#let him annoyingly leave behind shed feathers

[stormofdefiance]

Aventurine should have been wearing a feather boa instead of a fur collar and no one can change my mind

[florets-in-the-sky]

Started With a Romance Novel (Gladiolus Amicitia)

{Fluff} Chalked up his number quick, did you? He comes barreling into your life anyway 

Warnings: None

Song: Force of Nature

Your ears perked at the gentle chime of the bell, signaling another patron that had come into your lonely corner of the world.

Briefly, you glance up, taking your eyes off the words from the book and into the room around you.  A casual once over and they drift back down before darting right back up.

Normally you’d expect old couples, bookworms, or even the odd Glaive who stumbled in. But him? The only reason he could be here was definitely to cause trouble.

Tattoos, scarring, a shirt so tight that barely hid the muscle underneath, and a general air that whispered he shouldn’t be messed with. Your lips curl, nose wrinkling as he approaches one of the regulars that had managed to catch his eye. She looked just as bewildered as you.

A few words are exchanged, and he walks off with a growing smirk, leaving the swooning customer in his wake. Priding yourself on your more than accurate judge of character, your eyes traverse over his movements, not daring to leave him unattended from the desk you were settled behind. For now, he seemed to not be causing any trouble beside the brief flirtation. Hopefully it would remain that way. 

Oddly enough, as you ogle his form, he looks somewhat familiar. Now just where have you seen him before? Your eyes trek over the planes of his arms over the shoulders, back of the neck, before resting on the intricacies of the tattoo he was sporting. Feathers. 

Oh. 

Amicitia. 

Just what was needed: a meat-headed, muscle-brained shield that probably was too flamboyant for his own good. Just another reason to add to the ever-growing mental list to keep your distance.

Minutes later, he’s approaching the desk, and you shift uncomfortably when he locks eyes with you, that same smirk presenting itself on his face. Without breaking eye contact, he carefully sets the books down. “I’d like to make a purchase.” His voice is deep and smooth, molten chocolate with a rich center. 

“Oh,” you say--and really, oh wow is what you had been thinking--tongue floundering for a moment to find words. “Of course.” 

He chuckles softly at your hesitation, deep and rich and... oddly wonderful. You shake your head, letting out a breath and taking a look at the books he had set down. 

There were the traditional novels you’d thought he’d be interested in, classics of the outdoors and whatnot. But what catches your eye is a romance novel. One you know. It’s your favorite.

“You like this?” A cocked eyebrow and an accusation are sent his way as you hold up the book, almost offended. How dare he have endearing similarities after you had carefully judged his character. 

Now it’s his turn to be caught off guard. “Seemed interesting,” is all he says, a hand coming to scratch the back of his head. 

You let out a brief and scalding laugh. “Or another tactic to flirt with others here.” You revel in the small victory of seeing his face blanch, and his shoulders sink into himself.

But just as expected, he brushes it off. “Tell you what. I’ll read the book, and then we can talk about it over coffee.”

That smirk is back on his face, challenging and lighting every nerve ending of yours on fire with annoyance.

“Fine.” Your cross your arms over your chest, head tilting higher in an air of defiance. Is this a date? Did I just accept to go out on a date with a shield of the crown?

“Gonna need you to scan those books, sweetheart.” He winks and against all manner of willpower and spite that tries to hold back your blush, it comes anyway and you duck your head, scanning and taking his money as fast as you can if only to get him to leave.

He only leaves once location, date, and time are secure for your friendly book club meeting. And yes, that is exactly what you had referred to it as, emphasizing that this was not a date.

A dismissive wave sends him out the door. “See you on the date.” He emphasizes the word, not even looking back over his shoulder to see your reaction.  

~

The dreaded day approaches faster than anticipated and as you enter into the quaint coffee shop, the harsh tinkling of the bell makes you wince. It’s almost like some cheap role reversal from a chick flick. He’s sat at a table, eyeing you like you had done when he first entered into your world.

And of course he looked good. He looked amazing. 

In the cool autumn air he had donned cozy layers, thick-soled ankle boots, and a loose scarf. 

This was getting unfair, because how dare autumn look that good on him.

Before you even made it to your chair, he’s already standing and holding it out for you, pushing it back in once you sit, and truly this is a surprise. You hadn’t expected manners, or even for him to look this well groomed, but here you were. In a coffee shop. For a friendly book club meeting. It’s not a date.

“You look nice,” he says with a grin, which lacks the usual tease that manages to seep into every word he says.

“Uh, thank you. You too,” is all that stutters out of your mouth. This is going to be lovely. You sigh, and he seems concerned.

“Look, if you’d rather not be here, that’s fine. You can leave, if that’s what you want.” And against your better judgment, you end up staying because something in his soft, amber eyes makes you stay on this not-date.

You realize after--as you’re walking back home arm in arm, hanging on his every word--that you hadn’t even discussed the novel. 

~

The not-date bled into a real date. A couple of real dates, actually, each one more riveting than the other with the man who’s slowly, annoyingly, burrowing his way into your life. 

At least that’s what you try to convince yourself with as ammunition when you say you’re finally going to stop seeing him. But each time you try to bring it up, he pinpoints you with that same gaze that sends your insides into a messed up whirl and constricts your throat so the only thing you can manage to say is, “I love your eyes,” which seems like a stupid confession after the serious note you began on, but he doesn’t seem to mind, breaking out into the prettiest grin you’ve ever seen. 

Yes, pretty. Everything about him is poetic. And your appreciation for him is far too much. He’s too perfect. Too perfect for you, who questions his intentions at every turn, but he proves you wrong every time. It’s relentless and endearing all the same.

~

It’s winter and snowflakes are kissing your cheeks and catching in his hair. You thought autumn had done him well, but winter? Winter made him shine with resplendence. He was a crown jewel in her season, and rightly so.

As you admire the side of his profile, he turns to you and your breath catches in your throat at being caught, but he just grins--no smirks, no teasing--just grins. He’s taking your face in his hands for the most dizzying kiss and you swear you can feel your heart melt at the adoration in his eyes once he parts. And instead of him taking the initiative, it’s you who pulls him in by the lapels of his jacket for an even sweeter kiss, winter shedding snowy grace down on you both.

You smile into it, and when his arms secure even tighter around you in a crushing embrace that steals the air from your lungs, you know that this man has singlehandedly captured you in the most loving and intimate of ways, just like that romance novel. And oddly enough, you think you might be fine with that.

Until he decides it is absolutely necessary that he leaves with the Prince to ensure his safe journey to Altissia. 

He’s leaving you. And that’s exactly what you’d expect from a meat-headed, muscle-brained shield. But you can’t find it within yourself to be mad at him when he’s crushing your form into his own. Because you think you might love him and he knows he loves you.

Please don’t leave. 

How long will you be gone? 

What if you’re in danger?

And despite your best points that you know are good points because he doesn’t have the answer to any of them, he has to go. You know that. Which is why you send him away with sweet kisses and a hug that sways you on your feet. He promises he’ll come back.

“I love you,” is what you say as a final goodbye, and this time it’s him who’s swooning. It almost makes him want to stay. Almost…

~

Gladio, true to his word, returns. There are more scars and aches to him than you remember--a newfound pain of a lost brother. You kiss each aching crevice away with a gentle reverence, “I love you’s” sprinkled out so freely you wonder what has struck you to act in such a way.

For him, it’s all worth it. Especially when he returns those kisses with equal fervor, pulling you close with an arm wrapped protectively around your waist.

'Cause you're a force of nature

Look at what you've done

I can taste the danger but I don't wanna run

So pull me to the ground and I won't put up a fight

I'm a caution taker, but baby you're a force of nature