it so different with me?

Both of these developments were irritating, but what really drove you to avoid Mando was your frustration at yourself. This wasn’t the plan. You weren’t supposed to get invested or attached—both because you’d part ways soon enough and because you were witnessing Mando get attached to someone else.

It was easy enough to limit your interactions with him during the day. You spent what little spare time you had playing with the kid and the gaggle of children that followed him around to squeal at every adorable flap of his ears, or wandering through the forest. You always stayed closed to village, but it was relief to get some time alone. As nice as it was to have regular company—something you’d wanted for so long—you also missed some aspects of your solitary existence. It was simple and comfortable. It was what you knew best.

***

At night, you made sure to stay away from the barn as long as possible so Mando could have plenty of time to eat and do whatever else he did with his helmet off.

Each night, you would approach the barn after dark had fallen, making sure to stomp loudly up the steps. You’d stand off to the side of the doorway and knock, waiting to hear the telltale sound of beskar dragging across the wooden windowsill and the subsequent hiss as he fit the helmet back over his head.

The fourth night, however, when Mando arrived back at the barn in the early evening, he stopped at the doorway.

You had stacked every box, crate, and stray item in a line down the center of the back half of the room to make a barrier that was as high as your shoulder. You’d hung a sheet across both sides, so you each had an enclosed space.

“I know it doesn’t fix it, but I thought it might make you feel better? I promise not to get up with out warning you... I know you’ll probably keep your helmet on anyways, but I have to imagine sleeping in it is killing your neck, and since you won’t let me figure out somewhere else to sleep, this is the best I could come up with,” you stopped rambling, punctuating the end of your sentence with a decisive nod.

“Thank you,” he said.

You were relieved—and slightly surprised—when later that night, after darkness had fallen and you were tucked under your blankets, hovering on the edges of sleep, you heard a hiss and a thunk, which you registered as him removing his helmet and setting it on the floor. It was slightly harder to fall sleep knowing that Mando was only feet away from you, helmetless.

The warmth that blossomed in your chest at this display of trust stayed with you well into the next day.

***

The next night, after a long day of training, you were back in the barn, getting cleaned up before bed. Mando, having just entered, was untying the knot in his cape. The kid was standing in his crib, tiny hands gripping the bars, watching you and Mando with eager curiosity.

Seated on a crate, you pulled the necklace that was tucked under your shirt over your head, preparing to wash the sweat and grime of the day off you. You leaned over to stow it in a tiny zip pocket on the outside of your bag, when you felt a tug on the thin gold chain. You looked down at your hand, thinking the child must have tottered over when you weren’t looking. But, looking up, you saw that he wasn’t near you. He was still standing in his crib, and he whined at you, his tiny hand outstretched. He seemed concerned, his eyes squinted and forehead wrinkled in concentration.

You looked from the necklace in your hand to the kid and back.

“What the—?”

You glanced at Mando. He was watching you, the cape he was folding frozen in his hands. He dropped the cape and strode over to the crib to grab the child, hugging him tight to his chest. He turned to leave the barn, walking to the doorway. The child struggled against him, until his big ears and eyes appeared over Mando’s shoulder, a tiny hand stretched toward you again.

Curious, you opened your hand and straightened your arm, offering the necklace on your palm.

The baby’s face wrinkled in concentration once again. Mando was almost out the door when the necklace jerked out of your hand and flew across the room. The chain hooked on one of the kid’s tiny fingers. He grasped it, and the purple crystal at the end of it clinked distinctively when it collided with Mando’s pauldron. Mando stopped dead in his tracks.

Your jaw dropped. Mando whirled around, adjusting his grip on the child so he could see the necklace clutched in his tiny hand, the pendant swinging back and forth like a pendulum. The baby was cooing and wiggling his ears in triumph. His other hand grabbed at the crystal.

Mando’s entire demeanor shifted in the space of a second. He stopped breathing and crossed the space between you in a few long strides, raising a hand to point a threatening finger at your chest.

“You can’t tell anyone.” The anger in his voice failed to conceal the fear underneath it, even through the modulator.

“I won’t.” You were absolutely bewildered by this development, but you’d never do anything that would endanger the child.

Mando stayed frozen like that, his hand outstretched. In his arms, the child tittered and cooed, examining the object clasped in his tiny hands.

“Mando, I promise. I won’t.”

He nodded, dropping his accusing hand, and looked down to gently extricate the necklace from the three-fingered hand it was wrapped around. You could see the reflection of the baby’s huge, imploring brown eyes in Mando’s visor. The baby let out a frustrated huff in protest and began to whine in earnest when Mando successfully disentangled the necklace.

He thrust it back into your hand, turned on his heel, and left.

The Mandalorian has a baby... Jedi? And he does not want to talk about it.

***

After two weeks of preparation, the day finally arrived. Tension was high among the villagers as the final arrangements were made. The plan was reviewed, and finally, the sun began to set. You and Mando headed back to the barn to gear up.

It only took a few minutes for Mando to grab all he needed. Slinging his rifle across his back, he walked toward the doorway and paused. He turned around to face you.

“We’re headed out. You’ll make sure the kid is safe with the others?” he asked.

“Of course. Be careful out there.”

“You too.” He gave you a curt nod and swept out the door.

You gathered what you needed, delivered the child to the building that was designated for children and a couple caretakers, and took your place with the villagers behind one of the barricades. You shared words of reassurance with those around you.

The night passed in a blur of adrenaline. You had been put in charge of one of two groups of the villagers who were capable of fighting. Omera led the other. Mando and Cara attacked the raider’s camp, drawing them out of the forest. The Klatooinians rushed the village, purposefully funneled to the open space between your group and Omera’s by the barricades, and the AT-ST stuttered into view shortly after.

The villagers were roughly trained soldiers, but in the end, it was enough to scare off the Klatooinians—especially once Mando and Cara managed to lure the reluctant walker into the trap, incapacitating their largest weapon.

Halfway through the fight, your blaster jammed, so you traded it for one you took off a dead Klatooinian. It was large and awkward in your hands, but it did the job well enough.

When the walker fell and the remaining Klatooinians turned tail, the villagers began to cheer, letting their guard down immediately. Mando and Cara disappeared into the woods after the retreating raiders to clear out any stragglers.

You scanned the dark scene from where you stood behind the krill ponds to ensure that every Klatooinian had left. When you turned back toward the village, you noticed an injured raider, who had been lying on the ground, lurched to his feet. He started towards Omera, who was kneeling beside an injured villager, tending their wounds, with her back to him. As he stood, he pulled a long knife from is belt.

“Omera!” you yelled. She looked around at the sound of her name and exclaimed when she saw the man charging her, only a few feet away. Her hands scrabbled along the ground around her, trying to locate her blaster. The other villagers in the vicinity, caught off guard, froze and watched in horror.

You fumbled with the safety on the unfamiliar blaster in your hands, feeling slow and awkward. Fuck.

You sprinted forward to position yourself between Omera and the Klatooinian, catching him off guard and meeting his face with the butt of the heavy blaster. He growled in pain, closing his eyes for a moment as he reeled back, slashing the air blindly with his blade. You took the chance to kick him in the stomach, putting all your weight behind it. He doubled over, but managed to throw out his arm as he stumbled backwards, just as you were drawing your leg back. You cried out in pain as his blade bit through the meat of your calf.

Omera, who had recovered behind you, shot the raider before he hit the ground.

You staggered back, breathing hard, and sat on the ground abruptly, gritting your teeth at the sharp pain. He’d cut deep into your muscle, leaving a laceration as long as your hand. Bacta would fix you well enough, but it hurt like a bitch. It was bleeding freely, thick droplets of blood running down your shin into your boot. Without thinking, you ripped your shirt off over your head, leaving you in just your breast band, and wrapped it tight around your calf to staunch the bleeding. Several villagers rushed over to help you, but you waved them off, reassuring them that you had it under control.

Omera knelt beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Thank you for having my back,” she said genuinely.

You smiled at her and covered her hand with yours: “Anytime. Thanks for having mine.”

You heard the familiar clank of Mando’s armor behind you. He must have finished flushing out the nearby trees. He crouched next to you.

“What happened?”

“Knife wound. Not bad. I’ll be fine.”

Blood was rapidly soaking through the thick fabric of your shirt. Okay, I might need stitches.

“You need stitches,” Mando said, verbalizing your thought.

“Yeah.”

“I can do those for you,” Omera offered. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” you nodded.

She threaded a hand under your arm to help you to your feet. You started to get up.

“I got her,” said Mando, waving Omera away. She moved back.

You were too focused on the stinging pain of your leg to process what he meant. Mando got to his knees and leaned forward to slip an arm under the crook of your knees and one around your back. You flinched at the feeling of the cold beskar on your side.

“Mando, I can walk,” you protested, surprised, as he lifted you. You instinctively wrapped an arm behind his neck, while your other hand held tight to the shirt around your calf.

“You’re losing too much blood.”

His chest plate was cold against your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You were surprised when he turned in the direction of the barn where the two of you slept, instead of toward the structure that had been designated for medical care. On the way there, he poked his head into the room where the kids were hidden. The child chirped happily up at the two of you from where he was seated in Winta’s lap. Satisfied, Mando turned to carry you the rest of the way to the barn.

If you weren’t exhausted and in pain, you’d probably be more acutely aware of how exposed you were in just your breast band in his arms. You would probably be enjoying the easy way he was carrying you.

He stepped onto the porch in one stride and strode inside, setting you down gently on your blankets. You lay back immediately, bending your injured leg to keep the pressure steady with a tight grip on your shirt. You closed your eyes, trying to not focus on the pain. You heard Mando rummaging around.

“My med pack is in my backpack,” you said. “Will you hand it to me?”

But when you opened your eyes, you saw that he already had his own med pack open on the floor next to you.

“I have anesthetic bacta spray. I’ll use that first so you don’t feel the stitches.” He held up an aerosol can to show you.

Knowing how expensive that was, you protested: “No, no, save that for something more serious. I’ll be okay. I’ve had stitches before.”

“It’ll be easier for me if I know I’m not hurting you,” he insisted, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

“I can handle it.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? Yes, I can. I’ve done it before.”

“Will you just let me do it?” he asked, exasperated.

“Are you okay though? Don’t you have any injuries?”

“No. Beskar,” he replied, tapping his chest plate. “Just let me do it,” he pressed with an imploring head tilt.

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly. “Thank you.”

He moved down to your calf, taking the shirt gently from your hands. When his fingers brushed yours, you registered that it wasn’t a glove you felt—his hand was bare.

You closed your eyes again, trying not to fixate on the feeling of his bare skin on yours. Plus, you still weren’t sure if seeing his bare skin would somehow violate his Creed.

He peeled back the fabric slowly. You winced.

“The worst of the bleeding has stopped,” he said, using the shirt to wipe away the drying blood on your skin. “I’m applying the spray.”

You nodded vaguely, then hissed through your teeth at the sting of cold spray on your leg, but the effects were immediate—the pain disappeared instantly, completely.

“Ah, fuck, I forgot how good that stuff is. I got so used to getting patched up without it.”

He let out a grunt of agreement. “Stay still.”

“I will.”

You glanced down at Mando, appreciating how out of place he looked, his large metal form crouched over your leg, administering precise medical care with careful movements.

Feeling like you were in good hands, with the pain gone, you let the fatigue overtake you. Your eyes drifted closed.

Sometime later—you weren’t sure how long in your hazy state—you felt Mando move beside you. You opened your eyes, and he was on his knees by your shoulder, his gloveless hand hovering a couple inches above your arm like he wasn’t sure whether or not he was going to touch you. You gave him a sleepy smile, and in a sudden movement, he lowered his hand the rest of the way down to your bare shoulder.

I guess it isn’t against the Creed to reveal your skin to someone else.

“I’m done.”

“Thank you,” you replied, reaching up to pat the hand on your shoulder. You kept the gesture brief, concerned that your touch might prompt him to pull his hand away.

He didn’t.

His hands were softer than you were expecting.

“Rest,” he instructed. “I put water next to you.”

He stood to leave, the weight of his warm hand retreating with him.

You tried not to overthink how tender Mando had been with you. You didn’t want to process what it meant or the fact that it sort of left you swooning. Though, maybe that was the blood loss.

As you drifted to sleep, you thought about what the future might hold. It was a relief that the fight was over and the village was safe, but it also meant your job here was done and it would soon be time to leave Sorgan. You weren’t sure what this meant for your partnership—if you could really even call it a partnership—with Mando. Would you go your separate ways now?

It wasn’t until the next morning—when you were examining the precise row of stiches on your calf—that you realized, with great dismay, you’d exposed the scar on your chest to Mando, Omera, and a handful of other villagers.

***

The following evening was a celebration. The entire village stayed up late into the night eating, talking, and drinking in the long hall.

After dinner, you were five shots into a drinking game with Cara when Mando rejoined the two of you. You were drinking a clear liquor, something stronger than spotchka that you didn’t know the name of.

Mando sat down stiffly across from you, watching the two of you howl with laughter over a joke he’d missed.

“I was just here half an hour ago. How are you both already drunk?”

“We’re efficient,” said Cara in a mock-serious tone.

“You want to play, Mando? I could get you a straw,” you offered.

He tilted his head, and the sassiness of the gesture made you cackle.

Cara laughed heartily, slapping her hand on her thigh: “I guess that’s his way of saying he can’t handle his booze.”

“What exactly are the rules of this game?” he asked.

“We stopped worrying about the rules awhile ago,” you admitted.

“So who’s winning?”

“Me!” you declared, reaching for the half-empty bottle once again.

“I don’t know about that,” said Cara, skeptically, snatching the bottle and unsteadily pouring two more shots. She handed one to you.

“Maybe you guys have had enough,” Mando said, reaching out to take the glasses from Cara.

“Maybe you’re not the boss of us,” you sassed, knocking his hand out of the way and tipping the proffered shot down your throat. You were drunk enough that it didn’t burn anymore.

“We’re celebrating, Mando!” Cara proclaimed before she downed hers too, and you both laughed at the long-suffering sigh that Mando let out.

A woman that Cara had been spending most of her free time with sauntered over to your table and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. Cara smirked.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to,” she said, standing and taking the woman’s hand.

“Have fun,” you said, winking.

“You too,” she shot back.

You turned to Mando: “Welp, looks like you’re my new drinking buddy.”

He sat silent, helmet following Cara and the other woman as they left the hall.

“Oookay, then. I’m going to bed.” You slapped your palms onto the table and pushed yourself up. 

Mando followed you as you stepped out into the cool night.

“Where’s the kid?” you asked.

“Asleep already.”

“That’s good. Babies need sleep.”

“He’s fifty.”

You turned to Mando, spluttering, “Fifty?!”

“Different species age differently,” he shrugged.

“Yeah, no shit... Still, that’s crazy. You have a fifty-year-old toddler. Your baby is older than you...I mean, I assume so. I don’t know how old you are. If I had to guess, I would say... Is that rude? I probably shouldn’t guess...”

Not paying attention, you started wandering in the wrong direction, and Mando laid a guiding hand on your lower back.

“Come on,” he sighed, directing you toward the barn.

You pushed out the loudest, most dramatic sigh you could muster, and he looked down at you.

“That’s you. That’s what you sound like. You looooove sighing, you know that? It’s your favorite thing, second only to the kid. You might like it even more than the kid, actually,” you mused, making yourself chuckle.

“You’re a chatty drunk,” he observed.

“Everyone is chatty compared to you, Mando.”

He grunted.

“What are you like when you’re drunk? I want to see that. Do you even drink?” You stopped walking, and he did too, visor trained on you.

“Sometimes.”

“I bet you’re a nice drunk.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, no, I know so. Because secretly you’re a nice not drunk person so I bet you’re an extra nice drunk person.” Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that your usual verbal filter was completely gone. Oh well.

“Is that right?”

“Yep, you pretend to be all scary with your sexy voice and your blasters and your bounty hunting and your fire bracelet and your shiny outfit, but really you are soft, and you love babies and helping people and carrying injured friends.”

“My sexy voice?” He titled his head suggestively.

“Really? That’s what you took from that?” You hiccupped. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what your voice sounds like. This is the way.” You hit him with your best Mando impression.

He chuckled.

Your mouth fell open, and you pointed up at him, incredulous. “You laughed.”

“I did.”

“Well, don’t do it too much or I might start to think that you’re a real human being under all that.” You gestured at his beskar.

“We wouldn’t want that,” he said, and you both started walking toward the barn again.

“Look at you, making jokes.” You tripped slightly, and Mando steadied you.

“My boot is untied,” you announced, flopping onto the ground unceremoniously to tie it.

Mando set his hands on his hips and leaned down to watch you.

You held a palm up to him. “Before you do it, I’ll sigh for you,” you said, letting out another exaggerated exhale.

He crouched down in front of you and batted your hand away, pulling your laces tight to knot them.

“You’re trying my shoe,” you said stupidly.

“Yeah, because you’re taking too long.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know. I am perfectly capable of getting back by myself. You can go to bed.” You waved dismissively in the direction of the barn.

“I’m not going to leave you out here drunk and alone.”

“See.” You tapped a finger against his chest plate. “Soft.”

“I guess so.”

“Andddd, I think you still feel the need to babysit me because you don’t trust me.”

He looked up at you. “That’s not true.”

“Convincing.”

He shook his head and stood up. You reached out both hands, and he gripped them, pulling you to your feet.

“How’s your leg?” he asked, replacing his hand on your back.

“Oh, it’s good. You make very tiny, very neat stitches. I was impressed. I assume you’ve had lots of practice.”

He hummed.

You hiccupped again.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” you scowled up at him. “I’m not even that drunk.”

He pushed your shoulder lightly, and you stumbled.

“Hey! That’s cheating!”

“Proved my point though.”

Putting all your weight behind it, you shoved his arm as hard as you could in retaliation. He didn’t falter. Taking a different tack, you snaked a hand under his arm and tickled his unarmored side. He leaped away from you.

“WHY!?” he grunted.

“You’re ticklish!” you announced triumphantly.

“No. I’m not.” But he was careful to stay more than an arm’s distance away from you.

“Yes, you are! But don’t worry, I will take your secret to my grave,” you promised solemnly, placing a hand over your heart. “It wouldn’t be good for business if everyone knew the greatest bounty hunter in the parsec could be bested via tickling.” Your voice cracked, and you dissolved into giggles.

Mando halted and turned to you, putting his hands on his hips again.

“Oh, Mando, lighten up. I’m just teasing you.”

In two decisive steps, Mando closed the distance between you, crowding you backward. You looked up at him, surprised, unable to get a read on him. “I didn’t mean—.”

In one swift movement, he hauled you over his shoulder.

“Hey!!”

He chuckled and tightened his hold around the back of your thighs. You surrendered quickly, going limp. His pauldron dug uncomfortably in your stomach, but otherwise, it wasn’t so bad.

“That is the second time you’ve laughed in the last five minutes. Are you feeling okay? Are you sure you didn’t sustain some sort of head injury yesterday?” you asked.

“Pretty sure, but I’m starting to think you might have.”

“Hilarious. You know, I could still tickle you like this,” you threatened, trailing a hand down his side.

“Not if you don’t want me to drop you,” he warned, jolting you slightly to demonstrate.

You huffed. “You can’t just cuff me or pick me up any time I’m inconvenient. That’s not how friendship works.”

“I think it works well for us,” he said as he climbed the steps to the barn.

***

The following two weeks were a period of peaceful recovery and restoration. You, Mando, and Cara helped the village return their home to normal—disposing of the dead raiders, breaking down the AT-ST, taking down the barricades, filling in the trenches. Every day, as there was less and less to do, you wondered when Mando would broach the topic of leaving. You had a feeling he, like you, was also putting it off for as long as possible. You were enjoying the easy routine you’d fallen into, spending time with the kid, Mando, Cara, and Omera; you’d happened into a community and were loath to leave it.

You were seated on the porch of the barn, watching the clouds roll slowly across the sky, when you noticed Mando making his way over.

As he walked toward you, you admired (not for the first time) the way the soft, green light of Sorgan danced across the surface of his beskar. You looked him up and down surreptitiously, wondering if he’d always worn such an elaborate outfit or if it had evolved over time. You knew the armor at least had been replaced. But had he always worn a cape? And like three layers of clothes? And the sash-like bandolier? You weren’t familiar enough with Mandalorian culture to know if they strapped all of that on as kids or if they donned the armor at a certain age...or how any of it worked.

Your eyes paused at his middle. Weren’t utility belts usually worn lower, on the hips? Not cinched closer to the trimmest part of the waist? It did seem to secure the softer part of his armor that covered his stomach, so maybe it had to be positioned there. The idea that Mando had thought about his silhouette when donning his armor was absurd... but something told you that it was not impossible. Honestly, you hoped the belt was just as much for fashion as it was for function because that was too funny. The man wears a cape... it is definitely possible that more than one part of his outfit is both aesthetic and practical.

You definitely weren’t complaining. You enjoyed the view.

You wondered if he fully understood the nature of his effect on people. He was acutely aware of how intimidating he could be; he wielded that advantage liberally and expertly, but you were unsure if he was aware of his appeal. It wasn’t just you who was drawn to him in that way—Omera, for one, was immediately taken with him. And you saw how others in the cantina that first day, or in the Sorgan public house, or even here in the village trailed their eyes down his body when he wasn’t looking.

Your face burned slightly at the memory of telling him he had a sexy voice. You were grateful you hadn’t admitted anything more embarrassing, and that he hadn’t brought it up again. To your relief, that night of joking with him had shifted things slightly—he’d been a little more relaxed around you since.

Mando walked up the steps and leaned on the wall of the barn, joining you on the porch. He glanced down at you.

“How was your patrol?” you asked.

“Good, no sign of any raiders.”

You nodded and let silence hang between you for a long moment.

“That fight was too much action for a backwater town like this though—word travels fast and it’s been a couple weeks. We should cycle the charts and move on.”

Your eyes found the child, who was seated amidst a group of children in the middle of the village. He looked so happy, giggling and playing outside in the sun. Krill flopped on the ground around him.

“I know you’re right, but the idea of taking him away from this place is... hard to think about. He’s so happy here.” You nodded your head toward the baby.

Mando heaved a sigh. He stared forward as he said, “I’m leaving him here. Traveling with me—that’s no life for a kid. I did my job, he’s safe—”

You were shocked.

“Your job, Mando? Your job was to turn in an innocent child for a bounty, and you knew that was wrong, so you didn’t. After that, he became your responsibility, not just a job.” The words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them.

You looked away from him, suddenly cold. He said nothing.

“I don’t understand you. You flip flop between being heartless and being caring. How do you go from saving him to leaving him in some random village? He’s attached to you. Please, explain it to me because I don’t understand.” You made no effort to hide the venom that was seeping into your voice, as every frustration you’d felt toward Mando over the last couple weeks bubbled to the surface at once.

You looked up at him. His helmet was trained on your face.

“He’ll get over it. We all do.”

You glared up at him.

“Why don’t you stay here with him? You could settle down with Omera. You know she wants you to stay.”

“She asked me to stay, but I don’t belong here.”

“You could if you wanted to. Don’t pretend like you don’t have a choice.”

You stood and walked away, leaving him on the porch. You couldn’t stand to look at his infuriatingly blank mask for one more second.

You stomped all the way to the forest’s edge and passed under the cover of the trees. You walked until you reached a clearing surrounded by chest-high berry bushes and began to pace back and forth.

What is he thinking?

How could he do that to the child?

How could he just leave him like that?

You knew it didn’t make sense that you would have a say in what happened to the kid, but you couldn’t help the fact that you’d grown attached to them both over the past several weeks. You wanted Mando to be the man you suspected he was—soft and kind-hearted. You didn’t want him to confirm that the moments of selflessness had been outliers, and he was really the ruthless bounty hunter that he looked like on the outside.

But...he was right that his life was not the best life for a child. You thought about your own lonely, unsettled, nomadic existence—not unlike Mando’s. Except, his life also included regular violence in a way that yours hadn’t in a long time. His life would be even worse for a child than yours.

And it made sense that he wasn’t willing to abandon his entire way of life, everything he knew to stay on Sorgan. That was a lot of ask of anyone. He didn’t ask for this.

You’d come out here to calm down but had only made yourself more irritated now that you’d come to the annoying conclusion that Mando was probably right. You huffed.

The threatening crunch of twigs off to your left brought you back to the present moment. You crouched amidst the bramble of berry bushes.

You watched through the tangle of branches as a figure made their way carefully through the forest. They were carrying a long rifle, their face concealed in a mask.

A bounty hunter. A tracking fob blinked in their hand.

Who is their target? The kid? Me? No, it can’t be me. The fob isn’t beeping fast enough. Mando? Cara? Probably the kid. The thought made your heart squeeze.

You stood silently to follow, keeping a safe distance behind them.

The hunter stopped at the edge of the forest, where the view of the village was clear, and set up the sniper rifle on a boulder. You waited to see where the sight was trained before making your move.

Sure enough, the scope was aimed at the baby, who was sitting on the ground beside a krill pond with Winta. Omera was standing in the water, submerging a basket, beside them.

You rushed forward, raising your blaster to the back of the hunter’s head, and pulled the trigger. Birds screeched and took off into the sky in response to the sound.

You smashed the tracker fob under the heel of your boot before rushing back to the village, knowing the ringing shot would have incited panic.

As you sprinted back to the village center, you spotted Mando. He was standing close to Omera, one hand placed reassuringly on her shoulder. The child was held tight in his other arm. Winta was hugged against her mother’s stomach. They looked like a family, the way they were huddled together.

When Mando saw you, he dropped his hand from Omera’s shoulder.

“What happened?” He looked you up and down, inspecting you for any signs of injury.

“There was a hunter in the woods. I took them out. They had a fob for the kid, Mando. They know he’s here,” you panted.

Neither of you spoke, sharing a moment of mutual understanding. You reached over to lightly stroke the kid’s ear. He cooed up at you.

“What does this mean?” asked Omera.

“It means that he isn’t safe here,” responded Mando. The pain in his voice was clear, even through the modulator.

Omera reached out for Mando’s hand, and he took hers for a moment, squeezing it gently before letting it drop.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He nodded stiffly. “Me too.”

You and Mando both turned to head to the barn at the same time. As you walked beside him, you looked over to find his helmet trained on you.

“I—uh, I owe you an apology. This would be a great place for any child to grow up—safe, loving. I get why you wanted to leave him here. I’m sorry that he won’t be able to stay now.”

Mando reached his hand out, as if to touch your arm, then thought better of it and let it fall to his side.

“You know, I actually did turn him in for the reward,” he admitted. “That’s how I got enough beskar for the new armor.” He gestured at his chest plate, hanging his head slightly, ashamed.

You looked at him, eyes wide in surprise.

“I regretted it right away and went back for him. That’s when I ran into you. Or, I guess, you ran into me. ” He let out a small huff of a laugh.

You grimaced, remembering the pain of slamming into his back.

“I understand why you were mad,” he continued. “But, I didn’t want to leave him here. I’m still trying to work out what’s best for him, but I know it’s not staying with me forever.” The thread of grief in his voice was pronounced.

You nodded in understanding, wishing you could somehow help him carry this profound responsibility. You weren’t sure how to express that, or if he wanted to hear it, or if it was your place to say it, so you settled on something else: “He’s easy to get attached to.”

Mando scoffed, “You’re telling me.”

You smiled at him, and you couldn’t be sure, of course, but you felt like he was smiling back at you.

***

You said your goodbyes and readied yourselves for departure. While you hugged the kids and packed your things, you thought about your next move.

A stubborn, cold part of you wanted to tell Mando to drop you off at the closest planet with a major port. You didn’t like that after just a few weeks, you were getting emotionally attached to the pair. It would be easier, safer, less complicated to return to your solitary existence. Plus, your continued presence added to the risk they already faced. That wasn’t fair to either of them.

The quieter, more truthful part of you wanted to stay with him and the child. It was a relief to not be alone all the time, but this was supposed to be a loose, short-lived alliance, not something that made your heart squeeze slightly when you thought about eventually going your separate ways.

You told yourself you’d wait until he brought it up, see what he wanted, and go from there.

You, Mando, and Cara stood at the speeder, ready to leave. Everyone in the village was there to see you off. After a few final goodbyes, Mando and Cara jumped into the speeder. You handed the baby to Mando.

You were about to grab the edge of the speeder to haul yourself up when he reached down to offer you a gloved hand. You accepted. The gesture didn’t surprise you—he was generally polite by nature. What did surprise you was the steadying hand that moved to your waist as you stepped carefully over crates and supplies to find a seat. He squeezed your side gently before letting you go.

***

You had prepared yourself for a conversation that never came.

As you were leaving the atmosphere of Sorgan in the Razor Crest, Mando turned to you to ask, “What are you thinking for our next move?”

He flicked some switches and pressed a few buttons on the console, and a holo-map of the area flickered into view in front of him. A constellation of planets hovered before your eyes.  

***

Chapter 5

[gohyuck]

4+4+17 with haechan

surgical resident!haechan and surgical resident!reader

i’ve been watching a lot of grey’s recently lol. the college is more “just out of med school” and the coming of age is more “feeling pain and coping” because that’s a life skill hard-learned and also because I had a VERY similar request to this one for renjun (found here) and I don’t wanna repeat that

warning: minor character death

4) college

4) coming of age

17) “It feels like I’m suffocating.”

donghyuck’s head is buried in his hands when you find him sitting on a spare gurney in one of the more empty hallways of the hospital. his lab coat is in a wrinkled pile on one side of him, while an empty - and totally crushed - plastic water bottle is on the other.

he doesn’t move at all when you move his lab coat aside to sit down next to him.

“bad day?” you ask, realizing that he isn’t going to tell you to leave like you’d been afraid he would. tentatively, you place a gentle hand on top of his hunched back. at feeling your touch, your boyfriend heaves a heavy sigh.

“dr. jung... let me scrub in on a ventricular restoration to treat heart failure in this heart attack victim today and it-it...” he chokes on his own words, and you find yourself running a hand up and down his back, doing your best to soothe him as he tries to find the words to continue. “the patient was so... young. he’d just had a second kid - a newborn - and he was fine one day and i was cutting into him to look at his heart the next, fuck!”

donghyuck quickly lifts his head out of his hands as he swears, his volume reaching a high out of nowhere as his shoulders stiffen. you pull your hand away from him immediately, as if stung, but you’re quick to place it back in the same place as he deflates in on himself once more.

“dr. jung had to tell the patient’s wife about her loss. maybe if she’d - it she’d cried, or screamed, it would feel less real, but she just stood there and-and-and stared right through jaehyun and right through me for the longest time until she just nodded, sat back down, and asked if she could be alone with her sons for a moment, please, and that she was grateful we’d done all we could. she was the one grieving but in that moment of her strength it... honestly, it felt like i had lost someone, too. she couldn’t cry in front of her boys but i wanted to cry for her it- god, this job fucking sucks. it sucks! it feels like i’m- like i’m suffocating, sometimes.”

you can’t say you aren’t taken aback by donghyuck’s outburst - after all, you’ve spent your entire internships and residencies together, and have been dating for about a year, and he’s never once sounded so distraught about the horrors that come with practicing medicine, specifically with practicing surgery. if anything, he’s one of the most enthusiastic residents you can think of, especially when it comes to traumas and sudden surgeries. while pretty much all surgeons are swift, you’ve never seen someone as quick on their feet as hyuck. he’s saved plenty of lives while having seen plenty of deaths. nothing he’s speaking of is new to him, but the way his tone shifts along the troughs and peaks of his story make you feel as if maybe even the most radiant people have breaking points.

“hyuck... babe...” you start, trailing off almost immediately as you try to think. after a moment - it hits you. you know exactly what to do.

you don’t try to say anything, knowing it’ll be to no avail. he’s justified in how he feels - patient deaths may happen often, but surgeons are expected to grieve them quietly. it’s only natural that everyone has a breaking point with them. hell, you’ve been there - for you, it was a young woman with muscular dystrophy.

you don’t try to say anything - you just stand up and reach your hand out, directly in his line of sight. donghyuck looks up at you, brows furrowed and eyes looking as if he’s drowning inside.

“put your coat on and take my hand,” you wiggle your fingers at him. “i want to show you something.”

he’s dumbfounded.

“this isn’t really the time-”

“i promise you that it is. trust me, yeah?”

donghyuck blinks slowly once, twice, thrice before he sighs and places on hand in yours, using the other to grab onto his lab coat. you smile at him and pull him up to stand beside you. he won’t feel this way forever, but if you can ease the process, you’ll do it.

♕ ♕ ♕

“are you sure we’re allowed in here?” hyuck’s voice is raspy as he whispers directly into your ear. one of his hands is situated on your lower back, though you aren’t sure whether it’s to keep you close or keep you away. you nod your head.

“i was on pediatric service today, it shouldn’t be a problem,” you respond, leading him into the newborn nursery. “besides, we’re doctors. we work here. anyways, most mothers will keep their newborns with them, but sometimes they’ll feel it’s safest for their baby to be in the newborn nursery.”

“some of them are also abandoned babies, right?” he murmurs, following you through the door.

“right. pretty much all of them get adopted reasonably quickly because the hospital is so accredited, and because babies are adopted fast in comparison, anyways. they’ve been given a life, and we give them the ability to live. sounds like a good deal to me, right?” your last sentence deteriorates into a form of baby speak as you talk at - though not to - the sleeping little boy in the crib closest to you.

donghyuck leans over the crib next to the one you’re at, smiling tentatively at the awake baby in it and allowing himself a small laugh when she gurgles back at him. neither of you dare to touch them, but you suspect just seeing them will put your boyfriend in better spirits.

he smiles down at the baby girl for a bit before looking up and slowly surveying the nursery. finally, donghyuck turns to look at you, his soft smile growing slightly.

“it’s kind of cliché to show me the ‘miracle of life’ after i’ve witnessed a death, isn’t it?” he teases, stepping towards you and resting his hands on your waist. you allow yourself a short laugh before responding.

“i was just thinking that babies are cute, to be honest,” you say, and hyuck chuckles softly before leaning and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“whatever the thought process was, it worked,” he assures you, and you grin at him before looping your arms around his neck for a hug. donghyuck can’t help but move his lips to rest by one of your ear’s before speaking again, his voice low this time.

“you know, these babies are kind of adorable. what say we make one of our own in an on call room some time?”

“you little-” you unwrap yourself from his arms, gently smacking his chest. he notes the blush and the smile on your face, though, and can’t help but place his lips on your forehead again. just as you let your eyes slide shut to savor the moment, a loud - or as loud as one can be around newborns - exclamation startles you.

“lee. (name). what the hell are you two doing?” the two of you find one of the attending pediatric doctors - dr. suh, actually - looking down at the two of you, though there’s no anger in his eyes. still, you and your boyfriend fly apart from each other, rushing to explain yourselves.

“we wanted to experience the miracle of life-” you start.

“babies are really, really, cute-” donghyuck speaks at the same time as you. you both stop abruptly to look at dr. suh, then at each other, then back to dr. suh again. he’s grinning at the two of you, thoroughly entertained. you can feel the gears start to grind in donghyuck’s head. before you can stop him from opening his mouth, he speaks, tone sly when he does.

“actually, (name) and i were thinking that we want to make one of our own-”

“donghyuck!”

[choicest]

The Hollow Side of the World

Author's Note: This fic is the continuation of my fic The Hardest Goodbye inspired by Pixelberry's The Freshman Series. This contains both MC's and Chris’ point of view after the break-up. Thank you for being here!

@whendolphinscry @malvolari-take-my-soul @the-soot-sprite

Pairing: Chris x MC

Chris

Chris feels some licking in his face, he slowly opens his eyes and see Rookie trying to wake him up. He laughs at the sight, what a cute puppy he is. "And good morning to you too, buddy." Chris rolls over and check the time in his phone, 10:49. It's late and he's not surprised that he slept in despite being a morning person. After yesterday, he's sure that it's either he won't be able to sleep fully or he'll sleep that long to numb the pain. Good thing he only got one afternoon class today so he's not running late.

The quarterback checks his phone once again. Refreshing it for the third time now, he hopes he'll see her name. Convincing himself that if he's not lucky enough to get a message from her, maybe there will be a notification on his social media from her. Anything that will help him feel closer to her again.

Accepting the hard truth that there's none, he contemplates if he should make the first move. He clicks her name and types "Good morning, babe." then immediately erases it. "Really, Chris? After what you said to her you have the audacity to call her that?" He scolded himself. "I'm really sorry. Please come home." he tries again and shows the screen to Rookie asking for approval. Rookie just lazily drops his head. "Yeah, you're right. That sounds dumb." He deletes the message, closes his phone and rub his hair out of frustration. "Come on, let's just eat breakfast. Chris smiles dejectedly and he lifts Rookie in his arms.

MC

MC goes downstairs and see her mom preparing waffles. "Good morning, mom." she says as she takes a sip of her coffee. "Good morning, bean!" Her dad, Stephen enters the kitchen energetic. MC notice that he's wearing a pajama. That's a good thing, she thought. That means that he spent the night here. She goes and hug him whispering thank you and smiling to her mom through the hug. She knows that her parents are also going through a rough patch and them putting aside their differences to be with her means a lot to her.

"Come on, MC. Eat faster so I can drop you at school before work." Stephen says. "Dad, really it's okay. I left the car at campus yesterday in a hurry so I'll just take the train today. I don't need you using your company's car, driving that long just to make me feel better." MC smiles warmly at her father.

"MC, you sure you're okay, honey?" her mom asks, knowing her daughter really well. "I'll be fine, mom. Thanks for the offer, dad but I got this." MC hugs both of them for the last time then head to the train station.

~

MC

Wanting to avoid any interaction with Chris, MC walks straight to the library to work on her thesis. As much as she misses him, she's not ready yet. There she saw Abbie, reading a book. She tries to blend in with the other library goers, not quite ready to tell her friend what happened. MC is about to give herself a pat on the back for an accomplished mission when she hears Abbie soft whispers to her. Closing her eyes briefly, MC plaster a smile and goes over her curly friend's table. "Hey, Abbie."

"Hey, yourself." Abbie gives her a meaningful look. Confuse, MC looks expectantly at her. "Oh, come on, MC don't worry about it. Tyler and I ditch you guys sometimes for the same reason." she teases MC. "Abbie, I don't follow. What's up?"

"Oh, wow. You didn't know? Well, Sebastian invited the gang last night to celebrate your play with James since we didn't really have the chance that night. We shoot you and Chris a message but since you guys were not answering we thought that you guys might have your own thing, you know?" Abbie wiggles her eyebrows. MC frowns. Now it's even harder to tell the truth. "But don't worry, we'll have plenty of time to celebrate. Though we missed the girl we were celebrating." Abbie adds.

After a few minutes of not answering, Abbie drops her book and looks at MC. "Hey, is everything okay?" MC looks at Abbie and tears comes falling. MC can't imagine where are the tears coming from. She thought she cried hard enough the last night. After Abbie gives her a hug, taking her time she tells her what happened and why both of them were unresponsive. MC didn't know what to do and neither was Abbie. For a while they just hug each other while Abbie whispers "Everything's going to be fine, MC."

Chris

Usually after his class, Chris would meet MC at the coffee shop and they would share some muffin they both love but today, Chris skips the coffee shop. He walks directly to the cafeteria to grab a quick bite before training. He wanted to give MC the space she needs in case she's there.

When Chris reach the football field, he feels more determined to do his very best even if it's just a normal training day. He puts himself in so much pressure thinking that him being inconsiderate of her feelings is one of the reasons why she left. "Might as well give my best so my girl giving me the chance to reach my dreams wouldn't go to waste huh." he said to himself. Chris tries his best to calm his nerves but failed miserably. He can't do this. Not without her.

~

MC

“So, what now, MC?” Abbie ask MC as they walk through the quad. “I need to go to London, Abbie. Whatever happens, it will be a great opportunity for me. Can I be honest?” MC stops walking then looks at her. Abbie nods, offering a sincere smile. “Aside from I need to go, I also really want to.” MC look down at her feet for a few seconds before speaking again. “I was so afraid, Abbie. I still am. Kaitlyn won the Battle of the Bands and gain a lot of attention, Zack have professor Vasquez’s old house to work on, you and Tyler are doing an amazing job on that game project, James got an offer from a publishing house, Zig is being so hardworking balancing his academics and the dance, Becca has Law School and Chris… Chris has his community organization. He has One Hundred Degrees. And now he has Nightingales back.” MC pause for a while, waiting for Abbie to get mad. What she just said sounds so bitter to her ears but Abbie just put a hand on her back. “I’m afraid, Abbie.” With tears in eyes, she finally admits the truth. “I know you guys often say I accomplished a lot at my age but look at me!” MC gestures to herself to emphasize her point. “I’m the only one in the group who don’t know what to do and where to go after graduation. And n-now… now that I finally have something to look forward to, something I actually want to do, all of this happened.” MC sobs softly and wipes her face with the sleeves of her blouse.

“I love Chris, Abbie. I do but I need to do this.” MC gives Abbie a glance hoping to find understanding in her eyes and she did not disappoint. “I know, MC. I know. But you know what else I do know? I know that Chris also loves you so much. We all know it, MC. And trust me, it may look like he didn’t care but he does.”

MC spends the rest of the day settling everything she needs before she goes to London. She makes an appointment with her professors to discuss things and let them know that even if she is going to be away for a while, she wouldn’t get left behind. After a long day, there’s only one thing left to do. Go back to their apartment and get all the necessary things. MC softly curse under her breath realizing she only brought some clothes when she left. So now, she has to go back to get her IDs, passport and some notes. If she’s ready to face him again, she didn’t know.

Chris

After a tiring training, Chris calls it a day and go home. Walking towards their apartment, Chris fishes the keys in his jean pocket but stops abruptly when he sees someone waiting by the door. The figure was sitting on the floor, head down and hugging the knees. It’s MC. Chris hurriedly walks towards her. He crouches down to her level and contemplates what to do, in a perfect world where they are still together, he would open the door first then lift her in his arms and they would come in together. Seeing her in the same position is not foreign to Chris. MC forgot her keys multiple times before and when he sees her like this, that’s what he always does.

Chris misses her. He longs for her and while he would like to admire her for some time, he also notices that she’s quivering, he gently touches her elbow and MC slowly lifts her head.

MC

MC is delighted with the sight of him. It’s only been a day but she miss how he’s the first thing she’ll see when she wakes up. She wants to hug him but the ache in her heart is stronger than that feeling now. “Hey, I’m sorry. I-I…”

Chris

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s your home too.” Chris says trying to calm her. For now, all he wants is for her to feel safe around him again. “I need to get something important. I left my keys yesterday.” she admits sheepishly. He gives her a small smile then say “I know.” He opens the door then the two of them walk inside. Chris walks ahead dropping his keys on the counter.

MC

MC smiles when she sees Rookie running towards them. The puppy runs past Chris then jump on her. She rubs his fur laughing. “I miss you too, Rookie! Were you a good boy? Yes, you’re my good boy!” even with her eyes down on Rookie, MC can feel Chris eyes are on her.

Chris

“God, I miss her so much.” Chris whispers to himself. He thought of crossing the room, settling to her side then giving her a kiss but he would be an asshole if he does that so he remains watching them. Seeing her now, back in their living room and playing with Rookie gives him joy. He couldn’t even remember how he convinced himself to skip the coffee shop and missed a chance to feel her presence. But Chris is looking up. She’s here with him after all. Now, he has the opportunity to right his wrongs.

[thekytchensynk]

Trial by Combat (Fictober Prompt 6)

Prompt number: 6

Fanfiction Fandom: One Piece

Rating: G

Warnings: No Warnings

Read this story at AO3

In other circumstances, this might have been kind of fun. Dropped into a gladiatorial arena, facing a variety of enemies -- it’s an interesting challenge to face for Zoro. Just a low-stakes place to test himself.

Except the stakes aren’t all that low. Which kind of sucks.

Most of the crew is back on Joyride, an island of “Extreme” entertainment and experiences that, predictably, turned out to be a little more extreme than advertised. They have been trying to dig out whoever is behind the whole thing, kidnapping people and injecting them with some concoction that turns them into massive, mindless killing machines. One trail had led them to believe the source of the concoction may be on the neighboring island of Little Flower.

It should have been simple -- still was, really. His captain sent him over here on the Mini Merry to take care of whoever was making the stuff while Luffy and the rest finished rooting out the folks who were using it. After all, the two islands were in eyesight of one another. Just a quick jaunt over, finish things, head back … simple.

Heck, he’d even seen a castle at the highest point on the island, and as his experience with both Hogback and Mihawk had taught him, the big castle was often where you could find the most dangerous people.

But the island was apparently a damn maze, and every time he tried to get up to the blasted thing, he found himself somewhere else, dealing with the increasingly long time this was taking and the increasing agitation of his teammate who was following him, and so when he saw a set of bleachers with plenty of people in them, he headed over. They HAD to know how to get to the castle.

But somehow that ended with him in the middle of the arena, fighting a series of these bulked up, mindless monsters. It was a strange, cross-shaped arena, with a round metal fighting area in the center and four seating areas, with walkways between each of them in the four cardinal directions, leading back out.

They said if he could survive the gauntlet, they’d give him audience with their boss. They also said if he left, he’d sign the death warrants of all the remaining prisoners, locked somewhere in the castle.

He’d considered it. Decided against it, but certainly considered just marching up to the gates and cutting his way in and through until he got the answers his captain wanted. The deaths would be awful, but awful people were going to do awful things. He has no way to know if they’d even honor the agreement, that they wouldn’t just kill the hostages anyway, even if Zoro did everything they asked.

But having decided to take care with the fighting, he’s had to move carefully. If he was going all out, he could cut loose, but for this he has to be precise, keep his collateral damage to a minimum.

“Hey! Get your head in the game!”

Oh yes. There is also Usopp to worry about.

Worry is probably the wrong word. The sniper is actually somewhat better equipped for this than Zoro himself, since his weaponry tends toward the less lethal to begin with. He is somewhat hampered by the metal floor of the arena though, which gives no place for many of his more creative ammunition types to take root. Zoro is reasonably sure he heard some old standards like tabasco star get called out.

And together they’re making good time through the waves of enemies. It turns out the entire arena is meant to be their challenge, with each member of the audience strapped against their will with an auto-injection device that can be triggered remotely, but automatically injects the victim if they try to take it off. And it’s fast. Zoro tried to cut the thing off one man’s arm. But it hadn’t been fast enough. The guy had bulked up like Chopper on a Rumble Ball and joined the fray.

“Are they adding people to the audience when we’re not looking?” Usopp mutters as their paths bring them close together. Zoro sweeps a practiced eye across the remaining viewers.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Well it sure feels like it!”

They move apart, Zoro hopping over the unconscious forms of several defeated enemies whose bodies have begun to shrink to normal size again. The whole exercise is a bit irritating, but not terribly difficult. And maybe that’s what makes him look again. When it becomes clear this isn’t going the way their enemies wanted, they should change tactics.

And now he sees it -- what Usopp had seen as “more people” was the same number, but all moving closer, crowding toward the edge of the arena instead of remaining in their seats. He can see fear in some faces, a grim determination in others, and he just knows.

“Here they come,” He calls over his shoulder to Usopp. She sniper doesn’t answer, but he hears the man running across the arena to a new position.

And the final wave begins.

For a few minutes it’s all a blur -- face after face meeting the backs of his blades. Flashes of green and fire at the edges of his vision as Usopp does his work. And the wave becomes a crowd, becomes a few, until the arena is heaped with groaning people and only the two of them are standing.

Zoro stoops, checking on one still form at his feet, then turns to Usopp. “Let’s get moving,” he says.

Usopp starts to answer, but gets distracted. Zoro turns to see a fairly distracting sight, he has to admit. A large man, like the rest of these pumped-up freaks, but this guy seems to be in control of himself.

He also is in a strange, metallic rig that looks to Zoro’s eyes like some sort of complicated mining rig. Or maybe something for flattening uneven terrain. It doesn’t look built for combat, like something Franky might make.

Then the guy grins at him, and he sees electricity arcing between the machine’s two arms. Zoro pivots into a spin, swinging hard. The force of the strike doesn’t budge the guy in the armor, but it does sweep the unconscious men from the metal arena before the new opponent slams his metal hands down, electrifying everything.

Zoro can’t react right -- it’s like the electricity robs his muscles of their ability to respond. He’s rooted there, the waves of energy whiting out his mind. Then it stops and he comes to himself again, panting and twitching.

“Oi, Zoro!”

Usopp’s awake. That’s good. He must have gotten swept off with the unconscious guys by Zoro’s actions. Then something bonks off Zoro’s chest, and he looks down to see a pair of octopus-looking shoes falling to his feet.

“Wear those! It’ll hgk!”

The last isn’t a word Zoro recognizes. Though loathe to take his eyes off the enemy, he turns to check on his crewmate.

Who he finds scrabbling at the oversized hand round his neck, cutting off any further words. The new enemy has come up one of the walkways between the seating areas, surprisingly silent considering he’s enormous, bigger even than the guy in the metal suit. His hand encircles the sniper’s neck easily with room to spare -- for the giant at least. There’s clearly no room for Usopp, who’s struggling for breath.

He’s ready to strike the guy down, free his crewmate, but there’s a crackle, and a jolt, and again his movement is robbed from him. And when he gets it back, the massive man in front of him is drawing back one arm that would put a gorilla to shame, and he throws Usopp, throws a person the way one might toss a stick or a stone. This at least lets the sniper breathe again, just in time to release a scream that faces off into the distance. It’s a terrible, inhuman arc that the monster manages, and when Usopp lands on a low mountainside in the distance, it’s too far to even hear the scream anymore.

He’s all right. He has to be, Zoro thinks. His crewmate has been through worse than that. And before he left…

Zoro looks at the ugly shoes just as a crackle warns him another attack is coming. He just barely hops atop the shoes when the electricity charges the arena floor again.

And this time, doesn’t reach him.

Zoro grins. The canned man pales, his own smile falling away.

It’s the work of a moment to fasten the shoes on his feet, but it’s OK because apparently, the monster won’t climb up with his partner’s active electricity weapon in use. The metal man tries to lumber over, but his armor makes him slow, ponderous. The octopus shoes clung to the floor in a way that feels strange and makes his own footing difficult, but it’s a small price to pay. Zoro approaches. Leaps to cover the last of the distance.

Once he gets there, it’s the work of a few seconds to render the armor useless. And the best part is, he doesn’t have to hold back.

The moment the metal man is down, he hears the other climbing up to join the fight, in a show of either dedication or complete foolishness. Zoro turns, eyeing the man. “Leave,” is the only warning he gives.

The man grins. Foolishness. It has to be foolishness.

Zoro is about to finish this when the man bows forward a little, as though someone slapped him in the back of the head. A moment later, a flurry of vines arch out, wrapping around his head. He pulls at them, tearing free handfuls, but more keep growing. As he staggers forward a pace as though pushed again, Zoro relaxes his stance. Another set of vines begin wrapping around the guy’s torso, pinning his arms, and soon he falls over, wiggling but unable to free himself.

Zoro takes a moment to remove the weird rubber shoes. A minute later, a suction cup comes flying out of the sky and fastens itself to the center of the fighting area, trailing a rope. A rope that pulls tight. Another brief wait, and he hears Usopp approaching -- letting out a combination of a sort of yodel and a terrified scream as he slides down the rope by hooking the stem of his slingshot over the rope and clinging to it, one hand on either side. He lands in an ungainly heap, but hops up almost immediately, ready for the next thing.

“That was impressive,” Zoro notes, pointing to the suction cup dead center of the ring. Firing a suction cup couldn’t be an easy thing.

“Thanks.” Usopp grins. “Though it looked like you had that fight wrapped up without my help. How did you like the shoes?”

Zoro looks down at the shoes, dangling from his hand, and hands them back. “Useful,” he admits, before adding, “Not my favorite shoes.”

“Come on, I bet they looked great.”

“They stuck to the floor.”

Usopp laughs. And together they head toward the castle.

Whoever’s there has no idea what’s coming for him.

[honeylikewords]

Agent Whiskey being interested in a woman, how would he express it?

Aw, that’s so darn cute! Here I go!

(Note: I don’t really like the... uncomfortable, shall we say, and fully unnecessary sexual tone of the Kingsman series as a whole, so I’ve decided to remove it and tone down any overt or excessive attributes the weird writing sort of forced into Whiskey’s character. This is just my take on Jack, and one I prefer, since It’s My Cowboy And I Get To Pick The Canon!)

Jack Daniels is so many wonderful things; intelligent but grounded, confident but well-mannered, steadfast and true. And while his capable, efficient attitude and myriad talents make him a standout in his line of work and a truly remarkable conversationalist and negotiator both in and outside of his job, he’s got a bit of a secret.

He’s an absolutely abysmal flirt.

Now, let’s not be mistaken: he can woo with the best of them for a mission. But it’s not a part of his work he particularly enjoys, nor is all that comfortable with. He’s got a heart so big that he can barely carry it, and the manners and conscience to match, so he feels fairly ill at ease crossing the lines of good taste and treating a woman in any way he could imagine deeming less than ladylike. 

It makes flirting (and anything that might come after) very, very difficult for poor Jack, and though he often has to muscle through that gut feeling of wrongness for the sake of a mission, it leaves him with a sour taste in his mouth. And that’s just for a mission: when his heart really gets involved, he’s an utter mess.

Jack’s the sort of man who loves ardently, passionately, and emotionally. He loves with childlike devotion, with utmost adoration. Once he’s fallen in love, truly and fully, it consumes him; he’s a true Southern romantic, one who wants to treat his lady like a princess, like she’s the only woman in the world, and wants to dedicate himself body and soul to her and her happiness. As a result, as his feelings start to grow for the object of his affections, he’ll try his darndest to show her the candor and honesty of his heart, going out of his way to display his most gentlemanly, chivalrous attributes.

For example, he’ll rush to try and open doors for her, pull out chairs for her to sit in, stand up and take off his hat when she enters a room, flash her a big, warm smile if she ever looks in his direction, and refer to her only with the most respectful of terms. Now, that may not sound like bad flirting, but the issue isn’t that he’s corny, it’s that he can’t bring himself to actually, you know, flirt.

The thing that trips him up is that he is, in fact, just so concerned about treating her with respect and dignity and nothing but kindness, and he doesn’t want her to feel like he’s putting the moves on her, as if she’s just an object, an conquest, an assignment. He doesn’t want her to feel like he’s laying out all the stock tropes he lays out for the people he’s meant to momentarily charm for a mission: he wants her to feel how deep and genuine his affection for her is, and that it comes from a place of sincerity, of true desire to know her and be with her.

So he doesn’t ever actually flirt, per se, in the early stages of his investment in their relationship. He’s just painfully, achingly polite, almost to the point of being uncomfortably stiff and out of character. Everyone around him notices the abrupt shift in attitude the moment his beloved enters the room; he sits up straighter and taller, uses his best diction, swears less, and seems almost nervous, like a showdog. Tequila swears that Jack breaks out in hives, though Ginger says it’s just a bit of a flop-sweat. Both agree that he does get substantially redder in the face, especially around the cheeks and ears.

When the woman he’s enamored with leaves the room, he’ll sometimes slump low in his chair or rub at his eyes tiredly, sighing out in embarrassment; he knows he must have looked insane, babbling on about lord only knows what. He just can’t help being so tightly wound up around her; whenever she walks in the room, he can feel his stomach tie in knots, his hands sweat, his tongue lay heavy in his mouth.

As time goes on, though, and as his bond with his beloved strengthens, and they grow from just being coworkers to being friends with genuine closeness and familiarity, he learns to relax and be at ease in her presence. Yes, he still flop-sweats a little (the poor inner rim of his Stetson is always damp after a conversation with her), but he learns to talk to her more openly, more calmly, and lets himself feel less afraid of messing up in front of her. Instead, he focuses on just making her smile and reveling in the moment, enjoying being in her presence.

He still opens doors for her, still stands up and takes his hat off to greet her as she enters the room, and gives her all his gentlemanly attentions with even more enthusiasm, but he does so with less fear in his heart; the fear is replaced with simple, pure joy at seeing her, at being able to do at least some small thing to express that joy, that admiration he has for her.

Jack is also a little bit of a gift-giver, though he tries to do it in subtle ways so she won’t feel like he’s trying to buy her affection. 

It may sound odd, but Jack keeps a tiny Moleskine notebook in his back pocket and takes quick notes any time his lady love mentions wanting something, needing a new this or that, or any other details he wants to remember. He’d somewhere heard that Mister Rogers had kept notes on people he loved in order to remember details of their personal lives, and if it’s good enough for Mister Rogers, it’s good enough for Jack Daniels.

So every now and then, when he wants to give her a little nudge of his love, Jack will open up the notebook and look through the pages in order to pick something to give her; say she’d recently complained about how her work computer is too old to properly keep up with her needs: HR will, seemingly out of nowhere, have the resources to replace hers with a nice, shiny, brand new one. 

Perhaps she’d mentioned that she didn’t have a scarf suitable for the winter, and, out of the blue, a pretty white box will be on her desk with a prettier scarf inside, the gift only noted as one by a small card reading “To keep you warm. -An Admirer”. 

Flowers will be sent to her office, but never big, distinctly romantic bouquets. He prefers to send smaller, more simplified ones meant to brighten the room and her day, not distract her with gauche or gaudy proclamations of love. His favorite bouquet to send is a mixture of white lilies, white tulips, and a bright yellow pop of goldenrod: pure, sweet, and sincere, and close to his heart in their meanings. Yes, he learned flower languages specifically to make sure he was sending her thoughtful bouquets. Can you blame a man for being invested?

In the same notebook, he also jots down other things about her; moments when she looked especially lovely, things she’d said that he wants to remember (like jokes or sweet compliments), her allergies, her favorite movies: personal details. He remembers them well enough on his own, but he likes to have the physical notes to look over, too: they help him remember other details, too, forming webs and recalling details he’d thought he’d forgotten. It makes him feel ever-so-tender, and he loves taking the notes and poring over them again later whenever he needs a spark of her warmth in his chest.

In a different vein, Jack also tends to be a bit of a show-off whenever the situation permits. If there’s ever a chance to display how good he is with his whip or lasso in front of her, he’ll take it, gladly bringing out his splashiest techniques, hoping to get a smile out of her, always checking her expressions as he does his tricks to see if she’s responding as he’d hoped. Sometimes, if she’s watching him use his lasso and he does a particularly impressive trick, she’ll reward him with a round of dainty, polite applause, and his heart will swell (alongside his stroked ego) and Jack will be completely unable to suppress his gleeful, boyish smile.

Similarly, every so often, there’ll be an office party at the Statesman offices, and those are Jack’s opportunity to show off his dance moves. Dancing isn’t at all uncommon for the Statesmen-- they all love a good dance and pride themselves on being jovial people, often inclined to indulge in some good, old-fashioned fun-- but Jack stands out as one of the best dancers. While not as showy as Tequila, he’s got an undeniable grace and charm to his movements, one that issues an air of self-possession and aptitude for the art.

Thanks to the good fortune of his dancing ability and the providence of a social event like a dance, Jack’s been able to ask for his beloved’s hand on the dancefloor a few times. Something about knowing he’s a capable dancer instills Jack with the confidence he needs to approach her; it’s just a dance, after all, and plenty of their coworkers are dancing together platonically, so there’s no pressure on either of them to see the moment as more than just two friends having some harmless fun at a company event. Yet, still, in his heart of hearts, Jack knows that when he takes her hand and guides her onto the dancefloor, he’s not doing it out of mere companionship or camaraderie; his belly flutters with giddy excitement at her closeness to him, and at the intimacy of being able to share a dance together.

She’s not nearly so light of foot as he is, but he doesn’t mind in the slightest: in fact, he quite likes having to slow down and guide her, keeping his hands on her waist as he tells her where to put her feet. He adores the kittenish expression she’ll take on as she tries to follow his lead, staring down at their footwork, but he always relents and allows them to just sway or wiggle to the beat, depending on if it’s a slow song or a more exciting tempo. 

His favorites are the slow songs, the ones where he gets permission to put his hands on her hips and feel her arms around his neck, where he can, if only for a moment, gaze down into her eyes and smile at her the way lovers do. He has more than once wondered to himself if this would be the kind of dance they’d do at their wedding, then quickly tucked the thought away in a rush of chagrin. Still, the tendrils of the thought linger as they step side to side, whispering to each other in hushed, playful tones about the others dancing and the events of the night, placing bets on who among the others would be the most hungover come sunrise the next day.

Jack also is always quick to offer to drive her home or, at the very least, walk her to her car every chance he can. He’s a bit of a hopelessly overprotective soul; he doesn’t think he could stand to see her get hurt, so whenever he sees her packing up to go home, he asks if she needs a ride anywhere. If she doesn’t, he asks if she’d like to be walked to her vehicle, and always feels so comforted when she accepts: after all, he’s not just offering for her peace of mind. It’s for his, as well.

He’ll fall into stride by her side as they walk, his hands shifting position as he fidgets, part of him itching to reach out and interlace their fingers, part of him doing its best to keep him in line. Their hands hover dangerously close as they walk, and every now and then an uneven step will cause their knuckles to brush for the briefest microsecond, which kickstarts Jack’s poor, mooning heart, his head rushing with schoolboy glee at the touch of his crush.

When they reach her car, he always opens her door for her and, once she’s comfortably seated, he closes it for her as well. He’ll linger at her window and give her a confidentially lovesick smile, murmuring “Now, you get home safe, alright, darlin’?”

She always promises she will, and he’ll pat the door of her car, as if coaxing a horse into running, and watch her drive away with a forlorn look in his eye, wishing he had the courage to act on the ache in his heart.

Honestly, the car-walking isn’t even half of all the things he likes to do for her. He likes to pretend to be running out to get “everyone” lunch and just “happen” to ask her if he can get her anything, and when she insists she doesn’t want to be a bother, he’ll counter with all his Southern charm, protesting that a lady’s gotta eat, and that a gentleman ought to provide. 

Anytime he walks by her desk, he’ll ask if she needs anything, be it more staples or a drink or a break; Jack likes to feel helpful to her, like he’s showing her what a good provider he could be for her should they become a couple. 

If she comes in sick, he’ll fuss that she needs to go home and rest, and won’t get to work on any of his projects until he’s gently cooed at her to go home and sleep and drink lots of fluids, and he’s scolded whatever supervisor made her come in when she is so clearly ill. Once she’s home and safely ensconced in her bed, then he’ll resume work; not a moment before. If she comes in stressed or anxious, he’ll come to her side and speak to her quietly, asking if there’s anything he can do, or if she’d like to step outside and just talk for a moment. 

In short, Jack shows his care by being present: he lingers near her, listens to her needs, keeps a respectful distance until he knows it’s alright to draw closer. All he wants to do is treat her like the lovely lady she is and give her all his respect, reverence, and devotion. And then, maybe, someday, he’ll find the words to tell her just how much he cares about her, and, maybe, hear that she cares just as much for him. Until then, he’s willing to wait; she’s worth it.

[beautifulletdownfics]

‘someday, someday’ :: tumblr edition, #21

I woke up to Harry.

"What are you—

"Shhh," He interrupted my sleepy confusion, his arms were digging under my body and pulling me out from the back of the sofa I had been sleeping on, "Just hang on a minute ..."

He leaned over me slowly and lodged himself between the back of the sofa and my body, his arms tightly holding around the duvet I was burritoed in. I very much felt like I was about to fall onto the floor and an involuntary yelp escaped me to express the thought. The jolting movement caused an unpleasant rush through my head pointing to the hangover brewing.

"I've got you," Harry reassured me, straightening up and pulling me even closer against his chest. He wiggled his legs slightly to sandwich mine and help us both to sit snuggly. Flashes of our intimate moments the night before rose in my mind as Harry’s cologne triggered a vivid memory.  His hands now were soft and gentle but my mind remembered them searching my body lustfully and I couldn’t stop the way my heart started racing from the memory.

"Your hair is wet," I told him dumbly, feeling the cold wetness from a stray lock stick to my cheek.

"I had a shower." "Here?" I frowned, Harry hadn't been here when the girls and I had arrived back at my house sometime around four in the morning.

"No," I could feel him smiling as he pressed his lips to my forehead, "I showered at home and came straight here to make sure you survived the night.”

I turned my head up to meet his, grinning back at him when he seemed surprised by the movement. I went straight for his lips, wanting to feel the same sensation of glorious mindlessness that I had kissing him last night. Harry hummed against me and quickly deepened the kiss, dragging a hand up my back to hold the back on my head. The material of the knitted jumper he was wearing scratched my cheek and I smiled against him when he flipped one of his legs over both of mine to trap me further. Just when my body was starting to get into the rhythm of the kiss Harry slowly pulled back from it. His lips found my chin and my nose and then the side of my mouth before he stopped completely and just looked at me.

He didn’t say anything for a few beats, "That was very nice. How was the rest of your night last night? What did I miss?”

I pressed my pointer finger to his chin, inspecting the way his lips were pinker from having kissed me, “I think I have a bruise on my leg from a bar stool.”

Harry’s laugh exploded out of him before even he could contain it and I lowered my hands back between us against his warm chest to snuggle down in the cuddle, “What on earth did you get up to with a bar stool? Should I be jealous?”

“We ended up at a karaoke bar and Bel needed a boost up onto a stool but she fell off and it crashed into my leg. She has an egg on her head.”

“Jesus Christ, is she okay?” Harry’s chest was shaking with laughter.

“She’s mad she messed up the lyrics to Life for Rent.”

Harry nearly snorted when a deeper laugh overtook him and he settled into a long, deep laugh, “She picked a Dido song?”

I was grinning at the way Harry could hardly get the words out. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to be the one causing this bubbling of joy from him but I loved every second of it. I closed my eyes and settled into the feeling of being held and tried to forget the headache swirling around my head.

“Life for Rent is actually a beautiful song,” I defended quietly.

“It it,” Harry agreed, “It’s just so left of centre. I was surprised ... I needed that laugh, thank you.”

"My pleasure, but if my leg needs to be amputated, boy, are you going to be sorry your initial reaction was laughter."

"Didn't think I'd ever see a day I could say Nina Lawrence was being over-dramatic," Harry said dryly.

"You've unleashed a monster."

“Sounds like you had a fun night?" He asked quietly, his lips moving against my check, "What time did you get in?"

My mind was running at a million miles from Harry being so close and stumbled on my answer, "I did. Somewhere around four I think."

"And you're a good host so you've let them take your bed?" He asked, referring to the girls.

Yes, but I wish I’d taken you up on the offer to stay in yours last night.

"Four in the bed was a bit too much." I confirmed.

"You looked very cosy out here, I wasn't going to join you but I found I couldn't resist."

"I wasn't expecting you this morning," I said, broaching the topic of why Harry was at my house.

He'd surprised me last night when he stayed with my family after my performance at Royal Albert Hall until midnight. Eventually he’d whispered in my ear he needed to leave if he was going to be able to sing properly today. In the excitement of my performance I had forgotten he had his own to think about.

Soon after I ended up going out with the girls, who were keen to have one last dance in London before going back home up North. I wasn’t complaining about him being here this morning, but I thought we had our Christmas farewell the night before.

Up against Harry’s car. For about twenty minutes.

"I'm here to sneak you out for a quick breakfast before the others wake up,” He said, and I felt myself blush at what I had been remembering from the night before, “I was thinking about it last night after I got home and I just kind of decided I wasn’t particularly happy with not seeing you this morning when if I was organised I definitely could.”

Harry’s fingers were drawing distracting circles on my back and feeling the vibrations from his voice as he spoke from having my head pressed against his chest only made it all feel a special kind of intimate.

A lovely warm feeling filled me at his words. If seeing him hold his own with my family and friends last night wasn't already enough to reassure me of Harry fitting in my world surely seeing the effort he put into getting to spend time with me was convincing enough. If only the dirty voices of doubt in me could see that.

I hadn't said anything, Harry squeezed me slightly, "Can I have one more date before you leave?"

"'Course you can," I mumbled back, dragging my hands up and tugging at the neck of his jumper.

"A true gentlemen would have come over and cooked breakfast for all of you ... My compromise is that we bring breakfast back for the girls, what time do you think they'll wake up?."

"They won't surface before midday. The train we’re getting is at 1:30.”

"Great, we have plenty of time then ... On a scale of one to ten how much does <i>your</i> head hurt right now?"

"A four but growing."

"You need some food. And fresh air," Harry said decisively, "A green juice and some breakfast and you'll be good as new."

At the thought of getting up a heavy weariness fell over me, "Or we could just stay like this all day."

Harry hummed into my hairline and squeezed his arms around me again, "Very tempting. But I'm actually extremely hungry, I went for a run earlier."

"Earlier?" I groaned, "What could be earlier than this?"

Harry laughed and without any warning sat up, keeping his hold on me and forcing me upright as well.

"Wait," I protested meekly, needing a moment to take stock of exactly how bad I was feeling.

"Are you going to vomit? Should I be worried about alcohol poisoning?"

I hit his arm lightly, "No, just give me some warning next time."

Harry gave me ten minutes to creep around upstairs and get myself decent for breakfast. It required sneaking into my room for a change of clothes, the three lumps that were Isobel, Sam, and Georgie taking up all of my bed didn't make a sound or movement while I did so. Still, I scrawled out a note for them at left it on top of Sam's phone where it was charging.

Harry had waited for me on the sofa, and when he heard me coming down the stairs he met me at the bottom of them, all rugged up in this coat and a scarf. I followed him out the door, sneaking a look at his bum in the trendy, loose blue jeans he was wearing. He looked fantastic.

Harry grabbed for my hand when outside I started walking towards his car, "Nope, this way," he corrected, tugging me towards him and starting to walk in the opposite direction down my street, "I Googled, there's a nice looking place just around the corner. I thought we could just walk there?"

"You're a man with a plan," I commented, swinging our joined hands between us.

"I'd hate you to think I don't have my shit together," Harry quipped back, "Besides which, I take you and breakfast very seriously."

Oh boy.

"My brain can't decide yet if food sounds good or bad," I groaned, pulling my sunglasses down from the top of my head. The wintery London chill was in the air but we were being graced with an uncharacteristic sunny morning.

The cafe Harry had in mind was a little busy, but Harry walked in with purpose, asking for a table for two of us. We ended up tucked into a corner, Harry sat with his back to the window and immediately opened the menu reminding me not for the first time just how hungry he was.

I didn’t spend a lot of time looking at the menu, the third thing on the breakfast list was ricotta pancakes with strawberries. I didn’t need to see any further options.

Harry deliberated over two or three options however, looking crestfallen when the waitress came over and he had to make a final decision. He was trying to avoid dairy for the day to help with his voice.

Once I ordered food with a coffee he pointed to the menu and said “I’ll have this one. With bacon,” a small frown, “And mushrooms.”

He also ordered two green juices, promising me it would help with the thudding in my head.

“Is an OJ not good enough?” I lamented after the waitress left.

Harry grinned at me, “You’re a precious drunk.”

“I am not still drunk,” I defended quickly, taking my sunglasses off my head and putting them on top of my phone on the table.

“Precious hungover then,” He edited warmly. "I really like your family and friends. Last night was great.”

“I thought so to. Although they’re all a bit mad too,” I cringed remembering Bel and Georgie singing a very, very old One Direction song at Harry last night at the hotel. Tequila shots made them quite musical.

As if he knew the moment I was thinking of, Harry spoke up, ”I liked it, it was fun. If I was a plumber they’d have made sewerage jokes all night. It’s okay. I can take it.”

"They all went easy on us, trust me,” I was thinking of all the times my mum made eyes at me throughout the night when she’d caught Harry watching me or being sweet in some way.

"I'm looking forward to getting to the stage where they don't. Hopefully."

He was fishing for reassurance, I smiled and squinted at him, knowing he knew what I was going to say but it was important I said it anyway, "They all love you, don't worry."

Harry's smile brightened and his eyes locked on mine, “I like this ... You never used to make eye contact, it would drive me mad.”

My friends forgotten, suddenly I felt I was under his scrutiny, his attention wafting from one line of conversation to another without warning, "What?"

"You'd look at my chin or my nose, and if we made eye contact you'd look away so quickly it was as though it never happened. It drove me crazy."

I winced, "I can't imagine why you bothered persisting. Sorry."

“I could tell you, but I’m not sure your hangover can weather how sappy I’d get,” Harry said, saved by the bell that was our drinks being brought over to the table.

I was sure the waitress had heard the last of the conversation though, and felt her looking between us knowingly. I felt my face heat and when I chanced a glance across to Harry he looked like the cat that ate the canary.

“Are you still buzzing from last night?” Harry asked when we were alone again.

“Yeah,” I smiled at him, “But the better question is are you excited for your performance tonight?”

“I am” Harry provided carefully, adding a perfectly measured spoonful of sugar to his black coffee and stirring it through.

“But?” I prompted

“I’m a little nervous,” He admitted. “I always am when it’s a telly thing, they’re always a bit awkward. Singing to a camera and then an audience that’s not really into it … It feels like work where proper live shows don’t really. But it will be nice to be back up on stage with the lads.”

I nodded at him diplomatically, “A healthy dose of nerves is a good thing I’ve been told, means you don’t take it for granted.”

“You’re telling me even Protégés even get nervous?”

“Are you ever going to drop that?” I groaned.

“Nope.” He said easily.

“I was shitting myself before last night … I’ve never been good at the ‘healthy dose’ part of that,” I said with a slow smile.

Harry’s face dropped just a touch, but I hadn’t meant to berate him in any way. It had served as a reminder of something to him though and I watched him struggle with what to say next. I decided to rescue him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” He answered immediately, looking painfully earnest.

“You were so kind to me, right from before I even realised you knew I existed …” I paused, not know how to ask the actual question part, Harry watched me carefully, “Why?”

Some part of him relaxed slightly, “I’d like to think I’m kind to pretty much everyone. It’s the default, my mum would always tell us that when we were kids: Being kind should be your default setting.”

“And what about if someone is a jerk?”

Harry’s smile returned, “Kill them with kindness.”

“What about if someone is kind of standoffish and disinterested in even a pleasant, casual social interaction? What if they barely give you the time of day to be kind?”

“Are you referring to yourself?”

“Maybe.”

“Wear them down until they date you.”

Now I was left without knowing what to say, and my shock evidently played out in my expression because Harry watched me carefully but smiled at whatever he saw. He’d won that discussion by being honest and I could see Harry knew he had me.

“Nina it was never about polite kindness with you.”

Our food had arrived and the smell of sweet, warm pancakes made my stomach rumble with delight, “What does that mean?” I asked, waiting a moment before taking my first bite. It was delicious.

“I’d heard Rodger and Max talk about you well before I met you. They’re nuts about you and the way Rodger would speak about you used to annoy me, if I’m honest. Early on he corrected my assumption he had a thing for you, I think I told him to just hurry up and marry you already,” Harry shook his head at himself, “I used to think ‘if she’s so bloody great how come she never comes to anything’. I started joking that you didn’t really exist, that everyone had invented you as a wind up.”

“You did?”

Harry was laughing at the memory, “I did. Then I left my hat at your place and Rodger told me you would be home to give it to me.” “I’d forgotten about that,” I said, “I always think Rodger’s party was the first time we met.”

“That hurts,” Harry feigns a pain over his heard, “Standing outside your house feeling as though I’d been stabbed in the heart or I was about to throw up is one of my most memorable moments.”

I winced, “What a memory.”

“The second I saw you I was done for, Nina." He said slowly, his expression sincere but cautious as though he was treading carefully with his words, "I’d had all this build up from everyone about about how incredible you were that as soon as I saw you I got a crush ten feet tall and as wide as the sea ... Everyone had failed to mention you were gorgeous too.”

I knew I was bright red, but I could see Harry wasn’t going to save me from my embarrassment, he held eye contact and waited for me to stop internally protesting what he had said. Hearing that Harry's attraction had been so instantaneous both reassured me and had me feeling guilty, it had taken me weeks to get to that point.

"I should really start paying Rodger for whatever he's saying about me."

Harry laughed and nodded, "You really should ... I wasn't just being nice for the sake of it, Nina. I wanted you to like me as much as I liked you. I had that fun but soul destroying feeling where you're so into someone it's addictive and you just want to see them again. It was so annoying not get enough time with you on your own—I’m sounding like a maniac right now, I know,” He hurried, “But I’d find myself so pissed off at Rodger speaking over you or Max jumping in to save you from having to answer. I knew if I just had the time with you alone you’d open up more. I hated that every time I saw you it was coincidental, I just wanted to get to the point where I could plan when I'd get to see you next on my own. I’d make plans with Rodger or Max not knowing if they'd bring you along as well.”

"Harry," I said gently, waiting his remembered frustration play out in his features.

"I'd be crushed every time you didn't appear," He continued slowly, "And after the Regina show, you disappeared for weeks and I never felt like it was my place to reach out directly. I was pretty sure you hated me. "

"I'm sorry, I never hated you."

"I know," Harry smiled, "I can be a romantic dramatist."

"I think I thought I'd embarrassed myself to Kingdom Come and you'd want nothing to do with my drama anyway."

He deflated a little, "I'm not going to be like him, Nina," Harry paused to make sure I knew who he was referring to, "If you're going through something I want to know."

I sighed and dropped my chin into my hand, propped up on the table, "You're pretty lovely, know that?"

"I'd really like this to work for us, Nina, and I don't want to push you but at the same time I don't want to allow there to be any room for you to doubt it. Or me."

We were both finished eating and I watched Harry for a moment. He never seem phased by anything, so having him reveal his feelings when I was hesitant to assume them was pleasant in an unexpected way. Usually the thought of someone noticing me in a social setting made my skin crawl, but knowing Harry had been watching and wanting to know me better was settling somehow. To also have him acknowledge what I had told him about my last relationship and the dynamic there was also reassuring, if not scary. It was always a heavily guarded secret inside me, and I wasn’t used to having him privy to it yet.

"This means I'm going to have to add you to my Christmas list, doesn't it?" I asked playfully, delighted when Harry's face lit up in response.

"You sure do.”

“I think an M&S voucher should suffice,” I teased, trying to look thoughtful.

Harry raised his eyebrows at me, “That would be lovely actually, I could use some new underwear.”

Harry looked proud of his quickness, and he took his time taking a long sip of his coffee, watching me over the cup. I simply smiled back and tried a little of the juice he had ordered for me, scrunching my nose up at what I could only describe as a green flavour.

“Oh god,” I coughed, “That tastes like a garden.” Harry beamed at me, “It’ll put five years back on your life.”

+++

“Bye Harry!” “Bye Harry, we’ll be texting our review after tonight!”

“Harry,” Bel leaned forward between Harry’s front seats, looking as though she was tossing up between multiple things to say, finally settling on, “Don’t trip.”

Harry barked out a laugh at that, promising her he wouldn’t, “It would probably make great TV though,” he added, “I’m sure there are lots of people that would love to see me land on my arse.”

Bel seemed to consider that for a moment, then seemed to shrug it off, “We’ll see you when we see you, Harry. Thanks for the ride.”

I turned in my seat to watch her slip out onto the footpath outside Farringdon station. Harry had made good of his promise to take breakfast back to my house for everyone. We left the cafe with arms of pastries and coffees, and then he insisted on saving us the Uber fare by driving us to the train up North himself. Harry popped the boot for them and looked in the rearview mirror to make sure it had opened.

“Have a great Christmas,” He said quietly, pulling me back, Harry’s eyes flicked back to the mirror as I registered that we wouldn’t have much time to do this goodbye.

“You too,” I said, turning to face him in my seat.

“Have fun and be safe and miss me loads,” He added, shifting around and leaning on the middle console towards me, he curled his index finger at me, “C’mere.”

I smiled and leaned in towards him, Harry’s thumb and pointer finger met my chin and he gently pulled it up to the right angle for him to lower in for a kiss. Harry pulled back after one chaste attempt, giving me only enough time to lick my lips before we were pressed back together, his tongue giving only the shortest tease. He dropped his fingers from chin and sat back in his seat.

“I’ll see you on the 28th,” He confirmed, turning his head to me, “But I’ll talk to you before then.”

“Yep,” I nodded, “Break a leg tonight. And save me some of that croissant bread and butter pudding your mum makes.”

Harry laughed, “I will. She’s going to adore that you’re so keen for it.”

Georgie’s face appeared next to my window, “I need to go.”

“You do,” He agreed, reaching for the side of my face and pulling himself over the console again to give me one last kiss, “Be good.”

I screwed up my nose at him as I opened my door, “I’m always good.”

“You still need to sign the program from last night for me," He said quickly, just as I was about to shut the door, "I’m getting it framed.”

I rolled my eyes at him, "Bye Harry,"

"Merry Christmas, Protégé!"

++

"I fucking hate you.”

I did. I really did. But my face cracked into a grin and I walked back into Bel’s family lounge room carrying a tray of teas. Georgie was modelling a One Direction t-shirt she had pulled from God knows where and Bel was busy pinning a Liam badge to her pyjama top.

“Where did you even get those!”

“It was a two for one deal online,” Georgie told me happily, “Sam didn’t think it was a good idea for us to keep teasing you, but if you ask me she’s being unsupportive.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Sam said, moving over on the two-seater she was on to make room for me. I linked my arm through hers when I sat.

Bel’s parents were away visiting with her sister and brother-in-law in Glasgow, not returning until the following morning. Her dad had the TV sound system to shame all sound systems which apparently meant we had to watch Harry on the telly there. The empty house was enough to sell me on the idea, mine was full of cousins and family who would delight in teasing me about Harry. But this would be the first time I would properly witness him singing and I didn’t think I could handle it if I couldn’t just focus on him and what I was seeing.

We were making an old school sleepover of it, which we had decided upon on the train back earlier today. We all had gone to our respective family homes and then repacked for a night at Bel’s. The food had been ordered in and it was about half an hour until the program started. While we waited for Indian to arrive we chatted our way through numerous pieces of gossip from our wider friendship group in Blackpool, and back to our family Christmases.

It was tradition that we met at the pub on Boxing day where it seemed everyone we knew under thirty five who was home for the holiday season all went to debrief after surviving spending an extended period of time with their families. The same thing happened on New Years Day before everyone headed back to London or Manchester to their regular lives.

"How's that bruise on your leg?" Bel asked suddenly, looking across at me and nodding at my covered legs.

"It's okay, how's your hea—

"—You should’ve gotten Harry to kiss it better,” Georgie cut me off.

“Yeah,” Bel agreed, a devilish smile on her face, “I bet he’s really good at that kind of thing.”

“What!” I squawked, watching Sam stand up when the doorbell rang. She waved off any help in collecting the food and I was left to Bel and Georgie’s inappropriate giggling.

“Harry’s fit, take it graciously.” Bel said.

“He is!” I defended, “But I don’t need to bloody hear it from you.”

“If I had a guy like Harry I’d be snug as shit about it,” Georgie exclaimed, standing up to help Sam unpack the food onto the coffee table. “I could use some new relationship sex. It’s always so delightful.”

“Oh my god,” I groaned.

“Here we go,” Bel rolled her eyes, “Horny Georgie.”

Georgie had the audacity to look wounded, “Sorry, what year is it? I won’t be shamed for liking sex!”

“Nobody was shaming you, George,” Sam said calmly, “But next time take a breath before you mention Nina’s new boyfriend and then sex, mmm?” “I wasn’t saying I wanted to bang Harry!” Georgie said to me quickly.

“I know,” I smiled, wanting to get as far as I could from this conversation as quickly as possible, “Pass me a plate.”

We already had plates and cutlery ready. I watched as the containers were popped open. Bel moved to kneel at the table and started to serve herself bits of all the different curries we had ordered. Sam gave Georgie one last look, and I wished I knew how to save them from each other’s strong opinions. Really I just wanted to move the conversation away from my sex life. I didn’t have the energy to explain why Harry and I hadn’t slept together yet.

Food was just the distraction needed to reset the conversation.

We spent the next hour talking and eating our way through the first part of the Charity Gala on the telly. There was an all-star line up with all the usual suspects in the London music and comedy scene. We gossiped our way through who was who, who was good and who wasn’t really actually funny.

I felt like by the time it was One Direction being introduced that I had lived half a life time in nervous anticipation. I had been preparing myself for a shift, or for at least seeing a side of Harry that I hadn’t before which had the potential to make me feel uncomfortable.

I knew that the band hadn’t performed together very much in the last twelve months. Harry had said that much himself, and it was a fact that was getting played up all night in the lead up to them performing. The world had missed them, the presenter kept saying, as the moment they were on stage was built up—it was clear they were being presented as the big act of the night.

Finally they were announced to be after the ad break. Which gave me enough time to refill my glass of wine and chew my way through a handful of Dairy Milk buttons.

“Don’t eat your hand, Nina,” Bel joked from her spot across the room.

“Shut up,” I mumbled, “It’s this or projectile vomit on your mum’s good rug.”

"Why are you freaking out so much about this?"

"I haven't seen him perform before," I provided quietly, trying to hide the quiver to my voice.

Sam's arm came around me and she held me in a side hug, "This shouldn't change your opinion of him," she said just to me, sensing there was more going on than I was letting on.

"I just haven't seen it before," I reiterated, wondering what 'it' was and why something about the whole concept of seeing Harry perform made me feel uneasy.

The ad break came to a close and there was no introduction to the act or the song, a thumping drum beat started and panning shots of the audience facing the stage took over the screen. The girls quietened around me but Sam kept her arm around me, giving my shoulder a slight squeeze.

The introduction to the song went too long. I kept anticipating the start but the drums kept going and the intro rolled on. Eventually I heard what was distinctly Harry's laugh through a microphone and then he started singing.

The camera panned on him first. He was grinning and a little red but he stood where he was and sang beautifully in an impeccable upper lower register. He swayed slightly to the beat, the silky material of the shirt that was poorly tucked into his jeans moving softly with his hips.

"That's your man, Nina," Georgie clapped towards the TV when Harry stopped singing and someone else took over.

The camera panned over all the members of the band, holding on the drummer for a little while and then going back to get the shot of the audience with the four members of One Direction facing them.

Harry had lovely tone to his voice. It rumbled out of his chest smoothly and his harmonies cut through the melody perfectly. He looked like he belonged exactly where he was on stage. Each time he was on the screen he was interacting the the camera, the audience or a bandmate. Harry made it all look fun and when the song came to and end he joined the others in happily greeting the people in the room with them, thanking the crowd for having them.

"And all of you at home too," A voice off screen said, I wasn't sure which member.

Harry appeared on screen again, screwing the lid back onto a water bottle, and then leaving it to walk back to his mic stand, "Thank you for having us," He said simply, "This is Story of My Life."

They played through the slower song and I stared at Harry's spot on the stage the whole time, only noticing his bandmates when the camera left him and I was forced to. The girls were making observations around me but I wasn't really listening. It was so strange to be looking at Harry in that setting.

He had slowly become such a strong force in my life and I was finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that there was such a huge part of him, of his life, that I'd not experienced at all. We hardly spoke about his job and I was left wondering why. He was clearly so good at it and I was concerned by the fact he hadn't shared much with me.

The next song started and I turned to Sam beside me, "Harry never talks to me about his job. Is that odd?"

She craned her neck to look at me properly, her brows drawn like she didn't understand where my question was coming from, her features then rose into surprise, "Nina, I ... No, I don't think so. Don't ... Don't psyche yourself out. Harry's so into you, you'd have to be an idiot to miss that."

I looked back to the screen, watching Harry sing his heart out on live National television, "We don't talk about who he is. I mean, look," I waved my hand at the television, "He's fucking Harry Styles ... Why is that only just hitting me?"

"Because he's not that to you, babe," Georgie added gently from across the room, her eyes understanding, "He's just a lad. He's just your Harry. And I know we give you both shit ... Well, mostly me," She half shrugged, "We give you shit about him but if he was some famous fuckwit we wouldn't act like we do." "He's set the tone," Bel jumped in, "He didn't walk in and throw his name around, and now he's sharing it with you. It's probably awkward for him to bring it up with people."

"I think it's my fault," I said. "I've been so bad at asking him about himself, I alway feel so awkward and I didn't want him to think I was digging for that, you know?"

"Don't overthink this," Sam hugged my side, "He's mad about you, and I bet he appreciated not feeling like was a factor with you.."

The only real window into Harry's job and the status that came with it had been my attending the dinner earlier in the year where I'd met some of his friends. Friends, who as it turned out, had sent a photograph of the night to someone working at a media corporation. I'd been distracted by the fact Harry had lied about how we knew each other, and I hadn't focused really on the fact that was what his life was like sometimes, and why.

The 'why' was this, what I was watching, Harry being on stage and a part of this universally known and loved band.

"Nina," Sam pulled me out of my thoughts, "He's really bloody good. Appreciate his job for that, don't get stuck on the rest of it ... You've got music in common, let that be something wonderful."

She was right. Having music in common with Harry was wonderful.

"He's so cool," I said without thinking.

"Right," Georgie huffed, "How do you think we all bloody felt watching you last night?"

"His voice is really lovely," I could feel a blush rising.

"Now we're talking!" Sam said, jamming her fingers into my ribs, "That rockstar is yours."

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I replied softly, hoping nobody would elaborate on the matter. I regretted saying it as soon as it came out of my mouth. I hadn't felt any pressure with Harry on the topic, so why it fell out of my mouth in that moment I couldn't say.

“Ah,” Georgie waved off my comment easily, “You’re whatever the step before boyfriend is.”

I hope so.

[unwiltingblossom]

Sigurd and Brynhildr are really the most stark and obvious illustration of the difference in the way Fate/Grand Order handles male fanservice and female fanservice, and how they deal with their male and female audience. Until we get Nefertari, or maybe someone like Actually Fate Shirou, they’re probably going to be the best comparison there is with the least wiggle room of ‘but there’s this’. They’re a couple who were released with a large gap of time between them (unlike Ryouma and Oryou or even Aster/Euryale Teach/Drake), and so exist as their own characters. It’s not a case of unrequited or uneven love, and neither had a harem.

Anyway. Sigurd and Bryn. Let’s talk about how they differ. (there are pictures)

Bryn is an unimportant bonus character introduced early in FGO for a special download campaign because she was popular in a different Fate work. She had very little presence in the early game, and only one rate up for two years. Sigurd is a significant character from one chapter in part 2, and for at least a year I think he’s only had just one rate up. Both of their designs are meant to be fanservice and cool.

This is Bryn’s FA -

This is the famous Valkyrie warrior, cursed to kill who she loves. She’s wearing a Japanese school girl outfit and armor that conveniently shows off her breasts, short skirt, thighs, long neck and one of her shoulders. She’s also in heels. Her ascensions are fairly weak, as this was an early game character, so they just put the armor on her that you see here. She’s posing in an alluring and girly way, blushing at the viewer, as the camera is angled upward to look at her goods.

This is Sigurd, the warrior king/prince’s final ascension. He’s in full mecha armor, with only his face exposed. He’s standing sturdily, looking cool and with his weapons at the ready, prepared for battle. The camera is from above, so that you won’t see much below his shoulders, almost completely obscuring his chest and abs, even  covered by armor as they are. His ascension path - despite being new - is similarly boring, starting with a full fask mask to top off his armor, then showing off his glasses, then finally ending up like this, maskless. The tone and mood of this is completely the opposite of Bryn’s tranquil scene.

Their valentines and white day CEs are deliberately similar, so I’ll show those, too.

Brynhildr’s frozen chocolate (not meant to be eaten)

Sigurd’s return gift (meant to be worn)

As you can see, they are intentionally meant to be similar. Their bond CEs are also intentionally referencing each other, as Brynhildr’s is named after him, and Sigurd’s is named after her valentine’s CE. Thus, the ways that they’re different are deliberate and significant.

Right out from the gate, we can see that Brynhildr is designed to look feminine and sexy. Her final art is clearly geared toward making her appealing to waifu. Sigurd is designed to look cool. There’s no sex appeal in his design or in his final art. The only part of him that is designed to make a husband lover swoon is that he wears glasses and is voiced by a person who usually voices heart throb characters.

But it goes deeper.

Their My Room lines differ significantly.

As you talk with Brynhildr, she’ll mention that she is intentionally avoiding falling for anyone, because if she loves them, she’s cursed to be driven to try to kill them. As you build bond with her, she inevitably fails to resist Guda, and ends up in love by the end, now determined to hold herself off from harming this person she loves.

As you talk with Sigurd, he’ll mention that he doesn’t believe there’s any room for even friendship between master and servant. He’s cold and abrupt. As  you build bond with him, he’ll slowly warm up and realize that despite himself he’s become friends and then very tightly attached to the master - to the point where he’ll compromise his own sense of morality and look the other way if necessary. Love, however, is not mentioned at all.

When Sigurd debuted, he debuted with a line for Brynhildr, and she was given a line for him. Sigurd’s line is him saying that he will prove his everlasting love for Brynhildr. Brynhildr mentions how long it’s been without him, and waffles about whether or not she can now continue to be the master’s servant, but ultimately decides that no matter what, she’ll never hurt the master.

S: “ Brynhildr, is it... She tries to prove her love with that murderous impulse. That makes me happy, but, unfortunately, I will be unable to prove the love I feel towards her if I die. I must survive and also let that love be proven. A difficult thing to accomplish, don't you think... “

B: “Oh, finally ... That person finally came here ... ... .... I understand ...... I just can not understand it. Master, I would like to be your servant if possible. But, if, if ... .... No, nothing. No matter what, Sigurd or I will not hurt you.”

As you can see: just in these lines, Brynhildr’s line is still directly romantic toward Sigurd, but also keeps the master in the situation. And this is worth noting, because a common argument could be ‘oh, Brynhildr  was early on, they didn’t know what they were doing, so of course she was made waifu’. Her line for Sigurd is modern (not counting other stuff she appears in), and it remains in the same tone as she’s always had. Sigurd’s is nothing but gushing love for Bryinhildr.

Let’s talk briefly about their roles so far in the story, now.

Bryn’s first *story* appearance is in LB2, same as Sigurd. However, before that she appeared in a few other events, most significantly JAlter’s event. This is relevant, because in this story Brynhildr is yandere dedicated to JAlter, fostering JAlter/Bryn yuri in fandom for years. In this event, it’s not ‘technically’ Brynhildr who loves JAlter, but a copy of her. She appears in other limited capacities after this point, but they’re not that significant.

Sigurd’s is similar. When he appears in LB2, he’s romantically attached in a yandere level to Ophelia (not important who this is, it’s a girl). Technically, it’s not him, as he’s actually possessed by another being while he’s behaving this way. However, unlike Bryn, who remains yandere for JAlter all event long until she dies, Sigurd is able to escape this and has a romantic time with Brynhildr, which people who like Sigurd x Bryn will be happy to go into detail talking about, as it gets plenty of focus.

Now, finally, their Valentines scenes. The scenes are generally accepted to be at least some level of fanservice between the master and the chosen servant. It may be romantic, sexual, platonic, or familial, but the relationship is still the focus of it.

Brynhildr’s scene is from the original round of valentines, so her scene is shorter than later scenes, and it’s straightforward. She says that she wants to express her love for the master, and so in the process of expressing her love for her hero, the master, she created glasses that looked similar to the ones Sigurd wears. She determines that the glasses will definitely suit the master (the chocolate is not meant to be eaten, it’s magically frozen), because the master is her hero, much like Sigurd was. She does mention that Sigurd is the person ‘she loved’, but it’s clear her feelings for the master are both separate and also romantic.

Sigurd’s scene just got released this round. It’s a nice, thoughtful gift where Sigurd gives the master special glasses that will protect the master’s eyes from strain, damage from light, or attacks by beasts or enemies less powerful than servants. And they’re stylish. However, it’s strictly a friendship gesture, as aside from the master getting flustered by him leaning in close to compute the proper measurements for the glasses, there’s not any kind of flirtation or indication of any kind of romantic or sexual feelings for the master. And even worse, one of the times that Sigurd blushes is not when Guda gives him chocolate - he considers that a matter of course - but when he mentions Brynhildr. How does he mention her? By hinting that they did something romantic or sexual for valentines day.

Yeah, that’s right. During a white day/valentine’s scene with Sigurd, the only romantic context involved is hinting that Sigurd did the nasty with someone else that day.This is the same problem that Paracelsus and Saber Diarmuid have (and what Arthur had, until they retconned it as a half-hearted attempt to make up for having nothing for White Day last year), where instead of talking about themselves or the master during their bond lines, they talk about someone else. Except it’s even worse, because at least bond lines can be excused with the idea that sharing thoughts about an important person can be a sign of closeness (though these lines really don’t work like that). Valentines/White Day has only one purpose. It’s fluff fanservice. The only reason for including Bryn is to say that  the reason people like Sigurd is for his relationship with Brynhildr.

Now, remember that between these two, Brynhildr is the one who is more hung up on Sigurd in lore. She’s cursed to kill all who she loves due to her misery over killing Sigurd, who she loved. She’s further cursed to try to kill Sigurd because of this, making her character naturally Sigurd-focused. Sigurd, on the other hand, died because he was unfaithful to Brynhildr (in a passive way, but it still amounts to this) and has no associated fixations or curses with this. He’s just a normal person. If anyone should be leaking their love for the other into everything and hard-blocking romance with the master or anyone else, it should be Brynhildr, not Sigurd.

Just a quick note - yes, Brynhildr’s master used a command seal on her to get her to believe her enemies were Sigurd so that she’d kill them, but Rin used a command seal to prevent Archer from harming Shirou, too. Command Seals don’t stay in effect when they’ve been summoned again by a different master in a different timeline. The closest that we have is that she’s drawn to love heroic figures, and because of her love for them she hearkens it back to Sigurd. It’s not a berserker Kiyohime or Phantom thing  (which is another kind of unpleasant comparison to make) where they think the master is someone that the master isn’t. The master merely reminds Bryn of Sigurd *because* she loves them, she doesn’t love them because they remind her of Sigurd.

So.

That was rather lengthy, but I wanted to go over all the differences, because on their own, people like to try to pick it apart and downplay it. It’s worth noting that in Bryn’s bond CE it’s more about her love for Sigurd and in Sigurd’s bond CE there’s some indication of romance/sexual behavior with the master, but this is the only time it’s swapped like that.

The evidence here should speak for itself. Short of Nefertari debuting and being into the master, we probably wouldn’t get any more direct and obvious an illustration of how FGO deals with female players vs male ones than this. In this, we see that the female side of the romance has two separate existences - one in the main story where she realizes her romantic subplot with Sigurd, and one in the side story stuff/my room fanservice lines where she’s into the master. It’s not treated as weird or inappropriate to waifu her or for her to have romantic interests in people other than Sigurd despite her love for him being so important to her character and lore.

In the male side, Sigurd only exists to be romanced with Brynhildr. He has a nice little friendship built up with the master, but his story is all about his romance with Brynhildr, his design and FA is actively avoiding having him made up as a husband/swooning material, and even his valentine only has romantic fanservice for Sigurd/Bryn. If you’re not into Sigurd/Brynhildr, you’ve still got plenty to get from Brynhildr, but you’re SoL with Sigurd. This extends into fandom, as you’ll find plenty of Bryn/JAlter yuri and a good amount of Bryn/Guda art and material, but if you look for anything with Sigurd other than Bryn (or sometimes Ophelia, related to him being possessed), there just isn’t any. And don’t even hope to find Sigurd/Guda stuff, because there’s nothing.

And this is just how it is. That’s why Saber Diarmuid pointlessly has his lines all cluttered with talk about Artoria for no reason - when he hates her by the end of F/Z - but Semiramis barely speaks about Amakusa and instead flirts with the master. There’s the odd outlier like the Prince of Lanling who is super dere for the master and Tomoe who friendzones the master, but for the most part, the women are almost entirely designed with the explicit intent of making them moe, waifu-able, and romanceable. The men...aren’t.

And this double standard is pretty vexing, as someone who is more interested in swoonable husbands than moe waifu.

If you somehow don’t believe me about all this, just wait for Nefertari and Haydee to debut. If they’re summonable, wait for their blushing my room lines and valentines scenes where they acknowledge their feelings for Dantes/Ozy, but confess anyway. And if they’re not, well...even Nobukatsu experiences this compared to Nobunaga (Nobunaga having a mostly naked FA, romantic content for the master, and a full fanservice alt character, and Nobukatsu again having 100% of his character entirely based on being moe toward Nobunaga, with zero room for the master in that).

[floral-and-fine]

Worth the Wait

Sirius Black x female reader

A/n: so funny enough I have a shit ton of wips that I've started weeks (months) ago, but this I started writing last night and finished this morning.

Summary: After escaping Azkaban, Sirius recalls an old promise to a close friend.

Warnings: SMUT!!! Some Fluff and some angst!

Sirius was dead tired. He was tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of being a fugitive.

Right now, he was trying to find a place to take refuge. Not only was the wizarding world hunting him down, but muggles too were keeping an eye out for him.

Every headline read the same ’Dangerous Sirius Black’, ‘Notorious Sirius Black’... He doubted there was a person left who would believe him, believe the truth.

At that moment, Sirius thought of you. He tried not to in Azkaban, those happy thoughts would have only drawn the dementors straight to him. In fact, his memories of you were his happiest ones.

He could picture your smiling face so clearly, the sun shining on you, your hair shimmering. He should've told you back then how he felt.

Why was he so damn scared to tell you? You were one of his closest friends, but he wanted you to be so much more.

Now after spending 12 years Azkaban, there wasn't much he could lose now except for maybe his sanity.

He had plenty of chances to tell you before. James and Remus were constantly on his case about it. God, even Lily got involved eventually. But, in fact, he had tried! Yet, it resulted in a ridiculous promise instead.

If there was one thing Sirius knew for sure, he was over 30 and single. ...

���Heard you broke up with that Prefect, babe,” Sirius snickered joining you on the bench.

You shrugged closing your book and setting it aside, “He got boring.”

Sirius laughed, “Got boring?... He's a Prefect, that's guaranteed boredom! Bad choice if you were looking for excitement.”

“Heard you dumped that girl from potions,” you pointed out.

“How'd you hear about that, already?” he narrowed his eyes. “It just happened this morning at breakfast.”

“Oh I know, she was crying and bitching about you in the girl's lavatory to all her friends,” you added in a playful tone.

Sirius rolled his eyes, “It wasn't like we were anything serious.”

“Got your eyes set on someone else, hm?”

“Not necessarily, but-”

“She wanted a commitment, something more meaningful than getting to second base in the common room?”

Sirius smiled, “Something like that.”

“In fact, Padfoot darling,” you mused. “I believe I'm the only girl left in Hogwarts whose heart you haven't broken.”

“Asking me out, sweetheart?” Sirius leaned closer to you.

Honestly, the thought of dating Sirius scared you, because you did love him. You were head over heels in love with him, but all that meant was that he had the power to completely crush you.

You scoffed, “Please, Sirius, if you ever broke my heart, I would have to hex you so bad no girl or boy would look at you the same way!”

“Who says I would break your heart!?” Sirius shot up from his seat. “You are just as notorious as I am. If anything you'd break mine.”

“Alright, then, we agree,” You swallowed thickly.

“Agree to what?” he asked lifting his eyebrow.

“Agree not to date, ever.”

“Ever?” he repeated slack-jawed.

You nodded.

“But-” Sirius's eyes darted back and forth. “That seems pretty extreme.”

“So what? You want to risk our friendship for just a few chances to snog?” you groaned.

“It just seems like a waste to not even try, y/n,” Sirius argued. “What if you're the one for me?”

You sighed loudly, trying to play it cool, but he was not letting up and you were running out of excuses. It was tempting to say yes, but both of you were notorious players. It seemed so unlikely that it would work out.

“How about a promise?” you finally proposed.

“A promise?”

“Yep,” you nodded looking him straight in the eye. “Let's say, if both of us are still single at 30 we get married?”

“Married!” Sirius shouted clearly startled. “That's quite different from dating.”

“I just mean, like a pact,” you quickly explained. “Just think of all the hearts we'll break between now to then?... Maybe you are the one for me, Sirius.”

Sirius smirked, “So what you're saying is that once we've exhausted all other options that we might as well just be with each other?”

“I suppose that's the gist of it.”

“You're lucky you're worth the wait,” Sirius winked. . . . “So how'd it go, Padfoot?” James asked slinging an arm around Sirius's shoulders, as he hopped into the seat next to him.

The Great Hall was bustling as students made their way in and out for lunch.

“It went…” Sirius drawled.

“It went?” Remus questioned sitting across from Sirius and pouring himself a cup of pumpkin juice.

“Don't tell us you didn't tell her!” James whined. “Who knows the next time she'll be available?”

“Listen,” Sirius started to explain. “I tried! I did! But it led elsewhere…”

“Elsewhere? How could “Y/n I love you!” go elsewhere?” James argued, taking a bite out of a roll.

“I didn't tell her that!” Sirius huffed. “I tested the waters… and well, in 14 or so years we'll be married.”

“What?” they said simultaneously.

The look on James and Remus's faces when he told them about the pact was priceless.

“Well, that definitely is elsewhere,”  Remus chuckled.

Sirius groaned, burying his head in his hands, “Why couldn't I just tell her?”

“Honestly, it's not that hard, mate. Watch,” James instructed. He stood up and spotted Lily at the opposite end of the long table.

“Hey, Evans!” he shouted drawing her attention to him. “I love you!”

She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore him.

James, as usual, was persistent, as quick as he could he headed over to where Lily was sitting.

Remus shook his head and sighed, “Perhaps, that's what you're so afraid of.”

….

Sirius took a deep breath. This was a longshot. He was aware of that. But he had no one he could turn to. And this, this was the one thing he wanted to do before hunting that rat bastard down.

He couldn't believe his eyes as he peered into the window. There you were, somehow even more beautiful than he remembered.

You were busy cooking dinner. He watched a while longer just to make sure that you were alone.

This could be his last chance after all. Throwing caution to the wind, Sirius transformed from being a dog back to a man.

He tried your doorknob and to his surprise, it was unlocked. Quietly, he walked into your home.

“Y/n?”

Immediately, the bowl you were holding slipped from your grasp and shattered on the floor. You couldn't believe your eyes.

“Please don't scream, y/n, please,” Sirius begged.

You clutched your chest, tears threatening to fall. He looked so different, so thin.

“Sirius?” Carefully, you tiptoed towards him. Your fingertips brushed against his cheek, his face was pale and gaunt.

He seemed slightly startled by the physical contact but relaxed noting how long it had it been since he's felt this kind of gentleness.

He smiled, but you could tell underneath that he wanted to cry with you.

“Y/n, I…” Sirius didn't know where to start. Should he try to convince you of his innocence? Explain why he escaped? Tell you how he feels?

His eyes searched yours, but he couldn't get himself to speak. This was wrong, he shouldn't be getting you involved.

“So whose heart have you broken, now?” you teased, wiping away a few stray tears.

“What?” Sirius blinked in surprise.

“Sirius Black showing up out of nowhere…” you explained placing a hand on your hip. “You're a few years late.”

“Sorry about that, love,” he murmured, catching on to your game. A clever way for you to let him know that you're still single, that you still remembered.

“Does a summer wedding sound good to you?” you joked.

“Best time of the year for a wedding, in my opinion,” he played along.

God how he missed this, the banter, the flirting… just being able to be himself with you. You understood him in a way, very few people did.

“I think a small guest list would be best, practical you know?” you continued. You waved your wand and pieces of shattered glass reassembled themselves.

“Really? I always figured you'd want to invite everyone, really rub it in their faces that you're officially off the market.”

“That sounds more like you, dear,” you smirked.

Sirius froze for a moment, spotting his reflection in a mirror. He barely recognized himself. He was an absolute mess covered in God knows what. He probably didn't smell too great either.

He gulped, feeling his confidence slip away, “I'm quite a sight.”

“You just need to wash up!” You showed Sirius to your bathroom, “Help yourself to anything.”

“Anything?” Sirius purred.

“Sirius,” you stated in a stern voice, but you smiled. “Let's save the flirting until after your shower.”

He laughed, already starting to strip before even closing the bathroom door.

The warm water felt so pleasant as Sirius stepped into the shower.

He couldn't believe how it felt to be with you again. For the first time in a decade, Sirius felt human, not just an empty shell. He could feel all the muscles in his body relax, as he started to get comfortable.

He was so worried, that everything would feel awkward and different, that maybe you wouldn't even give him a chance. But you did, you welcomed him with open arms.

He took his time scrubbing every inch of himself. It only makes sense, when someone spends most of their time as a dog, the dirt and grime really start to build up.

Finally, feeling clean Sirius stepped out of the shower. His face looked a little bit better already.

“Y/n sweetheart, that smells fantastic,” Sirius complimented walking into the kitchen.

You laughed, “It's just soup-”

You almost choked seeing Sirius. He was practically naked, just a towel loosely hanging around his hips.

“Are you hungry, too?” he wiggled his brow. “Cause you're drooling.”

“Well, I'm sure if I were topless, you'd also be drooling too.”

“Actually, just the thought alone is pretty tempting.”

You shook your head, “Did you come here for refuge and to reconnect or just to get laid?”

“Can't it be both?” he shrugged.

“Sirius,” you sighed. You had so many questions. Why was he here? What exactly happened that night? What was he planning on doing now?

“I know, y/n,” he muttered, he knew what you were thinking and you had every right to be wary, but he wasn't ready to bring all that up. Not when he was just starting to remember what happy felt like.

“There are so many things for us to discuss but…” he pleaded. “But for right now, for tonight, let me have this.”

You cupped both sides of his face and looked into those gray eyes you loved so much.

“Alright, we'll pretend everything is fine,” you murmured.

You tilted your head and pressed your lips to his. At first, Sirius didn't react, until he recovered from the shock of what was happening.

Cautiously, he held your waist and pulled you closer to him. The kiss began to heat up as your lips parted and his tongue slipped into your mouth.

You moaned at the sensation of his tongue rolling against yours.

Sirius smirked against your lips. He then breaks the kiss and latches onto your neck. His kisses are desperate and hungry. His tongue explores your tender skin and his teeth nibble on the nape of your neck.

You threw your head back, giving him better access to explore your other sweet spots, “More.”

“I'm happy to oblige,” Sirius helped you out of your shirt and bra, dropping both onto the floor.

You shuffled out of your shorts and kicked them aside. You touched across his chest and over his shoulders. Studying the symbols tattooed on his pale skin. You ran your fingers through his damp hair. This time you peppered him with kisses all over his collarbone.

You kissed along his jawline feeling his stubble and beard tickling your cheek. Your breasts pushed against his chest.

The skin to skin contact felt amazing.

Feeling your hands and body pressed against his skin healed him in a way nothing else ever could. All those years spent numb and alone immediately erased by your warm and loving touch.

“Don't stop touching me,” he mewled. “I don't think I've needed anything more.”

All he wanted was to be with you like this forever. To remain forever in your warmth, to not ever have to feel that coldness again.

You noticed the towel he was wearing was starting to pitch a tent. Carefully you palmed his erection and watched as Sirius closed his eyes and bit his lip.

You could feel how long and thick his cock was through the fabric. It didn't take much for you to undo it, letting the towel fall to his feet.

His moans were music to your ears as you stroked the shaft of his cock. He grabbed your hand, tugging it away from his dick.

“Sorry,” he chuckled lightly. “But I won't last long if you continue.”

Sirius guided you onto your back on the floor. He positioned himself between your legs, rubbing the tip of cock between your folds. He used your wetness to lubricate his shaft.

Typically, he would've done so much more before fucking like rubbing your clit, edging you to the near brink of an orgasm, fingering your tight cunt. But he couldn't hold out much longer, his self-control wearing thin.

He grunted and huffed as he pressed his cock inside of you. Your slick walls squeezed deliciously around his shaft.

“Sirius,” you gasped as his cock stretched your little hole.

He paused for a minute, allowing you time to adjust and giving himself a moment to admire your lovely face as it contorts.

He began to rock in and out of you. His cock reaching deeper and deeper into your cunt. Your back arched as he hit your g-spot.

You reached out, feeling his shoulder blades move and his muscles tighten.

You head started to spin as you became overwhelmed by pleasure. The only sounds you could hear were Sirius's panting and the wet slapping sounds of your flesh and his making contact.

You can feel your climax building. Soon your toes curl and you tremble as your body drifts into a euphoric state.

Sirius's nails dug into your thighs as he shudders against you. Your own orgasm causing him to cum. He grunts and growls loudly as he fills your pussy with his sperm.

His cock stayed buried in your cunt as he collapsed on top of you. That was probably the most intimate and emotional sex you've ever had.

The kitchen floor felt so cold against your hot skin. Needily, Sirius's arms were wrapped tightly around your waist and his head nestled between your breasts.

“I love you, y/n. I wish I had told you sooner.”

You felt his tears run down onto your chest.

“I love you too,” you cooed playing with his hair.

“I want to stay but I can't…you deserve-”

“Shut it,” you reprimanded him. “I don't want to hear that. You're mine now, Sirius.”

“Y/n, I have to clear my name, I have to avenge James and Lily…” he explained, he nuzzled against you, needing more of your warmth. “I need to explain it all to my godson… to Harry.”

“Of course,” you swallowed, trying to hold back tears.

“We agreed on a summer wedding, right?” he mused quietly.

You nodded.

“I'll have this all sorted out by then, I promise,” he assured. Sirius raised his head, his hand gently caressing the side of your face. “Think you can wait a little longer for me?”

“You're worth the wait,” you whispered, placing your hand on top of his.

taglist: @princess-sweatpants @xfeathered-serpent @edendescending @letskillthefuhrer

[oh-styles]

A Little Bit of Her - Revised

Here it is, the long awaited step-dad series, also known as the reason my heart aches every waking moment of my life.

I want to first start off by apologizing that it took me so long to put this out, but I persevered and set forth on a mission to wait until I thought it was good enough to set free into the world, instead of forcing out something that would just be complete shit. So thank you for sticking with me, and I really hope you enjoy.

This is just an introduction piece, so it’s a bit shorter than what I normally put out, but never fear my little ducklings, more will be to come.

But as for now, I am pleased to introduce you to one of my favorite little duos. 

She’s 11-months-old.

He was positive he was going to get sick; he couldn’t overlook the dodgy ache pulling at his esophagus, nor the unsettling twist of his gut with each heaving breath he unsteadily took. He could envision it perfectly, swerving into oncoming traffic as he projectile vomits all over his custom interior, only setting himself up for public humiliation once more when a pair of vigilant eyes watches the scene unfold, and before he knows it, another exasperating sign gets put up in remembrance of that unfortunate day – much like those years before.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened with each memorized turn, having spent late nights and early mornings tucked between copious crowded scheduling days at your 60 square metre flat, and it’s that unwanted churning welling up in the pit of his gut to be all the reminder he needs that today wasn’t like the nights before where he’d shuffle into your entryway in the late evening and have your panties pushed to the side with his cock tucked in deep before you even managed a hello.

Those were also the nights round two would have already been started before the two of you reached your bedroom.

The mornings would include a detailed reenactment of the festivities from the previous night, where he’d find his lips plastered to every inch of your chest, where his tongue would dance with yours and his hips would rock steadily into your core, and the mixture of moans would caress the surrounding four walls, until he was pulled from bed and jumping back into his restless schedule, where’d he be counting down the days until he could crawl under your sheets and find a home between your legs.

There’s really not any other place he’d rather be.

Her first word was ‘bye’.

It was a Tuesday when you told him, your body clad in one of his shirts, as you sat on the edge of the bed watching from the bathroom door as he undressed for a shower. You knew you could have picked a better time, one where he wasn’t stark naked in just his socks, but in your defense, naked or not, you knew what the answer would be.

After three months of stumbling into your bed and staying for breakfast, three months filled with good morning texts, and the occasional I love you that just made a recent comeback into your lives, you knew as important as she was in your life, and how secure the two of you have become over the months, it was time.

As he bent over to pull his boxers down, his mussed-up hair falling forward over his eyes, it slipped from your tongue.

“I want you to meet her.”

That got his attention.

He looked back to you with an alarming stare, still hunched over with his boxers puddled at his ankles. He knew he didn’t mishear you – you couldn’t have been more clear – but if he was being truthful, now wasn’t the time he was expecting you to drop this news, maybe when he had been dressed and with his cock not out…

“Her.”

“Harry.”

“Babe.”

“Harry.”

He could feel his dimple begin to pop as he spotted your cheeks painted in a deep red. Twice before you had told him the same exact thing, and like both times, you would call him the day before and break the news you didn’t think now was the right time, and just like each time he would reassure you that whenever you felt comfortable to introduce him to her, he would be there.

He also wasn’t sure what changed from today to four days ago, but he was humored.

“Harry, just shower and leave so I can pick her up from my mums—”

“Not even going to wait to hear my answer?” He peeked behind him as he tested the temperature of the water, arching his brow with a flirty demeanor and a wink.

“Don’t need one – you’re coming.”

“Oh, still so bossy. How about you come in here with me and teach me a lesson?” He stifled a chuckle, wiggling his butt in your direction, which you responded by gruffly standing and closing the door to the bathroom, barely making out his muffled, “Hey!”

It was too early for his jokes.

She loves listening to Bowie.

He can’t pinpoint the exact moment his nerves betrayed him, but he thinks it has something to do with the three consecutive knocks to your flat door, and the familiar shuffling from the other side. He had to take a private moment to himself upon his arrival, giving himself plenty friendly reminders that she is just a baby, a baby weighing in at 19 pounds, who hasn’t even mastered the art of walking, and therefore he has no reason to be as anxious as he was.

But he summed it down to this: you are a mother before a girlfriend; you won’t keep a guy around that your daughter doesn’t like, especially if the guy could as some point be a person she’d call a father. The guy that she chooses to keep around, would be someone her daughter feels comfortable around, and doesn’t mind spending time with.

If Harry can’t be that guy, there wouldn’t be much hope for the relationship.

He listened closely as the lock on the door clicked, and the knob slowly turned to reveal you in the shirt you had worn the night before, hair done up in a quick bun, and face wiped clean of any makeup; a look that was common for you these days, but it still made Harry just as crazy about you as he did all those years ago.

“Hey,” You half-whispered, inching the door open. “Just in time – dinners almost ready.”

He slowly inched into your foyer, the overwhelming smell of garlic wafting through the air hitting his nose like a quick punch. Cooking was never quite your forte, at least not all those years ago when you would surprise him at his house with a cheese and pickle sandwich. The two of you would sit in front of the telly, taking large bites out of your meal, while Gemma did her homework on the sofa. It was like clockwork, every Tuesday night, that’s where you would be.

“Do you…?” You inched forward, holding out your hand to retrieve his coat. You folded it over and rested it on the kitchen counter, leaning back to give him a willing grin. “You ready?”

“Now? I just—”

“You’re all I’ve been speaking of all afternoon,” you smirk, taking a hearty grip of his hand. “She’s quite excited to meet you, I must say. Was telling me all about it.”

He doesn’t know much about her, except she was born on the 11th of January of that year, and the father never showed up at the hospital to meet his daughter. You figured as much, but it still put a sting in the wound he had left. When he got word that you had given birth, through the grapevine of his mother, he was quick to send a bouquet to the hospital, attached with a note that read: “Congratulations, you have been promoted to the best position possible: a mother. Hope you’re doing well. H. x”

You never got back to him, but you kept the note stashed away with the rest of the memories you kept of him.

“Remember, she’s a baby. Don’t be so scared of a baby.”

He tried to laugh – he wanted to laugh – but god, were you right. Ever since he got word that you were expecting, with no other than that prick of a lad you dated a while after him, he felt a feverish burn in his gut, one that meant the green-eyed monster was near.

Leaving you wasn’t something he wanted, but something he felt was needed, and now he paid the price. He was just lucky you actually took him back after all this time.

You led him into the living room where you had Baby Einstein playing over the television, and inside of her little activity center, slapping and batting at a toy lion, was her. The first thing he saw was her hair, the massive curls bouncing as she clapped along to the music. Her laughter rose over the volume of the telly, and her little legs kicked and bounced her frame in her seat.

You squatted down in front of her, running a hand through her curls, and Harry noticed then a look in your eye that he had never had the chance to see before. It was the look that only one can give their child, and once again, the green-eyed monster returns with ravenous fury, because in a perfect world, that child was supposed to be his.

“Hey, lovebug. There’s someone I want to introduce you to.” She let out a yelp, slapping her hands down on the table, and out of habit, you reached down to wipe away the excess drool from the tail end of your shirt. “Does that mean ‘Yes, mummy!’?”

You peeked up with a wink, patting the floor beside you for him to join you.

There had been 216 days since the day you two began talking again, and 80 days since he, with confidence, call you his girlfriend, and now, two months later, he squats down beside you and before him, with eyes just like her mother, does he fall in love for the second time that year.

“Harry,” you lay a hand on his thigh. “This is Love.”

[tangerinewrites]

DAY 27-28: CAL

11/27-28/2020

wc: 3642

note: i really went off w this one... like im late.. but i went off 

He could imagine how every new student might feel upon arriving on campus for the first time. Sure, the switch from Mahoutokoro, a school in Iwo Jima, to Mokseong, a university in Busan, was not as large as others who could’ve come from Ilvermorny or Hogwarts. But it still felt nerve-wracking to be completely oblivious to his surroundings. The orientations given by the prefects were not exactly the most helpful for him.

He was one of the freshmen who many upperclassmen could spot from a mile away. His eyes were glued to his phone as he walked around campus, cluelessly wandering around until he was able to find his destination. Thankfully, not many people were paying much attention to him being a complete fool, but it still didn’t exactly help him figure out where his class was.

He wanders around the hallways more before he notices someone looking at him from across the hall. “Are you lost?” the someone—a girl—asks as she walks up to him.

He gives a shy laugh when she asks him that question. “Was it obvious?”

“A little, yeah,” she says with a small smile. “Where are you off to? I could help you out.”

“Are you sure?” his voice is filled with concern when he says that. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

"It’s okay! I can just say I was helping you out,” she answers her. “Answer my question though.”

"Oh! Right!” He’s a little flustered after the realization but he continues to go along with it. He hands the phone over to her. “It’s for Potions? It’s probably somewhere really obvious, but I’m a freshman so I’m kinda new to everything.

She takes a look at his phone and makes an “Ah” noise before handing him his phone back. “I actually had the same class last year! Let me lead you there.”

Not wanting there to be an awkward silence as they head on their way, Cal decides to get some small talk from the other. Some people seem to hate that method of trying to get rid of the awkwardness, but Cal didn’t. He’d rather talk to someone than to no one at all. “So… is Professor Jung nice?” he asks. “I thought I should ask, because you said you had her before.”

He watches her visibly think of how to answer his question. “Kind of? She’s strict and kinda scary, but she’s really smart and knows a lot about magic.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t really have to talk to her as much because I’m in Geumseong.”

Cal perks up. “Oh, for real? I am, too!” he says excitedly. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other more from now on, huh?”

When he shows his excitement, the other girl couldn’t help but giggle at him and it’s a laugh that automatically brings a smile to his face. “You’re adorable,” she responds. “Yeah! I guess we’ll be seeing each other.”

When they arrive at the front of the class, he doesn’t go in just yet. Though he acknowledges the fact that he’s late, he wasn’t going to leave without knowing who the other girl was. “I’m Kangmin! But I go by Cal. It’s short for Calvin.” He offers his hand for her to shake. “You?”

“Sojin. But you can call me Anais,” she says with a smile, shaking the hand he offered to her. As they both let go, she begins to go on her way. “Better get in there quick. Professor Jung is probably not too happy to see you coming late.”

“Oh! Shit-” his curse comes out in a whisper as he turns his foot and hurriedly walks into the classroom.

“You look a little distracted.”

When Anais calls him out on that, he immediately gets his attention back from gazing at Haejin and he feels his face go red when he realizes that he’s made it obvious enough for the other to point out. “Was I being obvious?” he asks, concern filling his tone.

“A little, yeah,” she responds with a grin. She scoots in closer to him at the table they sat together on the castle grounds. “So? Who is it! Who does little Cal have his eye on?”

“Don’t be so loud about it!” he says with a shy tone, but that doesn’t seem to wipe off the smile on her face. He brings his voice to a whisper. “Park Haejin. He’s a freshman in Toseong.”

“Ooh! I’ve seen him before! He’s cute! Kinda sexy, too.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Are bad boys your type?”

“Wh- No! That’s not-” He finds himself getting even more embarrassed, so he takes a deep breath to calm down. Curse Anais for teasing him this way. “I don’t like him in that way. I used to be his friend back when we were kids. We were super close, but then I moved to the States.” When he thinks about America, he tries his best not to let his mind wander around that subject too much. “He is- was really important to me. So I can’t help but like… wonder how he’s doing and stuff.”

After hearing his explanation, she pouts. “Aw… I’m sorry, Cal,” she says before reaching out for his hand to give it a comforting rub. “Why don’t you two try to reconnect? Do you have some classes together? Clubs, even?”

“We’re in Transfiguration, DADA, and Duelling, I think?” he recounts. “And we do have a few classes together. I don’t know. Sometimes, he doesn’t really seem interested in me.”

“You don’t know that for sure, though,” she continues consoling him. “It’s been years since y’all have talked, right? Sure, some things might’ve changed about him, but he could still be the same boy you’ve known before.”

“Mm… maybe,” he says with a shrug and a sigh.

“Maybe you could start studying with him?” she suggests. “You’re super smart in your classes, right? You guys could be able to help each other out or something, assuming he’s also smart.”

When Cal hears the idea, he starts to consider it just a little. Mainly because not only would be a benefit for the both of them academically, he could also take it as an opportunity to reconnect with the other again. “You know what? That doesn’t sound too bad of an idea,” he responds with a big smile. “Yeah! I’ll do it!”

The response makes the other smile “When you both get married, make sure to invite me.”

"OH my GOD, ANNIE.”

Cal hasn’t really experienced much jealousy. Well, at least before this.

When the boy started noticing that Anais began to hang out with him less, he couldn’t help but be a little upset about it. Maybe not a little, since the person she’s been hanging out with the most out of everyone is Kang mother-fucking Levi. He has a lot of grievances with the boy. One being the fact that after he essentially confessed his feelings for him and was convinced that the both of them were a thing, he was only proven to be wrong when he sees him hanging around Anais after that.

Rather than getting mad at her, considering the fact that she was his friend, he instead found himself being frustrated with the other boy. Whenever he saw them together, he felt his previous good mood turn sour. It felt uncomfortable to watch them be so… romantic with each other.

“I really don’t see why you have such a problem with him, Cal,” she responds to him after he makes an ugly facial expression at the mention of him.

“I don’t know. Maybe because he’s such an asshole and you clearly deserve someone better?” he responds in a sassy tone before he huffs. “Seriously? You’re gonna date that asshole over literally anyone else?

“Who would you rather me be with then?” she asks the boy. “If not him, then who?”

He shrugs. “Literally anyone but him.”

The girl sighs and shakes her head. “Calvin, you’re ridiculous.”

“Why are you calling me that?” he asks with a pout.

“Why are you being such a child about this?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips as she looks up at him.

Cal groans. “I’m leaving,” he says before he turns his heel to leave the room.

“You’re being very immature!” she yells after him leaving.

There were times where Cal found himself glancing at Anais’s lips more than he normally would. Sometimes while she was talking, he’d unconsciously glance at them from time to time before getting a hold of himself. Back when she and Levi were a thing, he’d always wondered what it’d be like to have those lips on his. Not for any specific reason, really. It’s just simply because of the fact that he liked how they looked. Sure, he thought about them from time to time, but friends have thoughts like that…

Right?

Cal’s been kissed plenty of times in the past. Hell, his lips have even been touched by KANG LEVI of all people. He’s been kissed for platonic, romantic, and sexual reasons and he could tell the difference between all three.

A lot of realizations happen in this moment as he’s making out with her in this moment. He definitely has thought about kissing Anais in the sexual way before, but he wasn’t really aware of it until now as they’re kissing in the Geumseong dorm halls. Not only that, but her lips felt very soft against his.

And this was obviously a given, but she was a really good kisser. One who really knew how to use her tongue.

He mentally curses at himself when he feels his dick twitch from how hot this was. And it was definitely obvious that Anais felt something too, given the fact that she pulsl away from him and smirks as her hands move down to his crotch, her fingers touching him ever so slightly. “Looks like someone’s been excited for this, huh?” she asks teasingly. “You could’ve just asked me to kiss you if you’ve been holding in this much excitement for this long.”

“Annieee!” he whines from underneath her, only to interrupt himself with a moan as she starts to palm him.

“Am I wrong?” she asks, continuing the motion as she watches the boy fall apart because of her. She leans in to whisper in his ear, making Cal senses heighten just from the distance closing more as time passes. “I think the both of us know what you really want. Just say the words and I’ll do it for you.”

He’s speechless at this point, only thinking about the pleasure that the girl was giving him. But even with that said, she had a point: they did know what he want. And with how this was going, all Cal wanted was for it to progress.

"Please,” he starts, his voice coming out desperate as he says that. “Do whatever you want to me. I want you now.”

She smiles as she uses her other hand to pat his blue hair. “Good boy~ I knew you couldn’t resist,” she says warmly. She moves both her hands away from him, later using one to grab his hand. “Let’s go to my room then, hm? We can continue this from there.”

Though he was whining without her touch, his eyes suddenly light up as she says the last sentence. “Really? We’re going to do this?” he asks excitedly.

Her smile grows into a grin as she watches his reaction. “You’re so excitable. Little spitfire.” She goes on her toes to get better eye contact with him. “I’m going to call you Calcifer. Is that okay?”

The sound of that nickname sounds like music to his ears, especially with the fact that it came from her. Cal alone was already a nickname, but the fact that they both had their own nicknames for each other made Cal feel special. “Okay!” he beams. “I’m your Calcifer.”

She leans in to give him soft kiss on the lips, which is funny considering the situation they were in right now. “Only mine, okay? No one can call you that.”

After she says that, she pulls him into her room as soon as they arrive at her door. After making sure that her dorm mate wasn’t there, she closes the door behind her before leading him to her bed, pushing him to fall onto it before climbing on top of him. It was one thing to see Anais take authority in any situation she’s in, but it was another to be able to experience it for himself.

She kisses him hungrily, making him kiss her back with the same force before pulls away to take off his shirt. As soon as it’s off, she begins to kiss her way down from his jawline to his nipples. He tries his best to crane his neck so that he could see what she was doing before he feels the need to throw his head back as she begins to play around with one of them by using her tongue.

After some time, she stops playing around with them to look at him as she unbuckles the belt on his jeans before popping the button. As she slides, the pants down, she looks up at him with a devilish smile. “Look at you, Calcifer,” she teases as she stares at his erection through his briefs. “You’re so easy to rile up. So hard for me already.”

His face had already been red because of all that was happening, but the comment definitely makes him try to cover his face before holds out to grab his arm.

“Hey.. don’t do that,” she says softly. “You look so pretty like this. I want to see all your pretty faces, Calcifer.”

Such a comment is enough to make him pout, but he follows the other’s orders as he puts his hands back to his side. “Are you going to touch me?” he asks.

“Is that what you want me to do?”

He nods his head.

“Then of course I am,” she says with a smile before she brings his pants down to the ground. As she moves her way off the bed to kneel onto the ground next to it, she pulls the other’s briefs down from his position. “Sit up, baby.” When he does as he’s told, the girl is able to slide off the briefs easily. Immediately, she wraps her hand around his cock and he shudders from the feeling of her fingers. She eyes him as she begins to move her hand up and down his length, gaining a song of needy moans coming from his mouth.

“Shit, Annie.” The comment makes her laugh.

“You’re so cute,” she replies, smiling the moment she hears him whine. She suddenly slows down the pace, making him whimper at the loss of her touch even if it was just for a few seconds. But it doesn’t take her long before she moves her head forward so that she could press a kiss to his tip, later licking the precum leaking off of it. She smirks at him before she moves her head down to begin sucking on his cock, moving her head down further as she did so.

Overwhelmed by pleasure, especially with how her mouth felt all around him, he gasps before he loudly moans. “Fuck, please, Annie,” he moans, throwing his head back as a reaction to what she was doing him. She was making him feel so good that he wondered to himself why didn’t he get to do this with her before? After all, it’s been a year since they’ve first met each other. But if there was anything he knew about Anais, he knew that sticking around with her would give him a chance to see what was also up her sleeve.

And if she was going to fill the dominant role in this mutual agreement of being friends with benefits, he was definitely fine with this becoming regular for them.

Her pace goes quicker and so does the feeling of her tongue against his dick. With how tonight was going, he felt himself very much unable to handle it any longer. “Annie, I’m so close,” he warns. “Please let me come. Please.”

At the mention of that, she quickly moves her head away from his mouth before letting her thumb play around with his sensitive tip. “Hm? And why should I?” she asks with a devious smile. “Surely you can come up with reasons on why you deserve to come, Calcifer.”

He whines loudly. “Annie, please. I’m so desperate!” he whines, feeling his thighs shake as he tries his best to control it because of her words. “If I hold it in any longer, it’ll be too much. Please.”

She shakes her head as she continues to tease him, making him look at her desperately at this point.

“Mommy, please.”

She immediately perks at the sound of the pet name. “What did you just call me?” she asks him for clarification.

His face gets red. “I’m not gonna say it again! It’s embarrassing-”

“Say it again, Calvin.”

She prepares to continue with the teasing before he whines aloud. “Mommy!” he says, sounding close to tears as he says that.

When she hears him say it again, she couldn’t help but giggle “How cute~” she teases. “Okay, baby. You can come. Just because you said it so cutely.”

After being given the go, he releases immediately, following on his backside as he tries to catch his breath from how overwhelming everything felt for him. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, looking up at Anais, now standing up straight. It felt a little embarrassing to know that he was practically the only one fully naked in this situation while she pleased him like he asked.

“How do you feel?” she asks with a smile.

“I feel good,” he answers with a nod. He then decides to sit up straight so that he could be able to talk to the other. “But what about you? You need to have some fun, too.”

“Oh,” she responds. She shakes her head and throws her hand forward to make a limp wrist motion. “Nah, it’s fine. I can take care of that myself.”

He shakes his head as he uses whatever strength he had in him to push himself up to go up to her. “No. I want to make you feel good too.”

There’s a silence that follows after he says that, but it’s interrupted after Anais smiles at him. “Okay. You can help make me feel good then, Calcifer,” she says as she pulls him in for a kiss. “And I can teach you how to.”

Though he was a little exhausted, he nods excitedly. “Okay. I’ll do anything you tell me to.”

It was always the same. He would be in the body of eleven year old boy waking up in the hospital wing, looking to his side to see no cards or gifts left for him despite the fact that he got into some trouble with the resident bullies. Not even a single person he had run into had come to visit him. But the longer he looks at that clean table, it turns into a hole in which he can look inside of.

Inside the hole was the bathroom of that boy’s dorm, but the whole scene was black and white. The boy would stare longingly at the mirror in front of him as he watched the mirror as it etched the words in “black” paint:

“THE WORLD DOESN’T NEED YOU.

EVERYONE WOULD BE FINE IF YOU WERE GONE.”

And as the words dripped onto the mirror, the entire view would turn from black to red.

At this point, he’d wake up.

Cal had experienced these nightmares before. It’s not like it’s the first time they’ve made an appearance, as he’s seen these dreams since his second year of Mahoutokoro. Even though he knows how it goes every time and he shouldn’t be as shaken up by it, he couldn’t help but be so affected by it. If anything, it just proves how ironic it was. Here he was, acting as if he had moved on from the events that triggered such nightmares, only to be proven wrong every other night he gets them.

He doesn’t notice how loud his gasp was until he hears audible groaning coming from next to him. Fuck. That’s right. He just hooked up with Anais tonight and he didn’t feel like going back to his dorm. Thankfully it doesn’t wake her up. Perhaps the groaning came from something else then.

The longer he looks at her sleeping peacefully (or at least that’s what he assumes), he finds himself calming down. A lot of movies he’s watched in the past liked to make a scene like this seem romantic. Of course, there were the cynical who would point out how the idea of watching someone sleep was alarming or creepy. But he thinks, in this context, he wasn’t being creepy. Or at least he hopes he’s not.

Not that he wanted it to seem like he was looking at her in a romantic light. It was just a thought. He was looking at her in the most platonic way possible.

As he finally calms down, he tries his best to lie back down and close his eyes before convincing himself to eventually fall asleep a few minutes later. Before he drifted off, a thought appeared in his head of how he hoped that the girl next to him wouldn’t leave his side. He couldn’t feign the feeling of being perfectly fine on his own, let alone a close friend like her.

Yeah. A close friend.

[starlightbisexual]

Hullo!!! Shy anon here, you're one of my favorite blogs so i was wondering if you happen to have any marvel fic recs? I'm running low and it's summer, so any fic would be appreciated (as long as it's not explicit). Any suggestions? ^^

hi love, you're so sweet thank you!! 

i have about a million fics to rec so this might be a bit long and im gonna put it under the cut. personal faves are marked with an !!!

(when you say “not explicit” i took that to mean they’re not tagged as explicit on ao3. i cant promise that none of these fics contain sex/other mature themes. it’s probably best to always read the tags on each fic just to make sure!)

ofc this list isn’t exhaustive, just the first ones that popped into my head! if you or anyone else wants some more please come ask, i love discussing fics!

those on mobile: note the read more

slide to answer (mature, 6k)

“What do I do?” Steve appealed into the phone. “I’m freaking out.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. It lasted so long that Steve pulled the receiver away from his ear and frowned at it. Pay phones were old. Maybe this one wasn’t working despite the obvious dial tone when he picked up.

“Ok,” a stranger’s voice said over the phone. “First acknowledge the fact that you dialed the wrong number, but be quick about it because my cab is a few blocks away from my own plans and I’m about to drop some truth bombs on you.”

lonely houses off the road (teen, 17k)

Barnes is now glaring at him for some reason. It’s somewhat terrifying but also, oddly, a little reassuring— because that’s emotion right there, which means there’s still somebody behind those eyes. Somebody who seems to think Sam is being a bit slow on the uptake. “Time parameters exceeded. Mission failed.”

“Wait.” Sam narrows his eyes. “Is this some kind of… report? Debriefing?”

“Mission report,” confirms Barnes, looking pleased. Well, looking slightly less murderous than before.

In which various people deal with things they never signed up for, but at the end of the day no one’s particularly surprised.

i love you like rlb (teen, 3k)

I love you like rlb has become a well-known, accepted and valuable component of American vernacular. The meaning of the letters ‘rlb’ is unknown, but is uniformly considered to be a statement of a great romantic love, commitment and sacrifice.

It was Dernier as first said it. Steve never imagined that something like that could have survived the war and all the years in between.

In which Tony goes insane trying to figure out why that phrase affects the Cap so much, Bucky teases the press, and Steve and Bucky love each other like rlb.

i was found and now i don’t roam these streets (mature, 15k)

They’ve decided to start producing Bucky Bears again, now that he’s all shiny and redeemed and fighting for good on this big Avengers misfits team. “He has a little shiny gray arm,” Bucky says, wiggling the stuffed arm in question, one of the tweaks made in the new model. It takes Steve a second to realize that Bucky’s got a small smile on his face, actually looks a little bit proud around the eyes.

Or, Bucky relearns himself and how to be on a team, the rest of the Avengers try to get answers, and everyone watches too much Criminal Minds.

roll on (mature, 89k)

In 1938, there’s a bar in Brooklyn called Sully’s where people are safe to be themselves. Behind the bar, a girl pours drinks. She’s always got a big smile for Steve and she says queer like it’s a good thing. On a regular basis, she takes his shoulders in her hands and tries to shake sense into him, saying, “When will you do something about that best friend of yours?”

In 2012, Bucky’s gone, but Steve’s not, and the girl’s hands are too old to shake him. She does her best to make him see sense anyway.

Steve had people who loved him before the war, and it turns out a few of them are still around when he finally comes home.

one cloud feels lonely (mature, 72k, !!!)

“I’m going to take a break for a while,” Steve said quietly, not looking at T’Challa, not knowing that this was what he was gonna do until the words were out of his mouth. “I can’t be on a team right now.”

T’Challa nodded as if he understood. “Alright.”

AKAIn which Steve and Bucky both figure out how to be a person again, and it still takes them over 130 years.

barnes & rogers and the goddamn truth (not rated, 18k, !!!)

There are three well-known facts at Shield High:

1. The history teacher Mr. Barnes is a stone-cold terror, and it’s not even because he only has one arm.2. The other history teacher, Mr. Rogers, is a mysterious enigma, and it’s something to do with the body of a Greek God and contradicting stories of his past. (They’re all rumours, anyway.)3. Mr Barnes and Mr Rogers hate each other.

Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

asked and answered (teen, 5k)

“You should marry me, Bucky.”

“What?”

“You should marry me.” Steve said again. “Sister Eustace said that marriage is the purest form of love, and I love you more than anybody. So we should get married.”

Steve and Bucky. Five marriage proposals (and one time they didn’t have to ask).

1917 (mature, 15k, !!!)

Born on March 10th, 1985 at the Brooklyn Hospital Center, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was named after Sergeant Barnes, Captain America’s childhood best friend, who died when he fell off a train in the Swiss Alps.

In 2008, Peggy Carter donates to the Smithsonian letters Captain Rogers wrote to Sergeant Barnes in 1944—

After he fell.

Some lives are eternally entwined.

to be vunerable is needed most of all (mature, 118k)

Steve is a shy comic book artist and meets his new neighbour, Bucky Barnes.

In which there are awkward longings, meddling best friends, comic conventions, heartache, lemons, video games, dorkiness, dancing and two cute boys.

there should be stars (teen, 45k)

“All memories to tell you the truth aren’t good.But sometimes there were good times.Love was good. I loved your crooked sleepbeside me and never dreamed afraid.

There should be stars for great warslike ours. There ought to be awardsand plenty of champagne for the survivors.”- Sandra Cisneros

Or, it takes them decades.

fever dream (mature, 9k)

“Buck.” Steve says, soft as he can, so he won’t start to cough again. The light from the stove hits his face just right, makes his eyes light up bright, spring sky blue. Bucky’s head aches just looking at him.

1942, in fits and starts.

they say love is a virtue (mature, 22k)

“I have a bet,” Tony announces to the room. He stands up, repeating himself a few times so that everyone is forced to stop the game and look up at him. He looks straight into Bucky’s eyes when he goes, “I bet you fifty dollars that you and Steve can’t spend a whole week pretend married without realizing that you’re both in love with each other.”

the smithsonian guard (gen, 8k)

Bucky makes a friend.

cross this river to the other side (teen, 14k)

Here is the truth about Captain America and the Howling Commandos that every World War II historian must come to accept at one point or another: we will never know everything. We won’t even come close.

So much was lost with the untimely death of Captain America. While the man beneath the uniform sunk to the bottom of the North Atlantic, the myth lived on, only to grow bigger and more unwieldy as the years went by. Now, it is near impossible to tell fact from fiction, to separate out truth from propaganda.

In 1943, the Howling Commandos wrote goodbye letters to be given to their loved ones in the event of their deaths.

In 2014, Sharon Carter finds those letters in a tin can in an abandoned HYDRA base.

captain fantastic and the pineapple king (teen, 30k, !!!)

Shit.She hadn’t noticed him yet. Maybe he could turn and leave without them noticing – Sam would understand. Sam was the most empathetic person he knew. He wouldn’t scold Steve for coming home spice-less to avoid an awkward encounter with an ex. Surely.They drew closer.Fuck.Please don’t notice me, please don’t notice me, please don’t notice me…"Steve?”Fuck.In which Steve is saved from his ex in a grocery store, Bucky Barnes is Way Too Chill about absolutely everything, and Sam has had enough of all of these goddamn pineapples in his fucking house.Or: The five times Steve received a pineapple (and one Piña Colada) and the one time he didn’t

haha, jk (teen, 13k)

(A tale of Not Unrequited Love)

Steve: I love you.Bucky: oh no.(and other fallacies)

Bucky learns to never say never when it comes to the effect his best friend can have.

apes debemus imitari (we should imitate the bees) (gen, 15k)

Steve operates a fruit & veg stand at a farmer’s market. Bucky keeps bees and has started up a honey shop just opposite. They’re failing to get along. Steve gets along a lot better with the anonymous friend he’s been writing letters to. In fact, he’s rapidly falling for him.

it’s no coincidence (teen, 109k)

The kids immediately scream, “Trick-or-Treat” before they see who opens the door.

The strange resident looks between the two kids, then at the adults, and his eyes widen in horror.

“It’s October already?”

Okay, Bucky thinks. This guy is probably high.

don’t ask (mature, 21k, !!!)

Captain America and Bucky Barnes were like brothers. Everyone knew that.

most ardently (teen, 9k)

Baron Grant, nothing more than a small, sickly country gentleman with no fortune and very little to recommend him, has just poured a glass of claret over Duke Barnes, a wealthy lord with the world at his feet.

[simplyqf]

Just A Taste | Quinn & Sam

TAGGING → Quinn Fabray & Sam Evans LOCATION → Stars Stadium TIME FRAME → April 14, 2017 GENERAL NOTES → Chatzy para

Quinn was wrapping up a phone call as she entered the meeting room. "I look forward to meeting you too," she finished before she hung up. When she looked up, she realized that all eyes were on her. Lonnie narrowed her eyes at her, and Quinn gave her a shrug in response. "I'm last, not late," she reminded her before taking a seat next to her at the table. As Coach Renshaw started the meeting, Quinn stole a glance at Sam. She kind of regretted not letting him stay the night last night.

Sam let out a breath. He was still not cure on why he needed to be at this meeting, or why they needed the meeting to begin with. Sam was well aware of the fact that, yes, he had messed up, but he was paying the price, and he would do the same again, but he wasn't going to tell them why he had just left. Sam glanced over at Quinn, biting down on his lip, raising his eyebrows. He knew that Coach Renshaw was talking, and probably telling everyone that they needed Sam to do some more cleaning up of his image or come up with a good story to why he wasn't going to play the next couple of games. "I still don't get it," he said, as he heard his name, "I know I'm being punished why not just tell the press and fans the truth, they'll figure it anyway."

Quinn started to zone out at some point, although she still managed to glean bits of information from the ongoing conversation. "Sam missed enough games during his absence," she spoke up at last. "He shouldn't miss anymore. We need him on the field." She looked right at Coach Renshaw. "There's plenty of other ways to punish him, ways that could also benefit his image and the team's image," she told him, naming a few, "More volunteer work, giving tours of the stadium, doing meet and greets with fans..." Coach Renshaw seemed to mull over her ideas in his head. He would rather have Sam on the field than off. "Okay, Ms. Fabray," he responded finally. "I'll put you in charge of his punishment then. Moving on to the next item on our agenda..." Quinn zoned out again. Sam might not be happy with her because he wasn't exactly a fan of doing PR stuff, but hey, at least she'd kept him from missing anymore games.

Sam was surprised with how Quinn spoke up. He had counted on missing a few more games. Besides it wouldn't be that big of a deal, he could talk to Stacey and make sure that she was doing okay. His eyes moved to Quinn when she began to talk about other ways he could be punished, and he bit down on his lower lip, raising his eyebrows trying to get Quinn to look at him. A huff left his lips when he heard the different suggestions to what he could be doing instead of missing games, he didn't mind the meet and greets or the tours, as long as it was his choice. Sam leaned closer to Quinn, "So how do you plan on punishing me?" he asked, placing a hand on her thigh. "I can think of a couple of things I could enjoy."

Quinn She almost jolted out of her seat when she felt someone's hand on her thigh, relaxing a little when she realized who that hand belonged to. She did a quick glance around the room. Thankfully, no one else had heard him. "Uh huh," she acknowledged him. "I'm sure you could." She was trying not to let his touch and his words affect her. She was trying to keep her cool. They were in the middle of a meeting after all, and she was a professional. Quinn cleared her throat and jumped into whatever the current conversation at the table was. All she had to do was keep her mind on work, which was a lot harder than one would think with his hand on her thigh.

Sam He turned to Quinn, a smile on his lips, he was almost sure that he had gotten to her. "Yeah?" he asked, "maybe I should tell you about them," he whispered, he didn't really pay attention to what exactly was said, since Sam was sure that it didn't have to do with him. What he had needed to hear was something they had already covered. "So how long do I have to stay?" he asked looking around the room, his hand slowly moving over Quinn's thigh.

Quinn put her hand over his to keep him from going any higher. Any higher and she might not stay as professional as she'd like to be. "It's bad form to be the first to leave," she reminded him in a whisper as Lonnie shot her an inquisitive look from across the table. Quinn gave her an innocent smile, at least that was the smile she hoped she'd given her. Another 10 minutes passed before some of the players started to excuse themselves. Hopefully that meant that the meeting would be over soon.

Sam let out a small breath, shaking his head of course it wasn't going to be easy for him to leave, even if he wanted to, he wasn't going to the first to leave since he already was in trouble. A small breath left his lips, he would finally be able to leave since a few players ad also left. He looked at Quinn with a small smile, and he got, "Nice meeting everyone, I'm gonna hit the gym and be a good player," he said before he left, he was going to wait and see how long it would take before Quinn left the meeting, it couldn't be that long left.

Quinn had expected Sam to excuse himself as soon as he could. She wished she could excuse herself too, but the coach kept involving her in the conversation, which Lonnie was clearly unhappy about. Thankfully, Quinn managed to redirect his attention to Lonnie in the next few minutes, giving her an opening to leave. "I have another meeting I need to get to," she announced. "Have a great day, everyone." She gathered her things and left the room, starting to head toward her office. She wondered where Sam had gone off to, or was he really at the gym?

Sam glanced down on his phone. He had been sure that Quinn would have excused herself soon after he had. He had seen the minutes ticking by and he was getting tired of waiting. Maybe it had been a bad idea to wait for her, but he just needed a couple of minutes alone with her, just to see if she was free later. "Finally," he sighed when he spotted her. "I hate waiting and you need to work faster."

Quinn was about to smile when she spotted Sam, but then he started talking. He was so much more attractive when he kept his mouth shut. "Clearly, a little waiting didn't kill you, and until my boss has an issue with how fast I work, I will continue to do so at whatever pace I choose," she responded, walking past him and continuing toward her office. "Now did you want to talk about your punishment? I was thinking we could do a couple of meet and greets to start."

Sam decided to ignore her comment about her boss, it wasn't something he was interested in knowing, not now at least. A breath left his lips, and he raised his eyebrows looking at Quinn. "And here I thought you'd come up with a good punishment, something that I'd enjoy a lot more," Sam bit down on his lip. "But I guess some meet and greets can happen, so if I'm good at those," he leaned closer, "do I get reward or something, or maybe I can give you a private meet and greet, one that will be more one on one?" he said wiggling his eyebrows, a small smirk playing over his lips, "I've been told that I'm great at those."

Quinn unlocked her office door, heading inside and motioning for him to close the door behind him. She gave him an incredulous look. "When does a reward ever follow the completion of a punishment?" she asked him, her question rhetorical. She pretended to think. "A private meet and greet does sound nice. Does Nathan offer those?" she wondered out loud, her demeanour teasing. She closed the distance between them in one swift move. "Just kidding," she assured him, looping her arms around his neck. "So when can I get that one on one time? I'd like to experience for myself just how good you are at them." She brushed her lips lightly against his, her hand trailing down his chest. Her office was off-limits, which meant that they would both have to wait. Since he enjoyed waiting so much, Quinn thought she'd make it as torturous for him as possible.

Sam had been close to snapping at Quinn. He wasn't sure on why she always seemed to bring up Nathan, the guy was an ass, he never really showed it around most people, but he was. Sam would rather be known as the asshole and actually be nice when you got to know him. "You better be kidding," he replied, "but sure you can see if he offers one, I'm sure he would, but it would never be as good as the ones I offer," Sam said leaning closer, his arms wrapped around her waist. "Whenever you want, Fabray, whenever you want," he whispered, "I'm pretty sure you're the one setting most of my schedule," Sam winked at her. A small breath left when her lips brushed against his. He closed his eyes, just enjoying the feeling over her hand on his chest. "That wasn't enough," Sam said, eyes still closed, "you should move your hand lower, and come closer I got something for you."

Quinn laughed. She had no idea why Sam disliked Nathan so much. "How can you be sure?" she asked him. "Have you had one on one time with him before?" As Sam pulled her closer, all thoughts of Nathan disappeared from her mind. Oh, Sam was good, but thankfully, she still had some self control. "Tempting," she admitted before she reminded him, "However, we're currently in my office, which is off-limits, so..." She paused to give him a proper kiss, continuing after she'd pulled away, "...meet me at my place after work? I'll be done in..." She stole a glance at the clock on the wall. "...another three hours," she announced as her hand moved lower.

Sam almost glared at Quinn. The last thing he wanted was to talk about Nathan. "I don't do one on ones with guys," he replied, hands almost forming into fists. "All you gotta do is listen and you'll know," Sam replied, breathing a bit shallow. "One of the most selfish guys there is." If there was one thing Sam wasn't it was selfish, sure he preferred one night stands over relationships but it was something he was upfront about. "And who made that rule?" Sam asked, leaning closer, "and aren't rules supposed to be broken," Sam licked his lips, "I can teach you all about that," his hands running down Quinn's back. Sam closed his eyes, "three hours?" he asked, "I guess I can do that but you better make sure that you're free all night."

Quinn Yikes. Clearly, Sam disliked Nathan a lot more than she'd thought. "I did," she responded, her voice a little shaky. Thankfully, she was still able to hold her ground. "All night?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow at him. "That almost sounds like a challenge." She pulled him in for a parting kiss, one that would leave him to think about her for the next three hours. "See you tonight," she told him with a smile as she stepped away from him and went to sit behind her desk. "Close the door on the way out, would you? Thanks."

Sam nodded his head. A bit surprised about the fact that Quinn hadn't given in, he ad really oped she would. "Maybe it is," Sam replied licking his lips, "well maybe you won't be able to do all night, I know I can," he said as he leaned closer to her, "so do you wanna see if you can?" a smirk playing on his lips as he raised his eyebrows. A groan left his lips as Quin pulled away after the kiss. "Oh, you better, so your place?" he asked biting down on his lip. Sam closed the door behind him, a smile playing on his lips as he walked away from her office. He couldn't wait for tonight.