#needs some fine details to be ironed out of course but as i said its a vague outline

[seiwas]

three-part honesty | todoroki shouto

wc: 16.3k

summary: honesty, you've realized, is shouto’s most cunning trait—a quality that's endeared you over the years now rendering you into a stuttering, fumbling mess like never before. 

contains: intended as f!reader but no pronouns used, reader wears heels, a skirt, & a dress, post-canon (divergent), aged-up pro-hero!shouto and assistant!reader, workplace romance, development of feelings, confessions, boss/assistant dynamics, co-workers to lovers (ish), todoroki family dynamics and healing, fluff, slow burn.  

sequel to: two-part something ao3 mirror

a/n: primarily from shouto’s perspective but switching of character pov’s is denoted by ‘( )’. i enjoyed the entire process of writing this fic and hope you do too! 

sponsored by @arcvenes for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please do check it out and support if you can! this is also my submission for the pretty boy summer collab by @andypantsx3.

I. LISTEN CLOSELY

Much to his relief, Shouto’s yearly health check-up turns out just fine. 

His blood work results come back stellar, levels all floating within normal range; some x-rays and scans reveal injuries healing up nicely—that collarbone he’d fractured months ago, especially. Save for a few recommendations on better sleep and stress management, Shouto receives no additional diagnoses for anything particularly concerning. 

Except for this one thing—

“Maybe you have a crush.” Natsuo sinks into the backrest of his chair. A slight ‘squeak’ sounds from its springs as he props one foot up on his knee and clasps his hands over his stomach. 

Shouto thinks it must be some doctor pose; Natsuo’s been doing it more often now that he’s gotten deeper into his medical practice. 

In Shouto’s final year at UA, Natsuo made the decision to fully shift into Pre-Med. The aftermath of the war left a big portion of Musutafu lost and in dire need of a society to believe in. To Natsuo, this felt like a calling; an effort of playing his part to restore faith in a better, functioning system that did not discriminate. Internal medicine felt expansive in that way.

This, of course, also meant that Natsuo was now the (unofficial) assigned private and personal doctor of the Todoroki family—to Shouto, mostly. 

So—

A… Crush?

“How does that happen?” Shouto turns to his brother, head tilted in confusion. His brows furrow slightly. 

This isn’t what he was expecting at all. 

“I mean, you said it in your text,” Natsuo reaches for his phone, clicking it open to scroll. The light from his screen reflects on the gray of his irises; then, he air quotes, “you said: ‘my chest feels weird’, then when I asked if anything happened,” his index finger glides across the screen, swiping through a long block of text uncharacteristic of Shouto’s typical dry responses.

“You detailed the entire scene of–” he pauses for a moment, squinting to find a specific line, “–a santa hat? Being put on you, or something. You didn’t mention who but I figured it was—” 

You, Shouto thinks, at the moment Natsuo says your name. That same two-part thump sounds in his ears. 

You, who’s stayed by his side for the past five, nearly six years. You’ve carved your presence so deeply into his life, it’s become an undercurrent in his speech. He doesn’t even think of having to say your name when he talks about you. 

You, and how he turns over this familiarity with you inside his brain. How everyone knows—

“—who else stays with you in the agency past office hours, anyway?” 

Natsuo raises an eyebrow, knowing. 

“We’ve been working together for a while.” Shouto replies, lips pressed firmly into a small pout. 

If he’s being honest, he’s not sure what compelled him to say something Natsuo already knows. To state the obvious? Or to argue, maybe? To act in denial? To express disbelief? 

He takes a long breath, surveying Natsuo’s clinic. The walls are pristine white, the desk and examination bed the same shade of ashen gray—a conscious choice to keep patients calm; ironic, given the state of his thoughts right now. 

Shouto’s mind is buzzing, and Natsuo watches the muddled confusion in his little brother’s eyes shift and swirl in blue-gray emotion. Then he chuckles, holding onto his arm rests as he stands up from the other side of his desk. 

“It can happen, Shouto.” he plants a palm on his little brother’s head, ruffling red and white the way he would have when they were teens, “It’s been years, right? Feelings can develop over time, that sorta thing, you know?” 

Shouto lets the realization settle in. 

Under the weight of his brother’s hand, he feels like a kid again—right before all the training started; and right before being kept away, excluded from the childhood he could have had with his siblings. 

Shouto feels like a teen again, without the trauma, without the war, being taught things about life and himself, about feelings he never had the time nor capacity to explore.

The two-part thump continues, beating. 

A crush. On you. Huh. 

The rustling of his hair dusts strands of warm, fuzzy feelings over his eyelids. 

This feels… new, he thinks. 

.

.

.

Shouto knows his Mondays. 

He gets to Shouto Agency an hour before everyone else does because he likes the stillness of it right before the day turns busy. The sun is up but only barely, casting a soft glow of blue and orange hues through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. 

This habit began years ago, back when the agency functioned on the 7th floor of a commercial building. It was called Flashfreeze then, and even though it had an entire floor of 24 office units, being in a commercial building still meant sharing common areas with other companies and agencies. The morning rush left the elevators flooded in utter chaos daily. 

To Shouto, going in early meant less people and less noise—a quiet bube he could use to prepare himself for the rest of the day.  

A lot has changed since then: the agency’s move into a larger, newly constructed building of its own; staff, interns, and sidekicks quadrupling in numbers; better office spaces, bigger teams, more facilities—a big expansion, essentially. 

Somehow, despite being more settled in the industry, he finds that the days feel even busier than before. 

So, Shouto keeps his Mondays the same: his preference of coming in early carrying itself into this newer, much larger and private office space, and his same habit of brewing himself a cup of tea finding its own spot by the small kitchen nook you helped design during the construction of his office space. 

Everything about his office is optimized for efficiency: the backdoor, where he enters from on most days, opens to an elevator with a matching staircase that both lead straight down to the costume unit, training grounds, and his own parking area; the blinds of his windows automatically draw up and down at set times of the day; and the minimalism of his entire space is carefully considered, with every area plotted for easy navigation. 

It’s sleek and neat, sharp edges and clean lines, straightforward much like he is. Cold, for the most part, save for the corners touched by your warmth.

Pale yellow jars sit on the counter of his kitchen nook, with each one housing sugar, cinnamon, and his stash of tea.  

When he looks more closely around the room, he spots the fresh flowers on his desk—a vase of luscious white chrysanthemums starkly contrasting the dark grays and browns of his interiors; they tell him you must be in already, because even when he manages to come in an hour ahead, you always, without fail, beat him to it 30 minutes too early. 

And also, like always, you enter his office in the same way you do every Monday morning. 

Your heels clack against his stone flooring, marking your arrival. He turns to face you from the kitchen nook, cup of tea in hand as he greets you. 

“Good morning.” 

You jolt, nearly tripping. Your head whips up quickly as you clutch a mass of folders tightly to your chest. 

He takes a sip of his tea, the corners of his lips curling slightly on the edge of his cup. 

“Si–” you clear your throat, correcting yourself as you take a breath. Then you smile warmly, bowing your head slightly, “Shouto, good morning.” 

“You scared me a bit there,” you add with a soft chuckle. 

It’s endearing, he thinks, seeing you caught off guard, so out of your usual composure.

You loosen your grip on the folders, “I just came to place this on your desk,” your finger taps against the plastic, “I didn’t notice you were here already, sorry.” 

“No worries,” he sets down his tea cup, pocketing one hand in his sweatpants, “do you want some tea?” 

“I’m good, thank you,” you shake your head, walking towards his desk to set the folders down, “Just a couple of debriefs for the case last month.” 

He nods, eyes tracking your movement around the room. You pause then turn to him, clicking your pen as you say, “Let me get your schedule so we can do the run-down.” 

Shouto moves to his desk when you leave, settling into the few squeaks and cracks of the leather chair you helped restore using your quirk—the ability to minimally reconstruct organic matter. 

Not even a few minutes pass until you return, a tablet perched on the crook of your elbow with a digital pen in hand. 

This is part of his Monday routine. 

The agenda you follow is the same: a schedule run-down for the coming week, any notable trips or events, report updates, and department updates. Occasionally, PR will have you relay messages they have trouble communicating nicely—most of the time, they involve suggestions for him to ‘smile more’ or ‘answer questions more enthusiastically’. 

You have no problem telling him these things straight up, and he has no issue hearing it directly from you, either. 

For this week, you detail a few meetings scheduled for tomorrow and Wednesday, along with updates on his costume revisions, to be fitted on Wednesday afternoon, and—

“Deku requested a joint patrol on Thursday morning, so I moved your fitting for the gala to that evening instead. Is that okay with you?” you look up from your tablet, the tip of your pen hovering over the screen. 

In this light, you’re bathed in the colors of sunrise. 

(From where you’re standing, Shouto is backlit by the rising sun. His figure is washed over by a faded shadow, but you can see his eyes clearly, bright turquoise and dark gray staring right at you.

You hold your breath; you are well aware of Shouto’s tendencies to stare, but he’s taking much longer to answer you this time. And you don’t know what to do, where to look. Do you wait until—)

Shouto nods, catching himself lingering. 

You mumble an ‘okay’ before tapping on your tablet. 

The rest of your reminders are about upcoming events and deadlines: there’s the company team building happening in a few weeks, and a few reports due today and tomorrow. Fuyumi moved the family lunch to Saturday to make way for his photoshoot on Sunday. 

He watches you from his desk as you speak, your foot tapping in conjunction with each item you relay to him, as if marking every point. It’s a thing you do, something he’s noticed in the years you’ve worked together. 

Shouto knows his Mondays, and he’s always been relaxed during these earlier parts of it. 

But ever since that check-up with Natsuo, he’s been more… conscious about it lately. It seems to be a consistent trend that every time he’s around you, he feels a significant uptick in his heartbeat. 

Except now, when you speak—

“Will you be bringing a plus-one to the gala this year? The committee is confirming how many seats they’ll reserve for you.” 

—his heart feels like it drops, plummeting straight to his stomach. 

He looks at you intently, a slight crease forming between his brows. 

You go to most of these things with him; you always have, ever since. 

So, why are you even asking? 

He thinks about it, deciding what to say next. The thought of you not going with him feels weird. Unusual. 

If you’re unavailable, he supposes he can just go alone. 

But—

“What should I do then?” Shouto shifts in his seat, peering up at his brother. 

Natsuo’s instinctive reaction is to laugh; after all, it’s not often that you see pro-hero Shouto at a loss on troubleshooting. But when he spots pure and genuine uncertainty swirling in heterochromatic gray and blue, he sees his little brother—Shouto at ages 4, 8, and 12, still a little helpless on what to do.

“Do you want to do something about it?” Natsuo asks gently, squeezing Shouto’s shoulders. 

Shouto doesn’t say anything. 

The lack of response tells him all he needs to know. 

“Maybe figure that out first, then just be honest about it when the time comes. Nothing beats saying it plain and simple.” 

—‘just be honest about it’ echoes in his head, Natsuo’s voice morphing into his own.

“Will you not be available?” he manages to ask flatly, masking his worry. 

(You look up from your tablet and his eyes meet yours, an intensity in his gaze that’s only been directed at you a handful of times before.) 

“Oh,” you fluster a little, shifting your weight, “I will be, but I just thought…”

He can hear you hesitate, voice trailing off as if contemplating your next words. His head dips to coax you to go on. 

“...I just thought, maybe you’d want to bring someone from your family?” you give a small smile, half-genuine, half-uncertain. 

You know Shouto’s family; know their stories and know what each of them are like, individually. 

You know how far they’ve come into healing, seeing Touya through multiple cycles of rehab and relapse. You’ve witnessed his mother’s strength first-hand, watching her rebuild their family with the help of Fuyumi. On the weekends when work wouldn’t let up for Shouto, she’d welcome you to join in family lunches too. 

There were days during Natsuo’s medical internship when he’d go to the office at midnight because the hospital was nearby. It was the only free time he and Shouto had at the time, but Natsuo would ask you to join in, the three of you slurping on cup noodles while Natsuo prattled on about the absurdity of some of his coworkers. 

So, Shouto can fully understand your intentions. After all, he thinks you’ve been instrumental to his family’s healing, too. 

But he has his reasons for never bringing Fuyumi—she usually has school the next day, if not volunteer work at an orphanage. Natsuo has gotten increasingly busier with his practice, and Touya—Touya is still in rehab, and though he’s allowed at home three times a week, Shouto’s sure he’d rather spend it doing things other than being in a room full of pro-heroes. 

“It might be nice to bring your mom,” you add on.

And as for that—

“The gala is this Friday?” he leans forward, the tips of his bangs brushing his eyelids. 

You nod.

“She and Touya are going to the gardens,” he recalls, his mother casually mentioning it the last time he visited. 

You look pleasantly surprised, “Oh,” then your small smile returns, “that’s good to hear.” 

(It must mean a lot to Rei, you think. She’s always wanted to make up for lost time.) 

You don’t say anything else, silence filling the conversation as you hold his gaze.

It isn’t uncommon for Shouto to hold stare-offs, with you especially, but this might just be the first time he feels fully conscious about it—wondering what you’re thinking; if you can read his mind and tell what he’s thinking. 

“Do you not want to join me?” he asks, a small pout forming on his face. 

(The softness of his cheeks sink just a little bit, and his eyes lose some of the luster they typically carry in the morning. 

He looks so sad, you wish you just said yes in the first place. 

How do you even respond to this?) 

“No, n-no–” you stutter, inching forward subconsciously, “–it’s nothing like that.” 

You check your tablet, swiping through your calendar. He can see portions of it from where he’s sitting, your Friday definitely freed up and empty. 

He pushes himself up, standing to full-height. His hands dig into the pockets of his sweatpants as he tilts his head to the side. 

“What seems to be the problem then?” 

(In your years of knowing Shouto, you’ve learned that he never intends to sound harsh even though his words may seem like it. But even though you’re aware that he only means to be curious, you still feel a little embarrassed admitting that you didn’t anticipate the possibility of going to the gala with him this Friday. 

You’ve always been prepared; it’s in your job description to be like this. You should have had a back-up dress just in case. You shouldn’t have shown Shouto your hesitation in the first place.

So, you breathe out, voice level and calm. This is your problem to fix, you don’t have to let him know about it. You’ll find a way, like you always do.) 

“There’s no problem. I’ll add my name to the list then.”

Then you smile, but it’s just a touch uneasy, and if there’s one thing you underestimate about Shouto—for just as much as you know him, he’s gotten to know you pretty well too. 

He pauses. The last thing he would want is for you to feel forced to go.

“If you have other plans, I hope you don’t feel obligated to go. I can go alone.”

His brows furrow, crease deepening and heart still sinking. 

(And you can see it, that little pout on his face staying right where it is. 

You’re endeared, touched by his consideration.

“I don’t have other plans,” you grin, brighter and more at ease, “and I don’t feel forced to go either,” you sigh, hiding a small chuckle. 

A pause. 

You mull it over before deciding to admit why you were hesitant in the first place, “I thought you were going to bring your mom, so I wasn’t able to prepare a dress.”)

Shouto’s eyes widen slightly, mouth opening to express his apologies. 

“But–!” you interrupt, “That’s my fault,” you raise your hand, swaying it side-to-side. “So please don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” 

The smile on your face is meant to reassure him, he knows, but he still feels guilty. 

This Friday’s gala is the Annual Midyear Pro-Hero Awards; it’s grand because it’s important, and the dress code is always black-tie—everything typically made custom. 

He tilts his head slightly, thinking, eyes zeroing in on the small calendar propped up on his desk.

“My suit is being made by Bakugo’s parents, correct?” 

You nod, reiterating, “Your final fitting is on Thursday night.”

His gaze flits to you once again. 

(There’s that look in his eyes you’ve become all too familiar with—a glint of mischief accompanying a sort-of ‘Eureka!’ moment that means he’s thought of something.

The pieces click together, realization dawning upon you, but when you open your mouth to refuse—)

“I can ask them to do yours as well.” Shouto beats you to it. 

It wouldn’t be fair for you to scramble for your outfit last minute simply because he assumed you knew you were going. You shouldn’t be more stressed than you already are. 

“Si– Shouto,” you say firmly, “That’s too much.” 

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” he flashes you a small smile. 

(And you hate to admit it, but he’s right.

The Bakugo’s have known you for as long as you’ve been Shouto’s assistant. They’ve consistently designed his suits for big events like the Pro-Hero Awards, and Mitsuki has always extended their services to you too, knowing full well that you are Shouto’s plus-one most of the time. 

She likes to chat with you during suit pick-ups, with Masaru serving you a cup of tea as you wait for minor tweaks and adjustments to Shouto’s outfits. 

“It would be too last minute,” you resist, feeling bad for the hassle this would impose on them.

“Then I can call them later today.” Shouto reaches for his phone, eagerly typing what you assume is a reminder to call Mitsuki some time later, just as he said he would. 

“You–” your voice hesitates, “you don’t have to do that. I can contact their secretary–”

This is part of your job, after all. 

“It will be much faster if I call them directly.” 

And while he does have a point, you still feel bad, inching closer towards his desk, “It’s okay, you shouldn’t have to concern yourself with this–” 

He gives you a look. 

You stop moving. 

Shouto is stubborn, this much you know. When he looks like this, you’re well aware that there’s no point dissuading him from doing something he’s already set his mind to.)

“It’s only right given that I told you last minute.” 

He tells this to you sincerely; it really is the least he can do. 

Besides—

“…be honest…” the words replay in his head.

—he swallows his truth; lets it sink deep into stomach along with that two-part thump in his chest. 

“I only feel comfortable going to these with you, anyway.” 

(Your mind blanks, coming up with nothing else to say but ‘okay’.) 

.

.

.

Cameras flash as Shouto steps down from his van. 

The building ahead of him is colossal, tall pillars and perfect arches made of raw stone and marble—it feels both ancient and otherworldly, fitting to represent Musutafu in this new age. Ahead of him, the staircase stretches on, steps spanning the width of half a block. Down its center cascades a luscious carpet, thick velvet that further lends to the grandeur of the event. 

Standing at the foot of the staircase, Shouto takes a moment to unbutton his suit jacket, revealing his perfectly fitted waistcoat underneath. 

(You know he isn’t doing it on purpose; it’s hardly ever Shouto’s intention to make people swoon, but you’re positive that that one move alone can make anyone melt on sight—you included.) 

Tonight is the Annual Midyear Pro-Hero Awards, a prestigious event where hero rankings, major announcements, and charity biddings take place. 

(It’s not anything new to the both of you, but Shouto skipped out on the past two, and it’s been years since you joined him on the last one he went to. Being here again after so long makes you feel a little out of practice.

After he scales the flight of stairs ahead, Shouto turns back to you, offering his arm for support as you step down from the vehicle. You hesitate, partly because you don’t know whether it’s acceptable behavior for you to take it, and also because you don’t remember if this was something you did the last time you went to one of these with him.

You can’t think straight—not when he looks as seraphic as he does, face half-illuminated by the lights behind him with the shadows hugging the softness of his cheeks. 

Shouto is beautiful, a fact you’ve known long before you ever even started working with him; but you’re reminded of that fact in moments like this, especially. 

“The steps are tall,” he tells you, shaking you out of your thoughts as you glance back at the staircase behind him. You try not to stare, but the strands that frame his forehead shift from his sudden movement; it scatters into a perfect mess—characteristic of how anything out of place always seems to look on him.

You take his offer.)

His forearm is firm against your palm, the thick fabric of his suit jacket providing cushion for your touch. When he bends it towards his chest, your fingers slip towards the crook of his elbow. 

Scarlet red contrasts the building’s stone white structures, the carpet providing a center stage for all heroes and public figures to parade their outfits. If not for the photographers yelling, “Shouto, right!” and “Shouto, left!”, he would have gone straight inside, barely pausing on the landings between each flight of stairs. 

You stand to the side when he takes them, just as you always do. But between each flash that goes off, Shouto thinks about whether you should join him too; after all, Mitsuki did intend for the dark navy of your dress to match the stone gray of his three-piece suit. 

When you finally arrive at the lobby of the city hall, the two of you are welcomed into a receiving area adorned with crystal chandeliers. The lights bounce off the sharp white edges of the building’s neoclassical interiors, the carpet’s scarlet red returning as a recurring motif in the form of drapes cascading from the high ceilings and down the sides of the room.

By this time, Shouto’s relaxed a bit more, his hand slipping loosely into his front pocket. 

(You don’t realize you’re still holding onto him until you’re midway across the floor.) 

“Hey, you guys!” Kirishima waves over, squeezing himself within a narrow space between the backs of who look like one of the executives of the hero commission and last year’s awarded peace ambassador. 

(You don’t know how he could have possibly fit, the width of him wider than any pro-hero you know, but you chuckle at his timid mumbles of “sorry, excuse me, just passing through.” It reminds you of how he typically approaches you when he asks for favors regarding joint patrols and assignments with Shouto.

He greets you both with his trademark hug, a bone-crushing grip that leaves you a little winded.) 

“I didn’t know the two of you were coming!” 

“It was a last minute decision,” Shouto smiles, small and fond. 

(You look at Shouto intently from beside Kirishima, as if processing what he means. And when his eyes meet yours, you feel caught, shy, averting your gaze quickly.)

Kirishima clears his throat, no doubt noticing the interaction but choosing to focus on something else instead—Shouto’s outfit, a dark navy tie tucked underneath a fitted gray waistcoat; the white collar of his button down peeking through the all stone-gray ensemble. His hair is styled down, bangs curled inwards to form commas that frame his forehead.  

“Looking good, man.” the red head deflects, joining his index finger and thumb to form an ‘O-K’ sign as he nods at Shouto. Then he turns to you, the same genuine smile on his face as he says, “That color really suits you.” 

You smile sheepishly, mumbling, “Thanks.” 

(Kirishima is a sweetheart; you can never doubt that his intentions are pure. But the attention makes you feel a little self-conscious, even more now that—) 

Shouto looks at you then, again, too.

It’s the only time he’s managed to get a real good look at you if he’s being honest; from the incident in the car to the flashing lights up the staircase, there haven’t been many opportunities to fully see what you’re wearing. 

And—

Kirishima’s right. 

The color really does suit you, but so does the design of your dress—a simple cowl neck joining into halter straps; it dips low at the back, this detail of it, he knows. He’s been careful not to touch you there the entire time so far. It doesn’t help that your hair is tied into a low bun, accentuating the vacant space with how the dress hugs you beautifully in all the right places. 

The dark navy satin was a good choice, the perfect vessel for catching ripples of light. 

It’s simple but classic; understated, just like the accessories you’ve chosen are. And it brings out the one thing he thinks carries this look the most—

You. 

He tries to form the words in his head, urging himself to speak up—he wants to give you a compliment of his own. 

But—

“Bakubro!” Kirishima waves overhead, much like he did earlier. 

—maybe he can try again next time. 

You and Kirishima don’t stay long after Bakugo arrives, Ashido coming in to whisk you and the redhead away to the main room. She loops her arm around yours and pulls you towards her, prompting you to give one last glance at Shouto as an expression of your apologies. 

The corner of his lips curl only the slightest bit. 

Bakugo watches. 

“Don’t forget the drinks, Blasty!” Ashido calls over her shoulder, green silk flowing behind her. 

He tuts, grumbling as he heads towards the reception bar, leaving Shouto in the middle of the receiving area, unsure of where to follow. 

“Y’coming or what?” 

Shouto lingers for a few seconds, watching your back disappear into the hall before he decides to walk after Bakugo.  

The lobby begins to quiet down as people flood into the main event area, a large hall adorned with the same scarlet red drapes and crystal chandeliers. The table arrangements have been pre-selected and arranged, you and the others most likely finding your seats inside. 

“Old hag told me you’re dating.” 

Bakugo speaks, his back still turned to Shouto. 

The bar in front of them offers a generous selection of drinks, all ranging from different wines to cocktails and liquor shots. It isn’t a surprise that Bakugo knows all of his friends’ chosen drinks, down to each specificity—it’s how he shows that he cares. Shouto’s come to learn that over the years. 

Their friendship has settled into its own dynamic as Bakugo’s mellowed down. Shouto will ask a question here and there, and Bakugo will look at him like he’s the dumbest fuck on the planet, but still answer anyway. 

It works, as evidenced by right now. 

Shouto stops right beside Bakugo, leaning against the countertop as he hums, confused, “Who?” 

Bakugo sighs, sliding Shouto his gin and tonic, “Mom.” Then he rolls his eyes, gesturing towards the door of the main room, “She told me you two are finally dating.”

Shouto pauses mid-sip. 

When he recalls the conversation he had with Mitsuki, it went a lot more like:

“Can a dress be made for my assistant as well?” he speaks into the line, “I will be bringing them to the gala.” 

He doesn’t think he insinuated anything. 

But now that he replays it in his head, it’s no wonder Mitsuki’s enthusiastic reply sounded so eager. 

Bakugo snorts, smirking as if his suspicion was just proven right, “Knew that lady was hearin’ shit.” 

The bartender serves up another drink, Ashido’s raspberry daiquiri being placed right in front of the blond before he moves on to mix another one. Clacking ice fills in the silence, the drink coming together inside the shaker. 

Shouto stares at his drink and watches as little bubbles form on the slice of lime submerged in it. 

“Are you at least thinkin’ about it?” the blond faces Shouto, leaning his forearm against the counter. 

Shouto furrows his brows, a single thought running through his mind.

“How did you know?” 

Bakugo stares, deep vermillion as he speaks, deadpan, “You can’t be serious.” 

Shouto stares right back. 

Another drink is served, Kaminari’s mixed drink of vodka, lime, and lemonade.

The stare-off persists for a few seconds, a series of blinks emphasizing Shouto’s cluelessness to the whole ordeal. Because—why does it feel like everyone knows? Did he mention it without knowing? Or is it really just that obvious?

Bakugo sighs, mentally facepalming as he turns back to watch the bartender shake another drink, “Whatever. S’none of my business.” He leans onto the counter, elbows resting on the steeltop. 

Shouto isn’t sure what else to say. He knows that Bakugo is observant, that his friend has always had a keen sense of awareness for the things going on around him; it just never crossed his mind that that would include his interactions with you.

The blond slides over Ashido’s drink, prompting Shouto to hold the flute of the glass between his fingers, “Just don’t be a fuckin’ dumbass about it. Gotta be dense as hell if you think the way you’re treated is part of the job description.”

The bartender serves up the final drink: Sero’s whiskey on the rocks. Bakugo takes it along with Kaminari’s and starts walking back to the main room, Shouto following right behind him. 

He thinks about it. 

A thump. 

Because right before they both enter the hall, Shouto spots you, further back at the right side of the room as you laugh at something Yaoyorozu must have said. 

He blinks, wondering if the soft glow around you is from the haziness of his eyes. 

“If y’don’t do shit first, some other loser will,” Bakugo mumbles, just within ear-shot before he walks ahead to where Kirishima and the others are seated. 

Shouto makes a mental note to drop off Ashido’s drink before heading over to you. 

.

.

.

You and Shouto leave the gala early.

A message from the police station came in the middle of the event: a request to bump up a few reports for submission tomorrow.

You’d mentioned to Shouto that he could stay, especially since he’d be needed to accept awards that you were sure he’d be the recipient of—among them being one of the top performing agencies of the year, a big chunk of it based on the high turnover rate of timely reports. But he insisted that someone else could represent him instead; he’s certain Midoriya wouldn’t mind. 

If you were going back to the agency to work, so was he. 

The night shift at the agency is minimally staffed, with most sidekicks and pro-heroes out on patrol. Regular employees have clocked out by this time, and it seems that the only ones left in the building are the emergency unit and the two of you. 

You’ve split the work between you two: Shouto tasked to fill in the second pages, where the scene-by-scene breakdown and additional comments can be found, and you, in charge of summarizing those details along with all basic information onto the first pages. 

It feels nostalgic, watching you flip through the papers laid out on the coffee table of his lounging area at a quarter past midnight. Back then, he had just hired you, and the only other employees in the agency were his gear tech and PR manager. There was no way the volume of workload could be managed without spending late nights organizing investigations and reports on the floor of that rented studio unit. 

Now, you sit by the coffee table in his lounging area, one you helped decorate. The books atop it have been pushed to the side to give you ample workspace, but even those remind him of how much consideration you’ve put into helping him build his space. 

Bakugo’s words linger when he thinks about it—how the books you’ve chosen remind him of his family. There’s one on the language of flowers that his mother would love, and a cookbook that he’s sure Fuyumi’s used (some corners are folded, with her handwriting scrawled on every other page). On another stack lie a few comic books he remembers Touya and Natsuo reading when they were younger (that he’s pretty sure he’s seen them flip through during their visits to his office over the years).  

And along with all the books sits a family photo taken years ago, framed and taken by you during one of their annual trips to their family beach house a few hours away from the city. 

It begins to sink in. 

A thump.

He folds the sleeves of his button down to his elbows, his gray suit jacket long since draped over the back of his leather chair. You’ve changed out of your heels too, opting instead for the soft slippers you keep under your desk. 

It’s cute, he thinks, the formality of your entire get-up toned down by a pair of fluffy yellow slippers. 

When he glances at you again, he finds you hunched over yourself on the sofa of his lounging area, an arm wrapped around yourself as if to contain whatever warmth you have left. 

He furrows his brows. 

“Are you cold?” his voice booms through the stillness of his office, jostling you out of focus. You whip your head up to look at him, shaking it immediately as if on autopilot. 

(He pouts, then, a small downturn of his lips that you find adorable, more than anything.) 

“I’m okay,” you smile, but he can see the slight twitching of your lip; the goosebumps dotting down your trembling arms. 

You always seem to be doing things like this with him. 

He pushes himself away from his desk, the wheels of his chair rolling against the stone floor. 

You never express your discomfort in any situation you’re put in, and you diligently work and endure all conditions to get the job done. He always extends his help, but you often decline, and—

“You have to be dense as hell if you think the way you’re treated is part of the job description.”

—Shouto is beginning to realize that the way you treat him really is so much more than that. 

You’ve laid the groundwork of the operations in his agency and you always smooth talk your way to getting him out of schedules he mistakenly forgets to show up to (typically with good reason, though). You cover all the areas he misses—this entire building would not be how it looks and functions without your help overseeing its construction. 

You’re organized and driven, eager and compassionate, and you care, above all else. 

The flowers you leave on his desk are never needed, but you always insist on them to keep his space alive. You fix all his clumsy papercuts, even though he never asks you to; he’s dealt with much, much worse, yet it’s only a split-second after you spot it that the tingling of your quirk works its way to mend his split skin. 

It’s just like what happened in the car earlier tonight, a few minutes away from reaching the city hall. Shouto had accidentally cut himself with the invitation to the gala, and though he insisted that it was okay, it was right on his eyelid—a miracle it even missed his eyeball in the first place, you’d commented. 

You managed to convince him then, saying, “It’s going to sting every time you blink.” —which was true; it did sting every time he blinked. 

That care extends to the people in his life too. His mom loves to go to the weekend market with you, and Fuyumi can always count on you to help her cook when she needs an extra hand. You keep up with Natsuo’s jokes and Touya talks to you, long enough conversations that allow him to be himself. 

You care, and you insist upon your care especially when you know he needs it but would never ask for it. 

It’s only fair, then, that it’s time he does the same for you. 

He removes the suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, the movement drawing your attention. 

(Your eyes widen as he approaches you. You feel shy, a little flustered as you raise your hands up to reassure him that you don’t need it.) 

“Your arms are shivering.” he points out, holding up the thick fabric. 

You crane your neck up to look at him, just a few steps away from reach. 

(You can’t deny the facts.)

From above, he only sees skin—the plunging dip of your exposed back, the small hairs standing along your arms. He tries his best to look into your eyes only, but—

“At least let me place this over you.” 

(And you know you can’t deny Shouto, either.) 

—when you concede and let him, he steps closer and bends just a little bit, his full height too tall to be able to place it on you properly. His arms circle around you, carefully resting the thick wool around your neck and onto your shoulders. 

He bends lower to adjust the sleeves, making sure that your arms are fully covered. You’re so still, and so close, the tips of his ears nearly touching the highest points of your cheeks. 

(It’s just like the gala—)

It’s just like the car—

(—with Shouto helping you navigate through the crowd of people exiting the event as early as you both did. His presence was a steady heat against your back, near and warm but barely touching.)

—with your face almost nose-to-nose with his; apart from the gentle touch of your fingertip against his eyelid, Shouto can only remember feeling that, along with the traitorous thump of his heartbeat. 

It’s a good thing that he had his eyes closed then; he wouldn’t have known how to react at the proximity. 

But now, he can see you so clearly, your low bun kept in place by bobby pins the same color of your hair; there’s glitter on the inner corners of your eyes, some of it falling to dot the corners of your nose. 

This has to be more than just a crush if he’s feeling this intensely.  

Your eyes meet for a brief moment, then it’s two blinks before you look away, clearing your throat as you glance at him again, a little bashful, “Thank you.” 

Shouto nods, taking one step back. 

“The estate we booked for the company outing offered to host a visit for you next weekend.” you speak before he fully returns to his seat, shifting in your seat, “I checked your schedule and there’s nothing set for that day yet.” His suit jacket dwarfs you, the deep navy silk becoming an accent the further you sink into it, “Maybe you’d like to go with your mom?”

You suggest it to him again. Because you know and you care. 

He taps his foot, looking out into the city, “That would be nice.” Then he turns back to you, strands of his bangs falling to dust his forehead as he puts his hands inside his pockets, “You’ll be coming too, then?” 

(There are things you don’t allow your heart to feel in moments like this—hope being one of them. Shouto looks dangerously attractive in a suit, and it’s been difficult to keep your feelings at bay the entire night. He speaks honestly, rarely with double meaning, so when he speaks to you like this, you try not to think too much of it. 

“Yes,” you agree, thinking that he must want you to scope out the venue for the company outing activities, “is there anything in particular that you want me to check out for the team building?”)

Shouto tilts his head. 

“Not for work,” he clarifies, staring straight into your eyes. “Just to spend the day with us.” 

He expects your reaction already, your eyes widening and your hands raising to wave off a ‘there’s no need.’ But, he finds that there’s no reason for you to be shy, already beating you to the final say.

“Mom would want you there,” he mentions, because it’s true. She’d look for you. 

And if he’s being completely honest with himself, with how he’s been feeling around you lately—he would too. 

II. IF I SPEAK

The Todoroki family home comes alive on the weekends. 

Since Touya’s return, his mom has moved into a smaller, more modern place to stay. The walls of its exteriors are painted a warm off-white, its features complemented by light wood and bluish-gray accents. At the back exists a garden large enough for a few small trees and her growing flower collection—a complete flip from their larger and darker old home. 

The tall windows stream sunlight into the living space, each corner of the house doused in its comfort. Opting for a smaller home was a conscious choice—everything would be within reach, and so would the people in it. 

On the days that Touya is allowed to stay home from rehab, he lives here, sometimes with Fuyumi, but always with Rei. 

“Food is ready!” Fuyumi calls from the kitchen, prompting Touya and Natsuo to look over from the couch. Shouto is just about to finish setting the table when Rei brings out a piping hot pot of soup, Fuyumi in tow with a whole plate of tonkotsu. 

Natsuo heads inside the kitchen for anything else that might need carrying, and Touya opens the fridge to take out the iced tea he helped make last night.

It’s taken some time to get here—with Touya willingly doing anything with his family. Getting used to living with people he thought abandoned him for a decade is hard; learning to become a family has been even harder. 

But Touya has always lived in a special corner of his mother’s heart—never forgotten and always considered. Shouto thinks it’s the same case for all of them; that’s how it’s managed to work. 

Touya takes his seat beside Shouto, pouring himself a glass of iced tea while waiting for the rest of their family. 

“Played any golf lately?” Touya eyes Shouto from the side.  

Shouto shakes his head, staring at his palms; calluses used to line the base of his fingers, “Work at the agency has gotten busy.” 

Taking up golf has been part of Touya’s rehabilitation program for the past few months, a recommendation to aid in improving focus while keeping himself calm. And though there was much resistance at first, Touya’s grown fond enough of the sport to play it on his own; it’s made all the difference, Shouto’s noticed, his brother’s overall disposition a lot less angry—

“Looks like I’m going to beat your ass next week,” Touya smirks, cracking his wrists. 

—but still equally as snarky.

Shouto doesn’t normally care about competition; the only person he really has to beat is himself. But he and Touya are alike in many ways, with eyes as sharp as their father’s but their faces holding the same innocence as their mother’s. They are both lit up by fires—one forced to blaze and the other forced to dim. There is a bluntness Shouto shares with Touya that no one else in the family can argue with.

“Being too confident can jinx it for you on the fairway,” Shouto replies, turning to his brother with his signature blank gaze. 

Natsuo laughs as he settles into his seat beside Touya, watching as his older brother’s smirk quickly dissolves into a frown. 

“Little shit,” Touya mumbles, taking a sip from his drink. 

The corners of Shouto’s lips curl up slightly. 

Rei and Fuyumi join the table last, bringing out a steaming pot of rice and a few side dishes to complement the rest of the meal. 

These family lunches keep them connected. 

Fuyumi believes that no matter how busy they are, having this time to gather together and share details on each other’s lives is important.

“Sorry I can’t join you and these two next weekend, mom,” Natsuo starts, slicing through his tonkotsu as he points an elbow towards his brothers, “The hospital has a medical mission out of town.” 

Rei simply smiles, waving her hand, “No need to apologize. I’m so proud of you, Natsuo.” 

“Will you be free, Fuyumi?” she turns next to her, placing a hand on Fuyumi’s lap. 

Fuyumi swallows her food, smiling apologetically, “Sorry, mom, the school’s hosting a kiddie pool party for the first day of summer.”  

Rei pats her lap reassuringly, smiling again as she says, “It’s no problem, I’m glad the kids are having fun under your care.” 

“It’ll just be the three of us, then.” Rei looks at her two boys across from her—her eldest and her youngest. 

Touya blows at his bowl, puffs of steam dissipating into the air. For as hot as Touya’s flames can get, he dislikes anything too hot to eat—a preference of his that Rei’s taken note of as she reaches across the table to cool down his bowl ever so slightly. 

“Thanks,” Touya mumbles, still hesitant to call her ‘mom’ when it’s face-to-face. 

“I heard the estate has a greenhouse,” Shouto mentions, Rei instantly perking up at the information, “You can take a look at the plants there, mom.” 

“That sounds lovely, Shouto,” she smiles; this time, it reaches her eyes, “We can take photos in your handsome outfits too.” 

Touya scrunches his nose as Shouto nods. As per the invitation, the estate prepared a whole day’s worth of activities—a game of golf in the morning, brunch by the gardens, and a simple wine tasting to cap off the afternoon. 

Lunch continues with Fuyumi sharing more about the kids she’s handling this year, and Natsuo retelling interactions of the most obnoxious patients he’s had yet. 

They laugh, a little more like a family—Shouto chuckling as Touya gives a snarky comment or two. Fuyumi laughs, full-bodied, and Rei giggles, softly, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. 

“How are your flowers, mom?” Shouto asks after they settle down, remembering that you helped her pick out which ones to plant last time. 

“The morning glories are going to be blooming soon,” Rei replies, her smile fond and proud. Since being released from the hospital years ago, she’s taken to planting and flower arranging, oftentimes asking you to help her choose which ones to use. 

“Really?” Fuyumi turns her head, gasping as she catches a glance from the window across the room, “They look good, mom! Can I have some when they bloom?” 

Rei nods, turning to her youngest, “You can get some too, Shouto.” 

For you, she adds.

Natsuo eyes him from the side as he freezes, Rei suggesting some more, “You can place it in a vase. It’s not fair, you always receive flowers for your desk.” 

Shouto nods, a small ‘okay’ because he doesn’t really know how else to respond without giving his feelings away. 

Touya observes Shouto’s expressions, his eyes twinkling in sinister aquamarine.

“Speaking of,” he shifts in his seat, crossing his legs to face Shouto, “s’your hot assistant coming?” 

Something twists in Shouto’s face, his brows furrowing slightly. 

Touya knows just how to get on Shouto’s nerves.

(What stares back at him is a deadly shade of gray and blue. 

Touya does this pretty often: provoking just for fun. 

Shouto stares at almost everyone he interacts with; it’s unnerving and uncomfortable for people who aren’t used to it, but Touya’s noticed that his little brother stares at you for far longer than he needs to. 

And though he’s missed a big chunk of how Shouto grew up, he likes to think he reads him pretty well now—how he acts around you, especially.

At his core, Shouto believes in carving his own path, choosing to fix wrongs and better himself for the now. Touya knows these things, knows where a person is weakest, just like he’s been taught—just like he’s been made aware of his entire life. Yet, for how independent Shouto’s become, he still chooses to lean on you; turns to you for thoughts and opinions,  considering you in everything. 

Touya has met you a few times; the whole family has. During the worst of his relapse, you were the only person apart from family who was trusted to accompany him in and out of rehab. You picked him up and dropped him off, often joining Rei and Fuyumi on visits when Shouto would be too busy. 

To him, you’re an extension of Shouto at this point—an olive branch that’s been just as instrumental in healing this family and the people in it. 

It’s never in the big things, but those few minutes of small talk you attempt with him in the car ride home help loosen his tongue, training a muscle that with time, has helped him open up more. 

Touya doesn’t care much for people; he’s still just beginning to learn to love his family again, but he thinks you fit in well, because you and Natsuo have the same god-awful humor, and Fuyumi only trusts you to help out in the kitchen. His mom likes having you around, and you never stick your neck in too deep in other people’s shit when they aren’t ready for it—especially his. You never nag Shouto, but you stand firm on the things you disagree with, because as far as Touya can see, you care, far deeper than your job requires you to. 

In all ways, you are the stability and calm authenticity that Shouto needs after growing up in such a tumultuous family.

So, Touya likes to stir the pot a little. Or a lot. Maybe.

Just for fun.)

Shouto continues to stare, his frown deepening. His jaw clenches, tension throbbing in his temples.

“Don’t say it like that,” he mutters, low and firm.

He feels like a kid again; like this would be a conversation they’d be having if things were normal and Touya had been around when Shouto turned 15, teasing him about a crush he might have, like older brothers do. 

Natsuo and Fuyumi have always felt like his protectors, siblings forced to be parents by circumstance; but Touya feels like his brother, the one he can fight and steal food from; the one who holds a toy up above head where Shouto can’t reach—even though he’s much, much taller than his older brother now. 

Touya scoffs, smirking, “Just saying what you think, little brother.”

.

.

.

All Shouto hears is a thump. 

A succession of them, in a steady three-part beat. 

The golf ball in front of him sits on an even plot of vibrant green, its dents and grooves emphasized by the sunlight of the early morning—there’s pressure, a thump; he needs to beat Touya in this hole to tie overall. Another thump; you’re watching him play. 

He analyzes all conditions, feels the heat on his back seep through the fabric of his white golf shirt. He breathes in and prepares to swing. 

Today is the visit to the estate. 

The agenda starts with an early game of golf, followed by brunch at the gardens and wine tasting in the early to late afternoon. It’s a beautiful day, and Shouto should be focusing on winning this game, but it’s distracting when you’re all he’s really thought about since the start of this round. 

—you, in your perfectly fitted white golf shirt and its complementary skirt; you, sitting with his mom at the back of the golf cart, smiling and laughing as if you aren’t the slightest bit aware of how much you brighten a space when you look like that. You, with your head whipping right in his direction when you hear the loud ‘swauck!’ that the impact of his club makes with the ball—your eyes excited and hopeful. 

Shouto misses the hole, and Touya snickers from the side. 

The thumbs up you give him is a soothing balm to his miss.

Shouto readjusts his cap as they walk closer to the hole, tucking in the strands of hair clinging to his forehead. He glances back at you and lingers, interrupted only by—

“Pretty thing, your assistant,” Touya teases, nudging his head towards your direction, “Cute skirt and all.” 

“Stop.” Shouto stares, impassive and unamused. His eyebrow twitches before he turns, walking away. 

From afar, he can hear Touya’s chuckle, breathy from the movement of fixing his arm sleeve. Shouto only pays attention to preparing his putter.  

He knows this is just how his older brother is. 

Since the start of this round, Touya’s managed to lead by a few strokes, with Shouto falling behind in every hole. It’s frustrating and annoying, aggravated even more by Touya’s teasing and the fact that Shouto has played the sport for far longer than Touya has.

It doesn’t help that he ends up missing again, with Touya managing to make the put afterwards. 

Shouto sighs, clenching his jaw. 

“You know,” Touya eyes him as they walk to the next hole, “staring’s not gonna get you anywhere.” 

“I’m not staring,” Shouto retorts immediately. The expanse of greenery ahead of him is taunting, an endless plot of land that feels like it’s watching.  

Touya scoffs, “Sure.” 

The golf course in the estate is landscaped with luscious trees, vibrant in the brightness of summer. Flowers bloom along the perimeter, yellows and reds carving out this specific section of the estate. You and his mom follow closely behind, riding the cart at a slow and steady pace. 

Just a few meters down, the little red flag for the next hole comes into view, moving with the breeze. 

“If you don’t plan on acting on it, you should let me know.” Touya mentions it a little too casually. 

Another thump. 

It’s a joke. Obviously. Something only meant to rile him up—it’s how Touya is. 

But it still makes him feel just a tad bit uneasy; it makes him feel a little bit like it did when they were kids. 

Before Touya disappeared, they used to sneak into the garden on winter nights. Shouto must have been no older than five and learning how to manage his quirk properly. 

They used to play a game: The Twigfire Race, Touya called it—a competition on who can form the longest and fastest fire trail using a bunch of twigs. 

Touya would always win, his long legs and lanky arms gathering more sticks than Shouto ever could at that age. His flames burned a deep azure blue, eating through the twigs much faster than Shouto’s flames did. Then, he’d press onto the pads of his burnt fingertips, teasing Shouto in some twisted attempt at motivating his little brother to do better. 

Touya would always win, but not without getting a word in. Not without leaving Shouto with a lesson or two about it. 

“I said, stop.” Shouto warns him, voice stern as he turns slightly to catch his brother's eyes. 

“Damn. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Touya raises a hand in mock surrender, smirking, “I can just do it without asking you.” 

Shouto stops walking, fists clenched tightly around his golf club. 

“That’s not funny.” 

“Oh, I’m not joking,” Touya taunts, holding back his laugh.

The stare Shouto gives him turns icy, glare intensifying as he inches closer towards his big brother. Touya doesn’t move, the stare-off lasting long enough for you to notice the confrontation. 

From his periphery, Shouto can see you looking at them in confusion. 

“Or am I?” Touya snickers right before he turns away, walking straight towards the next hole. 

Shouto watches him walk away, each thump matching the footsteps his brother makes. To the side, the cart slows to a halt and you get off, standing up as if to gain a better view of what just happened. 

You lock eyes with Shouto and he musters a small smile, raising a hand as if to say ‘everything’s fine.’ 

“Losers lose ‘cause they don’t get shit done, Shouto!” Touya calls from a few steps ahead. 

Shouto stares at his brother’s back; it’s just how Touya used to say when they were kids—

“You just have to go for it!” 

He takes a step. 

.

.

.

Touya wins the round, with Shouto losing by only a few strokes. 

Rei hugs them both, Touya’s slight reluctance evident in the way his arms stay glued to his side as she wraps hers around the both of them. 

Shouto brings one hand up, resting it against her back; from his line of sight, he spots you smiling fondly, giving him another thumbs up when your eyes meet. 

.

.

.

The estate’s staff escorts everyone to their respective rooms, allowing some time to change into clothes more suited for the late morning brunch. 

When Shouto and Touya finish, they make their way to the greenhouse, a glass dome teeming with life. It’s art in bloom—chrysanthemums, hydrangeas, sunflowers, and camellias all in varying colors of pink, red, purple, and yellow. Under a small bridge is a pond, alive with koi fish swimming underneath pads of water lilies, and right up above, where the sunlight streams in, are baskets of japanese roses, hanging in bright, fuschia clusters. 

He walks atop the bridge, hands stuffed inside his linen pants—a pair that matches the linen shirt you gifted him birthdays ago. What surrounds him is beautiful; perhaps the most heavenly place he’s been to. 

A morning of golf under the sun, nature in florescence. A (relatively) peaceful morning. 

And you—

The moment Shouto spots you, the scenery on your backdrop fades into muddled hues. You and Rei enter the greenhouse side-by-side, with his mother wearing an all-white ensemble: a cardigan with a long, flowy skirt. 

And you—

—you walk in wearing a pale yellow sundress, its hem hitting just above your knees. There are dainty flowers dotted all over it, but nothing too loud; the straps sink into a v-neck with bust details, flowing down into an a-line skirt. It’s perfectly understated, only emphasizing the focus on how radiant you look in it. 

He can’t stop staring. 

Touya snorts as he passes him. 

This day, this sight, is going to stay in his memory for a long, long while, he thinks. 

From up ahead, he can hear his mom call for Touya, dragging him around to ask which blooms would look best for the garden at home. And when he snaps out of the daze you’ve put him in, you appear right beside him, asking if he’s okay. 

“Yes,” he answers promptly, unsure of what to say next. His eyes flit to the baskets of japanese roses hanging above you, then to the view peeking from outside. “Do you want to look around before we eat?”

You nod. 

The depth of the greenhouse is deceiving upon first glance, with Touya and Rei now out of sight as you explore the area. You walk close enough to be side-by-side but still stay a step behind like you typically do, pausing every now and then to take pictures of the flowers around you. 

“You seem more relaxed,” he points out, pushing up the sleeves of his button-up. 

You turn to him from the chrysanthemums you’re snapping, a little flustered at his comment. 

(And at him, mostly. You don’t know how anyone can look this good in a simple linen set. Nature favors Todoroki Shouto, and it shows in moments like now, with sunlight hitting his face at just the right angle that it paints stardust on the tips of his eyelashes.) 

“It’s good,” he quickly follows-up, fluffing through his bangs, “I did mention this wasn’t for work.” 

(You feel warm at the reminder.

“It’s nice to see you with some down time too,” you return the sentiment, uncomfortable with the attention on you.

Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your dress.)

“Did something happen earlier?” you put your phone down, continuing to walk. “At the course. Things looked pretty tense.” 

Shouto hums, considers his next words. He takes a few more steps before answering, “Touya is a dick.” 

A laugh escapes you, and you cover your mouth quickly as you mumble an apology. Shouto knows it’s because it’s completely out of character for him to be so vulgar and insulting when it comes to his siblings.

“Was he sabotaging you?” 

“...Something like that.” he responds. 

“That’s okay,” you scrunch your nose, peering up at him, “You haven’t had much time to play lately.” 

And Shouto wonders if he’s just that easy to console, or if it’s a specific comfort that only comes from you. You make it so easy for him to feel better about all the little and big things—whether it’s news articles headlining him as a PR nightmare, or near-losses on missions gone wrong. 

Not a lot of things get to Shouto, but when they do, you somehow always know how to handle it. 

You continue to stroll around the greenhouse, looking closely at the steel bars holding up the glass arches. From a few steps ahead, Shouto can hear your mumbles—something about measurements and the logistics of turning the rooftop of the agency into a smaller version of this greenhouse.  

“You and mom looked like you were enjoying yourselves earlier,” he mentions offhandedly, hands clasped around his back. 

It’s something he’s noticed for a while—his mother seems to relax more around you, laughing and smiling in most of your conversations. He gets it; you have that effect on everyone around you, the warmth you exude a welcome invitation to be opened up to. 

(You eye him from the side knowingly; Todoroki Shouto is nothing but a closet snoop.) 

“We were talking about plant stuff,” you smile, “and how she’s happy you and Touya finally got to play together. You should’ve seen how red her hands were from clapping for the both of you.” 

He chuckles softly, matching your steps in comfortable silence. 

It’s at a different section of the greenhouse that he pauses, giving you time to admire the shrubs of hydrangeas blooming around you.

Touya’s words come back to him. 

He wonders if he should say it, if he should ask—

“Don’t move,” you tell him, raising your phone to eye-level.

Shouto stares at you, hands in his pockets as he watches you tap on your phone.

“Look to the side,” you instruct him again, and he follows, albeit a little confused. 

When he turns to face you again, the smile on your face is beaming, glowing as you turn your phone to show him the photos you managed to take. 

“The lighting was nice. See!” 

And when you point to the way sunlight streaks highlights onto the redness of his hair, down to the slope of his nose and the width of shoulders, he can’t help but agree. 

Now, he wonders—

“Do you want a photo with the flowers?” Shouto asks, because it makes no sense that you deem him worthy to be pictured in perfect lighting when there’s you, looking like you do—the walking subject to the backdrop of greenery behind you. 

Your eyes widen, a stuttered “O-Oh,” falling from your lips. You tug at your skirt again, fiddling with the soft fabric until your eyes nervously meet his. “I don’t really need—”

“The lighting is nice here, too.”

“Oh,” you respond, a hint of diffidence as you flash a small, hesitant smile, “Okay.” 

As Shouto angles himself to take your photo, he notices you turn restless, the smile on your face never quite reaching your eyes and your fingers constantly twirling the fabric of your dress. 

He puts down his phone, tilting his head. 

“Are insects biting you?”

(Your brows shoot up, embarrassed by how he’s noticed. 

You shake your head in response, providing no other explanation besides “Sorry.” 

He continues to stare, as if waiting for you to continue. You know there’s no point hiding the real reason you feel so nervous when he’s already noticed this much.  

“I think I might be underdressed,” you admit, smiling sheepishly as you clasp your fingers in front of you, “This entire place is gorgeous.”

The estate screams high-class; apart from the golf course and the greenhouse, the area also boasts its own private lake glistening across a large green field. It feels a little too good to be true—a paradise you find yourself out of place in. 

But—)

Shouto looks at you, really looks at you—at the way your dress hits right above your knees at the perfect length, at how your collarbones peek through its dainty v-neck cut. Its pale yellow makes you look like summer, radiating in light, and he thinks he hasn’t seen anything more beautiful, really; anything more fitting—for this occasion, for this venue, for this day. 

For you. 

The words have been lodged at his throat since he first saw you step in, and now they’re being pushed out, coaxed slowly by the honesty beating thunderously in his chest. 

He thinks about his mom, how she speaks of beauty whenever and wherever she finds it, with nothing stopping her speech and—

There’s a hum, a thoughtful vibration priming his throat as he continues to stare. 

“I think you’re dressed just right,” is what he manages to get out. 

A thump. 

It’s more than that, though, he knows. 

If this is his chance, if this is ‘next time’ from his attempt at the gala—

He blinks, and you only get prettier. 

“You look beautiful.” he confesses, the sentence overflowing with honesty.

(And when he says your name unlike any way he’s said it before, you feel your chest expand, terrified that it might explode.

Shouto is blunt and honest to a fault; and that honesty, you’ve realized, also happens to be his most cunning trait—a quality that's endeared you over the years now rendering you into a stuttering, fumbling mess like never before. 

“T-Thank you.” you straighten your dress, “You—”)

Shouto’s phone vibrates in his palm, a call from Touya breaking him out of your conversation. He bows his head slightly to excuse himself and you nod in acknowledgment. 

“Brunch is served,” he relays, pocketing his phone soon after he hangs up.

(Then, with his hand inside his pocket, he bends his arm deeper, creating a wider loop as if to offer it for you to hang onto—the same way he did during the gala.

And just like you did then, you take it.)

.

.

.

Brunch was served at the estate’s main patio, a circular table made of light wood adorned with dainty white tableware and muted green linen. In the middle was a centerpiece, an assortment of fresh flowers from the greenhouse coming together for a pop of color against the main neutral color scheme. 

The food was divine, a lovely selection of seasonal salads and warm breads, along with eggs cooked in every way possible. Newly harvested fruits were served before and after the meal, a kind of appetizer-dessert to complement the main piece—a large slab of freshly caught salmon. 

Now, you all gather on the second floor of the estate’s main building, right at the balcony overlooking the greenhouse and the field—a perfect view for wine tasting.

Shouto doesn’t care much for alcohol, all technicalities going past his head as the sommelier explains notes and wine pairings.

He can’t taste much of the difference, if he’s being honest. 

In the sommelier’s hand is a bottle of red wine; he describes all of the technical parts of it before finishing off with the fact that it’s ‘beautifully balanced’, something that causes Touya to snort at the side. 

Shouto looks, raising an eyebrow curiously. 

Touya leans in closer to his little brother, swirling the wine in his glass as he lowers his voice mockingly, “‘You look beautiful’.”

The expression on Shouto’s face remains unreadable, his brain processing the fact that his brother must have overheard his conversation with you earlier. It’s while Touya begins to gulp down his glass that Shouto steps on his foot—a sharp pressure stomped onto freshly cleaned loafers. 

“Fuckin–” Touya hisses, cursing under his breath as he pulls his foot away. 

The edges of Shouto’s lips curl up as he turns back to his glass of wine, watching from across the table as his mom smiles fondly at something you must have said. 

(You still feel flustered, a little fuzzy. You’re unsure whether the heat emanating off your cheeks is from the wine or the lingering echoes of his compliment earlier.

From across the table, you lock eyes with Shouto, gray and blue sitting strikingly atop flushed cheeks. You look away quickly—a knee-jerk reaction of bashfulness. He doesn’t hold his liquor well, a fact you’ve known for many, many years, so you can’t tell for sure whether he’s turned red from the wine, or from the same thing you’re feeling, too.)

III. LET ME TELL YOU (HONESTLY)

“If y’don’t do shit first, some other loser will.”

“Losers lose ‘cause they don’t get shit done…”

“...just be honest about it when the time comes.”

The streets are calm at this time of night, with cars occasionally passing by and the chimes of shop doors tinkling as they open and shut. Not a lot of people stay up late in this part of the neighborhood, but Shouto still hears them—all the jumbled voices of Bakugo and his brothers merging in his mind. 

He steps onto concrete, footfalls muffled by the cushion of his boots—a new update on his costume, one you suggested after a stealth mission mishap caused by the drag of his heel. 

Tonight is his scheduled patrol—a route he knows like the back of his hand, memorized from the many years he’s been assigned to it. The streetlamps ahead cast a dim glow down the road; an atmosphere he would otherwise find unsettling if not for the fact that it’s provided him odd comfort in times he’s needed it the most. 

Tonight, his mind ruminates on you. 

Lately, his interactions with you have been… different—shy glances and awkward slip-ups; the intentional way he’s been expressing himself more around you. 

He can’t tell what you think of it yet. 

Yet, you still sit with him in comfortable silence on the nights that you both work late, and you still bring in fresh flowers for his desk every few days. He’s sure that when he gets back to the agency after his shift, you’ll still be there, claiming to finish a report when you both know it’s just an excuse to make sure that he finished patrol safely.

You still care for him in the same way. 

And now that he’s thinking more about it, maybe it’s been those little things all along—the same way you’ve been treating him all these years shifting into something deeper and more significant, beating its way out of his chest. 

You know Shouto better than anyone—so much so that his family asks you for lists of gift ideas because they don’t have the slightest clue what else to get him. He’s found himself seeking your opinion on things more and more over the years, and if he’s being honest, a big chunk of his decisions are now partly influenced by what you think of them first. 

Across the street, a couple sways to the beat of the jazz bar they step out of, their hands intertwined and smiles giddy with adoration and love. He looks away quickly before they catch him staring. 

There are things Shouto’s discovered that he likes seeing you do—like how you shift your feet when you feel flustered at something he says, or when you tap your index finger against whatever surface it’s on when you’re deep in thought. Your eyes widen when he says things you don’t expect him to, and something about that intrigues him.

He thinks you look cute. 

He wonders if you know that about yourself; and if you don’t, a part of him is saying that he should be the one to tell you.  

.

.

.

You and Shouto attend only one day of teambuilding. 

The company trip spans an entire two weeks, with each department coming in a few days at a time. You both would stay if you could, but Shouto’s schedule doesn’t allow him to be gone for more than a day.

It’s always been unspoken: wherever Shouto goes, you go too. 

This day of the teambuilding is assigned for the managers and those under Shouto’s direct reporting team. 

The estate is still as beautiful as the last time you both visited, summer shining atop the glistening surface of the lake across the green field. Company trips aren’t typically this grand, but this is also the first time in years that Shouto’s had free time to drop by. 

(It’s a bit funny, you think, watching him struggle to reach the finish line in a three-legged race paired with his finance director. Shouto is typically awkward in most team activities, but you find it endearing, watching him put full effort into things he normally doesn’t do.) 

By mid-afternoon, the day’s activities have consisted of tank rolls, marble balancing, and a classic game of pass-the-message (which, you’ve learned, Shouto is absolute garbage at). And for the final game of the day, the both of you are paired for a duo tug of war against his PR manager and support engineer. 

The afternoon heat burns the back of Shouto’s neck, his cap providing little to no protection for that area of his skin. He stands behind you, rope twisted firmly in his grasp as he prepares to pull. You mimic his stance, bracing yourself with your knees bent as you grip the rope tightly. 

Prior to the game, you were all given three minutes to discuss strategies. 

And so now, Shouto counts, low and steady, “One.” 

“Get set,” the facilitator for this activity announces. 

“Two.” 

You take a deep breath. 

“Go!” 

“Three.”

You both pull, holding your ground for a few seconds. He can see your knuckles turning white from where he’s standing, and when he glances at the other team, they’ve begun to lean back, anchoring their bodies to the ground before pulling away slowly. 

Shouto digs his feet into the earth, the rope’s rough fibers sticking to the calluses on his hands. It doesn’t take long before you both slip forward, being dragged by the other team and eventually pulled into your loss. 

You turn back to him immediately, apologetic as you rub your palms, “Sorry!”

(Before the game even began, you already knew whoever your partner was would be carrying most of the work. And you feel a little bad because your loss does make a bit of sense, you think. 

Though Shouto is strong, you know he’s developed his agility far more than his strength. It doesn’t help that his support engineer lifts bulks of synthetic thermal cloth everyday. 

The both of you didn’t stand a chance, really.) 

But Shouto waves it off, smiling softly. 

“Are you okay?” he looks down at your hands. Your skin is an angry flaming red all over your palms, but what causes him to frown are the small cuts resting at the base of your fingers. 

“Yup, all g–” you attempt to hide it, but Shouto’s reflexes are quick, and he catches your wrist the moment you pull away. 

It’s an instinctive reaction when he looks over it once, pressing his thumb to the center of your palm to get a better look. He reaches for his utility belt out of habit, patting the area above his hip only to feel nothing but the smooth cotton of his shirt.

Right, he remembers, he isn’t wearing his gear today.  

He drops his arms, looking around the field for a first-aid kit nearby. 

(A small chuckle escapes you, endeared, and Shouto looks up at the sound. His eyes meet yours briefly before he jogs all the way to retrieve the red box by the tree. 

It’s just a friction burn; a few small cuts from the rough material of the rope, at most. 

You don’t need first-aid. But—) 

When Shouto comes back, he ushers you to the side, grabbing a few cotton buds and antiseptic ointment from the box. His brain works on autopilot, barely thinking as he tends to your injury.

(You don’t need first-aid. But—) 

He peels the bandaid for you and gently places it on top of your wounds—a yellow checkered pattern decorating your skin. 

(You don’t need first aid. But you kind of get it, you think. It’s the same instinctive reaction you have when he gets papercuts. There’s no need for you to mend them with your quirk, but it’s an inexplicable feeling that makes you feel uneasy at the idea of him getting injured off the field.

A whistle is blown to call everyone back to huddle. 

“Better?” Shouto stares at you from under his cap, readjusting it as red and white strands touch the tips of his eyelashes. 

(He looks unfairly pretty like this. How can he even expect you to answer?

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, swallowing your breath. 

When Shouto walks towards everyone else, you follow, pressing your thumb onto your palm.) 

.

.

.

Shouto drops by the greenhouse at the end of the day. 

The sky above the glass dome ceiling is warmed by orange and pink hues. At sunset, the greenhouse looks ethereal, an almost otherworldly escape. The flowers haven’t changed much from his last visit here, but they seem to have blossomed further now that time has passed. 

He walks past the familiar cluster of chrysanthemums and spots a patch of white flowers he doesn’t recall from last time—a wooden placard with the name ‘iris’ sticks out from the soil. His knees bend to crouch low, fingers grazing over the softness of its petals. 

Earlier today, the estate so kindly offered to let him bring home flowers of his choice, and this bunch in front of him calls out to him, a purity and warmth that reminds him of his mom. 

The nippers in his hand feel clunky, a heavy-duty version of the ones he uses when he helps with gardening at home; but he cuts the stems gently, careful to remember all he’s been taught. 

When he thinks he’s gotten enough, he continues to stroll around the greenhouse, the wicker basket in his hand half-filled with pure, white irises. 

A little further down the path, he passes by the hydrangea bushes, his steps slowing as fragmented pieces of that memory with you replay in slow motion. 

“The lighting was nice. See!” 

“You look beautiful,” he confesses, the sentence overflowing with honesty.

And he decides—

He should get you flowers too. 

Your desk always seems to have some, and you’re consistently on top of keeping fresh flowers around the agency—on his desk specifically. 

It’s only right.

His mom always tells him that flowers can never lie; they bloom where they are loved and speak from the heart when words are not enough—it’s why she loves them so much.

And, maybe she has a point, because the pink hydrangeas look pretty; they remind him of you, especially.

On his way here, the white camellias spoke to him too. Maybe he’ll get them both for you. 

He crouches low again, nipping the hydrangea stems before backtracking to collect a few camellias. By the time he finishes, his wicker basket is filled to the brim, an assortment of pink and white threatening to spill from its edges. The leaves of the irises stick out, poking at his wrist and making the skin itch.

You find him that way—struggling to wrangle in the abundance of blooms into his basket.

“I think you need another basket,” you chuckle, walking towards him. 

There’s something about you and this hour; how it feels like you fit right in this moment, at the peak of sunset, blooming the same way the flowers do. 

Your smile is radiant against the warmth of diffused sunlight, and though he’s seen you in this same exact slacks-and-blouse combination before, the way he sees you now has shifted. 

You look different, but in all the ways he can’t visibly point out. 

He blinks, and that thump beats once more. 

His arm moves before he can comprehend it, the bunch of camellias and hydrangeas outstretched towards you.

Your eyes widen in surprise, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you tilt your head slightly, your hand reaching out for it reluctantly. 

“Would you want me to have this wrapped?” 

(The flowers feel lush in your palm, and you can’t help but wonder who he intends to give them to. There are irises in his basket too, left untouched for reasons you’re not sure you’d like to know. 

Your grip on the stems tighten. 

The camellias stare back at you, an immaculate white, with the pink hydrangeas adding a delicate softness to them. It’s a pretty combination, and you can’t help but think that whoever they’re intended for should feel—)

“It’s for you.”

You lock eyes when you look up. There’s a weight to Shouto’s gaze that intends to get his message across, the words still barely forming on his tongue. 

“Oh,” is the only thing you manage to say.  

(—surprised; grateful; confused; the emotions swirl inside of you. The shock is apparent on your face, your eyes widening at his admission. Confusion presents itself in the tilt of your head as you stumble over how to express your gratitude.

“It’s not…” you hesitate, diverting your gaze to anything else but that piercing pair of gray-and-blue. Your mind is drawing up a blank, figuring out what reason he has for giving them to you.)

“There’s no occasion…?”

It comes out as half a question and half something else, your uncertainty marked by the semi-lilt at the end. 

Shouto blinks. 

He wonders if he should tell you now, if he should just confess that he’s been feeling differently about you these days.

You shift your feet, your thumbs rubbing against the flowers’ leaves. 

The thump persists in his chest, knocking at the base of his throat—

Thump.

He takes a deep breath.

Thump.

—but even with its persistence, the words still struggle to come out.

Thump.

Maybe not now; it’s not the right time. 

But he says something else, an admission much easier that still holds just as much truth.

“No occasion.” 

.

.

.

Shouto knows your Mondays. 

You switch out the flowers on his desk for a different arrangement of blooms every week. Then, you give him a run-down of his schedule, going over important announcements and upcoming events. 

The mornings go by quickly, with you constantly moving around your desk. Shouto can’t tell what you’re doing exactly, but you’re always working on something whenever he sneaks a peek through the single glass panel cut-out from your shared wall. 

Lunch is a wildcard. On some days, you bring your own; on others, you grab a bite down in the cafeteria. Your routine is largely dependent on how busy you anticipate work to be that day, and though it varies from time-to-time, you never forget to knock on his door—a two-part thump that takes him out of his own little work bubble. 

He almost looks forward to it now, the way your head peeps in from behind his office doors. You call out his name softly, only continuing to speak when he looks up from whatever file he’s working on. 

Shouto knows your Mondays. 

You spend the afternoons all over the place, much like he does; while he roams the city, you roam the agency, attending meetings and checking in on different departments. He knows because when he comes back by the end of the day, you almost always have a new set of updates prepared on your desk for the next morning. 

He also knows that Mondays are when you often work overtime, preferring to get a bulk of any urgent matters completed and out of the way.

The back door of his office clicks shut as he walks into the room, his rubber boots leaving no trace that he’s arrived from how quietly his footsteps hit the floor. He unbuckles his utility belt, one hand automatically reaching for its lock; it’s a habit, the ‘clack’ that sounds from it a satisfying marker he looks forward to at the end of every patrol. 

In the corner of his office is a private restroom that he slips into. He quickly changes out of his hero suit and into a pair of sweatpants, throwing on one of his many favorite white shirts—his go-to outfit on the days he works late. 

There are still some reports he has to look over tonight, but nothing too time-consuming. 

It’s really you he’s staying behind for. 

He glances at you through the glass panel of his wall, your face dimly lit by your computer screen. Your eyebrows are scrunched, eyes squinting in pure focus. 

It never feels right for him to leave when you haven’t left either. 

He settles into his seat, finger tapping on his desk as he contemplates whether or not he should offer you his help. 

You always decline when he does; he can already hear your response. But there are stacks of folders on your desk right now and he’s predicting that it’ll take at least a few more hours before you get through all of them.

He taps his foot, staring at the report in front of him. 

A thump. 

The wheels of his chair roll back, leather squeaking as he stands up. 

As soon as he exits his office, you look up, surprised. 

“You’re back!” 

He nods, walking closer to your desk. “It’s 8:00 p.m.”

You glance at the top of your screen, a sheepish smile forming on your face, “Right.” 

(This is his way of telling you it’s late, you’re well aware.)

He looks around your desk, folders and stationery all neatly organized and labeled. You keep a few touches of your personality around your space, with personalized pens and notepads gathered in one corner. 

They’re all things he’s seen before, but what makes him do a double-take is the vase sitting in the corner, obscured by your computer screen. 

Sitting inside it is the arrangement of flowers he gave you back at the teambuilding, the pink hydrangeas still as good as new next to the white camellias. It’s been a little over a week since, and you always change the arrangement on your desk as frequently as you change his. 

So for you to keep it for this long—

“And how may I help you?” you ask jokingly, biting down your smile. 

His eyes flit over to you, your gaze set on your screen as you continue to type.

(It’s hard to focus on the documents in front of you when he looks at you like that. Shouto’s stare has always been unnerving, but it feels especially scrutinizing when he merely stands, watching without a word.)

“You have a lot of work left,” he gestures towards the stack of folders on your desk. 

(Your eyes glance over the pile quickly as you mumble, “Yeah.” 

A few seconds of silence pass before what he really means starts to sink in. 

It’s not often that Shouto finishes work before you—at least, to your knowledge. You still see him inside his office when you pack your things, ready to leave. 

So, this is out of the ordinary. 

And if he’s standing in front of your desk, hinting at how much longer you’ll be staying at work. Then, it can only mean—

“A-are you waiting for me to go?” you move to stand, guilty. “Don’t worry about it, I can lock up.”)

Shouto furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly. 

That’s never been a thing; he’s always gone home last, and has always waited for you when you have work left to do. He makes sure of it every time, watching carefully for your computer light to turn off. 

But he won’t tell you that; letting you know would mean admitting that he’s been doing it for years. 

He places his palm on the top folder. 

“What else do you have to do?” 

You stay quiet for a few seconds before reluctantly listing it all—reports, meeting summaries, and a few emails you plan to schedule for tomorrow morning. His frown deepens as your list only grows, immediately cutting yourself off the second you notice your ramblings. 

“… but if you’re waiting, I can bring these home and—”

“What can I do to help?” he interjects, stopping you just before you shut down your computer. 

(You can only stare when proceeds to take a seat in front of you, the legs of your guest chair dragging against the floor as he pulls it closer. 

It hits you a bit like déjà vu, this moment, how it feels just like early days back in that rented studio unit; back when you could count the number of people comprising his team on one hand. 

Back then, your desks were just a few steps away from each other, an overflow of paperwork inevitably spilling into each other’s spaces. Because all of the files were stored in your drawers, it was more convenient for Shouto to sit himself across your desk, splitting the work and going over them one at a time. 

Things are different now that the agency’s grown—you have a bigger space, and the work isn’t nearly as packed as it used to be; but some days still end up a little bit more hectic than others. Like today.

“There’s no need,” you reach for the stack under his palm, “I can finish this at—”

“We can finish faster if we do this together.”

That promptly shuts you up. 

Shouto is blunt to a fault, unafraid of saying things as they are; his voice carries an unbothered cadence no matter who it is he’s talking to. 

You figure, there’s no point arguing with him when he’s right, after all.) 

Shouto begins going over a few of the reports that you’ve tagged red and yellow, listening intently as you instruct him on which parts to focus on. In exchange, you make space for him on your desk, setting aside some of the folders you had brought out earlier.

It’s a good hour into working before Shouto notices you easing up slightly, your shoulders more relaxed in comparison to how bunched up they were earlier.

He knows you’ve been glancing at him occasionally, your head turning every now and then to check on how he’s doing—a failed attempt at subtlety. 

“Are you almost done?” he asks, head down as he slips another completed file into its folder. The stack beside him is growing, his ‘done’ pile nearly as tall as the unfinished one. 

(You turn to him, attention shifting to the split of red and white hair down the center of his head, “Yeah, I just—”

Your words trail off, eyes squinting as you move closer to where he’s hunched over. 

Right on the shoulder of his shirt is a small tear, big enough to touch the edges of its collar but small enough that you’d only have to be up close to be able to notice. 

You assess the tear intently, looking carefully for any cuts underneath and thankfully find none.

But—

He notices you’ve gone quiet and looks up, the sudden movement catching you off guard. You make a sound, something in-between a squeak and an ‘oops.’ 

“Sorry, I just,” you point, “your shirt’s ripped.” 

His eyes follow the direction of your finger, finding the small tear running horizontally along the fabric of hjs shirt. 

“I can fix it,” you offer, the wheels of your chair rolling to land you directly across him. 

It’s one of his favorite shirts.)

He barely thinks when his body acts on its own, pressing itself closer to your desk as you slightly bend over for better reach. 

You don’t have to patch up his shirt, especially something so small. He has plenty of the same ones in his closet; and if it comes to it, he wouldn’t mind buying a new one. You really don’t have to patch up his shirt, because he wouldn’t have even noticed had you not mentioned it. 

But it’s that kind of tender care and attention to detail that you’ve had for him since you started working together that’s always drawn him in. 

Shouto has lived most of his life with the means to live comfortably, but since starting his own agency, he’s learned the value of maximizing resources—and it’s all because of you.

A thump. 

The moment your fingers touch his shoulder, he hears nothing but that continuous three-beat thump. Your quirk tingles when it touches skin, but you aren’t mending that—you’re fixing his shirt, separate from your skin, and yet, he still feels the little zaps go off inside of him. 

A thump. 

Up close, the strands of your hair tickle his cheek. 

A thump. 

The fabric of his shirt mends itself slowly, and it only makes him think of everything else—of the leather chair you helped fix, painstakingly going through each and every crack to bring it back to near-new condition. He thinks about every cut and scrape you’ve helped heal without having to, about every time you’ve insisted when he’d shrug it off as nothing. 

From you, he’s learned that things can be fixed without having to change them whole. 

It’s how he’s (you’ve) managed to keep the agency running; it’s why you get along so well with him and the rest of his family. 

And these feelings in his chest are pounding, built up over time to tip over and transform into something more than just an excellent work dynamic. At this point, it’s become companionship, a presence he seeks out a little bit more than friendship. 

You know him better than anyone else does. 

The flowers he gave you are still on your desk. 

So, he says your name, voice low and tender by your ear. 

You freeze, holding your breath. 

Another thump.

His honesty spills outs—

“I like you.” 

A three-beat thump. 

(You don’t believe it at first, the urge to ask him again right at the tip of your tongue. But, he pulls away, unfinished, and looks you in the eye to continue. 

“But it feels more than a crush, I think.” He presses his fingers against the table, grounding himself, “Natsuo told me it was a crush, and he told me to think about it, so I did.” 

Shouto is a man of sufficient words; not too few, not too plenty. But when he gets nervous and a little excited, he starts rambling, and—

“Bakugo told me his mom thought we were dating, and even though I said that wasn’t the case, I almost didn’t want to deny it. Touya has been a dick about it, but he makes good points, so I also owe it to him.”

(The shock on your face shifts into fondness. You can’t see the point of what he’s saying yet, but it’s cute—one of the many things that make him endearing.) 

He pauses, watching your expression shift into curiosity. 

“It started with this thumping,” he places a hand over his chest. “It used to only come sometimes, but lately it’s been happening all the time.” 

Shouto keeps his gaze deadset on yours. He doesn’t say anything else, sentences just barely forming in his head to fully capture what he really means. His feet and palms stay firmly planted where they are, his only movement being the steady blinking of his eyes. 

(But it’s okay, because you can understand. 

If you’re being honest, the signs were all there. 

Nothing Shouto does can be subtle when you know him as well as you do. 

A smile breaks out on your face, the one you can barely contain around him. It’s a little teasing and shy but completely genuine from the way it softens your eyes. 

“We’ll have to come up with something for HR,” you try to contain your smile.)

And he isn’t worried at all. He knows you’ll both find a way, just like you always do.

additional material: moodboard + playlist

a/n: so much to say about this fic but i'll sum it up with saying this is my baby! and i hold it close to my heart for many reasons. writing this made me love their dynamic and i hope you did too! also maybe slightly unrealistic office/hr rules but 🤷‍♀️ he’s the boss he makes the rules ��

thank you notes: to @soumies for literally beta reading this. i owe this fic to you fr you are my lifesaver i love you. to @augustinewrites @scarabrat @stellamancer @arcvenes for helping me a ton with characterisations, dialogues, songs, inspo, everything!!! ily all!! it took a village to write this fic fr. (+ to my bf for sitting me down so he could explain the whole point system of golf for like 30 minutes LOL)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[starvels]

oooh fun. do you know [gregory from abbott elementary] i don't like pizza. but! bearing that in mind sknbkjndfbk,

Fun idea tho, recently unfrozen Steve being shown the wonders of the modern world and all its riches. And of course they gotta introduce him to modern pizza! And it’s like… Steve is Not Fond for [insert reason here] and has to go thru what you and Gregory do whenever you say you don’t like pizza.

Many attempts to find the “right” kind of pizza because surely then Steve will like it? ensues I imagine. Made more complicated by the fact that Steve is 1. Always hungry and 2. Does Not Waste Food so it can be hard to gauge if he actually liked something since he finishes it every time, which leads to…

Because the Team orders Pizza so often and the new members WILL start the process all over eventually he “picks” the least offensive kind to him as a “please stop asking”-favourite. Maybe like a thin crust or a veggie pizza or a white pizza or something lol. Maybe he orders wings or a meatball sub if they have it.

desjkfnbdjbn i really am turning into a marvel food blog, huh? is this bc i talk abt cooking so much? (sidecomment, made some fucking ACE banana bread blondies this week goddamn)

'Steve is Not Fond for [insert reason here]': this is fun. steve could hate pizza, sure. here's the reason. it is bc the dough doesn't taste ENOUGH like NYC water. he needs more of that undefinable city juice to make it like he remembers dsfkjbhnkjdbn. he's a disgusting city pigeon, i love him, etc.

'has to go thru what you and Gregory do whenever you say you don’t like pizza.' at he would simply stare into the camera and offer to walk 4 miles to get something else and everyone takes it as silly charming cap.

'it can be hard to gauge if he actually liked something since he finishes it every time, which leads to…' sooo true bestie! it throws off everyone so much! let's all collectively explore this more.

'he “picks” the least offensive kind to him as a “please stop asking”-favourite': for a while he gets on a cauliflower crust kick bc its less offensive until he's remembers he's surrounded by new yorkers and they do Not Partake of Cauliflower Crust which actually makes it worse bc then it's a WHOLE pizza for steve to finish on his own (rip my silly son)

but later, as he gets more 21st century weary, yeah he just eats a cheese slice for appearances, as like, a pregame medicine for an actual meal he has later in the middle of the night bc the whole lie is beginning to feel a bit drawn out and he should have said something years ago but now he's not sure when to. (cue fic abt jan finding him in the kitchen at night making chilaquiles bc he's hungry and she's like, you can have more at dinner, honey and steve is flustered and the truth comes out messily and he's like, a bit silly in trying to explain it and jan somehow takes his 'i don't like pizza' as a, we should get you to try more high end pizzas with stuff like sushi on it and steve's like why would you do that to sushi, i love sushi :( and iron man walks in and is like, just make the pizza here. there's a pizza oven in the back and even though thor broke the pizza peel the other day, i can just lift it out of the oven with my hands and so steve is Resigned and Convinced and Does in fact love cooking at home w the team so he finds some enjoyment in the Process itself but then the truth comes out! bc he tastes it and he's like it's fine. (what i say abt pizza while looking into the camera while people around me are orgasming over greasy tomatoes) and tony and jan press him for details and steve has to say, face in his arms, ears burning, that he misses the kinda rank taste of prewar city watered dough and jan and tony are like oh. well! and steve learns that you can in fact return funky NY flavor to pizza dough if you are friends with enough time travelers or something.

and jan and tony kinda get together and think about the times when steve just sorta ate or drank or accepted something bc he didn't want it to go to waste and it was fine and they think about steve not knowing what he likes and maybe they catch each others' eyes and they say at the same time, 'so, in bed -' 'he doesn't ever say what he wants' and it becomes A Thing that they have to address w steve and then a thing that gradually turns into a very communicative steve-centered threesome and then a relationship OR SOMETHING SDKJNBKJDN)

[mariacallous]

Reports that Keir Starmer has moved a portrait of Margaret Thatcher in Downing Street put me in two minds. On the one hand it could be nothing; on the other it could be the inciting incident for a major disaster drama. You know the sort of thing from TV – cold open on flashing scenes of unimaginable chaos, political besiegement and high-octane anguish, by which the viewer is provoked to think, “Stone me, how on earth did we get here?” Cue a black screen and the words: “SIX MONTHS EARLIER”. And then an immediate cut to a cheery aide going, “Morning, PM! Just had a classic silly season call about some Thatcher portrait story. Anything in it?”

In case you are not familiar with said portrait story, which after all only broke on Thursday evening while you may have been enjoying your God-given freedom to an August evening in a pub garden (more on that later), it runs as follows: a portrait of Margaret Thatcher was commissioned by Gordon Brown and unveiled in the presence of its subject in 2009, and since then has apparently hung above the mantelpiece in a Downing Street room unofficially known as the Thatcher Room. Then this week, Tom Baldwin, Starmer’s biographer, told a Glasgow book festival that he’d had a meeting with Starmer in the room shortly after he’d taken office, and remarked that it was “a bit unsettling” having “her” looking down. He says Starmer agreed, whereupon Baldwin asked him if he was going to get rid of it. The PM apparently nodded. “And,” concluded this Baldwin anecdote, “he has.”

Alas, that which delights the Scottish book festival circuit garners mixed reviews elsewhere. “OUTRAGE AS STARMER REMOVES MAGGIE’S PORTRAIT,” thunders today’s Daily Mail splash, resurrecting a rolling obsession with this sort of thing. Back in 2012, the erroneous claim that Barack Obama had got rid of a bust of Winston Churchill in the White House became a long-running cause célèbre, taken up at various times by Obama haters ranging from then-Apprentice host Donald Trump to then-London mayor Boris Johnson. There is a dedicated page in the National Archives of the Obama administration that addresses this “urban myth” in remorseless detail.

My gut (not on the political Zoe app) tells me that if Thatcher’s portrait is no longer in somewhere called the “Thatcher Room”, this could play out bigger than an interior decor story. Not that Downing Street interior decor stories can’t play out big, of course. Or that, by the time this one has run its course, Starmer mightn’t end up wishing that all he’d done was spaff two hundred grand of someone else’s money on some gold wallpaper and a £3,675 “Nureyev” drinks trolley. (Johnson’s Downing Street was very upstairs-downstairs – the staff wheeled their drinks in a suitcase; he and her ladyship preferred the Nureyev.)

Either way, a cautious Starmer Downing Street probably needs to nip this one in the bud. At this stage the PM has a number of things he could say, including:

1. Fine, I’ll put it back then.

2. Not to throw my biographer under the bus, but he’s totally wrong about this, so … bring on the bus.

3. I haven’t moved it; I’m just having it professionally cleaned.

4. I haven’t moved it; I’m just having it professionally cleaned by that Spanish lady who “restored” the fresco of Jesus in her local church. We think Monkey Thatcher looks better than the original.

5. I have had it moved – to our bedroom. Vic and I wanted it above our bed.

6. I have had it moved. Where better for the Iron Lady than the ironing cupboard?

7. There is no Thatcher Room. Literally doesn’t exist. Debate me.

8. There is a Thatcher Room but the Thatcher picture in it has weirdly completely vanished. We think it might have been swallowed into the upside-down version of Downing Street, like in Stranger Things.

9. The portrait has been replaced by a beautiful one of me. Which – and does this seem odd to you? – seems to develop a new wrinkle every time I appoint a donor to a civil service role.

10. Let’s face it, I’ll be moving that one too as my time in office wears on.

As for what, if true, the portrait story would tell us about our new prime minister, it certainly wouldn’t indicate that he lacks pettiness. Nor would it speak volumes about Starmer’s political foresight, in a week where he has seemed bent on doubling down on his long-term appearance of sympathy with the killjoy tendency. Maybe it was “winter is coming” week on the news grid. The PM began with a speech trailing budget misery that called to mind Enver Hoxha’s famous 1967 new year address, when the Albanian leader informed his people: “This year will be harder than last year. On the other hand, it will be easier than next year.” Then, in Berlin, Starmer poured cold water on the idea of free movement for the under-30s, before returning to confirm a leaked story suggesting he was pressing ahead with an outdoor smoking ban.

As opposition leader, Starmer always seemed most comfortable when telling off his opposite number. We can all agree that particular succession of prime ministers had much to be told off about – but he will have rather less success if the British public come to feel they are the ones being tutted at. Incidentally, while I have been typing this, I note Starmer’s spokesman has disdainfully declared he will not comment on the interior of No 10. We’ll see how long that one lasts. In the meantime, he has handily reminded himself that all prime ministers end up in the attic one way or another.

[oflgtfol]

because im procrastinating on my homework, here's my vague outline of the sw x razia AU that tortures my brain every few months

PREFACE: my main idea is that the sw characters are playing out the storyline of razia's shadow. act 1 follows the prequels with minimal changes. act 2 follows the original trilogy, but the storyline has some major tweaks to fit better. the most important thing to mention is that the adakias/anhura romance is scrapped entirely. also some major changes to the star wars storyline to fit as well. such as luke knowing that darth vader is his dad and being like, raised with him from day one

characters:

ahrima = anakin

nidria = padme

toba the tura = obi-wan

o the scientist = the jedi council and/or specifically obi-wan??? i guess i'd pick and choose which fulfills which role depending on when the story calls for it

barayas = palpatine

adakias = luke

anhura = leia

pallis = darth vader

sangara = darth vader's assistant guy i cant remember his name. absolute side character but i thought it would be funny to add LOL

bawaba brothers, unified into one person = yoda

doctor dumaya = palpatine as well

act 1 story:

the angels are the jedi. padme is there too i guess. anakin is the prodigy angel, the best of them all, but he feels unacknowledged by the council and obi-wan. they entertain his idea that he's the best, but don't ever actually recognize it in a way that satisfies him. he finds consolation in padme who supports him through it

to prove that he IS the best, he creates the lamps. idk what the lamps would be in this AU. but again, the council doesn't spare him the time of day. defeated and angry, he storms off into the darkness..... where palpatine greets him, and tells him tall tales of just how great he actually is. go ahead and destroy the lamps, he tells anakin, then they'll finally see how great you are. one day they'll see and appreciate your power

so he destroys the lamps. the whole world is in ruin, everything is destroyed. people have died en masse. i guess padme dies during it too

and there, at the end of it all, obi-wan confronts him. they battle it out, and in the end, anakin is kicked into the flames of his own making. he burns yada yada like in canon, obi-wan leaves him to die

a 20-year, minute-long intermission:

aka this is the fall of the republic and the rise of the empire, anakin becomes darth vader, but since its taking place in razia's shadow, then its actually the world is being separated into dark and light. although i guess maybe i'll shift it, so that it's not perfectly half and half. the dark would be the empire and so a majority of the world will live there, but the light would be i guess like rebel "planets," so it's much smaller. and i would say there's no war really going on, it's just that the light is the last bastion of like, good life left i guess, hidden away from the dark lol

act 2 story:

luke is a prince of the dark. he lives with his father, darth vader, who has expectations of him as a prince of the dark. but luke finds that he can't quite fit in with whats expected of him - he tries to be all dark and mean and cruel, but he can't bring himself to do it. instead, he dreams of a better life - he's heard stories of the kingdom of light, and of the prophecy that one day the dark will fall and the two will be reunited once more. he dreams that he will be the prophecized one to reconnect them again, much to his father's frustration

and one day he sneaks away and travels to the light anyway. once luke's absence is noticed, darth vader is sent to fetch him back to the dark

meanwhile, as luke enters the kingdom of the light, he finds leia. she, too, had been feeling like she was destined for more. she dreamed of reuniting the dark and light just as luke had. they instantly connect as close friends, and together they go to HER parents, the organas, who lead the kingdom of light.

it starts getting shaky here because the original story depended on adakias being a little piece of shit and i dont think luke would act that way. so idk. if i followed the original story, then luke's status as a prince of the dark would be kept secret, and his Dark Presence would start poisoning leia and then they'd go off to find a cure instead of like, idk, him coming clean about who he is and not putting her life in fucking danger........? but as i said, i dont think luke would do that. idk.

so perhaps the organas know who luke is. but they want to keep leia safe, so they dont reveal the fact that they're twins, and therefore leia is also related to darth vader...? they just warn her that oohhoh this boy is Dark. stay away...... like how everyone didnt want the twins together in canon or something idk.

and so luke and leia still leave anyway. again idk why they'd leave. but they still leave. luke is feeling guilty about being related to darth vader, doesnt tell her that he's a prince of the dark, etc. but i guess since theyre twins she wouldnt get sick actually anyway lol

OH maybe they go leave the light because of jedi shenanigans and thats how they find: YODA! who regales them stories of the fall of the republic, darth vader, and all that, while teaching them about how to be jedi

and then i guess they go to confront palpatine. who is playing the RS role of the doctor but instead of looking for medicine bc leia is dying, they're just going to fight him as the emperor. and then darth vader finally catches up to them in the final showdown. he's like, luke, i am here to take you home, step away from the light princess. and luke's heritage as the prince of the dark is revealed, wah, and then also somehow the fact leia is luke's sister is also revealed, probably by palpatine? again, i said it's very shaky here. so all the family reveals cause all that drama

and then somehow there's a scuffle. i guess once vader hears from palpatine that leia is his daughter that's when he turns on palpatine. and then palpatine fucking dies but vader gets stabbed. and so then he slowly dies surrounded by luke and leia and he has that whole thing he did in canon about liek let me look at you with my own eyes or whatever but also now his daughter is here too. and then he dies . rip. and then the dark vs light divide falls. bc like how adakias was the prophecized one in RS, and anakin was ~the chosen one~ in sw, his death now is the prophcized way to reunite the dark and light. IDK.

the end. and the beginning <3

WAIT IM SO STUPID. the dark vs light kingdoms could be such a great way to facilitate sith vs jedi stuff too AUGHGHG. i really have to do homework now so i dont have time to sprinkle that into what i've already written but just imagine

[wingedblooms]

The high lord’s orrery

I’ve talked about the orrery before (buried under layers of connections in my murky realm meta), and wanted to come back to it on its own. It is, in my opinion, one of the biggest hints we have for Elain’s role in the crossover.

We are first introduced to the official term, orrery, in HOSAB. When Bryce and her friends seek out the Astronomer and his beauties, also known as mystics, they use a space map to track down information across the cosmos:

Bryce set aside her outrage and waved a hand to the drifting planets. “This space map—”

“It is called an orrery.”

“This orrery.” Bryce approached the male’s side. “It’s tech—not magic?”

“Can it not be both?” (HOSAB)

Bryce’s murky memory reminds her that her father has his own orrery in his study.

Bryce’s fingers curled into fists. But she said, a murky memory rippling from her childhood, “The Autumn King has one in his private study.”

The Astronomer clicked his tongue. “Yes, and a fine one at that. Made by craftsmen in Avallen long ago. I haven’t had the privilege to see it, but I hear it is as precise as mine, if not more so.”

“What’s the point of it?” she asked.

“Only one who does not feel the need to peer into the cosmos would ask such a thing. The orrery helps us answer the most fundamental questions: Who are we? Where do we come from?” (HOSAB)

Craftsmen in Avallen, a place with powers that mirror the Night Court, made an orrery long ago. And it is kept in her father’s study. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

There was the main floor of the study—bedecked in the hand-knotted blue carpets that Feyre had gone to Cesere to select from its artisans—with its two sitting areas, Rhys’s desk, and twin long tables near the bookshelves. At the far end of the room, a little dais led into a broad raised alcove flanked by more books—and in its center, a massive, working model of their world, the stars and planets around it, and some other fancy things that had been explained to Cassian once before he deemed them boring and proceeded to ignore them completely. Az, of course, had been fascinated. Rhys had built the model himself centuries ago. It could not only track the sun, but also tell time, and it somehow allowed Rhys to ponder the existence of life beyond their own world and other things Cassian had, again, instantly forgotten. (ACOSF)

We know now that Sarah was planting seeds for travel across the cosmos. By the end of HOSAB, Bryce lands in Prythian and desperately needs to find Aidas to help her rally the armies of Hel against the Asteri. But who makes the most sense to help? Who has successfully located frightening beings from afar like the mystics? That would be Elain.

There are striking parallels between Elain and the mystics, which I discuss in depth here, so I won’t spend time on the details in this post. The mystics’ sleepy travel and use of a space map remind me of similar scene in ACOWAR.

Three mystics slept, submerged in greenish, cloudy water, breathing masks strapped to their faces. Their white shifts floated around them, doing little to hide the skeletal bodies beneath. (HOSAB)

When Feyre seeks out Elain to track down the Suriel, she finds her in a dim, dreamlike environment that seems a lot like the mystic tubs. Her eyes are even unfocused, as though she is lost in space. Is it possible she was drifting in her murky realm, like the mystics?

Her tent was dim, and quiet—the sounds of slaughter far away, dreamlike. She was awake, staring blankly at the canvas ceiling.

Feyre asks to plant an image of the Suriel in her mind to help her locate it, and when she passes her mental gates, she finds even more dreamy, half-life imagery:

The gates to her mind … Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns.

And then, without any training whatsoever, Elain uses the map to find the Suriel on the move.

Elain again glanced at the map. At me. Then closed her eyes. Her eyes shifted beneath her lids, the skin so delicate and colorless that the blue veins beneath were like small streams. “It moves …,” she whispered. “It moves through the world like … like the breath of the western wind.”

“Where is it headed?”

Her finger lifted, hovering over the map, the courts. Slowly, she set it down. “There,” she breathed. “It is going there. Now.” I looked at where she had laid her finger and felt the blood rush from my face. The Middle.

Much like Thanatos—a prince of Hel—with the mystic in CC, the Suriel also sees Elain from across the world.

Its over-large teeth clacked faintly. “Thrice now, we have met. Thrice now, you have hunted for me. This time, you sent the trembling fawn to find me. I did not expect to see those doe-eyes peering at me from across the world.”

On the third hunt for the Suriel, the third sister to have her story told finds a terrifying, deadly creature who repeatedly provides help to Feyre. Coincidentally, this fits the bill for Bryce and Aidas as well. And what map might help her find him? The high lord’s orrery, of course, if it is as precise as the one his (theoretical) distant relatives created in Avallen long ago.

That’s not the only connection Rhysand and his sister-in-law have when it comes to this plot point. According to Rigelus, mystics can also pry into characters’ minds and influence their behavior like a daemati. Is it possible Elain is already experimenting with this power? That kind and sage voice Nesta starts to hear in dire circumstances appears after Elain said she could reacquaint herself with her powers. And like the high lord again, she might have some glowing magical hands to go with that voice if her influence is at work with the Cauldron at the end of ACOSF. Please let this be one of the many secrets you’ve planted in ACOSF, Sarah.

“We were eventually notified by one of our mystics here, who learned it from prying into the mind of one of Ophion’s Command. So we did a little tugging. Pointed Micah toward synth. Toward Danika.” (HOSAB)

What’s the significance of these connections? Alongside her siblings, Elain is going to be a key player in the crossover. And we’re likely in for even more Rhysand-Elain bonding time. This time, though, she’ll be the one taking him on a mental tour of the cosmos, leaving the Sidra far behind. Sarah already laid the groundwork for this: Rhysand wonders about her surprising behavior in the final battle against Hybern in ACOFAS, and in ACOSF, his interest only grows as he supports Amren’s order to approach Elain for help next, suggests she may be more than capable of getting her hands sparkly dirty, agrees with his mate to help her after Nesta, and even meddles in her love life (like an overbearing older brother). In fact, he interrupts and forbids her intimacy with the only other person we know, in canon, that is also interested in Rhysand’s orrery: Azriel.

So, what role, if any, will Azriel play in this plot point besides his obvious connection with Bryce, the Starsword, and demon-like wings and cold, dark shadows? Perhaps it’s just a coincidence, but the mystic in CC is snared by the Prince of the Ravine like Elain is lured by the Cauldron. Even the camp where she is trapped operates similarly to the Prince, and it just so happens to sit next to a ravine and is home to fearsome hounds, like the Prince’s Shepherd:

Hybern’s camp and hounds

Campfires burned, as numerous as the stars. Beasts snapped and snarled, yanking on leashes and chains. On and on and on that army went, a squatting terror drinking the life from the earth. (ACOWAR)

The nearest hound—it was not a hound, I realized as the arrow spiraled for its head. But some cousin of the naga—some monstrous, scaled thing that thundered on all fours, serpentine face snarling and full of bone-shredding white teeth—(ACOWAR)

Azriel’s roar echoed off the rocks as the hound slammed into him, dragging those shredding talons down his spine, his wings— The girl screamed, but Elain moved. As Azriel battled to keep them airborne, keep his grip on them, my sister sent a fierce kick into the beast’s face. Its eye. Another. Another. It bellowed, and Elain slammed her bare, muddy foot into its face again. The blow struck home. With a yelp of pain, it released its claws—and plunged into the ravine. (ACOWAR)

Prince of the Ravine and his hound

“Allow me to introduce my shepherd,” the Under-King said from the mist ahead, standing beside a ten-foot-tall black dog. […] Designed to latch into flesh and hold tight while it ripped and shredded. Its eyes were milky white—sightless. Identical to the Under-King’s.

Her light would have no effect on something that was already blind.

The dog’s fur—sleek and iridescent enough that it almost resembled scales—flowed over bulky, bunched muscle. Claws like razor blades sliced into the dry ground.

His attention snapped again to Bryce. Ripped away skin and bone to the being beneath. You slew one of my creations. My beloved pet, kept for so long on your side of the Crossing. […] You cost me a key link to Midgard. The Shepherd reported faithfully to me on all it heard in the Bone Quarter. The souls of the dead talk freely of their world.

I grow tired of these questions. I shall feast. […] It has been a long while since a mortal fly buzzed all the way down to Hel. I will taste this one’s soul, as I once sipped from them like fine wine. […]. You have gone too deep. I think I shall keep you. (HOSAB)

Like Bryce and Hunt, Elain and Azriel work as a team in this scene. Azriel holds Elain and helps her escape the clutches of Hybern, and she in turn defends him against the hounds. Might this teamwork foreshadow another rescue, on a different plane? Is that why we were reminded of it more than once in ACOSF? It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Elain, like the Suriel, was snared again and needed an anchor—someone who can navigate the dark, won’t abandon her, and will pull her back when needed—if she travels too deep in her search. And as his past behavior suggests, it makes sense for that anchor to be the Shadowsinger.

If you’re interested in comprehensive metas discussing Elain’s powers in the context of the crossover, check these out:

Shifting forms of fate: Elain’s connection to Urd and changing form/appearance

Elain’s murky realm: how her sight might work, using evidence from ACOTAR and connections to oracles and mystics in the multiverse (mostly CC)

The space between: what is it, where does it appear in the multiverse, and how might Elain and Azriel use it to travel

Mapping the mysteries of the sister peaks: a forbidden couple exploring forbidden secrets deep underground

[mojang-officialer]

What mob would do the best job of opening a coconut im asking for friend

so i thought about this a little bit too much and made a list of which mobs could either open a coconut, possibly open a coconut, or could not open a coconut, containing every single mob that has ever been in the game.

details below the cut

first some rules.

i've left out all passive mobs that aren't interesting, because you don't need pages of me saying every fish can't break a coconut.

all mobs are considered to have spawned with default equipment, nothing chance-based like enchanted weapons or armor on zombies, as that would be unfair.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

- Villager/Wandering Trader/Illagers: All of these would be able to break open a coconut. Illagers are proof that villager-type bodies CAN uncross their arms, but simply choose not to. They are also capable of tool usage, and some villages spawn with stonecutters. However, this feels kind of cheap, so I'm putting them here, as it's not really a NATURAL ability to break the coconut so much as it is the tool's ability to break the coconut.

- Any fish: I appreciate the enthusiasm, but no.

PASSIVE MOBS

- Horse/Cow/Donkey/Other hooved mobs: POSSIBLY. While I do think a horse could potentially build up enough force to break a coconut by trampling it, as someone who knows horses IRL, I am also relatively confident that they would also break their leg while doing it, because horse leg bones are made out of paper and glass. Cows and other hooved mobs MIGHT be able to crack it but I doubt they'd be able to build enough force.

- Baby Piglin: POSSIBLY. Babies do not use tools, but gold tools would probably be too soft to break open a coconut anyways. That said, those tusks are pretty strong, and while I'm not sure if a baby could use them to open a coconut, I'm going to say that baby piglins cannot.

- Turtle: A snapping turtle IRL definitely COULD break a coconut. Unfortunately the turtles in Minecraft are sea turtles, which do not have jaws as powerful as the snapping turtle.

NEUTRAL MOBS

- Bee: What's it gonna do, sting it open?

- Cave Spider/Spider: Technically neutral during the daytime. Sadly not able to open a coconut as a spider's mandibles, while effective at eating small insects, are completely useless for cracking open something armored like a coconut.

- Dolphin: This is in the neutral mobs section on the wiki for some reason. Sadly, no. Their jaws can eat fish but that's about it.

- Enderman: This one is interesting. An Enderman hits relatively hard, considering its weak-looking arms, and they are able to carry whole blocks, unique among mobs, but they can only carry relatively light blocks, so that doesn't help them. Their teleportation is obviously useless here. Ultimately, I will say that YES, an Enderman can in fact break a coconut, but with one caveat- they have to be angry. The open jaw of an Enderman is like a nutcracker, and if that closes on a coconut, I am near-positive it would break.

- Goat: A goat's charge could definitely carry enough force to break open a coconut. HOWEVER, it would have to be against a wall, otherwise it would just be launched. So, I'll put goats down as 'POSSIBLY'.

- Iron Golem: An iron golem does damage primarily through gravity, by launching its targets into the air and dropping them. Unfortunately, coconuts are designed to survive long falls from atop coconut trees. Iron golems would not be able to open a coconut.

- Llama: While llama spit does a surprisingly high amount of damage, it is not enough to break a coconut.

- Piglin/Piglin Brute: A piglin would be able to open a coconut. Their gold tools are basically useless in this scenario, but their tusks are not.

- Panda: Pandas can only eat bamboo. They are too weak to eat anything else. So no.

- Polar Bear: Look me in the eyes and tell me a polar bear wouldn't be able to open a coconut. It's heavy, it has claws. One of the few mobs I have to say would ALWAYS be able to open a coconut.

- Wolf: Sadly, wolves are too small to be able to open a coconut. The same goes for all cats.

HOSTILE MOBS

Remember, the goal is to OPEN the coconut, not to destroy it in any other way.

- Blaze: If the coconut is ashes, it is no longer a coconut. It is also not open.

- Zombie/Husk/Drowned: Zombies have such weak hits that it takes a full crowd of them to kill an unarmored player. There is no way those arms would be able to hurt a coconut. This includes zombie villagers.

- Creeper: POSSIBLY. While the creeper's explosion MIGHT open the coconut, it also has equal odds to launch the coconut away or to vaporize it.

- Elder/normal Guardian: It does not have any method of physical attack, and the eye beam and psychic powers, while cool, will not help it open a coconut.

- Endermite: No.

- Evoker: While these do fall under the honorable mentions category from earlier, I felt it was worth mentioning that the metal jaws they summon from the ground are DEFINITELY enough to break a coconut, even without using tools.

- Ghast: Same issue as the creeper, but even less consistent due to their ranged method of attack.

- Hoglin: Hoglins do a COMICALLY large amount of damage. They also have enormous tusks. They would definitely be able to open a coconut, though babies might have a hard time with it.

- Magma Cube: Ashes are not a coconut.

- Phantom: Now, normally I would say that they could break a coconut, as they could pick up the coconut, fly up very high, and drop it from above. Unfortunately, phantoms do not have arms.

- Ravager: Yes. Have you SEEN those jaws?

- Shulker: It would take multiple shulkers to open a coconut, as they'd need to hit it continuously to re-apply levitation, until it was high enough for it to break when it falls. That said, it's possible for a single shulker to break a coconut, just not as consistent.

- Silverfish: A silverfish can bury through stone. They would be fine burying through a coconut. That said, I'm not certain if that counts as breaking it open, so I'll put them down as POSSIBLY, though of course it's open to interpretation.

- Skeleton: An arrow cannot break through a coconut when fired from a bow that small. A crossbow, maybe. But not the default Minecraft bow.

- Slime: Slimes are too bouncy. All the force would just launch the coconut away.

- Vex: A vex alone is too small to open a coconut.

- Witch: A potion of harming cannot break a coconut as it has no physical force.

- Wither Skeleton: Maybe. A stone sword could break open a coconut, but a skeleton can't hit with much force, and most of their damage comes from the wither status effect. Now, if that applied to a plant, it would probably rot the coconut. This is destruction, but it does not break the coconut open.

- Zoglin: Hoglins but even more forceful and evil. They would break a coconut.

BOSSES:

- Ender Dragon: The coconut would fall into the void from the knockback and disappear. Not open, technically. Dragon breath is not physical damage and as such would be useless.

- Wither: The coconut no longer exists.

UPCOMING:

- Warden: Those jaws on its chest are impressive, and the strength of its attacks are pretty strong, too (at least in its current, unfinished state). It would almost certainly be able to break open a coconut, but due to its blindness, would probably have a hard time finding it to begin with.

UNUSED/REMOVED:

- Giant: A giant cannot attack and as such would not be able to open a coconut, except maybe by accidentally stepping on it.

- Zombie horse: Same as horses, but more persistent. Also would break its leg.

- Killer Bunny: While those teeth are great at chewing through flesh, canon (Monty Python) shows it cannot chew through heavier armor or a human skeleton, and as such it would be useless against a coconut.

- Illusioner: Coconuts cannot see illusions because they cannot see.

- Pigman: Pigmen were never actually implemented. Only their textures were in the game, and as such they would not be able to break a coconut due to not having a physical form. The same applies to red dragons.

- Human: A 'human' would only do the amount of damage a player's fist would deal, so no dice there. Opening a coconut with your bare hands without using some kind of tool is impossible.

- Rana (& other humanoids): Rana and other removed early humanoid mobs could not open a coconut, as despite their less-blocky artstyle, they were incapable of holding any object.

...and that should be every mob that has ever been in the game.

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song i.

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher living with your best friend, and have never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire.

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader  genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, eventual smut, eventual angst, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, not really much to warn in this first chapter, there’s some flirting, oc doesn’t want to admit she finds seokjin dishy, she’s possibly in denial that there’s a spark there, jimin and soobin appear 🥰 words; 11,028 

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii  • ix • x • epilogue  (+ drabbles)

You hated being late. Not only did you pride yourself on your impeccable time management but sleeping through your alarm always threw you out of whack for the rest of the day. You blamed the annual student reports that had to be written. No matter how organised you were, every year they seemed to sneak up on you and disrupt your prompt 11pm bedtime. You’d been still awake past 1am last night, determined to give each student the report they deserved. The yearly parent-teacher meetings were tomorrow (Friday) and Monday evening; it was officially the end of the school year countdown, which was ironically the most difficult time of the year. 

No wonder your stress levels were so high lately. You felt like a ticking timebomb, wondering what on earth would set you off – because it was inevitable. This morning it could have been a number of things… Your inability to awake when your alarm went off, the fact your clothes were still slightly damp from insufficient drying time, your forgotten lunch still at home in the refrigerator, or now, your current predicament – you couldn’t find a space to park your car. 

You always got to work an hour early, that way you had enough time to get ready for the school day before the student’s turned up and the teacher’s parking lot was empty. You had your pick of spaces. Today however, with just fifteen minutes to spare before class began, you didn’t have much choice. The spot that required you to reverse in between two cars, or the one that was secluded but came with a price – the sun’s hotspot. 

You were stopped idly between the two, mentally making you decision while also damning this day to hell, when suddenly there was a thud and you jerked forwards, a gasp escaping your fallen mouth. Your hands had unconsciously clenched around the steering wheel so you ever so slowly eased up, straightening your back as you caught a look in the rear-view mirror. 

“Oh, my god.” You breathed quietly, reaction time delayed greatly. Shock probably. 

You watched as a black car – twice the size of yours and almost blindingly shiny – pulled away from the side of your vehicle, back into the space they’d just reversed out of. They’d hit you. You’d been hit. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. It wasn’t even 8am. 

There was a clunk of a car door and then a man in a suit came hurrying into view, as fast as he could manage, a look of pure horror on his face. Still on autopilot, you felt your hand reach for the handle of your door, pushing it open to find yourself getting out. 

“Are you okay?” The well-dressed man asked, panic evident in his voice. The very well-dressed man. His suit was a three-piece, black and white houndstooth. It looked expensive. Which just seemed to piss you off for some unexplainable reason. 

You were fine of course, dazed maybe, the blow hadn’t been that serious at all, but that was besides the point. This man, in his very obnoxious suit (even if it did hug his body in extremely cruel ways) had not been concentrating. He’d reversed straight into your poor little car that was no match for his hefty thing. Your shock was shifting. In its place grew anger. 

When you didn’t reply, than man carried on. “I am so sorry, Miss.” An annoying shrill sounded between you both. The cell phone in his hand. He ignored it – or at least tried to. “I really am. I was–” 

He stopped abruptly midsentence, letting out a huff. Whoever was calling him wasn’t relenting. He picked up, talking quickly, an air of authority to his voice that caught your attention. “Kim Seokjin, speaking. Please can I – I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to call you back. There’s been an emergency.” A pause as the person on the other end of the line spoke. They weren’t given much time. “Thank you for understanding. Goodbye.” 

The man – Kim Seokjin apparently – hung up, attention immediately back on you. “I’m just so sorry. Is there any damage?” He made his way over to the place he’d hit, just above your back wheel, crouching down, and grimaced. “Oh god.” 

You followed, coming face to face with the black scratches that now marred the white paint of your vehicle. It wasn’t so bad, he hadn’t sped out of the space, but something had definitely scraped the steel, and again, that was beside the point. He’d still reversed into your car. 

“The bike rack,” he muttered to himself. Your answer. He looked across at his car, brushing a hand through his hair. It stayed perfectly in place, pushed back above his forehead. He was a striking man, you’d give him that. Features made up of, what you could only describe as soft angles. Actually, thinking about it, he was pretty intimidatingly beautiful. That just made you angrier. How dare this stranger unnerve you with his good looks.  

“What happened?” You asked hotly. 

He looked up at you, taken back by your tone, but composed himself fairly quickly. “I-I was distracted for a moment, I didn’t realise–”

“Were you on your phone?”

“I’m sorry?” You looked down at the device still in his hand. On cue it started ringing again. He hit ignore straight away. “No, no. God, no.” He protested, shoving the phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He straightened up, head and shoulders above you. You crossed your arms and waited for his explanation, straining as tall as you could get. His cologne smelt amazing, you tried to ignore it. 

“I was – I was trying to get the handsfree to work in this damn car and last time I checked there was no one there.” He seemed flustered. A far cry from the authoritative figure he’d been on the phone call. “I wasn’t thinking, I just backed out –” He stopped, as if he suddenly realised something. “Why… Why were you on stop directly behind me?”

“Excuse me?” You instantly got defensive, hands waving about animatedly as you explained  “I wasn’t stopped, I was trying to find a space.” 

You hadn’t been aware there was someone occupying the vehicle. No one left the staff parking lot in the morning so there was never any worry about somebody reversing into you. This was all on him. He wasn’t going to try and turn it around on you. 

“I’m sorry, but do you even work here?” This school was small, he definitely wasn’t a teacher here, and you doubted he was a substitute. He was too well-dressed for a start. Who the hell was he?!

He looked momentarily confused. “Work here? No.” 

“Then why are you using the teacher’s parking lot?” Your arms were folded across your chest again. 

His eyes widened in horror, realisation setting in. “Oh no. I didn’t realise...” 

“It’s signposted.” His mistake seemed genuine, but that really wouldn’t cut it. Because of his mistake your car was now scratched. You’d have to contact your insurance company and god only knows if they would pay out seeing as the damage was really only cosmetic, and if they did, it would probably take an age. 

“It’s my first time dropping off my daughter at this school. I didn’t know where to go, and I was getting so many phone calls, I was just trying to…” He petered out, realising you probably didn’t care about his morning. So what? He was having a shitty one? So were you! 

“There’s no excuses for this.” He lowered his head in apology. “I’m truly sorry and I feel awful.” 

You found yourself softening. He did sound extremely genuine. You opened your mouth to reply, to accept his apology, but he spoke up again. “Let me sort this out. Money is no object. I can call my mechanic straight away and–”

“There’s no need,” you told him immediately, horror stricken. 

“It’s really no problem.” He insisted. “Come on, if we wait for our insurance companies to sort this out god knows how long it will take. No, I’ll phone the mechanic I use right now and they can come and pick your vehicle up. It’ll be fixed in no time. You won’t have to pay a thing.” 

“No, thank you.” Your anger was growing again. Irritation itching your face. Who did this man think he was? Money didn’t solve everything. Most people didn’t have that luxury. 

“No?” 

His bewilderment made you see red. “I don’t need your help or your money.” 

You could be very stubborn when you wanted to be. You’d been told so throughout your life; family, friends, exes… No, you’d just pay for the repairs yourself. You’d rather wake up late for an eternity than take his money. 

“But I did this.” 

He really wasn’t getting it. “It’s fine, just –” You were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone again. “You’re obviously very busy, just forget about it. It’s a few scratches.” You turned your back to him, glancing at your watch. You had just under two minutes to decide on a parking space and get to your classroom. 

“Wait,” he called out.

“Goodbye,” you called back, rounding the front of your car to dive back into the driver’s seat. 

“But – Argh!” You heard him let out a yell, his phone still shrilling loudly. He sounded frustrated when he answered. “Soobin, what is it?! Yes, I already told him I’m – What? He said they were…” 

He became inaudible as you slammed your door shut, using his distraction to drive off – straight into the easiest parking spot available… You guessed your poor car would have to turn into a damn sauna for today. 

.

.

After the morning you had you were thrown all out of whack. All day you didn’t know whether you were coming or going, your students seeming more hyper than usual and by 3pm you were ecstatic to see them leave. Your head was throbbing by the time half 4 rolled around, the final touches to your student reports complete at least. Not long after you trudged in the direction of your boiling hot car, stomach still queasy from the canteen slop you’d been forced to eat today and stress levels now barely manageable. Only one more day until the weekend, yet now you’d be forced to deal with finding an affordable mechanic with your free time. 

You were still in disbelief over today’s events. That frustratingly handsome stranger with the concentration levels of a two year old and more money than sense. You scoffed to yourself, how dare he try to flaunt his wealth around like that. What had his name been again? He’d said on the phone… You couldn’t remember, your temper had been too distracting…

Whelp. You were having second thoughts… Maybe you’d been too harsh earlier… You hadn’t been overly rude at all, but you had been quite curt. He did seem genuinely sorry after all, and maybe you’d misjudged what you guessed was an act of kindness. After all, you had been on stop behind him, and while he should’ve double checked before backing out, it wasn’t all on him. You were both to blame. You felt guilty for not thanking him for his apology. For your preconceived opinions on him. You didn’t even know the man and there you were making judgements – 

You stopped dead in your tracks as you got closer to where your car was parked, thoughts immediately interrupted. “What the –?”  

Stopped in front of it was small towing vehicle, Park Esteem written along the side in bold orange font. A man rounded the corner of the truck, a clipboard in his hand as he looked around, presumably for the owner of the car he seemed so eager to tow. You. He was looking for you. 

You jumped to action, breaking into a run. “Excuse me, Excuse me!” The guy with the clipboard looked up at the sound of your strained voice calling out. It was shrill as you came to a halt right in front of him, demanding an explanation. “What are you doing? Why are you towing my car?!”

“You’re the owner of this vehicle, Miss?” 

“Yes!” You exclaimed in disbelief. “What’s the problem?” 

He looked down at his notes, visibly confused by your reaction it seemed. “Uh, Mr. Kim has requested I pick up your vehicle and take it to be fixed for the damage he caused?”

Mr. Kim?! Who the hell was – wait. Kim Seokjin. His name came back to you instantly. He’d gone behind your back after you explicitly said you didn’t want or need his help. How dare he. And there you’d been feeling guilty for the way you’d treated him not two minutes previous. 

“He said to be here at 4pm as you should be finishing work around then…” The mechanic carried on, voice softening, as if he was about to bear bad news. “I’ve been here for thirty minutes, Miss. I’m afraid I’ll have to bill him for that separately. Time is money after all.” 

You checked your watch on autopilot. It was coming up to twenty to five. Shaking out of it, you straightened your shoulders, back to fighting mode for the second time today. “You can’t just take my car without my permission.”  

The man grimaced slightly. “Well see, he’s already paid for the towage, and Mr. Kim is a very valuable and trustworthy customer.” 

“Trustworthy?” You scoffed. “He’s stealing my car! I’m sorry but no, I refuse this…” You paused to think. “This service.” This was so absurd. Not only had this Mr. Kim totally disregarded your wishes, the towing of your car was incredibly over the top. The damage was cosmetic, everything was in fine working order. It didn’t need to be helped to the workshop. The thought of something so dramatic was infuriating. 

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss. Mr. Kim already paid for the towage upfront so I can’t actually do anything about it now…” 

You stared at the man, telling yourself to take deep breaths. It wasn’t his fault. He was just doing his job. “So I have to let you take my car?”

He gave you a gentle smile. “I’m afraid so…unless…” He hesitated. “Unless you pay for the reversal…” 

“And how much is this reversal?” Your arms were crossed for what felt like the hundredth time today. 

You nearly keeled over when you were told the price. Damn that arrogant handsome man. Damn him straight to hell. Kim Seokjin, you would never forget that name now. What a complete and utter d–

“I’m sorry for the confusion, Miss. I was under the impression you knew Mr. Kim.” The mechanic apologised. 

You found yourself softening. He had a gentle voice. A gentle face too. It was that conceited so-and-so you were mad at. You were glad you’d left the classroom late today, not many cars left in the parking lot which meant less chance of a co-worker seeing this embarrassment. 

“So, I’m going to need to take your details now.” He continued, holding his clipboard out, sounding hopeful that you’d calmed down. “Just so I can arrange drop off at your address tomorrow.” You nodded slowly, watching him stretch out a hand. “I’m Jimin, by the way. Park Jimin from Park Esteem Car Services.” 

You shook it, introducing yourself automatically. “I’m Y/N.” 

He gave you a dazzling smile. “Lovely name. How do you spell that?” 

Ten minutes later your poor car was hooked up to Jimin’s truck, ready to go, just as a sleek black car with tinted windows pulled up alongside you. Out rushed a tall young man. He looked a little frazzled as he straightened out his suit jacket but smiled your way. “Hello, are you the owner of this vehicle?” 

“Yes,” you replied rather woodenly. What fresh hell? 

He smiled wider, outstretching his hand. “Hi, lovely to meet you. I’m Mr. Kim’s personal assistant, Mr. Choi, but you can call me Soobin.” 

You completed your second handshake of the day – two too many and introduced yourself too.  Inside you had a million and one questions. It began with ‘Why was his personal assistant here?’ and ended with ‘When would this day finally be over?’ 

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” The young man – Soobin – apologised. “Things have been incredibly hectic at the office today. I’m so glad you’re still here.” 

Jimin appeared by the side of you then. “Hi, you work for Mr. Kim?” Soobin nodded, tilting his head in curiosity. “Well, there have been a few misunderstandings this afternoon. Mr. Kim said he knew the client but she really has no idea who he is. Other than he was the one who hit her car.” 

Soobin grew flustered, bumbling over his words. “Oh, well, um…” 

“It’s fine,” you shook you head, not wanting to put the poor boy in an awkward position. This Mr. Kim seemed to like passing the buck onto innocent people. 

Jimin nodded. “Maybe just let your boss know that next time he should probably inform the person whose car he’s having towed…” 

Soobin laughed then, making light of an awkward situation even if it was forced. “Sure, sure.” 

“Okay, well, nice meeting you,” Jimin turned to you. “I’ll have this done by tomorrow, shouldn’t take too long, there’s not much damage at all.” You had the sudden urge to apologise for wasting his time but you stayed quiet. “You said you’ll be home by 7pm?” You nodded. “Great. Someone will drop it off shortly after that.” He tapped the side of his truck and smiled. “Have a lovely rest of your day, Y/N.” 

“Thank you, and you.” You waved him off – waved your car off too as Jimin started to drive and it disappeared into the distance, then you turned your attention back to Soobin. What was he doing here? 

On cue, he began to explain. “So, Mr. Kim is giving you a temporary loan of one of his cars for the time being, as apology and, well, a gesture of good faith. He really is awfully sorry about this morning.” There was silence as you made sense of his words. “The tank is full, no need for any expense on your side.” 

You forced yourself to speak. “Wait, hang on, he’s loaning me his car?” 

“One of them, yes,” Soobin smiled. One of them. How many did this man have? “He really doesn’t use this one, so don’t feel like you’re an inconvenience, it’s really no bother at all.” He pulled the key fob out of his pocket and handed it to you with a kind but awkward smile. “Here.” 

“So… I’m just riding his car home?” You’d told Jimin you’d call your best friend to pick you up when he’d offered you a ride home. You could still very well do that, but refusing this young man just seemed plain mean. After all, he had driven here despite a busy schedule. You didn’t want to waste his time. Poor boy was just doing what he was told, this Mr. Kim’s dogsbody. 

“Yes,” Soobin nodded, looking a little confused now. As if he was wondering why you weren’t understanding what he was saying. “Oh, wait,” he suddenly remembered, pulling a piece of paper (cream wove) out of his breast pocket. “Here’s a contact number for him to arrange the pick-up of the vehicle tomorrow evening. It might be me, but it depends on my schedule.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, still a little dazed, looking down at the number. You folded the paper and dropped it into your purse, suddenly realising something. “Wait, how are you getting home?”

“Hm?” He wasn’t expecting that question. “Oh, subway probably.” 

You anger flared once again. “So this Mr. Kim instructs you to ride one of his cars to my place of work, loan it to me and then expects you to just walk to the subway station?” 

Soobin blinked slowly a couple of times, hearing the attitude in your voice. “Well, when you say it like that you make it seem…bad. Your tone...” He shrugged and then gave a small laugh that wrinkled his nose. “I’m happy to walk, you know, exercise, get that blood pumping…” He finished with a few nimble stretches just to emphasise, before looking comically aghast. “Sorry. Ignore my unprofessionalism.” 

You jerked your head towards the car. “Get in.” 

His mouth hung open in confusion. “What?”

“I’ll give you a ride home. Do you live far?” 

“Not too far, Miss.” 

He waited for you to get into the driver’s seat and then followed quickly, getting in beside you. He couldn’t have wanted to walk that much then... “Call me Y/N.” You told him with a kind smile. “I don’t like all this professionalism. Besides, I get called Miss all day, every day. It gets tiring after a while.” 

He nodded dutifully in reply, back straight. 

.

.

You were on pins driving all the way home, eager to drop Soobin home so you could let go of your composure. This car was way too nice for you. Why did this stranger trust you with it?! His car. He didn’t know you. You could be the worst driver in the world for all he knew. You weren’t, but you could be. 

After you’d pulled up in your driveway you stayed there for a few minutes, needing some silence, just to calm yourself down, because you knew soon enough you’d get bombarded with questions. Sooner than you thought actually, because there was your front door ripping open, your best friend and roomie, Soojung, rushing out. “What is going on?” She demanded as you pushed the car door open. “Taken up car theft in your spare time?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you sighed, already trudging to the house. 

She followed behind closely. “Um, you’re talking about it alright. You can’t just park up in a car worth more than both our salaries a year and expect me to not bat an eyelid.” 

You scoffed at her dramatics, hanging your purse over the coat rack. “It’s not worth that much.” 

“Y/N, I mean this with the least possible offence, but you know absolutely jack shit about cars.” You had no time for a comeback. “Now tell me where the hell did you get that car?!”

After the third degree from Soojung for over an hour, you managed to shut her up with an in depth description of your car thief (as you were now calling him), which included in no particular order: what he looked like, his estimated age, his outfit and how rich you thought he was. You insisted you were in no way bothered by any of these factors and you were only humouring her for some much needed peace and quiet. She spent the next ten minutes begging you to call him and put him on loudspeaker so she could hear his voice, but you outright refused. You were not calling him tonight, you couldn’t trust yourself not to raise your voice. It could wait for tomorrow, when your first round of parent-teacher meetings were over and you had your own car back in your driveway. Mr. Kim could wait for his, it was the least he could do after all the trouble he’d caused today. You bet he had another six cars anyway – one for each day of the week. 

Soojung made you both a late dinner and not long after that you crawled your way to bed, exhausted and not at all mentally ready for tomorrow. You did wake up ten minutes before your alarm though, which you chose to take as a good sign, remembered your lunch too, and you hated to admit it, but your loaned vehicle drove like a dream once you weren’t so scared of accidentally careening it off a cliff, or something equally as impossible. 

You day actually went by without a hitch. All the children were well-behaved, much more subdued than yesterday, but maybe that was because your stress levels had rapidly decreased with the positive signs from this morning. They had raised a little when Mrs. Jeon from third grade had enquired about the new car she’d seen you driving into school, but after giving her a very much condensed version of yesterday’s events you both had a little laugh together, where she then proceeded to joke around and tell you that you shouldn’t give the car back… or at least you thought she was joking… However, other than that, the school day breezed by. 

Better yet, all the parents scheduled for meetings today were on time, and despite the rush end of year reports brought, you genuinely did love the opportunity to talk with your students’ parents one on one. You’d been teaching the first grade at the same school for over seven years now and despite the ups and downs being a teacher brought, it really was the most rewarding and fulfilling job. Especially at a school like this. This place was like a home to you, all you had ever known, and your students meant the world to you. Each and every one. Class sizes were always small at Primrose Hill, and that always made your connection with the kids even greater. 

There was always a sadness in your heart when May rolled around, the school year nearly over and you had to get ready to bid goodbye to the children who’d been a part of your life for over nine months. Of course, come September you would greet a new class of students once again, but it was always so bittersweet… 

It was just gone half past six now and you were waiting on the last parent of the evening. 5/6 parents on time was still a success. Hopefully Monday you would see full marks. You were waiting on the father of your newest student, Kim Arin. She’d only been with you two months, and it was very unusual that a child joined you so late into the year. You didn’t know all the details, but it seemed that her parents were divorced and she’d recently moved to live with her dad. You liked Arin, she was a sweet little girl, quite timid at times, especially in the beginning, but that was to be expected of course. It was always nerve-wracking to start a new school. She’d gradually come out of her shell, made friends and she was incredibly gifted in storytelling for such a young age. In a few years, if she kept it up, who knew what she’d be creating. You couldn’t wait to tell her father that. You’d grown very fond of her very quickly and you would definitely miss her come September. 

“Come in,” you called, a knock on your classroom door breaking you from your thoughts. Your back was to the entryway, preoccupied with collecting Arin’s report and classwork on your desk, so you didn’t see who entered, although presumably it was her father. 

“Oh, hello again.” 

You froze at the sound of the voice. That voice. Why was it so familiar? Why did it get your hackles up? As if you needed to prepare for a fight– Oh.

You turned abruptly, eyes wide as you came face to face with the car thief. What on earth was he doing here? Had he come to collect his car?! Maybe you should’ve rung him last night, but it seemed a little unbelievable that he was chasing this up so keenly. You weren’t the thief in question. He was. How insane was it to track you down like this. Who had given him your name? Who had told him what class you would be in? Surely it was forbidden? 

“If this is about the car business, we’ll have to sort it out later on, I’m expecting a parent of a student any minute now.” Straightening your back you held eye contact. He was very amused, eyes twinkling as he smiled at you, cheeks rounded. It made you feel slightly unnerved, but by damn had you forgotten how infuriatingly handsome that face of his was. Jerk. 

He held up his hand slightly and laughed. “I’m the parent in question.” 

“What?” 

You stood there limply like an idiot, blinking slowly as you tried to mentally put the pieces together. Kim Arin. Mr. Kim. Kim Seokjin, the arrogant, money can solve everything so-and-so was Arin’s father? Great. Absolutely gr–

“You’re Miss. Y/L/N?” 

“You’re Arin’s father?” It was obvious by now, but maybe there was that 0.001% chance he’d gotten the wrong classroom. Maybe. 

“Such a small world,” he grinned, all hope lost. He held out his hand for you to shake. “It’s nice to officially meet you.” 

There was a teasing to his tone, it got you pissed again, but you had to take it. You were in a professional setting now, you were his daughter’s teacher. His hand was warm, soft, grip gentle. Maybe you squeezed too hard, maybe he didn’t notice. “Please take a seat, I won’t be a minute.” 

Your tone was clipped, unable to sound at all breezy like you had with the other parents, and you turned back to your desk, rifling through more papers even though you had everything you needed. In all honesty, you just needed some thinking time. Get through this twenty minute meeting, you told yourself. Pretend like he wasn’t the man who hit your car and then got it towed a few hours later. You could do it. 

You felt him take the seat behind you, amusement still strong as he asked you a question. “So, are we just going to pretend yesterday didn’t happen?”

You collected Arin’s work and rounded your desk, taking a seat directly in front of him, careful to keep your expression neutral. “Right now’s not the time to discuss personal matters. Let’s just wait until this is over.” Twenty minutes and then he’d have it. He wouldn’t be smirking then. 

Although surprisingly, immediately after you said that he grew serious, nodding his head in agreement. “Of course. My apologies. Sorry I was late, by the way, I couldn’t escape the office.”

Taken back by his sudden change in demeanour you shook your head. “It’s fine.” You weren’t expecting it to be so easy, but he listened. 

“So,” he prompted when you didn’t follow up with anything. “Should we get started?”

You jolted, unaware you’d been lost in thought and silently cursed yourself. He was going to think an idiot was in charge of teaching his daughter. Not that it mattered what he thought, but still, you needed to snap out of it. He was here to talk about Arin and as her teacher you had plenty to say. 

Seokjin was highly focused throughout the whole meeting, taking on bored everything you had to say with earnest. He wanted to know how his daughter was getting on at her new school and was interested in all the work she had completed in the short amount of time she’d been here. He didn’t have to, but he gave you a small explanation about why she’d had to switch schools so late into the year, and even though you already knew it was because she’d moved to live with him, you stayed silent, letting him carry on. He sounded so genuine, so worried about what the move could’ve done to Arin’s education and mental health that it ended up touching you. It was visibly obvious how much he loved and cared for his daughter and that was refreshing to see. A lot of the time it was the mothers who attended these parent-teaching meetings, you rarely had the chance to speak to the dads, so you did relish in this opportunity, discussing Arin’s talent in creative writing in depth, showing Seokjin the collection of short stories she’d written, and giving him tips when he asked on ways she could improve. 

That would come with age, you said, but there was one small thing she may want to stop now rather than later. Her most recent story, a beautiful and creative fantasy piece that she unfortunately ended with the ‘it was all a dream’ trope. 

“What’s wrong with that?” Seokjin asked. You instantly sensed that his defensive was up. It made you smile as you gave a slight shrug. 

“Nothing per se, it can just be a little cliché. There’s much better ways to end a story.”

“Sure, but she’s only 6. It can’t be that serious?” 

Your smile grew. “I understand that, Mr. Kim. Like I said, Arin is truly gifted for her age, it was just a pointer that you asked for.” You wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise, but he seemed thoroughly into this discussion now. 

He tilted his head in thought. “What if it was the legitimate ending of a story? There’s obviously famous novels with such conclusions.”

Amused, you mimicked him. “For instance?”

“Hm?”

That caught him off guard. “What novels? Name me some.” 

His eyes grew comically wide at your request, and just as you suspected, he couldn’t answer. He chuckled, looking a little embarrassed. Was that a little colour on his cheeks? “You’ve put me on the spot.” 

You were both so engrossed discussing Arin that the time seemed to fly by. It was near to 7pm by the time you wrapped things up, and you’d enjoyed yourself so much you almost forgot you’d made a deal with yourself to start chewing Seokjin out the moment it was all over. He ever so kindly reminded you. 

“You know, I was expecting a very angry phone call last night. I was quite surprised when it never came.”

Both of you were now stood up, your desk still between you. Seokjin held copies of Arin’s stories that you’d given him to read over in his free time and you with nothing to fiddle with, folded your arms across your chest. Ah, here we go again. The playful lilt to his voice back from earlier, that infuriating smirk too. 

He was dressed in a much less flashy suit today. A simple slate grey two piece, his dark hair styled against his forehead, the smallest peek of forehead visible. It made him appear younger – not that he looked old anyway. Your guessing was mid 30s maybe, but this hairstyle made him appear softer. The faintest of lines around his eyes provided the slightest of giveaways, but then again, you only noticed them because you were searching for any clue to his age. His hair was still thick and dark and it definitely didn’t look like he dyed it. His body was… hm, he was built well. He certainly seemed to look after it. Not that you were looking, of course. 

You could definitely see the resemblance between him and Arin. Their eyes were the same almond shape, both deep brown in colour, and while their noses were slightly different, Arin’s cheeks obviously rounder, their plump lips were uncanny. 

Despite very much in thought, you kept your expression unreadable, nose in the air as you replied. “Perhaps I was too mad for words.”

He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. If they were natural, life was incredibly unfair. “And now?”

“It would be unprofessional of me to start yelling at my place of work.” 

“You want to yell at me?” His eyes twinkled with silent laughter. It was obvious he was holding it in. 

You were glad he found this funny because you didn’t. No matter how much he’d impressed you as a father it still didn’t change yesterday. “You had no right just stealing my car like that.” 

He scoffed. “It was hardly stealing. Who steals a car to pay for the damage he caused?”

“I didn’t want you to pay!” 

He still looked baffled by your stubbornness. “That’s just absurd.”  

“You’re calling me absurd?”

He sighed. “Of course not.” He was getting flustered now, similar to yesterday. It was funny to watch. “I just…” He trailed off, catching the grin on your face. “You’re enjoying this.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I love a complete stranger backing out into my car to then subsequently steal it from right under my nose.” 

He eyed you hesitantly. You knew he couldn’t tell if you were joking around or not. Your words and posture said no, but your eyes and lips gave it away eventually. “We’re still on this stealing business?” He paused, lips quirking. “Besides, I’m not a stranger. I’m your favourite student’s father.” 

You laughed in disbelief. This man was so full of himself. “I’m a teacher, I don’t do favouritism.”

“Oh?” He seemed sceptical. 

You shook your head, he really was unbelievable, but you couldn’t stop the smile that creeped its way to your mouth. “If that’s all, Mr. Kim.” You pointed to the door. It was getting late now, your car should be getting dropped off soon too. 

He chuckled as he started to make his exit, you following closely behind. When he stopped abruptly, turning back, you weren’t expecting him to be so close. You could notice the beginnings of stubble growing above his top lip, a sure sign you were in too close a proximity.

“She likes you a lot.” He murmured, serious once again. You wished he’d stop doing that. Was he an obnoxious rich jerk, or a caring, hardworking father? You would have gone with the former right before this meeting, now you had no clue. Maybe you’d gotten him all wrong. That would teach you for judging a book by its cover… 

“Arin,” he added, as if it wasn’t obvious. “She’s always speaking about you when I ask how her day went. You’re her favourite ever teacher.” He grinned then, laughing, amused by himself. 

You groaned. “Stop trying to guilt me.” He laughed harder, throwing his head back. Was all that true? Arin talked about you? You were her favourite teacher? Or was he just making it up for reaction? You didn’t ask. 

“Although, I will say it’s nice to put a face to the name now.” Maybe you didn’t need to ask. “Just wasn’t expecting it to be the woman whose car I drove into yesterday morning…”

No, neither were you. 

“I really am sorry about that.” 

He sounded nothing but sincere, you couldn’t not accept his apology, despite being still annoyed by what he had done afterwards. “You keep saying.” You gave an accepting sweep of your hand. “Let’s just forget about it, accidents happen, right?” 

“Right.” He gave a quick nod of his head, followed by a shrug. “…aand I guess you were parked behind me so…” 

You opened your mouth to refute such a claim but his laughter was so loud, so unlike his outer appearance, if that made any sense, (all high-pitched and squeaky almost), you were dazed for a moment, couldn’t help but join him – quietly so, but it was something. This man obviously thought he was hilarious. 

He opened the door, hand resting on the handle as he spoke again. At this rate the janitor would appear for his shift and you’d still be here talking to Seokjin. “Listen, I can’t find anyone to pick up my car tonight so how about tomorrow? Is that okay for you? You can give me a call in the morning and we’ll arrange a time suitable.” 

Oh yes, you’d forgotten all about that. Too distracted. By what? Him? “It’s fine. I can drop it off myself tomorrow.” 

He raised that perfect eyebrow again. “You can?”

You gave him an affirmative hum. Why was that so surprising to him? 

“How will you get home?”

Shoot. “Subway,” you thought quickly. 

“Are you sure?” He looked even more surprised, was about to suggest something else it seemed, until you spoke again. 

“Saves that kid wasting his weekend.” 

“Kid?” 

“Soobin.” No doubt he’d be the one to pick the vehicle up, being Seokjin’s personal assistant after all. You needed one of those. They could mark the children’s homework and plan your lessons…

“Oh. He really wouldn’t mind,” Seokjin reassured. 

“Really?” It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. Both of them actually, but they weren’t as devastatingly shaped as his. That reminded you, you needed to get them threaded again soon. “Poor boy was about to trek to the station yesterday before I offered him a ride.”

“You took him home? He didn’t tell me that.” Seokjin sounded surprised. 

“I wasn’t going to let him walk after he went to all that trouble for me.” 

He nodded in understanding. “You’re very kind.” 

You felt a little panicky, unable to read his reaction very well. “He won’t get into trouble?” You couldn’t see why he would, but you never know. 

“No,” Seokjin laughed. “Is that what you think of me?”

You shook your head. “Of course not, I was just…” You stopped, unsure what to say.

“I wonder what you do think of me,” he pondered, voice low, lips curled. 

“I don’t think it really matters what I think of you.” You replied cryptically. 

He liked that, chuckling softly. “Can’t a guy be curious?” You remained tight lipped. “My employees love working for me, for your information.” He added. Maybe as damage control, who knew. 

You rolled your eyes for the second time this evening. “You’re very full of yourself, Mr. Kim.” 

“Please, call me Seokjin,” he requested. 

You nodded, but you still didn’t think you were at that type of pleasantry yet. You could think of him as Seokjin but to say it aloud felt wrong almost, you didn’t know him. Thinking about it, it wouldn’t really matter come tomorrow anyway.

You watched him pull out a small notebook and an expensive looking pen from his inner jacket pocket, holding the copies of Arin’s stories under his arm as he used the door for support to write his address down for you. Ripping out the page perfectly, he passed it to you with a smile. “Drop the car off around 3pm. I should be long done at the office by then.” 

He was working on the weekend? He certainly was a busy man. Who looked after Arin while he wasn’t there? These curiosities you had couldn’t very well be asked, not unless you wanted to appear nosey and overstep the mark… 

“Okay,” you replied. “Then we arrange repayment.”

“Repayment?” He looked bewildered. “You’re not paying me back.” 

“I am.” 

“You’re not.” His tone was stern. You could be sterner, you were sure of it. 

“I am.” You insisted, staring him down. “The mechanic informed me yesterday that you’d be charged separately because he had to wait an extra half hour.” 

“Oh, that.” He shook a hand. “I knew that might happen because I was uncertain when you finished work. It’s really no bother.” 

No bother? Was this man adamant to hear you raise your voice? “I’m paying you back.” 

He feigned confusion, teasing you. “I don’t think you are.” 

“I – Look, we’ll sort this out tomorrow.” You’d be here arguing until Monday otherwise. 

He scoffed. “There’s nothing to sort out.” 

You shot him glare. It was a warning. Tomorrow you’d let him have a piece of your mind if he continued to refuse. You didn’t think he took it seriously. 

.

.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t just sit here and I say he wasn’t flirting with you.” 

“He wasn’t.” You were adamant. Soojung had made you relay your whole conversation with Seokjin as soon as you’d let slip this evening’s revelation. You were regretting it now. You were trapped on this couch forced to listen to her insane claims. There was no way in hell that man had been flirting with you. 

“You were definitely flirting back.” 

You felt yourself flush, voice raising as you insisted that she was wrong. “As if.” She shot you a look that told you she didn’t believe a word. “He’s rich and arrogant.” 

She laughed. “You say rich as if it’s a bad thing.” 

It wasn’t a bad thing, it just wasn’t your thing, but if rich made him smug and think he could throw his money around when you’d explicitly stated you didn’t want him too, then yes, it was a bad thing. 

“I wonder how loaded he really is…” Soojung thought aloud. “Millionaire status? He didn’t say where he worked?” 

“Didn’t come up,” you replied shortly. You were done talking about him now. In your eyes it was nearly over. Your car was back in its rightful place on your driveway and Seokjin’s would soon follow in its rightful place – surrounded by a handful of others. You would never have to see that frustrating man ever again – hopefully. 

“Find out tomorrow.” 

“I am not finding out tomorrow,” you exclaimed. It wasn’t important. He worked in an office, nothing out of this world amazing. “I’m just going to drop off his car, write out a cheque and be on my merry little way.” 

Soojung snorted. “Bitch, you’re going to be repaying him back a dollar a week.” You glared at her but she wasn’t fazed. “There’s no way you can afford it. He probably uses the most expensive mechanic in the city.” 

“Shut up.” You didn’t care if you had to use your savings account. He was getting his money back one way or the other. You refused to be indebted to him. You were a little nervous though… “It can’t be that much. He only had to repaint some scratches,” you worried.

Your best friend ignored you, nestling in closer, an overjoyed grin on her face. “Tell me again, is he dishy?”

You sighed – loudly. Why couldn’t she let the topic drop? “I’ve already described him to you, and besides, that’s not the point.” 

She wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. “So that’s a yes then. You’re into the Dilf!” 

You didn’t bother replying, instead choosing to throw a cushion at her. She was unbelievable. But why did her teasing annoy you so much right now? 

Saturday and Sunday’s always allowed you to sleep in, although 8am probably wasn’t what most called late. You liked to make the most of your weekends and today was no different. After breakfast you showered and got ready, putting aside an hour to go over the student reports for Monday instead of wasting your Sunday night instead. You and Soojung had made plans to go out for coffee late morning as it was rare to see her free on a Saturday. She worked hectic and last minute hours as a department store manager, but she’d finally bargained her first full weekend off in months. 

Somehow your coffee turned into a little bit of a shopping spree, your credit card violently cursing you, but after the past few days you’d had you couldn’t find it in you to give a damn. You ate a late lunch at a one of your favourite cafés and then sadly, it was time to rush home and drop off Seokjin’s car back to him. You were very much dreading it – happy it would soon be over, don’t get you wrong, it was just the thought was making you all fidgety and nervous. Soojung wasn’t making it any better, she wouldn’t shut up about it, trying her best to get you give his address up. As if. You knew better than that. She’d be straight on her phone, google maps up in an instant. 

You said a begrudging goodbye to her half 2, promising you’d call her straight away with all the details once you were done. She was spending the night at her boyfriend Taehyung’s house tonight but that still wouldn’t stop her innate need for gossip. Your phone acted as GPS on the way to Seokjin’s house, having no idea how to use the fancy one in his car. Not that any of it helped. His house seemed impossible to find. It did not take the predicted twenty minutes your phone told you. No, it was near forty by the time you finally found the concealed long road you’d driven past three times that led to it. 

You came to a stop outside a pair of intimidatingly large gates and nearly choked when you saw his house. Well, you couldn’t really call it that. It was a mansion. Eight times the size of the house you and Soojung rented together, maybe more. He really was loaded. You just hadn’t realised how loaded until now. You felt a little sick as you spotted the intercom system on the wall, wondering if you could just ditch the car here and run as fast as your legs could carry you. Why had you not just let Seokjin arrange someone to pick it up from your house? Why were you always so stubborn?! 

Taking a deep breath you got out of the vehicle and walked over to the intercom, feeling partial relief to find it didn’t have a camera attached. You would absolutely die of shame otherwise, hopelessly unphotogenic and camera shy. Your teacher’s ID card would forever haunt you. 

It rang for a few moments before a woman picked up. “Hello, may I ask who it is?”

You weren’t expecting the female voice so you were stumped for a moment, stumbling over your words before you managed to settle on something helpful. “Hi, yes, this is Arin’s teacher, Miss. Y/L/N. I’m here to return the car Mr. Kim loaned me…” 

“Hello, love” the woman greeted sweetly. “Drive up to the front of the house. I won’t be a moment.”

“Okay.” You were thankful she hung up first because you let out a shriek when the gates started automatically opening. You dreaded to think if there were security cameras near. 

With a delay you got back into the car and started it up again, thoughts a little preoccupied now that it wasn’t Seokjin who’d picked up. You’d taken it he lived alone, not that he’d told you that. Maybe he had a new girlfriend, you were unsure how long he’d been divorced for. Although you didn’t recall Arin mentioning a woman’s name when she talked about her father. Not that you’d like to admit it, but you’d spent a generous portion of time last night while you waited for sleep trying to recall times when Arin had mentioned Seokjin. You didn’t know why, curiosity you guessed. 

But anyway, if Seokjin in fact did have a new partner, then you also guessed Soojung’s theory was incorrect. He had not been flirting with you. Which wasn’t a surprise. It had been a long time since a guy had flirted with you… You were probably to blame there, but it didn’t particularly bother you. Your life was busy enough as it was, throw in a man and you’d hit your breaking point. 

The woman who’d answered the call was waiting for you outside as you pulled up, older than her voice had made her seem. You stopped the car and got out, greeting her. 

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Arin’s Nanny, Misook.” 

Oh. That made sense. You guessed your imagination had run wild with you for a few unexplainable moments. You felt almost embarrassed as you stood there awkwardly. Was she going to take the keys? Could you leave? 

“Please come in.” She smiled kindly. “Seokjin won’t be long, he’s just showering, work ran late.”

Come in?! Oh no, no, no. That wasn’t part of the plan. It was drop the keys and run. However, like a fool, you were unable to say no, looking behind you at Seokjin’s vehicle. “Is the car okay here?”

“Of course,” she nodded. “He’ll place it in the garage later. Follow me.” She turned her back and started making her way inside. 

You followed with heavy feet, not quite ready for this. Your first three encounters/dealings with Seokjin had been interesting to say the least. How would the fourth go? You felt a little rude entering your way inside his house (mansion) but Misook wouldn’t have invited you inside if it wasn’t okay, right? Maybe Seokjin wanted you here… 

“Make yourself comfortable while you wait.” Misook said once you’d taken off your pumps and she’d led you to the room nearest the entryway. The living room? The lounge? The family room? You didn’t know what else to call it, descriptions too basic for this grand home. 

Not that the décor and furniture were too elaborate. In fact, everything looked so homely and cosy inside. The couch was definitely leather but the throw draped over it and the cushions out of place made it look lived in. The colour scheme was minimalistic, walls cream, accents mostly teal blue and grey. Seokjin had style, or perhaps he’d hired an interior designer. You suddenly wondered what the rest of his home looked like. 

“Do you want anything to drink? Anything to eat? I’m just making Arin a snack.” Misook offered, but you immediately shook your head, not wanting to put her out. 

“Oh, no thank you. I ate before I left.” 

She nodded and left the room, leaving you to your own devices in a stranger’s house. The stranger who had hit your car and then proceeded to steal it from right under your nose. The stranger who had let you borrow his car and the stranger who was Arin’s dad. The world worked in mysterious ways. Or it was just mere coincidence, whatever. 

You perched yourself on the end of the teal love seat nearest the large bay window, fluffing up the cushion behind you to at least look a little comfortable. You looked around the room casually, spotting a hardback book on the coffee table – The Rough Guide to the 100 Best Places on Earth. Did Seokjin like to travel? With a seemingly busy lifestyle and a child it seemed pretty impossible. Maybe he just liked to dream? Maybe he’d travelled in his younger days? Wait, why were you thinking about these things? You looked over to the impressive brick fireplace, the obvious focal point of the room; it was stunning. A chunk of waxed driftwood sat above it, acting as a shelf and in the middle of it was a photo of Arin and Seokjin in a silver frame. Both their faces filled the image, grinning widely and they really did look so alike. You found yourself smiling, jumping a little when you heard your name. 

“Miss. Y/L/N!”

You followed the tiny excited voice, finding Arin in the doorway smiling shyly at you. She gave you a little wave. 

“Hi, Arin,” you greeted. 

That was all she needed to skip inside, sitting on the end of the couch closest to you. “Daddy told me you were coming today.” Well, at least she wasn’t surprised to find you in her living room. “He told me what he did. Silly daddy.” 

You let out a polite laugh. “It’s okay, accidents happen, huh?” You couldn’t very well say your daddy was an idiot, could you? “How are you today, Arin?” You asked, changing the subject, finding yourself in teacher mode instantly. “Do you have any plans?” 

“I’m okay,” she let out a comical sigh. “Daddy is taking me bowling.”

“That sounds like fun. Why are you sighing?” 

“I was supposed to see my mom but she was too busy…” She answered rather dejectedly. 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” You tried to think of something to say to reassure that little sad face of hers. “I’m sure she’s just as disappointed.” 

Arin gave a little shrug. “She’s always busy.” 

In the two months you’d been her teacher you’d never seen her mood like this. Yes, for her first week in class she’d been quiet, but that was because of nerves, today she looked deflated. You found yourself struggling for something to say, which was unlike you, especially with all your training. It was your job to reassure children after all. 

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” 

Your head jerked up at the sound of Seokjin’s voice. There he was in the doorway, smiling your way. There was something different about him. What was it? Oh – his clothing. You noticed eventually. He was dressed incredibly casual today – normal. A beige coloured sweater and dark blue jeans. His hair wasn’t styled, flat to his forehead and still partly wet, his skin flushed from the heat of the shower.  You still couldn’t place his age. You were sure he was older than you, but by how much was difficult to say. 

“Mr. Kim, hi,” you greeted, standing up for some reason. You still couldn’t bring yourself to call him Seokjin unless it was in your own head. 

He walked towards you, in slippers. You didn’t know why but the thought was so bizarre. You were being ridiculous. Of course he wore slippers, why wouldn’t he? 

“Daddyyy,” Arin sung, running towards him and hugging his legs. She looked up at him, asking sweetly, “Are we ready to go?”

He chuckled, rubbing her hair. “Soon, sweetie. Go and find Misook in the kitchen so you can have your snack before we leave.” 

She looked at him coyly. “Can we have pizza later?”

He laughed again and gave a small shrug. “Sure. As a weekend treat.” 

You watched on, not realising there was a smile on you face. They were cute together. You noticed Arin peeking at you, then she looked up at her father again. “Is Miss Y/L/N coming too?”

Seokjin had the brazenness to look across at you, raising his eyebrows expectantly, as if it was your call. Was he insane? Not only was it implausible, it was downright unprofessional. You were Arin’s teacher. Yes, for just a few more weeks, but this interaction was already out of your comfort zone. 

“Uh,” you started, feeling awkward. “No, sorry, Arin. I, um, I have plans today.” 

You didn’t want to let her down, but luckily she didn’t seem to mind, giving you a roll of her shoulders and a cute smile. “Okay. See on you on Monday, Miss.” And off she skipped, out the door and to where you presumed was the direction of the kitchen. 

“Sorry about that,” Seokjin chuckled, stepping closer, as if he hadn’t pretty much invited you himself. What if you’d said yes? He’d have been okay with that? 

You felt yourself begin to heat up at the close proximity. You had no idea why he made you feel like this, especially now. You’d handled it so well yesterday, but then again, maybe that was because there’d been a desk separating you. In a professional setting. Right now you were out of your comfort zone, out of your depth. In his home, in his living room, a mere few inches between you both. Why did you find it so intimidating? Why did you find him so intimidating?!

That face… That face with that infuriating smile, and those eyes that seemed to twinkle with amusement, as if there was a joke you weren’t aware of. Multiple jokes. What did he find so funny? Was it you? You felt instantly defensive. He probably used those good looks to unease people, to make them do as he wanted. Not you. 

You took a step back, your legs brushing the love seat behind you, and reached for your purse, pulling out your cheque book. “So,” you began, hating the way your voice faintly shook. “Let’s settle. How much do I owe you?” 

His smile instantly disappeared as he rolled his eyes slightly. You caught them and it made you want to fight. “You’re still on this.” 

“Yes, I am,” you bristled “They washed my car too.” 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groaned. “It was part of the service.”

“Just tell me how much I owe you.” You were adamant. 

“No.” So was he. 

“Mr. Kim.” 

“Seokjin,” he corrected, a small smug smile on his face. 

“Tell me!” 

He brought a hand to his temple, tapping the skin with his fingers as he let out a grunt. “You know what, I can’t seem to remember. It’s been a busy week, memory’s a little fuzzy.” The grin on his face told he was messing with you. 

What an exasperating bastard. You didn’t swear often, but he’d just driven you to it. Any more and it was out loud. Maybe your face gave something away because he soon changed his tune, falling serious, like he could so magically do sometimes. “Look, it was my fault, so I paid.” 

You wanted to scream. “What if I had an accident in your car? Would I have to pay the damage?” 

Instantly he looked worried, those perfect eyebrows furrowing in alarm. “Have you? Are you okay?” 

It looked like he was about to reach out a hand to comfort you, and you panicked, rushing into explanation, taken back by his concern. “No, I’m fine. I-I was just being hypothetical.” He looked confused. “By your logic, I would have to pay, right?” 

“My logic,” he mused, chuckling softly. “I’m just doing the correct thing. But yes, I suppose you’d have to pay.” He gave a shrug, that annoying smile back on his face. “Good thing there were no accidents then.” 

He was probably right. You weren’t that angry to prove a point. You’d probably have to take a lifetime loan to pay the damage off. You felt defeated. What more could you do? Write out a cheque for a guesstimated amount? Imagine the humiliation if you totally undervalued it. No, maybe you should just let it go. Bite your tongue and take this “gift” from a stranger. He had backed out into your car after all, regardless if you were hovering there, he just hadn’t been paying attention. He felt a guilt, a need to repair the damage caused so you’d just let him, even if it went against everything you believed in – your morals. He could obviously afford it and never miss the money. 

So you let him win this one, let him walk you to the door before you were late for those important plans that may or may not involve being sat in front of the television all evening watching sitcom reruns on the comedy channel. (He didn’t know that of course.) 

“Alice in Wonderland,” he said suddenly, just as you were coming to a halt by the grand wooden door. You turned to see him grinning and looked at him questioningly. What on earth was he on about? “A famous novel that uses that ‘it was all a dream’ trope you hate.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “I think someone may have been on google last night.”  

He held up his hands. “Guilty as charged.” 

You let yourself laugh, genuinely amused. You weren’t so nervy now, as comfortable in his presence as you were going to get. “Goodbye, Mr. Kim.” 

He tutted. “If you call me that one more time I’ll be forced to take that cheque from you.”

Really? Interesting… “Mr –

“I take it back,” he interrupted quickly, realising his mistake. “But please, call me Seokjin. I get called too many formalities within the week, I hate it.” 

You had to agree with that, you knew that feeling all too well. “Fine,” you gave in. “Goodbye, Seokjin.” There, you’d bitten the bullet. Calling him by his name aloud made you feel funny. “Thank you for… everything.” 

He mulled over your gratitude, seemingly satisfied. “I’ll take that.” You ignored him and turned to leave. He stopped you, his hand touching your elbow and warmth spread throughout your body instantly. “Are you really taking the subway home?”

You nodded. 

He looked dubious. “The nearest station is quite a walk from here.”

“How far?” Now you were too. 

“Let me give you a ride there.” He offered. “I’m taking Arin downtown anyway. Her plans with her mom got changed last minute so I’m trying to cheer her up.” At the mention of his ex-wife  his voice became tense, his expression darkening for a moment before he shook himself out of it, a smile back on his face. “So, what do you say?” 

“Okay.” You agreed, smiling back. “You can drop me off.” In all honesty, you had no clue where you were going anyway, this part of the city unfamiliar to you. That, and your cell phone had only 20% battery life left after the palaver of trying to get yourself here. Driving you to the station wasn’t going to put him out so it was fine. 

“Great. Oh, by the way,” he slipped in, as if he’d suddenly remembered something. Or maybe he was just trying to sound casual. “Are you ever going to tell me your name or do I have to live in mystery for the rest of my life?” 

You grew surprised. Of course, he didn’t know your name. You’d never told him. Maybe subconsciously you’d imagined Soobin would’ve relayed that piece of information back to him, or maybe, and most likely, you’d never actually thought about it at all. No wonder you hadn’t realised. You felt almost rude. 

“It’s only fair,” Seokjin said, mistaking your silence as indecision. “You know mine, and I can’t keep referring to you as Miss. Y/L/N. It’s a bit strange, don’t you think?” 

That was interesting. When was he planning to refer to you again at all? Not that you needed to be persuaded. But you were being polite, that’s what you told yourself. You knew his name so like he’d said, it was only fair. There was no other reason, and of course the idea of him being curious about your name made you feel nothing whatsoever. Okay? 

You gave him a quick smile, feeling a little coy for some reason. “It’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N,” he repeated, murmuring it softly as the mystery unveiled itself. 

That was dangerous. Hearing the syllables roll from his tongue so gently sent a rush of heat through your body. It settled on your face, tingling, and you prayed it wasn’t visible. 

What the hell was wrong with you?! 

Written 2020 - 2021.  Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[tpwkay]

Medicine (h.s.)

You’re finally given permission to cover the song you’ve wanted to perform for years and a special surprise during your performance sweeps you off of your feet.

Word count: 11.5k

Rating/warnings: NSFW - A lot of this is plot but there is smut as well. Contains explicit language and consensual sex acts between a man and woman. This is a story written in the 2nd person (“self insert"). This isn’t written to be exclusionary, it’s just my preferred style! Author’s note can be found at the end!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for coming out tonight to listen to me and the band. We've got a couple more songs coming up for you but I just wanted to take a minute to tell y'all how much we appreciate you." You gesture to yourself and the band behind you as the lights on stage come up a bit. "We wouldn't be where we are without your support. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!"

The crowd cheers and you can't help but experience an insurmountable feeling of joy. It never gets old. You'd been in the spotlight for a few years now, already at the end of touring your second album, though the size and scope of venues this time around was much, much larger. There was nothing that compared to being able to sing your own songs and have a crowd of thousands scream them right back at you.

Being an up-and-coming singer and songwriter in the genre of country music hadn't been easy. Girls your type had been a dime a dozen, hoards of Taylor Swift-wannabes covering "Teardrops on My Guitar" during open mic night. You held nothing against them; there was a path to success for everyone, but yours had been, well, different. 

It was a karaoke cover of Brooks & Dunn's "Boot Scootin' Boogie", a song that you'd been singing since you were a toddler, that had gotten you noticed by a recording artist one night while out with your girlfriends, which led you to where you stand now, performing in front of thousands. You were liked for the range of your voice, with it's easy easy transitions from the sounds of pop to country and rock, in addition to the way you performed, and your take-no-shit attitude towards the entirety of the industry. People liked that you were forward and left nothing on the table, though you had to admit that it was mostly an act, a means of coping with the pressure of working your way to the top.

///

"It's refreshing!" Jax, your manager, had shouted one day, arms flailing as you had argued that maybe your attitude was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Aren't you, as, you know, my manager, supposed to be the one keeps me in line?"

"You aren't out doing coke, killing anyone, public indecency and all that," he had shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, you are in line. People talk about you because of your attitude. They like it! They like you. Why is that so hard for you to accept sometimes?"

"Maybe I just haven't been caught doing those things," you grinned, effectively dodging his question. Fame hadn't helped break down the walls that you'd long ago built around yourself. If anything, you had done some reinforcing, built a moat even, in an effort to ensure that you protected yourself from getting too close to anyone that would only end up using you in the end. You had seen the way people in life had been used, and what it ultimately led them to, and you had promised yourself long ago that even if it meant being known as the Boot Scootin' Bitch, you would protect yourself and your heart at all costs. 

"Your momma would tan your hide for much less than any of those, you know. Hell, you should be more afraid of her than you are of me or anyone else… 'cept maybe God."

///

You shake your head, working the memories free from your mind as you grab a bottle of water from the platform on which the drum set rests.

There's one more song of yours to sing before you performed a new cover, the one you had been looking forward to for months. Although you'd gotten permission to perform it not long into the start of your tour, the set list had been rehearsed already and every other detail ironed out around it. You'd convinced Jax and the crew to let you slot it into the last concert of the tour, Austin, Texas. These folks knew their music and for some reason, they liked you so you were thrilled to be able to share something new with the crowd that had welcomed you to their city with open arms. 

You grab your guitar off its stand and slide the strap over your shoulders, adjusting it as you step forwards to the mic stand. A shimmering blue shirt catches your eye in the crowd and you do a double take because surely it can't be Harry because he's—

And it's not him, of course, though the fashion of the gentleman in the pit area would surely catch his eye as well as it's right up his alley. It's not him - it can't be him - because you know exactly where he is right now and it's not in the pit of your Austin performance. 

A grin stretches over your face as you think of him. You strum the first chord of the first song you'd ever written about him, although there had been many more since. He probably knew this one was about him, having come just after your first meeting. 

/// 

A friend of yours was good friends with Kacey, who had been the guest artist that night. Her name had been added to the VIP list and in the summer of 2018, just as you were hitting your own stride in your career, you tagged along with her to Harry Styles' live tour performance in your hometown of Nashville. 

If you were being honest, prior to his concert, you hadn't heard much of his solo work, apart from the various huge hits like his Kiwi or Watermelon Sugar and a few other ballads. You liked his sound, seemingly influenced heavily by rock stars of days past, but you'd had other influences to worry about in your own side of the industry. 

Sure, he had country music connections through the likes of Kacey Musgraves and Cam, and legends like Stevie Nicks, but his pop and soft rock style was pretty far removed from most country playlists that you yourself had graced. Your genres just didn't cross paths and the two of you seemingly operated in different realms of the music industry, topping your own charts and breaking your own peer's records. 

Of course, you hadn't been completely oblivious to The Harry Styles. One Direction had been too big of a deal to ignore and you'd often found yourself bopping along to their old hits, singing along as they played amongst the other nostalgic pop hits to which you listened. 

The concert had been in June, a hot sunny day followed by a perfect breezy evening. Downtown Nashville was always busy, but that night the city seemed to buzz, bright with music and life. After meeting for drinks at Acme on the River, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in getting lost in the crowd that milled about on Broadway. It was a surprising thing to not be recognized in your hometown, but you weren't one to complain about it. It was one reason that you value your time in Nashville over other music-centric cities like Los Angeles - it seemed that people here respected the private lives of musicians. There was an odd fan here and there, but you'd lived a majority of your "famous" life in Nashville in relative peace. 

You were early to the venue, your friend having wanted to have a chance to see Kacey backstage. You were excited to finally meet the star - though you'd been around the block of fame a bit already, there would always be people that you never had an opportunity to meet in passing. You had been greeted at will call and had been led backstage.

The arena was alive with excitement. At that point, you yourself had never toured a venue that large, so the experience of being backstage and seeing the operations first hand were thrilling and a bit overwhelming. In her dressing room, Kacey pulled you straight into a hug, gushing about how excited she was to watch your career take off. She insisted on sharing her personal cell phone number with you, urging you to call her to get together on a collaboration. You were in shock leaving her room, blown away by her kindness and the way the music industry worked in the most bizarre of ways, when you turned a corner and ran smack into a tall, solid, smiling Harry Styles. His arms had come out quickly to steady you on your heels boots. 

"Fuck," you swore, shaking your head at your clumsiness. "I am so sorry. What a great way to introduce myself."

He laughed and the sound flowed through you, warm and sweet like a cup of tea with honey. "Y'alright?" His eyes looked you over, and you couldn't help but notice the way they lingered. 

Your cheeks blushed and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. "I'm the one that should be asking you that. I don't think your adoring fans would be very happy if I took you out with a textbook tackle right before you're due to go on stage." You took a moment to give him the same appreciative glance he had already given you, admiring the way his deep blue custom-beaded suit jacket fell open to reveal a black dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest. 

"Ah, 'm fine. Lil' thing like you couldn't do too much damage to me, even in those heels. Don't think they'd be very happy though," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the already-rowdy crowd while offering his hand. "I'm Harry."

You laughed as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand. 

"I've heard that name before, but I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you. You don't seem like one that's easy to forget."

"I sing, write music," you shrugged, not sure how to explain to a superstar that you were on the way up, yet still somewhere much farther down the fame totem pole than him. "Country, mostly. Not sure if that's on your radar."

"The new stuff's not, but I may have to change that." He was tapped by one of the event producers, needed for another pre-show procedure. "Where will you be tonight?" 

"To your right, in the pit."

He smiled and you had almost immediately fallen in love with the crinkles that appeared under the corners of his eyes. "I'll look out for you. It was wonderful meeting you. Oh, shit, wait, just remembered— may I?" he gestured for the phone that was in your hand and you unlocked it before passing it to him. 

You watched as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He paused for a moment before he grinned. "Hi Harry, it's you from before the show. This is a message to remind you to text this number and ask the owner of it out on a date. She's the one with the beautiful smile and great tackling skills. You won"t have forgotten her. 'Kay, bye!"

You laughed at an almost embarrassing volume, blown away by his cheek. 

"Why not ask 'her' out now?" you pondered to him as he handed the phone back.

"What, and risk getting shot down? Wouldn't want to be sad and disappointed through my whole show, now would I?"

"It would make the ballads a bit more emotional," you had reasoned with a grin.

"Ouch! They're already filled with emotion, love. You'll see, I'll sing 'em right to you if I have to. Gotta run, thank you for letting me use your phone, that was a very important message!"

You laughed again as he took off. "Harry!" you had shouted to get his attention in the busy hall. He turned quickly, a small smile on his face. "She definitely won't say no, but you can wait until later to ask if you want to."

His grin stretched wider and he'd pumped a fist in the air before turning and jogging down the hallway. 

You liked to joke with anyone who knew the story that your life had changed that day all because you met Kacey. Which wasn't a complete lie - it had been her dressing room you'd come out of before slamming into Harry in the hallway. 

///

Singing the last lines of one of your songs, your stomach began to flutter in a bit of nervousness and a lot of excitement. Performing the next cover was something you had been looking forward to for months, and the moment that you got to share it with your fans was finally here. 

You retreat from the mic stand to pass your guitar off to a stagehand, taking another sip of water to settle yourself. 

"Doing alright?" Wyatt, your drummer, shouts over the pounding bass drum and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to face the crowd. 

"I've got one more cover to play for y'all tonight," you say, grasping the mic stand to keep your hands from shaking. "I've been working on getting permission to play this one for quite awhile now. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it played and now here I am, performing it for you all. It's an unreleased piece by a very, very good friend of mine, but his performances of it are all over the internet so some of you may know the words. This song is called Medicine."

The song starts out with a steady bass line and the rhythm centers you a bit, steadying any nerves that still linger. The intro gives you a minute to shake out your shoulders and get comfortable at the mic stand once more like Harry does at each performance. You catch yourself having fun mimicking him and feel thankful that you're able to perform one of your favorite songs of his. When the bass drops in pitch and the electric guitar riffs, you slide in close to the mic stand.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine," you sang the opening lines, already settling into the sexy rock sound of the song you and the band had rehearsed relentlessly over the last few weeks. No, the genre wasn't one you normally dabbled in, but part of the fun of performing was taking chances, risks. You had to admit, you liked the sound a lot. It tempted you to branch out a bit more on your upcoming album. 

The opening lines of the first verse throw you back into thoughts of meeting Harry that first night. You hadn't imagined what would follow the concert, let alone have the foresight to see it bringing you to this very moment in time. 

///

You had been standing outside the arena after the concert, ears buzzing and heart thumping still from the incredible show Harry had put on. As soon as he disappeared from the backstage hall earlier, you had immediately saved his number to your phone, still in disbelief over the night's events. 

Your heart had soared when your phone began to vibrate, not in a text message but in a voice call. Harry's name appeared on the screen and your friend had nudged you, clearly approving of the night's turn of events. 

"Harry," you answered, ready to praise him halfway to Sunday on his performance. 

"Let me take you out," he interrupted you. "Right now. Please? Anywhere you want to go." 

You laughed and paused. "Yeah, okay. I might know of a place."

There was a lot of shuffling on his end before his voice came back on the line. "Might've had to do another fist pump."

"Told you she wouldn't say no."

"Where are you?" You heard the smile in his voice, already familiar with it. 

"Demonbreun and John Lewis, headed towards the park."

"Give me 10, I'll pick you up." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

"I'll stick with the hoards of your fans milling about, maybe ask some of them for the hot gossip on you while I wait."

"Don't believe anything they say," he said, and you could tell he was still smiling as he hung up. 

He and his driver arrived shortly after, Harry's hair damp and covered with a baseball cap, dressed down in black pants and a simple loose white shirt, tattoos peeking out everywhere you looked. He exited the car and opened the back door for you, helping you balance as you stepped up into the large Suburban. 

"We'll go to Pecker's," you said to his driver, laughing as Harry snorted next to you. "Shut up, it's just a bar. Take a right up here onto 24 and it'll take us all the way to Fairfield. It'll be on the right."

He looked at you and smiled before reaching out to hold your hand in the middle seat between you. 

Taking Harry to Pecker's had just felt right. It was where you'd been discovered, where all of your adventures had started, and you weren't sure why but you wanted to share that small part of you with him after watching him up on stage that night. 

"Won't people recognize you? I looked you up before the show, you're apparently a pretty big deal around here." He had asked, smirking, sipping on the locally-brewed beer that Clint, the regular bartender, was serving that night. 

"Locals are pretty good about not interrupting our normal lives. Pecker's isn't as well known to tourists either, so it's a good hideout. This is where a lot of producers, executives and all the other professionals come to unwind." You ignored his comment on your fame and had taken a sip of your margarita instead. "Unless, of course, there's a drag show scheduled, then it's a bit of a madhouse."

Harry laughs into his drink and you grin. "So," he started after a pause, twiddling with the rings on his right hand. "What'd you think?"

"It was incredible," you said without hesitation. "Truly one of the best live shows I've seen in a long time, country acts included. You've got such a magnetism about you that people can't help but want to watch." You blushed a bit, alcohol and the quick comfort of him loosening your lips. "The whole water spraying trick was hot," you admit, making him blush. "And don't tell Stevie, but I think I might prefer your version of The Chain."

"Sacrilege! That's some incredibly high praise," he said, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Earned and deserved," you said, tilting your glass to his. "Honestly, Harry, you're an incredible musician. There aren't many out there that have the whole package like that."

"What about you? You seem like the whole package."

"I don't know if I'd say that. If you looked me up, you've likely seen what they say about me. 'My attitude won't get me far' and all. But I don't think it's my attitude, so much as it is my willingness to take the risks that others won't. I'm not out here to make music that's just there to be sold. Hell, I couldn't care less about the money. All I want is to create music that makes me feel fulfilled, and I think that honesty scares them." You twirled your finger in the condensation of the glass in front of you. You glanced up to his face finding his eyes already on yours, holding your gaze steadily. "It doesn't scare you, does it?"

"It's the most refreshing thing I've heard in a while. Not many people in the industry are fearless in the face of failure like that."

"I'm definitely not fearless; I just refuse to change who I am to make a buck."

"Who are you then?" Harry had asked, and telling him your story was easy. You couldn't understand how it was so natural, opening up to a stranger, but as the conversation wore on, you realized how similar you and Harry were in terms of the way you conducted your professional lives and that was without apology. 

And you also realized, as the evening continued and you and Harry crept your bar stools closer and closer to one another, feet and knees bumping, his fingers tracing the ridges of your knuckles as you shared life stories like long lost friends, that you didn't want it to end. 

///

"He's acting like a gentleman," you continue, changing up the lyrics slightly as you finish the first verse. The line always made you smile and you let yourself briefly flash back into your reminiscing about the night you'd met Harry, and how, even though he had acted gentlemanly upon dropping you off for the evening, you wanted to be anything but a gentlewoman. 

///

After enjoying drinks late into the evening at Pecker's, Harry had insisted on having his driver take you home rather than allowing you to call an Uber. 

"Such a gentleman," you commented as he opened the car door for you once again. 

"Maybe my gentlemanly actions have motives," he said, sliding his hand along your lower back as you step past him and into the car. Your grin matched his smirk as he shut the door and you decided that he'd been right - not calling an Uber was the right thing to do.

The car ride back to your apartment building was too quick and before you knew it, he was at your door again, offering a hand for you to hold for balance as you exited the car. Neither of you let go as you walked through the lobby towards the elevators. 

"You're uh— You're welcome to come up, if you'd like," you said, suddenly shy but not wanting to chicken out on asking for what you wanted, asking for some continuation of this sweet but likely brief meeting between you two. "For a drink, I mean, or to keep chatting, you know."

Harry smiled and glanced around the empty lobby. His hand in yours smoothed up the length of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to rest at your jaw. "I'd love to, believe me. You have no idea how much I want to." He leaned towards you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and your skin burned at the contact of his lips. "But I want to do this the right way. Don't want you to get the wrong idea of me."

"What if I want the wrong idea of you?"

He laughed, the sound open and honest and it had given you hope. "You called me a gentleman earlier and I have to admit that I liked it, coming from you. Would like to keep up the facade that I am, even if it's just for a bit." His face searched yours, each of you trying to read the thoughts that were flying through one another's minds. "You have beautiful lips," he whispered suddenly, his accent thicker than it had been all night. 

Your mouth quirked into a smile, unable to do anything but preen at his compliment. "You do too," you replied, just as softly. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes." Before the words had settled he was kissing you, slowly and with too much care, like you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. It was over much too quick but you knew you would remember every moment of it for the rest of your life. 

"Christ, I'd wanted to do that all night." His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, smiling when you leaned into the touch. He glanced up as the elevator doors swung open and gently nudged you towards them. "Thank you, truly, for a wonderful evening. I promise to give you a call soon."

"I'll send Kacey after you if you don't!" you laughed, stepping into the lift.

"Good night darling." He winked and the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the delicious ghost of his lips on yours. 

///

"Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline, think I'm gonna stick with you," you finish the first verse as Ryann rips through the chords on her guitar. You loved that the song built slowly, and even though that meant a quieter beginning, it promised an explosive end. 

Though the crowd had been hesitant at first, you can see that the first few rows of them are nodding along, countless phones out recording the performance. You know that somewhere out there at your request is a member of your press team, professionally filming the cover. You may only be doing it once, but you were determined to make sure you would never forget it.

///

You had enough time at home to check some of your social media accounts, shower and get comfortable in bed before your phone rang again. For the second time that day, your heart soared seeing Harry's name light up your screen.

"If you're going to say that you're downstairs because you've reconsidered my offer for that nightcap, I'll need a few moments to prepare as I'm currently in my pajamas," you said as a greeting and you were met with his warm laughter once again.

"No, no, I had to go back to the arena for a bit anyways, pack up and all of that," he said, still chuckling. "I just— I wanted to make sure you weren't offended by me declining your offer. Because I wanted to— I didn't want the night to end there. There's something about you that's… Transfixing. And I don't want to ruin that and make you think you're just a fling."

"That's quite a compliment," you said, a bit awed by his words.

"What was it you said earlier, "earned and deserved", yeah?" He said, quoting your toast to him at the bar, making you grin. "I want you to be more than that. I'd like to get to know you, the gentlemanly way."

"Okay. Will we have a chaperone at our next date then?" He laughed but didn't correct your referral to that evening as a date. You had snuggled a bit deeper into the sheets, still disbelieving that all of this had been the result of being dragged along to a concert. 

"No chaperones," he chuckled, "but yes, I do want to take you out again, if you'd let me."

"Hmm," you jokingly pondered aloud, as if answering with anything other than a resounding "yes" was on your mind. "I suppose I could fit something into my schedule."

"I hope that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes! I didn't want the night to end either. And don't you dare say that you just did another fist pump," you had laughed, hearing the familiar shuffling of the phone on his end of the line.

"Me? Never!"

"You're adorable," you had said, a smile stuck on your face.

"And you're beautiful. Two can play this game."

There had been a comforting silence between you for a moment before you had spoken up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, love?"

You had blushed at the pet name but loved the way it sounded being directed your way. "Thank you," you had whispered. 

"Should be me thanking you. Sleep well sweetheart." You'd fallen asleep with your phone in hand, hopeful that you wouldn't wake up the next morning to realize it had all been a dream.

/// 

It hadn't been a dream, and here you were, nearly two years later, performing one of the songs that Harry himself had sung the night that you'd begun falling for him.

The second verse continued quickly and you let the lyrics wash over you as you sang, loving the way the rock energy of the song sounded with a bit of your band's country influence. 

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, rest it on your fingertips," you sang, holding your pointer finger in the air much like Harry did every time he performed the song before bringing it to your lips as you sang the next line. "Up to your mouth, feeling it out, feeling it out."

/// 

Beginning to date Harry - properly date him too, not just make FaceTime calls to one another from across the world and sending texts back and forth until the wee hours of the morning thanks to the differences in time zones, sharing everything and more with one another as best you could digitally - had been the most exhilarating experience of your life, and you had performed in front of sold out crowds and accepted awards on live television. His tour was due to stretch on for almost another month throughout North America and the next time you saw him was when you'd been invited as Harry's guest to his show in Chicago just a few weeks after you'd met. 

While he had put on an incredible show for the United Center, there had been moments that felt like he was performing just for you, glancing over to where you stood in the Friends and Family area, meeting your eyes and grinning. By that point, you could sing along to every song of his and you knew he loved it, loved watching you dance along to the music that he had created and was performing. 

In a moment where you were thankful for the differences between the genres in which you two performed, you hadn't been recognized at all by his fans. You'd both talked about wanting to keep things quiet as you got to know one another, and you hadn't wanted a relationship with him, an already incredibly famous artist, to somehow influence the trajectory of yours. While it had been easy when you were apart, being together without seemingly being together was difficult. Especially in that moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up into him and soak in the post-show bliss with him. Instead, you sat on the couch with him, a cushion apart from one another, holding his hand tightly while you chatted about the concert. 

"Someone is gonna notice that you looked to my side of the pit constantly all night," you said and he grinned guiltily. 

"I like knowing you're in the crowd," he shrugged. "Besides," he scooted closer and threw his arm around you before dragging you in close, "you look incredible, how could I not want to stare at you all night?"

"Anyone could walk in," you pointed out, watching as his eyes followed your lips. 

"Just want a little taste," he said, moving in closer, "Haven't I earned a kiss from my girlfriend after all of that work up on stage?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked at him and he seemingly realized his slip-up. 

"I mean— What I meant was— Shit," he scrubbed a hand over his face but you could tell he was hiding a grin. "Wasn't exactly how I wanted to ask you, but… Will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, H. I'm all yours."

"Love it when you call me H." He pulled you in for a kiss that you both lost yourselves in, finally able to experience the feeling of one another after being denied it for so long. When a knock at the dressing room door came, Harry had to all but drag himself away from you, hair disheveled and lips swollen, scowling at the door. 

You threw your head back and laughed as he stalked over and pulled it open with a flourish. 

"What?"

"The hell's your issue?" you heard Mitch ask before Harry widened the door so he could see you laughing on the couch. You raised a hand in greeting and Harry's scowl deepened as Mitch chuckled, taking in both of your disheveled appearances. "Oh, shit, hey, sorry. Uh, car's ready when you are. See you tomorrow bud." 

"Harry!" you chided once he'd closed the door in Mitch's face, giggles still bubbling out of your mouth. "He was just being polite."

"Interrupting arse is what he is," Harry said, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Where were we?"

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your body as close to his as possible, hoping that he'd thought to lock the door before returning to your embrace. "Right about here, I think." With a hand on your hip, sliding under your shirt to reach warm skin and one at the back of your neck, Harry kissed you until you were breathless and not only wanting more but very seriously needing it. 

"Come back to the hotel with me," he murmured against your lips as you ground your body down on him, reveling in the way the action made him throw his head against the back of the couch and exhale sharply. 

"You sure?" Your hands smoothed over the chest of his skin, tracing the dark swallows with your fingertips as you rolled your hips. 

He shuddered at the light touch and gripped your hips tightly, pressing his up as you pressed yours down and the action made you sigh, the pressure a delicious tease of what was hopefully to come. "Absolutely," he said, his grin telling you he was pleased with the noises he was causing you to make. "Want you so bad, like I won't be able to breathe right until I properly have you."

You leaned in to kiss at his neck, his shower-damp curls tickling your cheek. "The feeling is mutual. Adored watching you up on stage tonight. Have I told you yet how much I love seeing you perform?" You nuzzle at his neck, urging him to tilt his head back farther, exposing more of his skin to you. 

"Yeah, you have, but tell me again," he sighed, his hands running up and down your back. 

"It's like when you get on stage no one else before or after you matters," you said honestly, letting your lips against his skin hide how truthful you were really being, spilling all of your thoughts about seeing Harry up on stage. It was scary, feeling so deeply for him already. But you wanted him to know, at least in part, what it meant to be able to watch him perform. "Something about your live voice just makes my breath catch in my throat, I can't get enough of it."

Harry breathed deeply for a moment, working to center himself while you nosed at the curls around his ear and heaped praise upon him. 

"It's like you connect with every person out in the crowd, like you're singing just for them. You can tell that you're having fun and people want to join you in that. They know you love the attention," you whispered and he hummed in appreciation (or agreement), the sound low in his throat. "They'd stay out there all night for if they could, screaming about how much they love you."

"And you feed into it, playing it up for them. You know exactly what you're doing when you get to act a little bit naughty up there, driving them all mad," you said with a smile. 

He chuckled and you could hear and feel the sound rumble through him. "Played it up for you tonight. Did it work?" 

"You mean did it make me want to jump your bones the second you came off stage? Yeah, it worked."

"Fucking hell," he said, holding you close with his hands on your butt as he stood up. "Our first time is not going to be in a dressing room so we need to go now."

He let you slide down his body and held you steady as you balanced on your legs. "Would be pretty fitting though, don't you think, given how we met and what we do?"

"Yeah, but then I'd think about it every time I was in one. You wanna torture me relentlessly?" He pulled you tight against him, kissing you once more before separating to grab his bags. 

"Yeah, relentless torture sounds like something I might be into." 

He glanced up at your words, eyes dark and hungry, a smirk on his lips. "Careful what you wish for, love." 

///

The bass line increased behind the riff of Ryann's guitar and you leaned into the mic stand, eyes closing as you continued singing the first bridge. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted, and when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

There were a few fans of yours and Harry's who apparently knew the words as they helped you out, screaming the unwritten word that finished the sentence: "tasted."

///

Harry was quick to say goodbye to everyone on the team before pulling you quickly through back hallways and down quiet staircases, sneaking quick kisses when he was sure there was no one around. You were both out of breath when you finally climbed into the car, grinning like kids getting away with sneaking around. 

The hotel ride was quick, mercifully, but Harry had been anything but patient, his hand at your knee creeping up slowly, closer and closer to the hem of your dress, toying with the hem while he chatted with the driver. 

"I'm gonna head in first with Martin and Eric will loop around and drop you off at the side entrance. I would wait in the lobby for you but this hotel hasn't been the best in the past with uh— containing sensitive information, we'll say, so Martin will meet you on your floor to get your stuff, then bring you up. Is that okay?"

"You sound like you've done this before, Styles," you said with a wink, using humor to cover the nerves that had settled in the pit of your stomach. 

He blushed and you loved knowing you got under his skin so easily. "The band used to stay here when we toured… and I was young and dumb once, yes."

"Just giving you a hard time, H."

His grin stretched as he leaned over to peck your lips once more. "See you in a minute, love."

Harry climbed out and the driver took off once again, slowly circling the block. "He's quite taken with you, you know," he said, glancing up in the rear view mirror as he parked the car at the curb. He got out and opened the door for you in the empty street then used his keycard to unlock the heavy side door of the hotel.

"Thank you," you said, both for his actions and his omission about Harry. Sure, you had talked to him as often as possible over the last weeks and had yourself been on the receiving end of his attention, but it felt validating to hear that Harry's feelings for you may have gone a bit farther than just a small crush if people around him had also noticed his behavior. 

Harry's bodyguard was waiting by the elevators and escorted you to your room to gather your luggage, then led you to Harry's door.

"Car'll be around about 9 tomorrow morning, H. Flight's at 10:30." He turned to you. "I understand you have business to continue here in Chicago?"

"Yes, meetings tomorrow and then I fly back to Nashville in the evening."

"There'll be a driver ready for you tomorrow as well. He's been instructed to take you wherever you need to go and he'll stay until you depart. Have a nice evening," he nodded at Harry, who was smiling in the doorway, before departing.

"You didn't have to do that for me, I could've managed by getting an Uber," you said, stepping into the room past Harry to set your bags down and kick your shoes off. 

"I didn't, was Martin's idea; says he doesn't want anything to happen to the one thing that's made me so happy these last few weeks."

"Oh yeah? I'm the one thing, huh?"

"You're everything, honestly," he replied a bit sheepishly, taking your hands in his. "Think I might like you a bit more than I already should. Lettin' my heart get a bit ahead of my head, I suppose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," you said softly and he beamed. 

He moved his hands up to cup your face, pulling you close for a sweet kiss that quickly turned insistent, heat rising between the two of you. Harry slid his hands under the hem of your shirt to rest where your spin ended and yours wrapped around his neck, dragging him down to you as you stepped behind you towards the bed. His long legs tangled with yours and you tumbled backwards, laughing as you hit the plush bed and Harry collapsed on top of you.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you with a smile, pushing the hair that had fallen into your face aside. "Hi baby," he said softly.

"Hi."

"Missed you," he said, leaning down for another sweet kiss. 

"We were apart for like, eight minutes," you giggled between his kisses, your laughter giving way to a sigh as he moved to press a kiss to your nose, your cheek, your chin.

"Doesn't matter," he breathed into the crook of your neck, pressing small open mouth kisses to the soft skin there, "Any time apart is too long."

"The two weeks left of the tour will fly by. You should enjoy them while you can."  

"Wish you could come with me, love performing for you." He kissed his way across the base of your neck, collarbone to collarbone as his fingers trailed to the small straps on your shoulders. "Would you like to take this off?"

"Please," you sighed, desperate and aching for the feeling of his skin against yours. 

Your first time sleeping with Harry had been exactly what you'd wanted and expected - hot and fast, admittedly over a bit more quickly than either of you had wanted, but worth the weeks of wait. 

Harry's skill set hadn't ended at singing and playing instruments. If anything, his vast experience using his hands and mouth only helped him excel in other pastimes that also utilized those parts of his body. To both of your delights, he had proven his adeptness in all areas multiple times that night, and once again in the morning before he had to rush into the shower, dragging you along with him simply to get more time together before you were forced apart once again. 

/// 

You had spent the next two months away from one another, Harry having wrapped his tour and immediately beginning work on his next album. You'd spent your own time mixed between writing and recording an upcoming single. You had already written a handful of songs that were inspired by him and you'd wondered, albeit a bit nervously, if the sentiment was shared. When he stopped in Nashville on a long layover, pushing his flight back even longer to stay with you for another night, you'd tried to pry the information out of him. Unfortunately, no amount of sexual teasing or denial had convinced him — he, however, had you singing like a canary almost immediately, teasing you in the best way about how easily you opened up for him, telling him all about the music that he had already inspired.

You had been FaceTiming him late one night weeks later, both tired from long days spent in the studio. He had suddenly gotten shy, biting at the skin around his fingernails. 

"Hey, stop that. What's the matter H?"

"Wanna ask you something," he mumbled, but a smile was peeking through where his fingers were still at his lips. "Jus' don't know how to."

"Baby," you sighed, "you can ask me anything. Y'know that." 

"I know, I know." He paused and took a deep breath before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Would you maybe want to come home with me this Christmas? To London? Wouldn't be for long, maybe just a couple nights, I just wanna introduce you to my mum already, she's been pestering me nonstop lately 'bout meetin' you and Gem's joined in on it now too, so it's two against one when they call and I've told them that—"

"Harry," you said chucking, trying to interrupt his nervous rambling.

"—and she actually called me Harold last time she told me to bring you 'round and that got me a bit worried so I—"

"Harry! Of course I'll come with you. I'd absolutely love to."

You met him at the airport weeks later, desperate to pull him close and kiss him silly in the confines of his darkly tinted car, but you refrained, knowing how seriously Harry took the protection of your relationship from the press. You may not have been able to see anyone straining to capture pictures of you two, but you knew there was always the chance. 

It was an entirely different story, however, when he'd finally pulled the car past the mechanical gate and into his private drive. You both reached for each other immediately, arms tangled and shifter knob pressed uncomfortably against your side, but perfectly content so long as his lips were against yours. 

"Fuck— I missed you— so much," he muttered between kisses. He pulled away, forehead resting against yours, sly smirk pulling at his lips. "Mum won't expect us for a few hours at least."

"What is it that you're insinuating, Mr. Styles?"

"That there's plenty of time to give you a tour around the house, that's all," he said innocently. He gave you a sweet smile before hopping out of the car and coming to the passenger side where he helped you out and picked up your bags.

You were eager to be given a house tour, more than keen to learn all of the things you could about his London life. The house was decorated in a way that made you smile - eclectic but with a definitive air of cohesive taste. It suited Harry to an absolute tee. From the artwork that decorated the walls to the mismatched but homey furniture, you could tell immediately that this was Harry's sanctuary - every inch of the home screamed his name. 

"It's incredible," you said as he led you into the largest room, the master. He walked over to the dresser that sat under the window and pulled open the top two drawers. 

"I know we won't be here long, this time around, but I cleaned out a few drawers for you here, if you want to unpack some things. And there's space in the closet for you too," he nodded towards the door on the other side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair as he talked, "I had too much in there anyways and some of it needed to go and I wanted you to be able to leave some things, if you felt comfortable, of if Mum drags us out shopping and you don't want to take it all home now you can leave it here and-"

"You- you cleared out a drawer for me?"

"Well, yeah," he said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "Made some space for you in the bathroom too, though I doubt it'll be enough, with all that you bring along to fix yourself up." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know how our lives are. I just wanted you to have some of your own space here; want you to feel as comfortable in my home as I do. Is that too much?" 

"H," you said with a sigh, your lips curling into a smile, "it's perfect, and so thoughtful. I'm sorry I haven't done the same for you in Nashville yet."

"'s alright, love. I've already got a toothbrush there at least. I can take some time when we fly back to come and help if you'd like me to. As long as you don't end up wearing all the clothes that I leave there," he chuckled.

"You know me too well," you said, reaching for his hand. He lifted your entwined fingers to his lips to brush a kiss over your knuckles.

"You do look good in my clothes," he confessed, pulling you close to face him. "Look good in my house. But you always look good anyways."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you said with a smile. "I like being here already," you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. "It feels like you, like home. Thank you for inviting me," you add, as though the measly voicing of your appreciation is enough to convey what you truly feel. 

"You're welcome anytime, if I'm here or not."

"You trust me that much?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get you a key and everything." He leaned down to kiss you slowly, relearning the map of your lips and mouth, before pulling away. He laughed when you made a noise of protest.

"The bathroom's over here if you'd like to freshen up." He had pulled at your hand, stepping towards the other open door in the room. "Figured a shower might sound nice after a long day in an airplane. Besides, I've gotta clean up before we go to Mum's anyways."

"Gonna join me?" 

"Yeah, thought I might, if that's okay." His smirk had been wicked as he pushed you the rest of the way into the bathroom. He dropped your hand to reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. As he reached for the buckle of his pants, he had met your staring eyes. "See something you like, love?"

You definitely had, though you didn't think your attraction — physically or emotionally — for Harry had stopped at something that was as weak as "like." Getting to know him over the last six months had made you worry that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else like him, anyone that made you feel like he did. You had fallen for him, desperately hard, and the realization of it as you stood in front of his half-naked self almost embarrassed you. 

"Babe? You alright?" he asked as he stripped down to his boxers. 

"Yeah, you just got me all distracted," you had grinned, pulling your sweatshirt and remaining clothes off quickly before joining Harry under the warm spray of the water.

Meeting Harry's mom that evening went better than you could've ever dreamt it would. The two of you got on like old friends, and Harry had stared, almost in wonder, at how easily you seemed to bond with her. And then he had stared in horror as Anne offered to pull out the photo albums filled with pictures from Harry's childhood, particularly when Anne offered up the album filled with photos from Harry's and Gemma's emo phases. 

As the evening wore on, you caught Harry on more than one occasion glancing your way, cheeks bright from the red wine he was sipping on and eyes warmly reflecting the bright Christmas lights. He always looked like he was a split second away from saying something, only to shake his head and look away with a small smile. 

Later, in bed, Harry pulled you close to him. He was laying on his back, you on your side, and you threw a leg over his waist, soaking in all of the cuddles you could get on this short trip together. The room was only illuminated by the ambient light coming in through the blinds. 

"Mum liked you a lot," he murmured, gently stroking the skin at the base of your spine, "said I should hang onto you". 

You returned the gesture, running your fingertips along the lines of ink that make up his many tattoos. "I liked her too. She's wonderful, I see where you get it from now."

"Hey now, 'm wonderful all on my own!" He tickled your side and you couldn"t help but arch towards him, shrieking and laughing at the touch. 

"Stop that! You are an absolute pest, you know that?" you said, grinning up at him.

"Ah, you love me," he whispered, and his joking tone made you smile but the way he pulled you tighter as he said it made you brave. 

You let the weight what you were about to say wash over you, aware that things were going to change forever with just a few words. "I do love you, Harry," you whispered, moving up his body to press a kiss to his lips.

"Thank God," he had said, wrapping his arms back around you and pulling you on top of him. "Cause I love you too."

Leaving Harry after that had been even more difficult. All you wanted to do was be with him, but you had too much coming up with the future release of your album and Harry was still in the midst of doing his own writing and recording. 

It was your professions, along with the desire to keep your relationship private, that kept you apart. You weren't sure how you did it, but your relationship had withstood the distance and odd-hours. The only step now would be deciding if, when, and how to confirm the suspicions to tabloids and fans alike that you were an item.

The wait was killing you. All you wanted was to show off to the world that Harry was yours.

///

The bridge of the song was followed quickly by the chorus and the heavy guitar and pounding drums had you rocking on your feet, body swaying into the mic stand as you let yourself get lost in the lyrics. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive."

The crowd was even more into the song now, many picking up on the words quickly and screaming them along with your singing. The rock and roll vibe of the song was coursing through you and the crowd, the arena electric with energy already. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

You remove the mic from the stand and dance towards one end of the stage, singing as you move to the beat. "We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

///

You had been on the phone with Harry one day in July, nearly five months after the release of your album, having him help you decide what the setlist of your tour would be when it began in November. 

"I wish I could cover one of your songs."

He had laughed and slurped his tea, the sounds comforting to you, even over the phone. "That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it love?"

"I don't mean cover Golden or Kiwi," you said, tapping your pen against the pad of paper in front of you. "What about one you wrote for 1D? What about Perfect? Or Stockholm Syndrome! That was always one of my favorites."

"Getting permission on those might be a bit more difficult, s'not just me that's gotta sign off on it. Besides, do you really wanna be the artist that covers a One Direction song on her own headlining tour?"

"Guess I'll stick with singing along to them in the shower then."

You were both quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts. 

"What if I covered Medicine?" you asked suddenly, realizing it was the perfect compromise, not to mention your favorite song that Harry himself performed oh his own tour. The rock sound wasn't a far cry from the roots that country music had and you knew it would sound great. "Even if it was just for one stop!"

"Hmm," Harry mused. "It would sound great with the band, I'll give you that. But videos will go around, people will know it's my song you're singing and they'll connect the dots about us."

"H, I'm ready for that if you are. I love you, and I'm ready to be able to share that love that I have for you with the world. Sneaking around has been fun but I want people to know how proud of you I am and how much you're loved and appreciated. Half of our fans know already, it's just a matter of us confirming it. I think that we could really-"

Harry was laughing at your rambling on the other end of the line. "Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, love. I think you're right, maybe it is time we stopped sneaking around. I'll try, but Jax and everyone else still have to agree to it too. It might be easier to convince everyone if it's just a one time thing. Pick another cover, something you'd normally do, in case it takes some time to work things out."

"I'll ask him right now! Thank you Harry!"

"I just have one condition," he said, and you could hear the grin that was surely pulling at the corners of his lips. 

"What's that?"

"I get to perform it with you," he had said, and the smile already on your face widened exponentially. "If we're finally gonna make "us" public, may as well do it with a bang."

///

In the moment after the chorus, an 8 count beat is carried by the drummer and guitarist. For this performance, and the only performance you'd put on of this song, you had rehearsed the 8 count repeating once between the chorus and the next verse, as you needed a bit of extra time to announce your guest performer. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," you shout into the mic, grin wide and face beaming already at what was about to take place. "To help me finish this performance, please help me welcome my very good friend, Harry Styles!"

Harry emerges from behind the stage holding his own wireless mic as much of the crowd screams - he may not be a country artist, but he was absolutely known worldwide. You step back with a wave of your arm, smiling as he begins the next chorus. His performance is for the crowd but he's singing the words directly to you. 

"Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes, tingle running through my bones," he sings, voice smooth like whiskey, and the crowd adores him, eating out of the palm of his hand. "The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with them, and I'm OK with it." 

You can't help but dance as he sings, his voice and the energy of the crowd propelling you to move. He watches you, eyes no longer on the crowd, as he sings the next lines. Immediately, heat pools low in your belly at his glance and the words. 

"I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it. And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

You gyrate your hips at the unsung line of "ride it", listening with a sly grin as some in the crowd scream the two words that go unsung. 

///

After giving him a key, Harry had moved some of his clothes to your apartment in Nashville some time while you were away on the first leg of your tour. He had found the city to be incredibly welcoming and inspirational for his upcoming album and had decided to stay there for a spell while you continued to tour around the country. 

You had scheduled a short break between your concerts over New Years, wanting to be able to grab at least one or two nights at home with him to celebrate the holiday before you were back on the road again. 

"So fucking glad you're home," Harry panted, pulling your shirt over your head before attaching his lips to yours once again. "Missed you like crazy."

"Missed you too," you moaned as his lips moved downwards, across your neck and over your collarbones, down the valley between your breasts. Before he could reach around to unhook your bra, you reached for his shirt, as desperate as he was to see and touch what you'd been missing. 

As he pulled the half-unbuttoned blouse over his head, you pulled your leggings off and reached for him, pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned his pants as he scooted up towards the middle of the bed, shoving them and his boxers off in one swoop. 

You climbed on top of him, hurriedly reaching to kiss him as you rubbed your clothed center along the length of his hard cock. 

"Fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back to allow you room to kiss his neck. "Desperate aren't you, darling?"

"Want you so bad it hurts," you whispered, sucking a bright hickey right where it would absolutely be seen by anyone.

You moved to continue kissing down his chest but he stopped you with a hand under your arm. "Not gonna last long, love. Wanna be inside you."

His cheeks and chest were flushed bright red, lips puffy and pupils blown wide. This was when you loved him most, being able to have him like no one else did. The same feeling always hit you at certain moments, particularly ones of domesticity, like when you watched him back the car out of the driveway or when he stood in the kitchen in the morning in nothing but socks, boxers, and his ratty old robe, singing along to old big band jazz as he waited for the coffee to brew. There was Harry Styles the musician, Harry Styles the actor, and Harry Styles the performer, but then there was your Harry. 

"Yeah, okay," you sighed, moving off of him quickly to remove your bra and panties. You climbed back onto the bed and threw your leg over his hips, straddling him. He immediately reached for you and pulled you flush against his chest, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. 

You rocked your hips against him as he held you, your slick arousal gliding along his length, drawing a moan from both of you. 

"Baby, please," he panted, and you could only mod in agreement, lost already to the sweeping feeling of your close release. 

His hands rested on your hips as you positioned him at the entrance between your legs. You groaned in harmony as you worked down him slowly, the only sound in the room was your shared heavy breathing and gasps. 

"Fuck me," he sighed as you set a slow pace, rocking on top of him to reach each spot that you know will get you there. 

"Workin' on it," you grin. A quick swivel of your hips hit at just the right angle and you tossed your head back, repeating the movement over and over again until you shuddered with a final snap of tension, your orgasm rolling over you as Harry helped you move, hands tight on your hips, to wring all you could from the release. 

"You look so beautiful right now, like a fuckin' angel," Harry said, voice low and gravely, accent thick with need. 

"How's that line go?" you said as you slowed down, smirking when a harsh rock of your hips caused Harry to moan. "'Turns out she's a devil in between the sheets'?"

"Fuck," he groaned again, eyes closed tightly. "Can't just go reciting my own lyrics to me while I"m buried in ya like this, love."

"And there's nothing you can do about it," you continued, singing the line of his song this time, and his hips buck up into yours harshly.

"You're gonna pay for that," he had said, quoting another of his songs, before he had flipped you over onto your back and set his own brutal pace.

///

Like he can read your thoughts, Harry beams and wags a finger in your direction and the crowd screams at your chemistry together. You grab your mic from its stand and take a step towards Harry to sing the chorus together.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive." Harry dances off to the side of the stage, performing once again for the crowd. 

You dance at center stage with your wireless mic, too excited about performing with Harry that you can't stand in one spot. The music and Harry's energy make you want to move. "You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it." 

"We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da!" Harry throws his head back, singing along in his own world and you can't look away from him. He really was a rockstar and getting to share the stage with him like this was an experience you'd never forget. 

"You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

There's a great pause in the lyrics where the guitar, keyboard, and drums play together, increasing the tension of the song. You and Harry take off towards opposite ends of the stage, both reveling in the performance for the crowd as you dance and stomp to the beat. Eventually, with a slide down the keys of the keyboard, the instrumental quiets into just the steady beat of the bass line joined by the hi-hats. 

You and Harry urge the crowd to clap along as you both return to the middle of the stage to sing together once again. He always said that this portion of the song was one of his favorites to perform, the repeated line from the bridge ending abruptly with the lights going out before flashing back on, the added theatrics of the performance elevating the climax of the song completely. Having rehearsed that Harry would sing the following chorus alone, you let yourself get lost in his gaze as it settles on you.

You stand facing one another behind the mic stand, once again singing more to one another rather than to the crowd. You step closer towards him as the lyrics progress, nearly chest to chest now with your voices sharing one another's mics. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm—"

Before you can sing the last word of the line and the lights can blink out as rehearsed, Harry leans forwards and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. The crowd erupts with screams as the lights above the stage go dark.

You can feel rather than hear him say the words "I love you" against your lips and you have just enough time to repeat them back to him before the drums and guitar pick the beat up once again, the lights flashing back on brightly. He moves away and continues to sing the chorus that follows as if nothing had happened. You're a bit stunned, not having prepared for his relationship-revealing public display of affection to happen during your performance of his song but it was perfect and he knows it. Your smile is wide and you can't help but stand rooted where you are and laugh at what has just finally happened.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive," he sings, smirking at you while you blush across from him. 

You join him in singing the last lines, your right hand joining his left hand where everyone can see your fingers entwine. 

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it. We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh!"

You urge the crowd with a waving hand to join in and they do, singing along with you and Harry. "La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

The drums and guitar end the song on five quick beats and the crowd erupts once again in screams. You immediately jump towards Harry, throwing your arms around his neck in a close embrace. His hands wrap around your waist to hold you close, and you can feel him smile where his face is pressed close to your jaw.

"How was that?" he asks, chuckling against you.

"It was perfect, you're perfect. Thank you, H. For everything."

"Can take you on a proper date now, yeah? Wanna show my girl off to the world."

"Yes, please!" You can't wipe the smile from your face as he sets you down and Harry continues to beam at you as the crowd continues screaming, reeling from your shared performance. 

Harry nudges you gently before turning back to them, lifting his and your arms high in the air and leading you in bending for a bow. He steps away from you and turns, opening his arms wide to you for the crowd to praise and you laugh, tearing up at his gesture and the overwhelming emotions of the performance while you take another bow just for yourself. 

He pulls you into another hug and you can't help but angle your face up towards him, wordlessly asking for another very quick, very public kiss.

He glances down at you, smiling. "You're gonna love this now, aren't you?"

"Course I am. love showing them you're mine."

He leans down to peck your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips, as the crowd goes wild. "Love showing them you're mine. You've got a show to finish, love. Go kill it."

///

Ahh! So much fun! This has been such a joy to write and I appreciate you taking the time to give it a chance! It’s my first (of hopefully many) Harry fics - reading all of the stories here has been immensely inspiring, and I’m so looking forward to writing more!

Tagging my love @morganlatte​ who is a wonderful hype woman and beta reader. Thanks buddy!

Anyways! Thank you for reading! My love language is words of affirmation (aka I have a praise kink) so leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined!

[aspoonofsugar]

Jaune: Zero to Hero

Pyrrha: It's not about why; it's about knowing. Understanding dark and light helps us manifest our Aura. Everyone has some of both.

Knowledge, Creation and Destruction all lead up to Aura. This is just another way to say that they lead up to individuality, which is something Grimms lack:

Pyrrha: They are creatures of Grimm, the manifestation of anonymity.

Individuality is conveyed through Choice. This is why Choice is the most important and final gift. It is symbolic of self-actualization, which is what our characters are pursuing in their coming of age story.

Jaune’s personal arc comments the group’s collective journey and marks each stage very clearly.

In which way does it happen? And what do these stages mean for Jaune’s growth as an individual?

THE IGNORANT WARRIOR

Pyrrha: Jaune, do you... know what Aura is?

Jaune: Psch! Of course I do! Do you know what Aura is?

Jaune is introduced as inexperienced and ignorant. He lacks combat experience and knows nothing about key concepts like Aura, Landing Strategy or Semblances.

His journey starts because Pyrrha shares her knowledge with him:

She awakens his aura, his very soul and later on trains him, so she helps his body get stronger:

In other words, Pyrrha is the one who puts Jaune on the right path to become a true “hero” and a “warrior”.

This is Jaune’s objective since the beginning, but he initially pursues it in the wrong way:

Jaune: I don't want help! I don't want to be the damsel in distress! I want to be the hero!

He is fixated on an idea of hero which is outdated and has its root in toxic masculinity:

Jaune: Cause this is always what I've wanted to be! My father, my grandfather, and his father before him were all warriors! They were all heroes! I wanted to be one, too. I was just never good enough.

This is why symbolically Jaune wants to be like his male ancestors. He wants to grow into “a real man”:

Cardin: Let's see how much of a man you really are...

And this is conveyed also through his Weapon:

Jaune: It's a hand-me-down. My great-great-grandfather used it to fight in the war.

Jaune did not forge his own Weapon, but he inherited it. Crocea Mors initially represents the legacy he wants to live up to. However, this legacy, instead of driving him, slows him down because he can’t grow until he remains in his ancestors’ shadow. Jaune needs to develop his own individuality instead.

In order to do so, he needs to grow not only as a figther, but as a person too.

As a matter of fact, Jaune’s ignorance is not only limited to the world he has stepped into, but also to the people around him:

Jaune: That's easy for you to say. You've probably got guys clamoring over each other just to ask you out.

Pyrrha: You'd be surprised.

He is so self-focused that he does not notice others’ feelings and hurts them unintentionally.

However, Pyrrha teaches him once again:

Pyrrha:Tell her exactly what you said. No ridiculous schemes, no pick-up lines. Just... be honest.

 It is thanks to her that Jaune manages to become a better man:

He is even able to call Neptune out the way Pyrrha did with him:

Jaune: Then just go talk to her. No pickup lines, no suave moves, just be yourself. I've heard that's the way to go.

And as a result, even Jaune’s relationship with Weiss gets better:

Weiss: You said you were embarrassed at first. What made you come talk to me?

Neptune: You're looking at him.  You got some good friends looking out for ya.

Because the girl realizes Jaune is not only after her money or her romantic attention:

Weiss: All my life, boys have only cared about the perks of my last name.

But wants to genuinely be a good friend to her.

In short, Jaune starts the story as immature both as a fighter and as a person to the point that he is considered unfit and annoying by other characters:

Glynda: I don't care what his transcripts say. That Jaune fellow is not ready for this level of combat.

However, thanks to Pyrrha, he is given the chance to mature.

Not only that, but while other characters see a weakness and a nuisance in Jaune’s ignorance and inexperience, Pyrrha sees it as a possibility:

Weiss: Jaune, is it? Do you have any idea who you're talking to?

Jaune: Not in the slightest, snow angel.

Weiss: This is Pyrrha.

It is specifically because Jaune is new to Pyrrha’s world that he is free from bias:

Pyrrha:  That's what I like about you. When we met, you didn't even know my name. You treated me just like anyone else. And thanks to you, I've made friendships that will last a lifetime. I guess, you're the kind of guy I wish I was here with. Someone who just saw me for me.

This is why Pyrrha feels she can forge a genuine bond with Jaune. What is more, the girl has faith in his potential:

Pyrrha: It's all right. I used my Aura to unlock yours, but the energy that protects you now is your own. You have a lot of it.

She sees in him what others do not and helps him develop both as a man and as a warrior.

This is well highlighted by the metal motif the two characters share.

As @hamliet explains here Rwby has several characters linked to the seven metals of alchemy.

The goal of alchemy is to create gold thanks to a process of refiniment that purifies the metal and has it go through several transformations. 

The seven metals are nothing, but a scale that goes from the heaviest and most raw metal (lead) to the most purified (gold) passing through the others (tin, iron, copper, mercury, silver).

For a story, it simply means that a character goes through a process of change that leads to self-actualization.

In Rwby this idea is conveyed through specific characters embodying a metal (Ironwood, Penny, Mercury) or even thanks to metal motifs commenting a specific part of a character arc.

For example, Yang is associated with gold:

I am the golden one Who burns just like the sun

But Adam takes her arm away and has her regress in the scale of metals to iron. This regression is not simply physical, but psychological as well:

However, Yang re-affirms herself and moves forward. The first step of this process is to symbolically make her new arm “gold” again:

When it comes to Jaune, I think that he may be the character associated with lead aka the “prima materia” that needs to be molded into gold. Even if this is not true, metal is at least definately still a motif in his arc, as it is in Pyrrha’s. This is why both characters wear metal armors, differently from others.

Pyrrha is already close to her self-actualization and she reaches it in the climax of the Vale arc, where she completes her (tragic) arc and dies a Maiden.

This is why her armor is gold, while Jaune’s is white and gray. Pyrrha is at the top of the metal scale and close to the end of her journey, while Jaune is respectively at the very bottom and at the very beginning.

He is the embodyment of the prima materia that has potential for greatness, but only if he is rightly guided and if he himself works hard.

Pyrrha takes over herself the duty to help Jaune mold himself.

This is underlined also by Pyrrha’s semblance:

Pyrrha: Well, Ruby has her speed, you have your glyphs. My Semblance is polarity.

Pyrrha can control and bend metals and she shows her power for the first time when she helps Jaune against the Ursa, so that he can overcome his self-issues.

So, Jaune starts the story as the lead and is going through a path of self-refinement which will lead him to become gold, so more similar to Pyrrha herself.

Pyrrha offers him the basic knowledge to start this journey, but unluckily leaves him too soon and now Jaune has to move forward on his own.

THE CREATIVE AVENGER

Pyrrha: I want you to know that I'm just happy to be a part of your life. I'll always be here for you, Jaune.

Even after Pyrrha’s death, this stays true:

Blacksmith: That was some fine metal you brought me. Accents the white nicely. Where'd you get it from?

Pyrrha has become a part of Jaune.

This is a recurring motif in Rwby:

Penny: I won’t be gone, I’ll be part of you.

It is the idea that grieving is a process that leads to acceptance, but also to integration with a lost one. It is a way to have the deceased keep on living through the survivors.

In Jaune and Pyrrha’s case, this is conveyed through Pyrrha’s metal being used to enrich Jaune’s Weapon.

As stated by Ruby:

Ruby: Just weapons? They're an extension of ourselves! They're a part of us! Oh, they're so cool.

Weapons are symbolic of the self, just like Semblances.

What is more, Weapons and Semblances are also a declination of the dychotomy of body and soul, presented by the series.

Weapons are wielded by bodies, while Semblances are a materialization of the soul.

In other words, Pyrrha’s gold becoming a part of Jaune’s Weapon is symbolic of Jaune’s first step in a painful process that will lead him to overcome his partner’s death and to inherit Pyrrha’s legacy.

Jaune must keep on learning from Pyrrha and become more like her. As noted by @hamliet​, this is symbolized also by Jaune’s design aquiring more golden details as he goes on in his journey:

Jaune: Guess I was going to grow out of it eventually.

Ren: A sign of progress.

Jaune: Progress.

That said, grieving is not easy and Jaune must struggle with much pain and negative feelings.

This is why the changes he makes to Crocea Mors are finalized to increase its attack power:

It is because Jaune feels anger over Pyrrha’s death and wants revenge.

In the Battle of Haven he gives in to his fury and tries to kill Cinder. He is trying to superficially imitate Pyrrha’s sacrifice:

Jaune: If I die buying them time, then it's worth it. They're the ones that matter.

However, he is not doing it out of bravery or necessity, but out of recklessness and self-hate. This is why his actions lead to this:

Once again, Jaune risks to lose another loved one:

Jaune: No, no, no, no, not again! Weiss, c'mon, please!!

However, this time he is able to save Weiss thanks to his Semblance:

Jaune: My Semblance?

Nora: How else do you think you're healing her, dummy?

Jaune gives up on using his Weapon to fight and chooses to use his Semblance to cure. He chooses soul over body and Creation over Destruction.

At the same time, Jaune’s activation of his Semblance is meaningful on two levels:

Jaune: No. I don't think I'm healing her. Our Aura heals our bodies. It feels... it feels more like I'm using my Aura to amplify hers!

Nora: Wait, aren't you worried about running out?

Jaune: Pyrrha once told me I've got a lot of it. I still believe her.

First of all, Jaune’s Semblance is rooted in the idea that people heal themselves. His power is not to cure others, but to amplify others’ auras, so that they can become stronger and can heal. It is about bringing out the best in others. It is a power fit for a leader, but also an ability symbolic of Jaune’s own process of healing. He can heal himself through helping others to heal.

Secondly, Jaune’s Semblance is in itself a nod to Pyrrha. Pyrrha used her own aura to awake his and Aura Amp is simply an evolution of this idea. It is not about activating others’ auras, but it is a power that lets Jaune share his. It also makes good use of something Pyrrha noticed immediately aka Jaune’s huge quantity of aura.

In other words, Jaune ends up acting like Pyrrha in the Battle of Haven, but not because he fights Cinder, but because he shares his gift with others, just like Pyrrha did with hers.

Pyrrha is a part of Jaune both in body (Crocea Mors) and soul (Aura Amp), but Jaune must still truly understand what this means.

He makes progress in Lost:

Red-Haired Woman: She understood that she had a responsibility... to try. I don't think she would regret her choice, because a Huntress would understand that there really wasn't a choice to make. And a Huntress is what she always wanted to be.

This is the essence of Pyrrha’s sacrifice. Jaune comes to understand it and chooses to make a similar choice together with his team:

Jaune: I think... I think she knew she wasn't going to win. That she might not come out alive. But... she also knew she was the only one that could try.

Ren: So she did.

Nora: Maybe we should too.

Jaune: Yeah, we should.

In this way, it will be as if Pyrrha were fighting together with them:

Nora: Pyrrha may not be by our side anymore, but we can fight like she is.

Jaune: And in a way... she will be.

Jaune tries to overcome his anger and his sadness for Pyrrha’s death in order to keep fighting like she did.

So, once again he chooses this:

Ruby: I wanted to protect my friends.

Maria: Precisely! It is the desire to preserve life which fuels the light inside you. And to make no mistake, it is light. Preservation is an extension of creation, or, at the very least, an enemy of destruction. The Creatures of Grimm were made by the God of Darkness, but your light comes from his brother.

He chooses to protect life and this is the essence of Creation.

Once he confirms this choice, he is free to explore Creation’s potential and he does so in the land of Creation itself, Atlas.

He strengthens his shield instead of his sword:

And he trains his Semblance:

Oscar: Nice, your recovery is getting faster.

This all leads him to become stronger psychologically:

Ren: Him on the other hand... There's no fear at all. I can see it, he believes we're going to get this done.

That said, Jaune starts meeting limits to his new found strength rooted in Creation:

Jaune: Ah, sorry. No matter how much I boost you, they won’t go away.

Jaune: Did... I stop the virus?

Penny: No. It’s still there.

Jaune’s way to move forward is to heal himself through healing others. Still, what to do when this is not possible?

THE DESTRUCTIVE HEALER

Penny: No… there’s not enough time to heal me…

Penny: But there is something you can do…

What happens in Atlas is an inversion of Haven.

Penny pushes Jaune’s Semblance away and touches Crocea Mors.

Jaune is asked to give up on healing her and to speed up her death instead. He is asked to choose his Weapon (body) over his Semblance (soul) and Destruction over Creation.

This marks the characters entering the Destruction phase:

Leaving Creation (Penny) behind.

For Jaune, this means that his own self image that he has worked so much to build and to make his own:

And that has been enriched in Anima thanks to Pyrrha...is shattered:

At the same time, he is once again put in a similar spot as Pyrrha:

They both become unwilling agents of Penny’s death because of Cinder (and Emerald and Mercury in the first case):

Pyrrha: Ruby, I... I'm so sorry.

Ruby: Me too. But it wasn't your fault.

Jaune: She's right. Whoever was on that microphone... they're the ones that did this. And we have to make sure they don't take anyone else.

So Jaune’s journey to integrate with Pyrrha, to understand her and her struggle continues.

What now?

It is too soon to say because we have yet to properly start our journey through Destruction and what it is about.

That said, there are two things that are worth highlighting. The first is a motif Rwby is following, while the second is a general theme found in many stories.

1) As @hamliet​ has stated in many metas and as I have written here, Rwby is an alchemical story. Alchemical stories are usually marked by three important deaths. Each death is symbolically linked to a color. They are usually black, white and red. However, sometimes there can be yellow instead of the white or the red. This is the case here, where a resonant death is the yellow death aka Penny’s.

It is a death that happens while the characters are surrounded by yellow:

And it happens through a weapon called “Yellow Death” (Crocea Mors’s meaning). So, it is really not subtle. Penny’s death is meant to mark an important passage for our protagonists, just like Pyrrha’s one (the black death).

2) It is common in stories that deal with healers to explore the concept of death as well.

The basic idea is that a healer is a person meant to cure. That said, they will meet people impossible to cure and that will die on their watch. This is an unescapable truth a true healer must live with.

Let’s highlight this theme is found in works very different for genre and culture.

Let’s have two examples.

Scrubs aka an American comedy about doctors deals with this theme multiple times. In many episodes the characters must simply accept they can’t save a life, but must still not lose hope and keep on living themselves.

Yosano from the manga BSD says so:

Her backstory explores the link bewteen life and death further since it is shown that a power that cures fatal wounds can be used to cheapen life itself:

It is too soon to say if Rwby will explore a similar theme, but the fact that Jaune, (the healer) is the one that has to speed up Penny’s death might be a very powerful and poignant choice. This is true especially because Rwby does not refuse Destruction (and so does not refuse death), but presents it as a principle equal to Creation (so as a part of life).

THE CHOOSING HERO

Jaune’s arc is about living Pyrrha’s death over and over again with different scenarios and outcomes. This happens so that in the end he can finally overcome it.

So far, it has happened three times and each time has been in the climax of an important battle.

The Battle of Beacon has him witness powerlessly to Pyrrha’s death (lack of knowledge and passivity).

The Battle of Haven has him saving Weiss (creation).

The Battle of Atlas has him killing Penny (destruction).

What is more, every time Jaune becomes more proactive and conscious of what he is doing.

In Beacon he has no idea of what is happening. He works with little information and things happen to him without him being able to do anything.

In Haven his actions lead to Weiss being in danger, but he manages to save her. That said, he does not do it consciously. He unlocks his Semblance because of emotional stress. It is an unconscious choice and not a conscious one.

In Atlas he makes a specific conscious choice, but it is a choice that is forced on him because of external circumstances. It is also a choice that is meant to challenge and temporally break him.

In other words, he is slowly and painfully approaching Choice aka self-actualization. Right now, he has to face the consequences of Penny’s death, but this will probably lead him to finally enter the Choice stage and to complete his arc by becoming a “hero” aka gold (probably).

At the same time, this final choice will also be about healing and overcoming grief. It will be the final integration with Pyrrha and him being able to honor her legacy.

After all, we have been told from the beginning what Pyrrha’s fate would have been. We’ve just failed to notice:

Pyrrha: For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death. I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee.

June and Pyrrha’s bond is eternal and she is meant to be the key character in Jaune’s arc. It is only through confronting and finally overcoming her loss that Jaune can finally self actualize and become the person Pyrrha has always known he could be. Pyrrha will symbolically be with him in this struggle. Her memory will protect and inspire him. 

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 6

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

EXTRA WARNINGS - this chapter is pretty much unrelenting whump and the violence and consent issues (past) tags strongly apply. I have put more detailed (spoiler heavy) warnings at the bottom so if you’re particularly sensitive to that stuff and want to scroll down to check before you read you can do so.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

In a tavern just outside of Leovan the crowd roars another! And Roman laughs and gamely starts to play another jig. He’s been playing for hours and he drinks in the attention happily, even as the cheers of the crowd become a ringing in his ears. The night is long and his throat is raw and his stomach empty and it’s harder and harder to keep his eyes focused, but his hands are steady on the strings. He sways in place, sweat dripping into his eyes, but it doesn’t matter- the crowd adore him. They sing and dance and laugh along, and after each set they call another, another, another until the room is spinning and his throat is bleeding and the audience’s laughter had turned cruel and high and lilting and-

Roman woke with a gasp and immediately regretted it.

The underground room was still pitch black, the humidity still cloying. At some point during his fitful sleep he had slumped to the floor, Lucius’ ill-attempt at binding having come loose enough to allow him to slide his arms down the length of the pipe. He was awkwardly sprawled at the base with his wrists still pinned above his head and his legs twisted underneath him. He tugged experimentally at his binding and got a sharp spike of pain down his shoulders and spine for his trouble. Whilst he had wasted time sleeping, the silk had become sodden from the moisture of the room and shrunk tight against his wrists, making even Lucius’ knotwork impossible to pull apart.

Not that it would have made much difference if he could get it loose.

Stay here until I come back with your transport.

Grunting with pain, he managed to untangle his legs out from under him and sit up. He pushed himself up on his knees as best he could, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his wrists, but gave it up quickly as the pain lacing down his shoulders intensified.

This was bad.

He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to think, but the heat was making it almost impossible. The black of the room kept swirling back in to crowded tavern, the rush of water into the jeers of a crowd…he could feel the raw burn on his throat and his mind scrambled desperately for another song-

Except it hadn’t happened like that. He shook his head furiously, his hair flicking sweat into the room, trying to banish the tavern from his mind.  He had already started traveling with the others by the time he sang in Leovan and if he’d tried to perform so late into the night Virgil would have come stomping down the stairs to tell him he was being ridiculous and to go and get some sleep.

Or Patton would have sat up listening, playing bodyguard, until he couldn’t keep his own eyes open and sweetly suggested that the crowd might want to be getting home to their own families.

Or Logan would appear, pocket watch in hand, demanding he finish within a set time frame in order to allow for optimal sleeping hours.

Roman could almost hear the lecture, relief at a chance to escape the crowd mingling with exasperation at the scholars ridged scheduling.

In the dark Roman glanced over to where he thought the door should be.

The only sound was the gentle hiss of water.

He tried pulling at the rope again.

***

“Hey! It’s you!”

The man blocking Roman’s path back to the ballroom was clearly drunk. He stumbled towards Roman, half leaning on the hallway wall for support, a big dopy smile on his face.  “I saw you- I saw you back there – wow!”

“Thank you friend.” Roman smiled brightly and took a step backwards, but not quickly enough to prevent the guy from grasping onto his sash.

“You’re so pretty.” The guy breathed, his eyes unfocused but his grip firm, “I saw you lookin’ at me when you were singin’.”

Roman squirmed. He was almost certainly better trained than his admirer, and he had had a lot less ale, but he was also shorter and skinnier. With the man pressed so close in the narrow hallway it was almost impossible to find the leverage he needed to push him off.

And. This was a nice place. And by the quality of the man’s clothing he was an honoured guest not a servant. Roman had been the one to convince his new companions to accompany him to the local lord’s house for the ball, he had wanted to give them to a chance to relax whilst he performed. He didn’t want to get himself, and them, kicked out by causing a scene- not when he was half hoping they would allow him to continue to travel with them even though the job he’d been hired for was done.

“I look at everyone-” he said, smile fixed and polite ”– engaging the audience is actually very important for-“

“Shush.” The man whispered.

Roman shushed. Grinding his teeth in frustration.

His assailant brought one hand up to paw at his face in a clumsy attempt at seduction, thick rings knocking against Romans jaw. His other hand released the bard’s sash to grip his wrist instead.

“Kiss me,” the man breathed, the stink of ale on his breath making Roman gag.

Face burning with mounting frustration and embarrassment, Roman attempted to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, but the man twisted his head at the last moment to meet his lips with his own.  Pressing Roman back against the wall with a slobbering assault as he attempted to pry Roman’s lips open with his tongue.

Panic flickered in Roman’s belly and then just as quickly dulled. It was generally easier to let these things run their course.

And then, suddenly, the pressure on his mouth – and wrist and chest - was gone.

Roman blinked open eyes he didn’t remember squeezing shut to see Patton with an expression so furious Roman had to fight the instinct to cower.

“What.” Patton snarled “Do you think you’re doing?”

“I di-didn’t mean to-“ Roman started.

“Well?!” Patton roared and Roman realised he wasn’t speaking to him – but rather the rich man who appeared to be rapidly sobering up in Patton’s grip.  The warrior held him by the scuff of his neck, his toes just scraping the floor. When Patton shook him, the plethora of chains around his neck clinked together musically.

“Roman,” Patton asked, his voice still shaking with an anger that made Roman draw his shoulders up instinctively “do you…know this man?”

“Well…no.” Roman glanced at the chains again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his heart rate started to return to normal “I think he might be the mayor though Pat, put him down!”

“I don’t care if he’s the King of the elves! Did you want to kiss him?”

“Well no, but – but its fine! These things happen!”

“You call yourself a Prince and this is how you carry on?”

Wait. What?

Roman blinked, feeling strangely hot in the cool hallway.

Patton wasn’t supposed to say that. Patton was supposed to ask what he meant. And Roman would backtrack and feed him some lines about people often feeling entitled to performers time off stage – which was not untrue – and Patton would look at him wide eyed and tell him that would never happen again –

“You’ve been told over and over, to keep yourself to yourself.”

- that Patton would stand guard at every performance from now on if that’s what it took.-

“If you insist on putting yourself into these situations, don’t come crying to me when the inevitable happens.”

-And Roman would be so elated at the implication that they were to keep travelling together that he would almost forget to feel embarrassed at the situation.-

Patton’s lips narrowed into a thin disapproving line, “Don’t be naive. You are far better off alone, Romulus.”

“Dad?” Roman whispered.

“He doesn’t look much like the Prince.”

“Oh, like you’ve seen him.”

“Well he’s meant to be handsome right? This guy’s not winning any contests.”

Roman opened his eyes, squinting against the light. Three men stood around him, illuminated by the glow of an oil lamp. For one wild moment elation flooded through him - his friends had found him after all!

And then their conversation registered and he scowled. Disappointment robbing him of a witty comeback to their insults.

Still. Let them travel almost non-stop for three weeks, spend a night standing out in the middle of a field whilst an old woman sang at herbs, march for five days through a forest - including a detour through he thickets brambles known to man- and then follow that up with an entire day wandering around the city, have two panic attacks and be left to sleep tied up in caller. And then see if they looked their best.  

With the gag still in his mouth, Roman’s attempt to covey this sentiment were mercifully muffled.

“I don’t know.” The biggest of the three stepped forward, grabbing a handful of Roman’s hair and yanking his head back painfully, abruptly cutting off his complaints. “I can kinda see it.”

“Be careful Niki,” the one who had first spoken whispered, he was holding the lantern and keeping well back from Roman. “His nibs thinks he’s got devils with him.”

“In here?” Niki cast a glance around at the iron cage of pipework that covered the room. “If he does they’re not coming out.”

“Still.” Lantern-boy whined.

“Well let’s test it.” Niki grinned down and Roman spitefully and released his grip on his hair. In one quick movement he had produced an iron dagger, not unlike Roman’s own, and pressed the flat of it to Roman’s cheek.

Roman stared at him.

“There you see? If was possessed he’d be screaming.” Niki said smugly and pulled his knife back, twisting it slightly as he did so, leaving a shallow cut along Roman’s cheek, making him wince.

“Careful,” lantern-boy said meaningfully “he’s still the Prince’s brother.”

“Oops.” Niki smiled cheerfully down at Roman. “My bad.”

“He needs to drink.” The third man stood far enough back from the lantern that Roman couldn’t see his face, but he saw the way the other two responded to his soft voice, their posture automatically stiffening.

“Here,” lantern-boy stepped forward after a moment, holding out a water skin to Niki  who rolled his eyes but reached down to rip the gag from Roman’s mouth.

Roman coughed, swallowing air greedily. His throat was painfully dry, all moisture sucked out by the silk, but he still hesitated when Niki held the skin up to his mouth.

“Listen to me.” He croaked “you-“

“Just drink it.” Niki snapped and Roman surged forward despite himself, swallowing a few precious mouthfuls before the skin was yanked away again.  

“You’re from Notaleveale.”  he whispered. “Right?”

“Obviously.” Lantern-boy muttered, taking the water skin back from his companion.

“Well then,” he drew himself up as much as he could, ignoring the pain the movement caused “ – as true men of The North I must implore you to assist me. The Marquis has been embroiled in some- some conspiracy of untruths, is perhaps plotting against the very crown itself and-“

“The Marquis de Orenlla couldn’t plot his way out of a paper bag.” Niki snorted contemptuously.

Roman opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Isn’t he your Lord?” he asked eventually feeling bizarrely offended on the Marquis’ behalf. Niki and lantern-boy were both wearing chest plates embossed with the three peaked mountain range that signified allegiance to Orenlla, the royal kraken of Notaleveale floating above. They were clearly guardsmen brought with Lucius on his journey south.

The third man, who hadn’t spoken since he mentioned Roman needing to drink, wore no identifying uniform.

“It’s not an insult.” Niki shrugged, “personally I prefer an employer too daft to organise a coupe.”  

Lantern-boy nodded in agreement, “It’s a, whatcha call it - a positive working environment, innt?”

“…alright.” Roman decided to change tactics. “I’ll double what he’s paying you.” This time both men laughed.

“With what?”

“Well, I. I’m still a Prince I’ll have you know -  I have many rich and influential friends who would gladly-“

“Oh really. Where are they then?”

There was an unpleasant pause whilst Roman desperately tried to get his brain to think. He was supposed to be more creative than this!

“You’re no Prince of ours anyhow.” Lantern-boy stepped a bit closer to glare into Roman’s eyes. “Traitor.”

Roman flinched back at the pure look of venom on the young man’s face.

Little fae touched traitor.

“Listen to me. Whatever you’ve heard – it’s not true. My father-“

“Don’t you dare speak his name!” Niki surged froward, pulling Roman up by the neck of his tunic. Their faces were close enough that Roman could feel the spittle from the man’s mouth land on his cheek as he shouted: “After your despicable actions you would dare to-“

“Nicolas. Don’t upset yourself.”

The third man was barely visible to Roman over Niki- Nicholas’- shoulder, but as soon as he spoke the large man stilled, lowering Roman slowly back to the ground.

“Marcus. Some more light if you will.”

Lantern-boy -presumably Marcus– quickly produced a box of long matchsticks, almost tripping over himself in his haste to light more lanterns around the room. By the time he was done the room was brightly lit, the glow from each lamp bouncing off the metal pipes until it filled every corner.

The third man did not look especially Notalevealean, with skin almost as white as Virgil’s and pale white blond hair.  He was dressed plainly, with pale grey robes and soft shoes, and carried only a thin walking stick. If he hadn’t spoken, he could have quite easily faded into the background - camouflaged against the dull back drop of pipes.

“Nicholas. Marcus. Go and guard the passages.”

“But we already have a dozen men out there-“

“And I’m sure they’re in need of leadership. Go now.”

The two men glanced at each other. Roman thought for a moment that they would stand their ground, but then Marcus snatched up his original lantern and headed for the door, Niki following after one last reluctant glance back.

“W-wait.” Roman called. “Is my Father alive?”

They disappeared into the gloom of the next room.

Left alone with only the quiet grey man, Roman found himself wishing they’d stayed.

The grey man smiled at him as he shuffled towards the kneeling prince. His smile was an awful thing that did not touch his eyes.

“The young Marquis de Orenlla is a rather silly boy.” He told Roman in his soft papery voice. “Much like yourself.”

Despite himself Roman let out an offended squeak, but the grey man continued unhindered. “He has very little idea how to survive alone, can barely function without his servants.”

Roman caught himself staring at the floor and snapped his gaze back to the grey man’s face. He didn’t want to miss any information he might let slip but looking at him was-

It was difficult.

When he tried to look at the details of his face they seemed to slip away. Was he young or old? What colour were his eyes?

The whole time he had been talking, had his mouth actually moved?

“What are you?” Roman whispered.

The grey man smiled again, Roman shuddered.

“But also like you, he is not wholly stupid. He has started asking some inconvenient questions.”

Within the blink of an eye, the grey man was next to him a knife in his hand. Before Roman had a chance to do more than flinch, he had cut the ties biding his hands, and was back across the room.

Dazed, Roman rubbed his wrists, trying not to wretch.

Up close, the grey man smelt of death.

“Now. Sit there, and listen to me until I finish.”

Romulus whimpered.

“Your father is dead.” The grey man told him bluntly. “You killed him.”

“No.” Romulus- Roman shook his head. Used his newly freed hands to cover his ears. “He was sick.”

“You poisoned him over many weeks.” the grey man whispered. “Disguised it as a common sickness. You tried the same on your brother but he was too strong to succumb.”

Roman lowered his hands. They were pointless anyway- the grey man’s voice seemed to be inside his head.

“That’s not how his strength works!”

“And so instead, you allied yourself with a traitor to the fae court and placed a curse of madness on the crown prince, rendering him unable to rule. You hoped to take over in his place, but luckily your father’s advisors found you out. You were forced to flea with your fae companion.”

Roman stared at him, eyes wide. “That’s insane!”

“That’s the truth.” The grey man insisted. “When The Marquis asks you for the truth, that’s what you’ll say.”

“No.” Roman shook his head. “No, no, no.”

The grey man reached forward, resting his hand gently against Roman’s cheek. Romulus stared up into his eyes.

“Julius?” he whispered.

“In a way.” The grey man’s face seemed to twist. For a single moment, it was Julius’ face that looked disdainful down at him, rendering Romulus mute with terror. And then with another twist to reality it was gone, back to the grey man’s blank visage.

“I’ve had eyes all over looking for you Romulus. I was so sure you must have died in the mountains and yet –“ His fingers tightened on Roman’s face, nails digging cruelly into his skin. “Here you are. Like a little cockroach.”

With a shove he released Roman’s face and walked swiftly to the centre of the room, where the largest pipes rose out of the floor. “Stay on your knees and come here.” he ordered. Face burning, Roman shuffled after him, knees bruising on the stone floor.

“Put your hands here.” He gestured to one of the larger pipes. Even before his hands touched the surface, Roman could feel the heat radiating from it. It was far hotter than the one he had been tied to and although he braced himself he couldn’t hold back a yelp of pain when his hands made contact.

He snatched them back quickly, his palms an alarming shade of red. And without pausing, sprang to his feet, aiming a punch directly at the grey man’s immobile face.

“Stop moving.”

Roman felt his muscles lock, momentum sending him crashing to the ground as the grey man easily sidestepped his swing.

“Don’t move until I tell you too.” The grey man added, leaving Roman frozen on the ground where he landed.

Slowey the grey man stepped around him, crouching down by his head. “Look at me, Romulus.” Roman did so, only moving his eyes to stare at the flickering mirage of the grey man’s face.

Up close, the smell was so bad Roman felt the remains of his pastry threatening to make a reappearance.

“I am going to ask you some questions. You are going to tell me the truth. Nod if you understand.”

Slowly, Roman nodded. The grey man – Julius – whatever it was, had already told him what it wanted him to consider the truth. But even so, ‘tell the truth’ was an easy enough order to get around. Truth being in the eye of the beholder and all.

“And if you don’t, I am going to tell you to hold onto that pipe again, and I am going to tell you to keep holding it until I am satisfied with your answers. Do you understand?”

Roman swallowed.  He nodded again.

“Did you kill your father? Tell the truth now.”

“No.” he said quickly and then bit his tongue, cursing. Franticly he looked up at the grey man  “You, you said that was a truth for The Marquis, not for everyone I can’t just –“

“Raise your left hand.” the grey man said mildly. “Bring it here.”

Romulus felt tears of frustration and fear spring to his eyes. He was stupid for thinking he had a chance at this. Julius’ tests were never designed for him to pass.

***

Roman wasn’t sure how many hours passed before the grey man seemed satisfied.

Fortunately, he had methods of persuasion beyond just the pipe. When Romans’ left palm had become completely coated in blisters the grey man had handed him walking stick and instructed him to bring it down hard on his own back instead. And then his shoulders. The side of his face. His left palm.

The grey man never touched him himself.

He didn’t have any need to.

Whenever there was a pause between punishments he ordered Roman to stillness. Time which Roman happily spent fantasising, first of smashing the stick down across the grey man’s head, then of pressing his own eyes to the hot pipe.

Even if they took him home – he could not allow himself to lay eyes on Remus. That was the one thing he could not fail on.

“Did you kill your father?” asked the grey man.

“Yes.”

The stress of raising Romulus, of hiding the curse; there was no doubt he’d contributed to his fathers early death. It was true, at least to him.

“Did you curse your brother?”

“Yes.”

When he was a little boy there had been a phase where he tried to put a curse on Remus daily, and Remus him. The kind of curses they dreamed up were for itchy feet and stinky farts, and none of them had worked, but it was still technically true.  

“Why?”

“I was jealous of my brother.”

If Roman had only been born a half hour earlier he could have avoided a lifetime of being second best. He could have avoided his curse. Grown up with his Father instead of Julius. Not that he would wish any of that on Remus but. It was natural, surely, to be a little jealous of his brothers freedom.

“Good.”

Julius’ face smiled down at him. He reached out with the grey mans hands to stroke Romulus’ hair, like he sometimes did when he was a child. “You see Romulus, there is always a way to work within the confines of your curse, so long as you are willing to look for it. I taught you that.”

“Where are you?” Romulus whispered.

“I am waiting for you.” he smiled. “I have no sons Romulus, no one to pass the Stewardship to. And we must think about the future of our kingdom. When you are back, we can write a new story.”

“You…you’re ruler?”

Romulus frowned. There was a missing piece here but he couldn’t find it. The heat and pain were making his brain slosh against the inside of his skull. He found himself leaning in to the hand in his hair, even as revulsion rippled through him. “If you’re ruler then where’s –“

“Where’s the serpent?”

Roman blinked. Looking up, he found that Julius was gone again, the grey mans expressionless face staring back at him.

“What?”

“The serpent. Where is he?”

“I don’t – I don’t know what you mean.” Romulus held his injured arm close to his chest, curling over it protectively.

He heard the disappointed sigh and flinched even before the grey man brought his other hand to Romans’ bruised shoulder, squeezing hard.

“Look at me.”

Romulus did, eyes bright.

“I know he has left his prison. I know he was with you at that inn. I sent that stupid boy to get him and he found you.”

“I don’t know what you mean!” Romulus wailed, hating the childish wobble in his voice. “There wasn’t anyone else at the inn.”

“No?”

Julius eyes were peering out of the grey man again, a cruel glint to them. ”You were alone?”

“Yes.” Roman told him. Voice steady.

He’d entered the inn alone. He’d sat in the room alone. Climbed out of the window alone. Anything else was none of Julius’ business.

Before the grey man could speak again, a clatter from the next room made them both jump.

“Hmph. He’s early.” the grey man murmured.  “Get back to your place.” He gestured to the pipe Roman had originally been tied to and, haltingly, Roman crawled towards it, sprawling at the base.

“If The Marquis asks, tell him nothing about your injuries.” the grey man added lazily, taking up his position in the centre of the room, fading back into the background.

Roman grunted. It wasn’t a bad plan: his most visible injuries – the burns on his hand which he couldn’t stand to look at – could be explained away as being caused by the very pipe Lucius had tied him to. As usual, nothing could ever be pinned on Julius.

They waited. But neither the Marquis or his men appeared.

The grey man stood across from him, gazing out into the darkness of the next room. Roman wasn’t even worth looking at.

He slumped further against the pipe and tried to focus on breathing. There wasn’t a single place on his body that didn’t hurt, though the worst by far was his hand. He shivered from cold, which, given the heat of the room, couldn’t be a good sign. He let his eyes slip closed. Exhaustion threatening to take him again.

And then he felt a soft pressure on his lap.

“Mrrp.”

Roman opened his eyes. Then he closed them again.

He opened one eye. It was still there.

“Mister Mittens?” he asked, slightly hysterically.

Romulus and Remus had grown up with dogs. He wasn’t sure if cats were supposed to be able to feel smugness, but this once clearly did. It butted it’s head against Roman’s chin with another self-satisfied “Mrrp.”

“What?“ The grey man was staring at the pair of them, looking as confused as his expressionless face could manage. “Where did that thing come from?”

Roman was saved from having to answer by a crossbow bolt. One that came through the open door, burying itself in the grey man’s skull.

Chapter 7

Extra warnings

Consent stuff – Roman relives a memory of being sexually assaulted (he doesn’t necessarily think of it in those terms). A drunk man kisses him and pushes him against a wall. The man tells Roman to ‘kiss me’ without knowing anything about Romans curse. They are interrupted before it goes beyond kissing. (whether anything else would have happened, or whether the man would have stopped if he had known about the curse, is not shown in the text). It is implied that this sort of situation has happened to Roman before, and that it has gone further, but this is not explicit.

Violence stuff – Roman is tortured in this chapter. This includes cutting, burning and beating with a stick. The majority of this is not described in explicit detail but it’s certainly going on. Due to the nature of his curse, most of this takes place due to another character ordering him to hurt himself. Roman briefly contemplates burning his own eyes (for ‘trying to get around my curse’ reasons rather than ‘self harm’ reasons) . Someone also gets shot in the head with a crossbow. Roman also spends most of this chapter dehydrated and suffering from heat stroke .

I’m not totally sure what this falls under but its grim stuff – a character from romans past spends a lot of this chapter tyring to gas light him/ manipulate him into believing a set of false memories. Roman retains his correct memories but gets hurt a lot in the process. Meeting said character causes Roman to dissociate (I think this is the correct term but please correct me if I’m wrong), he continuously switches between his name and his childhood name during the chapter and at some points reacts as if he was a child.

[tundrainafrica]

Hi! I wanted to request a story where Hange asks Onyankopon to look out for Levi in case something happens to her and to not leave him alone, even after he recovers from his injuries 😭❤️. I love the way you write both Levi and Hange without being self-indulgent and I thought of asking you this, but only if you have the time to write. I know you’re currently working on other Levihan stories and you also have your own personal life and I don’t want to impose on you, so whenever you feel like it. I just wanted to share this idea with you.

Title: Coast Lights

Summary:  

"Once or twice a year----or sometimes even less frequently than that, the moonlight would kiss the coast in a way that only the ocean would understand.

At the mercy of that breathtaking view, Levi let out a strange sound, a mix between a crack and a ragged breath. Then he spoke up. 'I can’t help but think, Hange would have liked to see this.'"

After the war, Levi still thought about Hange and maybe Hange still thought about him too.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Notes: I have been meaning to write a post 139 fic for a long time and this prompt just took the cake anon, thank you so much for sharing and also for your kind words. Sorry it took a while, this prompt meant a lot to me and I wanted to be in the right mood when I wrote it. 

As always, feedback is very much appreciated :D

Once or twice a year----or sometimes even less frequently than that, the moonlight would kiss the coast in a way that only the ocean would understand.

Sometimes, the moon and the stars cooperated. Sometimes they created their own luminescent paths along the black of the sky. Some lights would fall to the ground in streams. Then by coincidence or maybe by fate, the streams of light would dance amongst the glowing blue, making yellows and reds out of the sand underneath.

Times like those, the beach was chaos, a war of lights, where each source was fighting for the privilege of being seen by even the most casual bystander. Of course they would fight to be seen, that beach, isolated by two imposing cliffs at opposite ends never got too many passers by.

Hange was just one of the lucky witnesses. She was the witness to a beautiful war, one of the only wars maybe that she would have liked to be part of.

She ran to one end, stretching her hand out towards the cliffs, only pulling back when she was millimeters away from touching them. She then spun around and studied the beach, tracing with her eyes, the blue glow that lined the coasts.

Glowing blue jellyfish. She remembered reading about them in one of Armin’s books once.

She wished she could have seen them as a kid. With a little more wonder and with a little more innocence, maybe she could have thought they were magic. Maybe she could have believed miracles were real.

She had spent her earlier years trapped within the walls. Then her later years outside the walls but ironically, trapped by duty and obligation.

Now you’re free. She told herself, a feeble attempt to propel herself forward. Freer than ever. That one reminder proved more melancholic than happy.

She had fought for freedom her whole life. At that moment, she was blessed with the ultimate freedom and she felt guilty for not celebrating, even just a bit.

But it wasn’t the type of freedom most people would ask for. Of course she wouldn’t be completely jubilant about it.

Beggars can’t be choosers. That was the saying that echoed inside her.

Hange modified it into something more relatable.

Soldiers can’t be choosers. Soon after, she brushed away before it grew to anything worse.

She stretched again then ran forward, careful not to jostle the blue jellyfish that had settled at the coast. Then she laughed when she realized it wouldn’t matter.

Although she had grown accustomed to the lightness, to the disconnect over time, sometimes the old habits presented themselves in bouts of an ingrained respect for nature, in bouts of curiosity and wonder towards the world.

There were parts of the world she had never seen before and she had an eternity to explore.

That was one perk of freedom.

Funnily, she had chosen to tie herself down.

It wasn’t the best decision. Although sometimes, she considered the opportunity cost. When she looked back at the house up on the hill, only accessible through the precarious steps that lined the steep cliff, she remembered, it was an easy enough decision to make.

The world could wait. She could experience the world and its beauties in the next life, then the next life after that.

There was someone she would rather not keep waiting.

She climbed up the steps, only held together by ropes. When it was anyone else climbing, they would wobble, they would swing from left to right. For Hange, and Hange alone, they stayed still, made the climb all the easier and Hange was up before she even counted eighty steps.

The field was easy to run through. Maybe because as the house got nearer, she only ran faster. And she knew that if she scurried to the right of the porch, there would be a wide window and he would be there, sitting like he always was.

He didn’t greet her. Too engrossed in his book maybe?

Hange knew there was a more obvious answer to that.

She entered through the window and that time, she didn’t bother to pretend she was still at the mercy of natural laws. Even after months, it was surreal but when she imagined the mustiness by just the state of the dim room, she allowed herself to be pulled back to the world, even just by her imagination.

Levi’s reaction to her entrance though was a glaring reminder that it was only imagination.

Hange still liked to make conversation. “What are you reading this time?”

He didn’t reply.

She wasn’t bound by natural laws, nor was she bound by social laws. So she stood behind him, bent her head forward and read over his shoulder.

Simple prose, unknown characters, not recommended to start a story mid novel. The words blurred together quickly and Hange decided that it wasn’t worth her time to read through. Instead, she focused on his side profile and she traced the scar on his right eye. It was almost fully healed, save for the raw pink and the unseeing eye underneath.

“We could have been matching,” she said. Really, she probably would have gotten rid of the eyepatch if she knew he wouldn’t have bothered even getting one.

She didn’t know how long she was staring, how long she was following his eyes as they skimmed over lines. Restlessness had settled with the rhythm and the predictability of the small details.

Restlessness would settle but it would never die out. Hange was constantly impatient, she was constantly bored.

His concentrated face though and just the little details that composed him were enough to make time tick for her, albeit slowly.

When reading, his eyes would dart from left to right, sometimes his lips would move as a small and subtle movement. When he looked up, then behind him, Hange jumped.

Did he see me?

Surprise then bliss came and went in a split second. No, he didn’t, there had been someone else at the door.

“Levi, it’s late. You should go to bed,” Onyankopon said.

Hange begrudgingly sank back towards the corner of the room.

“I’m fine. I never slept more than three hours a night back---”

“Back in the military right?” Onyankopon interrupted. Then, he sighed. “You’re not as strong as you were before. Besides, there’s not much of war you’ll need to fight anyway, it’s best you use this time to recover.”

Levi didn’t reply. Instead he dog eared the book, closed it and dropped it on the side table. A sign for Onyankopon to go ahead, wheel him back to his bedroom.

Hange followed behind. In Levi’s bedroom, she stood a foot away and watched as Onyankopon methodically went through the process of pulling out his pajamas and dropping it on the bed then he helped Levi out of the wheelchair, gently propping him on the bed. He left the room long enough for Levi to undress.

Hange had some decency to turn her back. A naughty part of her had her settling on the bed, just for some hint of an illusion that maybe in another life they could have----.

Before she could even say it, she let out a hushed laugh. Then something louder when she realized, he probably wouldn’t hear it anyway.

The door creaked open again. “Levi, are you okay? You want anything?”

“Nothing.” Levi’s voice was muffled, his back facing the door.

“It’s a nice night outside. If you get bored, just look at the window, maybe it’ll help you sleep.”

Or maybe it could do the complete opposite. For Hange, there were more than enough constellations to trace, paths to put her thumb over. She wished she could warn him that he might not even sleep if he got lost in them. Then she remembered Levi didn’t sleep much anyway. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference.

Onyankopon let out a sigh, muttering something about a walk.

That had been more than enough to incite Hange’s curiosity. She followed again behind him. Levi was still far from healed. He probably wouldn’t be moving anytime soon anyway so maybe she could leave him, just for a moment.

After all, how many nights a year did the moonlight kiss the ocean? How many times did it take advantage of that opportunity when the coast was lined with a glowing blue? How many nights a year was the glowing blue bright enough to kiss back?

And Onyankopon had seen it too. Maybe he noticed how the night sky was a lighter blue than usual, and he saw how the streams fell deeper than the view the cliff allowed. He walked slowly at first, then he started to jog forward.

Hange did not need to make much of an effort to keep close behind. When he stepped onto the wobbly staircase, Hange was careful to pull back. She was light, most likely weightless but she didn’t want to take the risk.

So she jumped off the cliff.

Even the force of gravity didn’t demand to be felt. The pulling sensation at her gut, familiar from years working in ODM gear, was absent. Ruefully she noted, she probably would never feel it again. At the least, she got to enjoy the free fall with little to no pain at all. Whether she had landed on her ass, or her own two feet, she was in no state to tell.

She was too distracted by the glowing blue though to trifle with such details. She walked ahead, she allowed herself a quick scurry over the blue, down to the shallow waters which glowed with the same neon shades.

There were still streams of light. The moon was large, still high above the sky. And when she was staring straight ahead, counting stars and sketching shoddy drawings in the sky, she didn’t notice it or consider those two points in particular.

Something came as a hush. Then louder. “Hange?”

Hange spun around, looking back at the light blue by the coast. Just behind the rows of jellyfish was Onyankopon, his face pallid. His eyes and his mouth were both larger than what Hange had ever gotten used to, as if he had seen a ghost.

“I’m here!” Surprise or maybe desperation had her saying those words to the loudest of her abilities. She could never tell how far her voice travelled anymore, since it didn’t echo. It didn't tussle with the other sounds for its own place among them.

That time was no different. As soon as it came out of her mouth, she didn’t hope. Instead she walked back to the shore, plopped on the ground and sighed.

“God, I’m probably going crazy.” Onyankopon put a hand to his forehead and shook his head. “I should go to sleep.” His voice was tighter and Hange could have sworn she heard a crack. She didn’t even think that voices could experience wear and tear until then.

Seconds after that, Onyankopon made the trek back to the house.

Hange stayed behind. She lay back down on the sand, a bag of disappointment. An air of disappointment. A nothingness of disappointment.

When she was nothing, she was free but somehow, staring up at the sky, she realized, maybe she would have given up her freedom for just a little more time.

***

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Falco brought it up hesitantly over lunch. Even with his experience in the war, he was surprisingly still meek, easily rattled.

“Why are you asking about ghosts?” Gabi asked as she pierced another potato with her fork, so forcefully that it almost made Hange jump.

“Well at night… maybe even really early in the morning… Sometimes I hear the creaks of the floorboard coming from Levi’s room,” Falco said. He turned to Levi questioningly. “Did you ever hear anything?”

“I’m usually asleep.” Levi shrugged as he clumsily guided another spoonful of soup to his mouth. Learning to eat with his left hand was slow going but everyday, he was making some progress.

“Does anyone else hear it?” Falco’s eyes darted, alternating between the two other faces.

“This is an old house,” Gabi said.

“But why Levi’s room… there shouldn’t be… Levi can’t even walk right?” Falco argued.

“You read too many ghost stories…” Gabi’s tone was unchanging.

“What if it is a ghost?” Onyankopon dropped his own spoon and leaned back on his seat.

Gabi’s jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me you believe him?”

“You know, I took a walk along the coast last night.” Onyankopon pointed towards the window, tracing a line with his pointer finger for emphasis. “And I thought I saw someone there.”

“Maybe it was a trick of the light,” Gabi suggested. “There are jellyfish down there at this time of year right? And there were lots of stars last night…” Her words deteriorated to unintelligible babbling and Hange almost suspected she was a little more scared than Falco was.

Onyankopon shook his head. “It looked like a person.

Gabi’s hand was halfway to her mouth before she dropped it back on the plate. “It’s a trick of the light.”

“You know, in my culture, we believe ghosts exist. Ghosts of our ancestors, our friends, they all watch over us,” Onyankopon said, his voice light. “Or that is what my grandmother used to teach me. And if you don’t believe in them… You’re insulting them… And they might just come to haunt you!” He had said that last part loudly, a stark contrast from the overall volume of the conversation. It had seemed scary at first, before settling as something more playful.

Hange snorted.

Gabi didn’t see the play in it, she screamed, jumping up. “Maybe we really should get out of here. I wanna go back to Marley…” She buried her head in her hands. Her breaths came slow and deep, sometimes in heaves and exhales.

Exasperated or terrified. Before Hange could even make sense of it, Gabi quickly sat up.

Levi spoke up, his calm voice caught the attention of the room. “Even if there is a ghost here, even if there’s one in my room…” He worked his way slowly through those words.

Falco interrupted. “Aren’t you scared?”

Levi shook his head. “No, I feel more comforted than scared.”

“Why?” Falco asked. He moved to the seat next to a seemingly shaken Gabi.

Levi was playing with his food then and it looked as if he had no intention of putting it in his mouth. He hummed for a second longer.

“I’ve seen a lot of death in my life,” he started. “Even after my friends die, I worry about them. I wonder what happens to them after…If they see darkness or if they really just stop…maybe they don't even know what darkness is anymore.” He paused and took a deep breath. “But if ghosts exist at least I’m reassured, when people die, they don’t just… stop existing. It’s a reminder that maybe even after death, it’s not just nothing. There’s something after...” Levi could have said something more, but he didn’t and soon the anticipation died down to dead air.

After a brief silence, conversation shifted to plans after Levi’s recovery, Gabi and Falco’s plans when they grow a little older.

Levi kept quiet, instead focusing on getting the food into his mouth and Hange couldn’t help but note, he was eating much faster. Somehow, he had managed to chew with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

***

The conversation had proved to be informative. Hange only needed her sharpened deduction skills to make use of it.

She held her working hypotheses like a charm.

Hypothesis one: She was in one world and they were in another one

Hypothesis two: Sometimes, the lines would blur.

And Hange just had to listen more closely, she just had to feel it more carefully.

Over time, she had attributed sensations, feelings as things exclusive to the rest of the world, the living and the tangible. At three in the morning, she willed herself to focus on the silence, taking stock of the characteristic something-ness of her surroundings and the characteristic nothingness of her actions as she leaned on the door of Levi’s room.

Levi was unmoving on the bed and he was a good beacon, a sight to focus on. She moved forward slowly. If she closed her eyes and willed it, she had feet, she could move forward in slow and careful steps.

One step. Then two steps. Around the third step, the floors creaked. Then the rustle of sheets filled the room then a long groan.

Those last few movements weren't her doing. Despite his injuries, Levi had quickly pushed himself to a sitting position. Even in the darkness, the wince was very visible and Hange dropped her little experiment, rushing forward towards the bed.

He didn’t feel her hands on her shoulders, he didn’t grip when she slipped her hand under his. When she looked into his eyes, she saw they were far from blank. He was looking down at the floorboards, and it looked like he was searching for something.

He continued to stare.

Hange counted a few more seconds, then a minute.“Are floorboards really that interesting?” She asked with a laugh.

He didn’t answer.

Maybe Hange could have walked back to the doorway, then made the path back to the bed again, just to let the floorboards creak one last time. She made herself comfortable though, working for a semblance of a tingle as she lay on the bed next to Levi.

She felt a pang of regret when Levi let out a shuddered breath and fell back on the bed. She had known him long enough to read disappointment.

Then she didn’t have to read him anymore, he spoke up in silence. “If you’re the ghost, you’re free to haunt me all you want. Make the floors creak as loud as you want.”

Hange though, was done for the night. Instead, she slipped her hand much further under his. It could have been her own imagination or it could have been something more.

She didn’t have enough emotion to spare to ponder all those at once. So she squeezed hard again and concluded for herself that maybe he could have felt it too.

***

The line between her world and his was a fickle thing. In time, with the right experiments, sufficient awareness of her own surroundings, patterns showed themselves and Hange was quick to pick them out.

There were times she had wanted to cry. Guilt, sadness, regret were the first line culprits. Then there was anger, frustration at the tears she couldn’t shed. For someone without a body to hold them, emotions found other ways to channel themselves, to let themselves be known.

There were heavy waves that transformed into whirlpools. They welled inside her, they swirled into every end of her body, sometimes they manifested as tingling sensations at her tips.

When Levi lay in his bed, an alarming white, Hange was sure it was everything at once.

“Pneumonia,” Onyankopon repeated, a simple enough explanation for Gabi and Falco who had hesitantly settled in the room.

Onyankopon continued. “He might have to stay overnight at the hospital. I called some help to get him transported to the nearest town.”

“Nothing they can fix here?” Falco asked.

Onyankopon shook his head. He didn’t say anything more. He was silent when help came and when the paramedics carried Levi like he was a starved child. Hange only noticed, when it had taken only one burly man to carry Levi to the ambulance, that Levi was small, very small.

Then another whirlpool of emotions took over. Anger? Pity? Regret? They were incomprehensible but they were enough to have Hange rushing behind them.

The town hospital was busier than she had expected. Her senses were suddenly heightened, maybe because it wasn’t just her world anymore. When she closed her eyes, when she let herself feel the bristle at her tips, she felt the presence of other companions. She wasn’t alone. If she called out, maybe someone would come.

Her focus was on Levi and as much as possible, she didn’t spend too much time along the hallways. She rushed into his room, behind the doctor, slipping herself through the crack of the door.

“He just has to make it through the night.” The doctor’s words were cold, firm. For a second, Hange wondered how he had managed to reach that age, making a living off of aiding patients when he had the bedside manners of a brick. “It says here he was caught in an explosion a year back, did a number on his organs.”

The smoke, the fire, maybe that was the reason, his lungs were weaker. Hange quickly deduced.

That wasn’t an excuse to die.

For a second, Hange even entertained the possibility, if he died, maybe he would see her. They could talk, catch up, hold each other. She shook those thoughts away, letting the guilt fall with it and she jumped onto the bed, next to him. “Come on, you can’t die here, You didn’t survive a decade long war just to die of pneumonia.” She let out a laugh, she timed her own breaths to the sound of the beeping of the machine, to the whoosh of the ventilator.

And she pressed herself closer to him. He was still breathing, still moving just slightly. A sign of life maybe. And the closer she went, the more she realized, she could pretend it tickled her ears.

“Fight,” she whispered.

Levi opened his eyes, turned to his side. A glimmer of hope for a second, as Hange pondered if he had seen her.

“Levi, rest.” Onyankopon was behind her again, having settled on the chair by the bedside.

Disappointed, Hange rolled out of the bed and back to the floor. The world was suddenly heavy. Whether it was their world, or hers, or both, she didn’t think too hard to tell. But she could release it somehow.

She played pretend again. She saw the side table, a bottle of water, a packet of pills and she swept over it in one violent movement.

For a second she felt hard plastic, the rough paper at her tips. Then nothing.

Everything scattered to the ground, in some chaotic order. Calm again, Hange bent down to pick it up, only to find out she didn’t feel anything again, even as she hovered closely over them.

They weren’t hers to touch anymore.

In some act of obligation or maybe act of support, Onyankopon appeared next to her. He bent down, picked up the bottle on one hand, the packet on the other then placed them back on the side table.

Then he broke the heavy silence. “Hange, if that’s you… We’re trying our best.”

When Onyankopon left for the night, it was just her and Levi in the room. Sometimes, the occasional nurse would pop in but not for long enough for Hange to have to gather herself.

She let the emotions out again, not as bursts but as streams. She found, if she gave it more than enough time to come out, they didn’t riot. They complied with limits, they acted with civility.

There was a pen on the side table, and on the wall next to Levi’s bed, there was a chart. There were numbers Hange could make sense of if she tried hard enough.

At that point, her goals were different, so she ignored it. She hovered her hand over the pouch next to it. She had managed to connect two fingers together, she just needed to do similarly with a pen in between them.

For just a second, she was successful.

But only for just a second.

The pen fell to the ground with a clatter. Hange decided it wasn’t worth it to bend over. Maybe because she theorized, if she did, she might not be able to stand up again. She stared once again at the white board. Wet hot tears welled inside her, wet hot tears that would never meet the light of day.

Hange stretched her hand out. She saw two fingers, then five as she opened up her fist, a fist she didn’t even know she had. She propped one finger nail on the board, digging it deep into the wood.

Her grip on the world was consistent enough at least that she could manage one rough and dotted line. So she traced it again and again, until the dots were completely carved over. That one straight line turned into another.

It turned out to be an unsettling sensation. The whiteboard made an ugly whittling sound, it danced even against her shaky touch. The few times their worlds connected, she felt a stinging phantom pain at her tips.

There was nothing to feel pain for her. There were no nails to break, no fingertips that could bleed. There was no living entity to take the consequences of leaving a shoddily covered sign on the whiteboard. Besides, it was small enough anyway, that anyone could easily brush it off.

Then she wondered if Levi would see it. Maybe he wouldn’t. At that point, she was too far gone, so she finished the message then allowed herself one last peek of Levi’s sleeping face. She sluggishly made her way to the corner of the room, lowered her body back down and closed her eyes.

It would be a long night.

***

By some miracle, Levi recovered quickly.

By the next morning, they removed some of the tubes. By evening, he could sit up, even for just a bit.

Hange had made enough of an effort to last even her afterlife. She was exhausted. Maybe dispirited was the right word? But it was a strange feeling that made the days move faster. She did not have much control over speed, over thought.

Even when visitors had come one after the other, even when Levi had attempted to sit up, she couldn’t bring herself to rush beside him. He was there though, he was alive and that had been good enough.

The next evening, a nurse finally pointed it out. “Someone wrote on the chart.”

“Did you coordinate the other nurses?” Onyankopon asked.

The nurse shook her head. “Not write… Carve. There’s a message here, carved on the edge of the board.” She undid it from its place on the bed and gently placed it on the side table. “Did any of your visitors do this?”

“So far, only Gabi, Falco and I have visited…” Onyankopon trailed off.

“Do you recognize the handwriting?” The nurse slid the board to a better angle, easier for Levi to crane his neck and take a look.

“It’s hard to tell…It looks like it was carved on the board with a fingernail...” Onyankopon said. “Levi, do you?”

“No.” he said it too easily.

Hange held herself closer. A part of her wanted the corner to swallow her whole.

The nurse shook her head. “Maybe we just didn’t notice it before. Could have been from another patient…” She muttered about other theories Hange didn’t bother to mule over.

Soon the nurse was out the door anyway and it was just Onyankopon and Levi in the room.

Levi spoke up. “Onyankopon… What if I told you, it looks like her handwriting?” His voice was weak. For Hange, it was strong enough to turn complete desolation to a glimmer of hope.

“If you think it’s her handwriting. I don’t see why we can’t stick with that assumption.”

Levi leaned back on the bed. “Well, it’s nice words to live by, especially if it came from her.”

Onyankopon nodded. “It is.” Then he slid his fingers over the wooden frame. “Live on.”

“Live on, Levi,” Hange whispered. To hell if those words even touched the still air of the room.

***

Hange became obsessed with noise. Many types of noise: The creak of the floorboards at her feet, the bump on the walls, the thump when items swayed with just a shrivel of wind.

The more she let emotions take over, the more things went bump and she started to realize it was an exhausting ordeal. Sometimes, the natural laws didn’t listen. Sometimes her hands didn’t connect with surfaces, sometimes hands permeated through solids.

Disheartened, Hange stood by the side of the kitchen a day after Levi was released by the hospital. He had retired to his bedroom as soon as they arrived home.

It was Onyankopon, Falco and Gabi gathered on the table. Hange took one of the empty seats, pretending that she was very much in need of the same comforts as everyone else.

“Have you ever gone down to the beach?” Onyankopon asked. It was an odd opening statement but as soon as Hange scanned the faces, noting the sullen mood. She realized there were only too many things one can say to even attempt to lighten it.

“A few times,” Gabi answered.

“But not at night right? At this time of the year?” Onyankopon asked. “Sometimes, the jellyfish would get washed up on shore and when they glow… it’s a beautiful sight.”

It has been a year since the last time Hange walked along the edge.

“What do you think?” Onyankopon asked. “We could go down, just long enough to cheer you two up.”

“We’re not sad,” Falco said, an uncomfortable grin on his face. “We’re just worried.”

“I’d rather you didn’t waste your time on that. Levi’s gonna be fine. Besides, we’ve lived here for more than a year already, it’s unbelievable to me that you haven’t seen it.”

It didn’t take much prodding after. The three made the trek all the way down from the cliff, they took to the staircase with prudence. Hange took the short more dangerous way, making the fifty feet drop down to the coast.

The blue jellyfish were there again, like they were every single other time. Onyakopon had been taking more walks, Hange had to note. Maybe that was how he had figured it out.

Eventually, they were all lined up at the coast, their expressions all showed different levels of wonder.

“I told you right? I saw someone the last time I was here,” Onyakopon started.

Gaby held herself close and Falco stepped forward, nearer to the shores.

Surprisingly, Falco had done the braver thing. “Who did you see?” He asked.

Onyankopon shook his head. “It could have been a trick of light. But you know, if you ask for a name…" He paused for a second, seeming deep in thought. "I could have sworn it was Commander Hange Zoe.”

Commander Hange Zoe.

In a world where she was a nothing, constantly floating amongst shifting lights and shifting darks, her name said aloud by someone other than herself, was a strong grip. Long ago, she was alive. Long ago, she existed. And maybe even after that, she continued to exist. If that limbo she found herself in, counted as existing.

It did count as existing. She was still very much Hange Zoe.

Realization was a burst of energy. Something that had her running forward again, just like a year ago, through the glowing blue, through the shallow salt waters that should have tickled at her shin.

It was like that scene last year again, with just two extra visitors.

“Did you see that?” Falco asked.

“See what?” Gabi asked.

Falco shook his head. “It could have been a trick of the light… But there was someone there in a green---”

“In a green cloak, then the wings of freedom?” Onyakopon said, a good guide for the two young kids.

Falco nodded. “The wings of freedom… The blue and white symbol right?”

“That was the symbol of the survey corps," Onyankopon explained.

Falco hummed. “If I’m not the only one who saw it… That means…” He still seemed unsure of his own conjecture.

And it turned out Gabi wasn’t in any hurry to help. “Ghosts don’t exist! Let’s go back upstairs.”

***

Some people saw it, some people didn’t. Hange only had to look back at her own experiences with ghosts to stumble upon the conclusion.

There were believers. There were zealots. There were warriors. There were scaredy cats, even among the battle hardened soldiers.

Over the years, it was a lingering belief, a passing one. When it became her whole life though, she decided to give it more than just a passing thought. Onyankopon could see with the right combinations of lights and Falco had proved the same.

When there were only four people in that house, barring the occasional visitor, It was only natural that her thoughts would fly to Levi. He was the only one after all among the four, who hadn’t witnessed the lights show for himself.

Timing though was a tricky thing. After all, the lights only came together once a year. If they were lucky, twice. If they were unlucky, none at all for that season. And Levi was in no position to walk, let alone climb down such a dangerous set of stairs.

A part of her would rather he never did anyway. He might even die just making the trip to the beach.

Live on. She held those words like a charm, as she sat by his bed, silently watching his sleeping face.

Even if ‘living on’ only composed of long days locked in the bedroom, of long hours in the reading room turning pages of books. After all, there was something beautiful about the small yet noticeable changes. The way Levi was sleeping more, yet waking up earlier.

He was turning pages faster. Sometimes Hange heard the rustles more incessant, loud sounds crammed into a second and she thought to herself, how it would have been nice to feel the rough paper on her skin again.

Onyankopon probably held the same thought. He never told Levi that he had seen a silhouette of Hange down at the beach. Hange could have sworn she had heard their hushed conversation about it, at three in the morning.

Would Levi have gone down if he knew?

Maybe he would have. No, Hange was sure she he would have. After all, he continued to look for her.

Hange still made the floors creak. Sometimes, they came as a high chirp, sometimes a low rumble. Still, every single one, had been enough to have Levi stirring, turning on his side, just to get a good look at the floor, the very boring wooden floor.

Sometimes, he would sit up on bed, still staring expectantly at the wooden floor underneath.

When Hange thought it important that Levi got some rest, she minimized it. Instead, forcing herself to stay calm as she lay next to him on the bedside.

And she learned overtime, at their calmest, at their most relaxed, spirits were very much invisible, maybe even dead to the world.

Dead enough to forget her own name? For a second there, she almost forgot who she was.

***

Time passed, by some miracle, Levi’s world got a little bigger. There was no prodding, no pressure to get better. It was only Levi’s pride that had him leaning on the side table, foregoing the wheel chair for slow painstaking steps.

Stairs were still a mind game, still a circle of hell for him but he had learned to let the bannisters do their work. If he held on tightly enough, shifting all the weight to his good leg, he could get down in time.

Many times, Hange had to stop herself and force herself to stand idly by. For a while, she had been almost envious of the bannister for having the right facilities to support him.

Once again, envy had her remembering, she was nothing but a ball of memories, a ball of emotions, only held together by faith and beliefs every year. It was the work of the concrete and the tangible, to keep Levi up.

Falco and Onyankopon still went down to the beach every single year. Sometimes, they called her by name, sending another wave of energy through her, letting the memories rush through her at once.

She was still Hange Zoe. She would always be Hange Zoe. In the next life, maybe in the life after that. That was what had her going, sitting by Levi’s bed every night. As long as she kept a tight grip on memories, they were still very much there.

Years passed in a very conspicuous way when there were two kids in the house.

Within years, Falco shot up. Suddenly, he was strong enough to carry Levi down the stairs on bad days. Gabi was getting taller as well, Soon, her head barely brushed Onyankopon’s ear.

It wasn’t just the people that changed though. Although that had been enough for Hange to realize, time was passing. There were other things that came abruptly.

Like an eviction notice.

“We’re gonna have to move,” Onyakopon said over lunch one day. He slapped the document on the table, and shook his head.

Of course, they couldn’t stay there forever. It wasn’t their land. They were merely paying rent, at the mercy of a landlord.

“Wait, why?”

“They wanna reclaim the land, turn it into a small port,” Onyankopon explained with a shrug.

“Wait, reclaim the land… You mean?” It was Falco who first put two and two together.

“The beach?” Gabi added.

“They’ll put more sound and soil over the water, build a street over it,” Onyankopon said.

“The jellyfish?” Falco asked.

“They’ll have to find another place to live?” Onyankopon seemed noticeably sad for a bunch of jellyfish.

“It’s not just tha--” Falco’s eyes were wide with horror. He turned to Levi before settling on the plate in front of him. “How long do we have?”

Onyankopon turned the paper around then put his finger on the first line on the upper right. “A month.”

For one season a year, the jellyfish would line the coast.

By some coincidence, or maybe by fate, it was already that season and if they were lucky, maybe they could catch it one more time in between packing things and cleaning the house.

Hange decided, she would rather it was coincidence than fate. Fate had already proven multiple times to have a cruel hand.

“You wanna go down to the beach? One time before we leave? It’s beautiful out there,” Onyakopon brought up the question while Levi had been putting away books from the shelf, throwing them into boxes.

“What does the beach have that I can’t imagine here?” Levi asked.

Maybe if Hange had a voice, she could have explained it. The way the lights mixed amongst each other, creating colors no one would have ever believed to have existed. If she was there, that would have worked. Even if the words didn’t work, if she had hands, if she had control over the tangible, she would have pulled him with one hand. Hell, she would have carried him herself.

Onyankopon had his own experiences, his own words. They turned out to be just as effective. “Hange.”

Levi looked back, his eyes wide. He didn’t respond. Maybe he had been too preoccupied with the shaking of his hands, uncontrollable shaking that ended with one heavy book splayed on the floor.

Onyankopon rushed to pick it up. “It’s beautiful down there. The jellyfish rest near the shores before they migrate elsewhere. They glow at night and the stairs look beautiful behind it. Sometimes, it’s enough to forget reality.”

Levi dropped his shoulders. “If they’re gonna reclaim the land, maybe it would be worth it to see it one last time.”

Onyankonpon sighed. “I’m gonna have to warn you, the trek is hard.”

“I think I’ve recovered enough for a small walk.”

***

A small walk was a very dangerous understatement. Levi lived on understatements though.

Hange just wanted to make sure, that understatement wouldn’t have been enough to kill him.

So she didn’t jump down. She crouched down over the cliff and watched as he descended the first steps. When she found herself having to bend over further just for a horrible and awkward angle, she decided to just take the drop and watch from the beach.

It took approximately fifteen minutes to get him down and Hange counted three times where she had ended up letting out a half scream before Falco or Onyakonpon had pulled him back at the last minute.

That one last almost-fall had been the scariest. Maybe because for that split second, Levi’s jaw dropped, his eyes widened. He seemed to have lost control of himself in that second.

Hange understood though just why he had seemed uncharacteristically disconcerted. It was in the glowing blue reflected in his eyes.

“If we show this to the landlord, do you think he’ll spare it?” Falco asked. It was a pathetic question and both a yes or a no wouldn’t have sufficed.

Levi sat back down on the sand in three stilted movements. “They don’t listen to anything but money,” he answered softly. The venom in his voice hinted that he could have said more.

“Let’s just treat this as the last time,” Onyakopon said.

Hange gripped time again and counted backwards. Five years.

Five years since Onyankopon had first seen her. Then the next year it had been the three of them. Then the remaining years it had been Falco and Onyankopon visiting.

Five times was enough though to get attached, especially when the view was strange enough to take someone’s breath away.

And it would be the last time they could appreciate that view. Hange wasn’t too surprised when she heard ragged breaths and soft sniffles behind her.

“We’ll just have to look for another one,” Falco shrugged.

“But do you think we’ll ever find one that shines the same way?” Gabi asked.

“Maybe,” Levi said.

“You know Levi, if you stare at it long enough, you might just see ghosts.” Onyankopon added playfully, close enough to Levi that it could have been just for him.

“I’d love to see a ghost,” Levi said, barely a whisper.

Hange had been close enough to hear it. She saw that as a cue to step forward, lightly over the sea of jellyfish. When she looked down, the water didn’t ripple. She hovered over it like a spirit, like air, like a trick of the light.

Onyankopon and Falco’s own belief had already convinced her long before, that with that exact way that the lights from the sky and the lights from the shores cooperated, the line between the two worlds blurred.

And there were just certain people, who could distinguish others as more than a trick of the light.

For how long would they see it? She never thought deep enough to find out so she didn’t know. If she could get a message across, it couldn’t hurt to try.

Maybe that would be the last place she could ever be visible. How many beaches shone with the same glowing blue? How many skys still glimmered with a clear view of the stars above?

More importantly, even if other places existed, were they so easily found? Especially when the three were constantly on the run from angry soldiers around the world.

Hange looked back, to see that Onyankopon and Falco had focused on her again, their mouths completely agape.

“Do you see her?” Onyankopon managed to ask, after one deep breath.

“See what?” Levi asked.

And with that question, disappointment blanketed the air of wonder.

“She’s glowing, green, brown, red just like when she died. Then a burning blue.”

Levi didn’t answer. His eyes seemed blank. They darted from each corner for a second before looking ahead then they narrowed. His lips trembled with what Hange could guess was frustration.

“And she’s smiling,” Onyankopon said.

Hange had to admit, she had let the warmth of the moment take over.

“A sad smile,” Falco continued.

Hange had to admit, she gave some of that disappointment free reign inside her.

“All I see is light,” Levi said.

“You get it!” Gabi put her hands up. “I thought I was the only one just seeing late. They made me think I was crazy for seeing nothing.”

Hange shook her head before she turned back to Onyankopon and Falco. The two were still staring.They wouldn’t hear her, Hange had tried too many times before.

But maybe if she mouthed something, they would get it. She didn’t let a silent sound escape her lips. At the same time, she made sure to enunciate every syllable.

“Did you catch that?” Falco asked.

Onyankopon only nodded. “Maybe I did.”

Hange blithely made her way back to the shore and bent over next to Levi. The sand didn’t crunch as she fell back on it. Over time they stopped making even the slightest sounds and she realized, maybe she didn’t mind being nothing.

“This might be the last time we're going to see something like this. Enjoy it,” Onyankopon said.

“I am,” Levi said.

“Take all the time you need.”

For a while they were silent. For how long? Hange didn’t bother to count anymore. Maybe it was the better choice to just let time flow in some incomprehensible way. After all, time was a concept exclusive to the living.

Levi let out a strange sound, a mix between a crack and a ragged breath. Then he spoke up. “I can’t help but think, Hange would have liked to see this.”

Onyankopon’s response came out seeming unrehearsed. “She likes it. I’m sure she does.”

“You think she got to see it?”

I got to see it every single time Levi. Hange decided, thinking it was enough.

“She was walking through it,” Onyankopon said. “Right Falco?”

Falco nodded lightly. “She was.” He had always been a genuine person and maybe that was why Levi had swallowed it so quickly, even if it could have seemed like a lie at first.

“What did she say?” Gabi asked.

Levi didn’t verbalize it. In fact, he seemed to have been asking the same question.

It was Onyankopon’s question to answer and he approached it like a painter muling over his first piece. “‘Take care of Levi.’ She told me to take care of you.”

[the-huntress]

Little Moth - Chapter 4 - As The Snow Fell

[Thank you so much to everyone that has read, liked and re-blogged the chapters and master list of my fanfic so far, I really appreciate all the support!]

Masterlist

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg. [18+]

Summary: You’ve barely even set foot into the village and have already had a taste of the unusual residents and otherworldly beings. Is there anyone that you can trust?

Trigger Warnings: Threat, theft.

Soundscape Ambience Suggestions:

Medieval Ruins Ambience

Quiet Tavern Ambience

[Photos are my own]

You woke with a start, the white canvas of the morning sky blinding you as a crow cawed from above. You cast you gaze about bleary eyed, taking in your surroundings. You were back at your camp, but mightily dishevelled, half your clothes on, half off, and various parts exposed to the elements. The last embers of the fire burned, soft wafts of smoke dying down.

What the hell happened last night? You wondered, casting your thoughts back and rubbing your face, feeling almost as if you had a hangover. Fixing your clothes, you turned your attention to your equipment and the camp. Anything that wasn’t necessary to have on you today you bagged back up into your luggage bag and pushed into the hollow of the tree that you had camped against; mostly some clothing, sleeping bag, tarpaulin… you paused as you got to the bow that the Duke had gifted to you, eyeing it up. As much as you felt safer with it, today you would have to try to be inconspicuous, and this weapon was not going to help with that. You stuffed it hastily as far bag into the hollow as you could, hooking it on a knot on the inside of the tree so that it hung safely, completely out of view, and then threw leaves over the bag.

The distance seemed shorter this time going towards the cliff edge that overlooked the village. You took out your binoculars from a pouch on your hip and got down onto your stomach to scout the area. From where you were you could easily see the castle with its spiky turrets in the distance, slightly shrouded by a fine mist at this hour. If it weren’t for the whole situation that you were in and the very obvious unease that this place was already causing you, you’d have maybe even called this gothic monster ‘beautiful’. Leading up to it were many small houses, each made slightly differently to the next, but somehow all similar. Some with thatched roofs, some tile, some metal. You were only at the brink of this village, but you could sense poverty from here, being used to living in a modern world and never feeling like you’d had to struggle too much for food or material needs. Your eyes were drawn to a route that should give you access easily into the village by way of going behind some of the closer buildings, and with a quick sweep, checking that no one was currently about, you decided to go now.

The village had a spattering of snow, less than a foot for sure, and for the most part it had been trodden down and thinned. Coming up to the first house you crouched down behind a small brick wall, which looked as though it had started to tumble over. Again, you couldn’t see anyone here, but you could definitely hear livestock; a pig and maybe some chickens. Peering over the top of the wall towards the house you noticed a washing line, its contents bouncing slowly in the slight breeze. There were yellowed white briefs, a petty coat, bonnets, a dress made out of material that looked itchier than it looked practical, and also a hooded cloak. You pondered for a moment if taking an entire line of clothes to disguise yourself was a good idea or not and then decided against it; you whipped the cloak down, it being very dull and drab in both colour and fabric, with no distinguishing features, and threw the large hood up over your head. It was big enough even to hide your eyes, the swells of fabric wrapping around your arms and body, providing more warmth as well as what you hoped would deter anyone from making too much notice of you. Your boots and trousers were visible, from the knee down, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Nearing the centre, you started to hear the sounds you’d expect to hear in a small village like this. The day was light enough to see everything clearly; a statue of a lady holding a sword and shield. Something about it sent a shiver down your back. It wasn’t that it looked creepy, it just felt… familiar somehow. This looked as though it was perhaps the centre of the village; a woman sat on a bench knitting, a couple of children played with a stick and hoop. That felt weird too. It was the turn of the millennium, and yet here children were playing with really outdated toys. A little way up you could see a hill rising with some gravestones dotted here and there to the left of it. Already you could feel the eyes of the children staring at you and the quiet clacking of the knitting needles had stopped. Keeping your head down, you carried on walking, your feet choosing to take you up the small hill, past the gravestones. You passed a strange wooden shine on your right, not daring to turn your head to look at the details right now, for you’d hoped that they people here might assume that you were one of them thus letting you become invisible. You’d had undercover jobs before that you’d excelled at, but things felt very different here. Every step you took made the feeling of foreboding grow stronger in you. Up ahead was a door depicting two characters, one looked like a woman, the other, you weren’t too sure, but it looked sturdy and as though it might lead to the great castle, so that didn’t seem like you’d be unnoticed if you tried that door. To the right a long alley way, but it looked to lead away from the village, and to the right again the iron gates into the grounds of a small church, with a bubble of people emerging from its doors now. Yes, you had to lay low and try not to turn heads, but you also needed information, maybe if you passed through this crowd as if you were going somewhere you could eavesdrop some clues.

You made your way over and saw a man dressed like a vicar of sorts standing at the church doors while the villagers left, his hands raised in the air and a grin on his face. His eyes were eerily shadowed with darkness, but this didn’t seem to deter his congregation.

“Thank you for coming to today’s assembly to pay our respects to our beloved saviour, Mother Miranda. Volunteers and the Heretic’s Judgement are to be held tomorrow at Mother’s church.”

Just then you accidentally bumped right into someone emerging from the crowd, the impact making you both exhaled audibly, and the villager dropping their item to the ground.

“I’m so sorry, are you ok?” You asked, seeing her face as she looked up to see whom she had bumped into. You mentally kicked yourself for being automatically nicely mannered when you could have just trundled past. Instead, you stopped to pick up what you saw now to be a small bouquet of flowers, seeing her smiling at you as you handed them to her.

“Oh yes, I’m quite alright.” She said warmly. She looked to be in her forties with grey blue eyes, mousy brown hair and bangs. “Are you?”

You were taken aback for a moment; you didn’t expect anyone to ask how you were. In all honesty you’d been better. “No damage done.” You smiled, making sure to pull the cloak over any item of clothing that might give you away for being from further afield than the next village or so. The church doors had closed, and the rest of the crowd had now disbanded into the rest of the village.

“You look to me like you could do with a hot meal and a warm bath. If you beg my pardon for saying so.” She took a step back and extended her hand. “I’m Luiza by the way.”

“Y/N.” You replied, shaking it. Is this a good idea? You asked yourself, but you couldn’t help but trust the woman.

“I was just about to lay these down in the cemetery, if you’d like to join me Y/N.” Luiza offered, indicating to the small bouquet. There was a look in her eyes, like she was trying to tell you something.

“Yes of course.”

The two of you made your way a little past the church and through some more iron gates, this time into a space that was on a slight slope with a couple of crypts and tombs. Checking around her to make sure that no one else was around, Luiza turned her eyes back to you slowly.

“You’re not from here.” She stated. You swallowed.

“No, I’m from the next town over, I’m passing through to –“

“Please. You’re not from here, your accent, your boots… but your eyes, your eyes are what really gave it away. If you’d ever lived near here, you’d never have the damn nerve to even come.” She waved a hand in the air, and yet looked remorsefully subdued. You didn’t quite know what to say.

You looked down to the ground, shame seeping in as if from the snow at your feet.

“I’m searching for a friend.” You said solemnly. “He’s here somewhere, at least, I think. I think that he came here on a lead; whether he’s here to help someone or it’s to do with something that concerns us… I’m not sure. But he’s been gone a while now, and I’d like to get him back home.” Saying it made it all the more real, and you could feel your throat growing tight. The whole time that you’d been speaking Luiza had listened intently, yet her face remained soft. Something twinkled in her pale eyes, a knowing.

“Do you have a picture, of your friend?” She asked.

“Yes.” You unzipped the RPD bag hanging at your side and carefully pulled the photo from the wallet inside. “His name is Leon, Leon Kennedy.” Luiza took the photo into her own hand carefully, studying it and then handed it back.

“You should come over for some dinner tonight Y/N. See that gate over there?” She pointed back towards the church but the opposite side from which you’d entered. “Through that gate, turn left and all the way up the hill. My husband and I are having goulash tonight, if that might tempt you.”

“With dumplings?”

“I can do them if you’d like.” She smiled, turning away to face a small gravestone. “Come after nightfall but be careful on your way.”

“I will.” You started heading back towards the church and then turned to ask, “Who is it? That you’re visiting I mean.”

“My daughter.” She replied.

You left Luiza at her daughter’s grave and felt your stomach rumble. The last 24 hours had been gruelling on your body, you were cramping with no pain relief, nor for your knee, which was already aching, a reminder of the stress you’d put it through the day before fighting that… beast, and then you remembered; the dream… what had happened? That was the same beast as the one you’d slain. But what, you’d resurrected it? You wondered what it meant, and then you started to recall what had happened after. Your cheeks burned red in an instant, spreading over your neck and ears. Confusion ultimately taking over. Well at least I’m warm now, you sneered at yourself, and then felt another rumble. I need food.

Luiza seemed like she could be a good ally to have here, and something told you that she recognised that picture of Leon; even if she was the only person that would help you out you felt happy that you had at least something potentially to go on. You headed back into the centre of the village, with the intention of heading back to your camp for another preserved snack and then it hit you; the smell of eggs and bacon. It was drifting up from somewhere a little way past the statue to the left and you followed it around without a care.

“The Fat Goose” The sign read above the door. It looked to be a small inn of sorts with a few townsfolk coming in and out, and in seemingly good spirits. You made sure that your hood was pulled back up over your eyes and made your way in. It was like many other humble pubs that you’d frequented here and there, mostly when visiting back home in England. A long bar at the back of the room, a door leading somewhere at the back, and the clientele sat hunched over round tables upon stools, leaning close to the fire, or shouting above one another at the bar itself. It wasn’t the busiest, but it seemed to be where the majority of the village had decided to spend their day if they did not have work to be done. You could see a couple of the villagers did indeed have meals here of all sorts; chicken, bread, cheese, and most importantly eggs and bacon. You could feel yourself salivating.

Keeping your head low you approached the barkeep, the Lei ready in your hand, and slid it across the surface towards him. “Eggs, bacon and ale, thank you.” You pushed your coin over to him. You’d been lucky, upon meeting the Duke he’d brought up local currency and exchanged what you’d made the mistake of purchasing at the airport.

The barkeeper was quietly suspicious, evident in the way that he eyed you up, taking a moment to pause cleaning the tankard in his hands to take the money and gave a nod back.

“We’ll bring it over to yer table.” He said, turning back to what he was doing. You chanced a glance around the room and decided to take a seat at a vacant table by the window. It felt like a safe spot; you could see the door and the bar, but you were also tucked into a corner out of the way, the only light cast by the fire on the other side of the room and a couple of candles over head in brackets.

The ale was with you in no time at all. You’d never actually drank ale before and weren’t expecting it to be the tastiest of drinks, but there wasn’t much choice here. The eggs and bacon shortly followed, filling the room with a smell that made you stomach growl again.

The door flew open and you suddenly noticed the difference between the warmth of the inn with the bite of the outside air. The chill swept into the pub with the figures of two men, both tall and brawny, but one much larger than the other. They seemed to be deep in conversation but trying to keep their voices to a murmur that they could only hear between themselves.

They were dressed similarly; the taller man’s clothes had more of a darker and subdued palette. He had a head of grey hair, and a beard to match, a broad forehead, kind eyes and a nose which looked as though it had been broken at least once. The shorter of the two, but by no means lacking in height had a similar long coat but in more earthy tones. His face was hidden by a dark brown leather hat of sorts, well-worn with a mess of dark hair streaked with grey. The other patrons went quiet as the men entered and then began nodding at them, some even tilting a hat, before going back to their business.

Something began stirring in your stomach and you looked down at your food, maybe the eggs were off? You looked up again, unconscious of being unable to stop watching them, or more specifically, the man with the hat. He definitely felt your gaze right at that moment as he slowly turned his face over his right shoulder to look at you from behind dark, circular shades hiding his eyes from view. Time seemed to stop. He was really looking, and you felt as though you were tumbling backwards down through the biggest chasm carved into the stars.

“Oh boy.” You breathed as the man suddenly turned his head back to reply to something that his towering friend had said, who in turn, then noticed you, glancing over his friend’s head. The feeling in your stomach had grown so intense that it felt as though it had now pummelled its way into your chest too. This felt like danger and sickness all wrapped into one. You had half a mind to leave now, but you knew that not only would that rouse more suspicion, you just also didn’t want to.

“Urias, Karl.” The bartender came over to the two men at the bar, “What can I get you?”

Sometime later a beautiful, red haired girl came to take your plate away. Despite being so hungry when you first came into the establishment, once the men had entered, you’d felt so nauseous that you’d barely been able to manage another bite. You tried to channel your thoughts, calm the storm in your stomach and ease your breathing. You were getting there, managing to ground yourself, but every few minutes your eyes were drawn back to that man, was he Urias or was he Karl? Which name suited him most? Urias sounded strong and noble, well he certainly looked strong. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, suddenly emitting raucous laughter from something that his friend said which shocked you out of your trance; and then he fell silent, starring at the other man so intensely that it scared you.

“You’re fucking kidding me?” He asked. The pub fell silent. You were so focused on the scene, as was everyone else that you neglected to notice the way your tankard had started to slowly drift up into the air along with everyone else’s.

“I’m sorry my friend, I am not. I am going to marry her.”

“God fucking damnit Urias!” He bellowed, slamming a fist down on the bar. Everything fell with a bang, ale sloshing over the tables and with that he stormed out of the pub. Urias rubbed a giant hand over his face, the skin gathering in mounds between each finger. The bartender brought over a new tankard, about three times the size of the regular ones and let it thud down in front of Urias.

“On the house, chief.”

Urias took it in his man-paw and without hesitation turned towards you, walking over.

“Are you going to tell me who you are then, fabled traveller. I can tell you come from very far away.” He sounded like how you imagined a talking bear to sound, deep and rumbly. He had a big, square chin, his jaw jutted out slightly, strong teeth, big lips and kind eyes. He poured a little of the ale from his giant vessel into your own, indicating for you to stay put. No one else in the pub seemed to be paying attention, at least not with their eyes, this man must have some hold or power over them.

“My name is Y/N, and I am looking for my friend.” You told him truthfully, face down, but eyes looking up at him. You were scared, for sure, but you wouldn’t let it show. You were here for a reason, you’d come this far, you weren’t going to leave without Leon, and you meant it. You slid the photo across the table to him and he took it tenderly, bringing it closer to his face, all that way up to take a look. He tilted his head to the side.

“Have you spoken to anyone else?” He asked, eyes flitting between you and the photo.

“One other.” You replied, not mentioning who.

“Y/A my name is Urias, as you might have heard my friend eloquently let the world know earlier. I am the chief of this village. My brother and I-“ He paused and looked down at his hands. “My brother and I came from a mountain clan, our blood line has been chief there for generations, but we wanted to see more of the world and make our mark, learn trades and earn our keep. We came to this village when we were both merely men grown, that was a long time ago now.” He had a faraway look in his eyes, turning now to look out of the window, it was already beginning to grow dark and a drift of snow had begun to descend once more. “We climbed the ranks here, doing what we could to help protect the village and its population…” He paused again in thought. “To help, however we could. It’s just me now, but I still want that, I still want to do what’s right for my people”

He took a deep drink from the tankard, which now that you were looking at it closely, looked more like a small barrel with a makeshift handle.

“Y/N I will help you however I can, but please understand this; this is no normal village, there are things at work here even I can’t quite explain. Tensions are very high, and an outsider coming in looking for a missing friend,” He tilted his head and gave a small chuckle, “Well, that’s not going to go down so well with some of the villagers, and especially not with the higher ups.”

“You mean Mother Miranda?” You asked bluntly. He swung his head to look you dead in the eyes.

“How do you know her name?”

“I did my research before I came; I don’t know much about her Urias, but I have a bad feeling about her.” Your cheeks burned from being so forward.

He laughed again, “You’re not the only one.” He muttered, casting you a careful sideways glance, taking you in some more. He looked like he was pondering or considering something. “There are a seldom few here that you can trust, so be careful. You can find me at my house, some of the folk they call it ‘the chief’s hut’, or else I’ll likely be here, at least for now.” His mind seemed to trail off somewhere else.

Noticing that night had indeed now fallen you bid your farewell and shook the giant’s paw and made your way outside into the chill of night, thankful for the stolen cloak wrapped around your frame.

You started around the side of the pub, back towards the route that would take you directly to Luiza’s house when something wrapped around your throat and shoved you against the wall. The breath was choked out of you upon impact and your hood fell, your hair falling down in-front of your eyes as you blinked them open, trying to see what had happened. Pain started spreading in your body; the cuts on your torso, your knee blazed and the cramps starting up again like knives. The thing around your throat was a hand, larger than your own but not huge, nails digging into your flesh.

You tried to say something, a warning a threat, but whoever it was, was closing your throat.

“Don’t pretend I didn’t see you making eyes at me in there darling,” A man’s voice drooled. “We don’t see tourists all too often around here, but I’m sure an outsider like you will be carrying something of value.”

You didn’t recognise the face in front of you at all. A man in his twenties, maybe, fairly non-descript with short mousey brown hair and some stubble. He absolutely reeked of alcohol. Your right hand shot instinctively towards your knife and he twisted your wrist anti-clockwise immediately disarming you, shoving you back against the wall with the force of his body and then reaching for any other weapons. Of course, he found the pistols, kicking one aside and holding the other to your temple.

“These will bring me a pretty Lei or two, I’m sure the Duke would be happy to pay me handsomely. What other souvenirs have you got under that cloak of yours?”

You scrabbled against his hands, trying to execute the self-defence you’d been taught for situations such as these. You tried to get to his weak points; wrist, elbow, knee, balls, but he had you at his mercy. The number of tight spots and situations you’d come up against in your time and you couldn’t do a damn thing if someone had you pinned when their strength was greater than your own. Your hands gripped against his arm, legs kicking.

“Hand it over and I won’t hurt you. Much.” He pressed the cold of your pistol harshly into the skin under your chin.

“No!” You rasped, suddenly being thrown down for a second but caught by something before you hit the ground. Strong, hot arms held you up from falling.

You dared to open your eyes, looking over the arm at the man’s fate. He was sprawled on the ground, blood gushing from his nose and mouth.

“Get the fuck out of here.” A voice rumbled from above you. You looked up. It was Karl. You winced again and the younger man tore off into the darkness without looking back. Your body trembled from pain, cold and something else.

You looked up again. Although you still couldn’t see his eyes you could see some sort of unearthly glow behind the glasses. His skin looked fairly tanned, smooth but worn, tired maybe, and small scars scattered here and there. You were still in his arms, entranced, and so warm.

“Thank you.” You breathed. He swallowed hard and blinked, turning his face away from you, he let his arms drop now that you were on your feet, but you were still close against his body, which now felt so tense. Was he shaking?

“Go.” He exhaled. You faltered, putting a hand to his arm, he flinched, his breathing deepened. “Please.” He shut his eyes. What was this man fighting?

You gulped, stepping back, not understanding, pulling your cloak around you, and stooping to retrieve your weapons.

“Karl, Y/N what’s going on?” Urias lurched out of the pub doors, “What was that commotion?”

A couple of moments passed where you were staring at Urias, holding your cloak to you and expecting Karl to answer, but nothing happened. You turned around to look at Karl, but he wasn’t there.

Urias offered to escort you himself to Luiza’s from there. You told him what happened and although he was furious at what had happened, swearing he’d try to find the culprit and have them punished; he did not seem surprised by Karl’s sudden disappearance. To say you were shaken up was an understatement, but you at least felt safer being with this humungous man of the mountains as you made your way through the snowy night.

Song Suggestion: ‘Stumble and Pain’ by Joseph Arthur

[mrsgiovanna]

Buon Compleanno (Don Giorno x Fem! Reader)

It's as the name says... This fic is close to my heart and I really enjoyed writing it for our Golden king's birthday. Mostly fluff, it does contain mentions of alcohol consumption though. I hope you all enjoy. ❤️🎊🎉😘🐞💭

P. S. Let the fluff ensue 💐

Word count: 2.5k

“So Mista... Fugo, are things ready on your end? I’ve got confirmation from North Island that everything is ready for us on their end. We have to stagger our arrivals so that Giorno doesn’t actually see you guys there until the party. All our villas are ready for our arrival and his presents are being safe guarded there until we arrive,” you beamed as you secretly went over the final checklist for Giorno’s birthday get away with the team and Trish.

Your friends had ever so thoughtfully come over to see you and Giorno off… well more so to iron out the last details of your master plan, but your boyfriend didn’t need to know that. Attempting to keep your plans for his birthday hidden from him was a near impossible feat. Trying to get him to take some time off and just live for himself was an even bigger task, but being who you are, you managed to plan everything down to the finest detail.

Trying to get the entire island to yourselves and plan the party of a century for your closest allies was a mammoth task, but it was what you felt Giorno deserved. In the years that he’s spent running Passione, he had always placed his own needs secondary to the needs of the organization, which is why you resolved to give him the best experience imaginable for his 21st birthday.

“Hi Giorno! We were just talking about you,” piped up Trish in a voice loud enough to alert everyone to the young don’s looming presence. Eyes widening for a split second, you manage to compose yourself without him catching on and flashed him a pleasant smile. You were taken aback by how handsome he looked dressed down in an azure linen Armani suit, hair braided loosely and cascading down his shoulder. He took his place at your side, casually circling his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Morning everyone, what’s this about me?”

“Oh, we’re just discussing what we’re going to be doing when you’re away… you know, cats and mice and the like,” joked Fugo, earning him a worried look from Giorno.

“Gosh, relax my love… come on, we have to go, it’s a pretty long flight,”

“Alright, alright, let’s go bella. Well, I’ll see you all in a few days’ time,” leaving to the collective goodbye wishes of your friends you set off to catch the private jet which would take you to the little piece of heaven in the Seychelles.

Upon landing at the airport, you were just one short helicopter flight away from your destination. Giorno’s demeanor was akin to that of a child on Christmas eve, taking in his beautiful surroundings on the helicopter. Stepping onto the helipad, you were greeted by the wonderful fresh scents of the salty sea air, clear blue seas and white sandy beaches for as far as the eye could see. After the welcome, you were lead to the main villa, given your golf cart and allowed yourselves to get settled in for the rest of the night, choosing to spend a quiet night lounging on the balcony overlooking the ocean.

Giorno couldn’t help but stare at your beautiful form. The way the moonlight bounced off the ocean behind you and illuminated your skin mesmerized him. He had known you ever since he had taken over Passione. You served as a valuable ally when it came to weeding out the members who were still unwilling to adopt his ideals. As the years marched on, he started seeking out your company more and more, until it became apparent that he was at his happiest when he was around you… and once the realization had dawned on him, he wasted no time in making you his. You fell hard, and fast, and it was so easy fall into step with each other’s lives, as if you had been created just for each other.

“Bella, this is incredible, I know I put up a bit of a fight but I’m so glad you did this…” he uttered with a dreamy look on his face.

“I’m glad you think so my love, you’re going to love the day I have planned for us tomorrow… Ah! Actually, later on today," you say, glancing at your watch, "it’s just past midnight! Happy birthday my love! I hope you know how much I love you, and I’m incredibly proud of you and all you have managed to accomplish at such a young age… you’re… you’re pretty amazing you know,” the emotions swirled around in Giorno’s eyes while listening to your heartfelt speech.

“(y/n) … I… you’re… I just love you so much tesoro, you’re everything I could ever want,”

“I love you too Gio… come on, it’s late, let’s get some rest,” you say while leading him to bed.

You rose early, just as the sun made its glorious appearance over the ocean. As early as you had woken up though, Giorno was already awake, nursing a cup of coffee as he stared pensively at the brilliant blue water.

“Good morning handsome, penny for your thoughts?” you greeted your lover, wrapping your arms lovingly around his shoulders and nuzzling into his soft hair.

“Good morning principessa… I’m just thinking about how much I love you…”

“Oh? Is that so, Mr. Giovanna? Well prepare to love me even more, go get ready, we have lots to do today,” you say, a lovely light, lilt coloring your voice.

“Any hints?”

“Wear something comfortable, something that we can walk around in,”

With that, your day had started with a guided hike through the island. Between Giorno’s life-imbuing ability and your affinity for adventure, you were both mesmerized by the flora and fauna you encountered on the hike. Once that was over you looked forward to coming back to a special couple’s massage which eased your sore muscles and relaxed you both into a dreamlike state. Finally, after your last treatments, you could get ready for your “dinner” at the piazza. Feeling a sense of pride as you put on the last of your accessories, you smiled at your reflection in the mirror while inspecting your stunning outfit, and grew even happier when you saw Giorno walking out in a casual charcoal grey Dior suit which matched your dress, but not his expression unfortunately.

“What’s the matter my love? You look great by the way…”

“Thank you tesoro… you’re quite the vision yourself,” standing behind you, sharing the mirror, he raked his fingers through his uncooperative hair, sighing in annoyance.

“Gio, stop- here, sit down, I’ll help you,” you say as you gently brush out the tangles and scrunch the wave back into his lovely golden hair. You carefully braid the length of his mane but leave his signature triad of ringlets out, admiring how beautifully the shorter sections of his hair framed his face.

“There…” you leaned back to admire your efforts, acknowledging the fact that you had a particularly exquisite model as well.

“Are you sure this is fine my love?” there was a hint of doubt in Giorno’s voice, but you made sure to banish any such thoughts.

“Of course, I love your hair like this,”

“Well, that’s good enough for me. Shall we leave my princess?”

“Yes… but can I drive the golf cart?” you ask, extending your arm to him, gesturing for the keys.

Speeding past the rest of the villas, you just wanted to make sure that everyone was already at the piazza ready to surprise the young don.

“Are you sure we’re at the right place my love? Or should we be at a different entrance, this looks like it’s closed,”

“Yes caro, come on, I’m sure the staff are inside… I’ve picked up on your habit of wanting to dine in solitude,” you explain as you walk towards the entrance hand in hand. Stepping into the restaurant, the lights dipped and instantly got brighter revealing your closest friends jumping out of their hiding spots with a collective, rambunctious yell of “surprise”, startling your unsuspecting boyfriend.

“Happy birthday my love,” you softly say once again, as the lively music started to play in the background.

“You… did all of this? For me?”

“Of course bello mio, well, I did have help though” you gestured behind Giorno, pointing out Mista, Trish and Fugo walking towards you both.

“Oi, happy birthday Giogio, haha, you look like you need a drink, I’ll be right back,” said Fugo as he went to order the first round of drinks for your little group. Between flitting amongst your guests, dancing with your handsome beau, and stealing moments away to be alone him, you almost forgot to give him his gifts, which were safely stored in the wine cellar of the establishment.

“Well, what do you think my love?” Giorno’s eyes widened when he saw the glass-encased, white Fender Stratocaster signed by just about every rock star, most importantly, his favorite guitarist, Jeff Beck.

“I’ve been looking for this for the longest time… how did you find it tesoro?”

“I also know some people… that’s not all, look next to it…” you motioned towards 5 Morocco solander boxes that housed a rare first edition of the complete 10 volumes of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables.

“I thought that might look quite beautiful in your study… adding something especially meaningful to your collection,”

“I’m speechless (y/n) … you’ve gone to such great lengths…” you hush him with a passionate kiss preventing him from gushing about your efforts as you were determined to make this night about him.

“I’m sure we’ve been gone for too long, lets rejoin our guests my love,” you started to walk towards the staircase exiting the wine cellar, but you were pulled back against Giorno’s broad chest, grasping your face in his hand, he kissed you with so much fervor this time, leaving you flustered and battling to calm your racing heart. Noticing the effect, he managed to have on you, he gently coaxed you back upstairs with a wicked smirk.

“Hey, you’re back, we’ve been looking all over for you two. We have one more person who wants to say hello,” with a soft smile, Trish reaches behind her to pull out coco jumbo, which meant only one thing…

“Signore Polnareff! Even you…”

“You know I’ve always had a soft spot for pretty girls Giorno… Joyeux anniversaire! You’re a brave young man with a good head on your shoulders and integrity in your heart, always hold on to that,”

“Thank you signore Polnareff, it means a lot coming from you, considering…” cutting him off before Giorno could complete his sentence, Polnareff attempted to lighten the mood.

“Non non non, no sad thoughts tonight, get this man a drink someone, you’re all slacking here,” he said looking at you as you mouthed a small thank you in his direction.

“(y/n), you’ve really outdone yourself. Giogio, you’re a lucky man,” said Mista as he brought a special bottle of champagne for you all to raise a toast with. “Alright, while we’re all here in the same place, I just want to say that you’re all important to me…”

“Mista’s drunk guys, prepare yourselves,” Trish says with an eye roll resulting in hushed giggles as the gunslinger tried to (unsuccessfully) arrange his sentimental thoughts.

Unable to stand it any longer, Trish takes over and pays homage to Giorno, as well as the special people who had given everything in order for them to live, enabling them to carry on their will.

As the party raged on, you took a small break in a dim corner of the piazza, and took a moment to marvel at the fruits of your labor. Everybody was having the best time, including Giorno. After being called away by one of his associates, it filled your heart with fluttery sensations watching the man you loved finally able to act his age for once.

“May I sit with you, carina?” startled out of your musings, you find an old friend standing over you.

“Lorenzo, of course, please, have a seat,” you offer emphatically.

“So, how is one half of Passione’s power couple doing?” his question earning a loud giggle from you. You continued to make conversation with Lorenzo, until Trish came to inform you that one of the service providers needed to confirm a few details with you, so you politely excused yourself and followed Trish. You were confused as she lead you to a secluded part of the beach, where you find Giorno standing alone, staring broodingly at the ocean for the second time that day. You realized that she just made an excuse draw you away to check on Giorno, being slightly concerned yourself after seeing the expression on his face.

“Gio? My love, what’s the matter? Did you just need some fresh air?” he turned to faced you with the softest smile.

“You know bella, I’ve loved you so deeply for years now… you always know what I need… even before I do. I never really feel complete anymore unless you’re with me… which is strange because I’ve always been content on my own. And then it hit me, you will always hold a part of me, and I’ll always seek you out because of it… You’ve given me probably the best experience of my life tonight, but, there’s just one more thing I would like from you to make the day perfect…” you felt light-headed when you saw Giorno moving to kneel down on one knee, pulling out a little trinket box, opening it to reveal the most beautiful ring.

“(y/n), would you give me the greatest gift and agree to spend the rest of your life with me as my wife?”

Emotions tugged at your pretty features, as you whispered a breathy affirmation, while nodding excitedly. Exhaling sharply with a stunning smile, Giorno got back to his feet and placed the elegant ring on your finger, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss thereafter. You threw your arms around his neck, and held him tightly, before the realization dawned on you.

“Wait! How long have you been planning this, Gio? Your question was met with his soft, exasperated laugh.

“Oh! For the longest time amore, I’ll admit though, your plans had forced me to adapt my own, but I had some help in achieving all of this… Trish is a lifesaver,” explained your new fiancé with a hint of pride in his voice.

“I love you Gio, but you managed to hijack your own celebration… I don’t know what to do with you!” the mock exasperation dripping from your voice drew a small laugh from Giorno.

“That’s your problem now tesoro, you already agreed to marry me, no take backs,” with that, you both decide to return to the festivities. Intertwining your fingers with his as you slowly walked back, you both stole loving glances at each other, communicating your intense affections for each other through your eyes alone… perhaps it was as he said, you mused… that a part of your soul resided with him also, and so you always sought him out to feel complete too, just as he did with you.

[dontcallmecarrie]

Replying to @kine-iende​ [hope this works and you see it, still trying to get the hang of how tags work] who said:

Thank you, author-person, for this incredible detailed answer. (Also i don't mind being tagged - or not) With Tony being so aware of the dynamic between those rivals, Justin ending as a villian is less going a betrayal from almost-family and more of a 'natural phenomen' he should have seen coming. Because as always:rivals ^^

.

To be completely honest, if this AU were a tv show the ‘Justin Hammer accidentally founded Cabal’ reveal would’ve been the huge plot twist revealed at the end of either Season 2 or 3, and it’d be a major shocker for the Avengers...but not Tony.

also just realized I somehow made an AU where the protagonist basically becomes a villain out of Spite™ and I’m not sure if that’s the weakest origin story ever, or what

After all, if this were a tv show, it’d be centered around the Avengers, and the main season one conflict would be in seeing how Tony fits in the team— which would get resolved eventually, but not before the audience gets a good look at their dynamics. Like, the chemistry between Iron Man and Captain America, how easily and seamlessly they work together without needing more than a word or two because they’re on the same page, or Tony’s cordial yet distant academic respect for Bruce [which gets contrasted with Iron Man’s uncharacteristic instant bromance with the Hulk], or... well, the list goes on.

Not to mention that having a common enemy alters their dynamic as time goes on, because while if this’d been a one-off things would’ve still been rocky between Tony and the team, whereas having to constantly coordinate because new intel indicates that their last enemy was actually connected to something bigger and that means even more teamwork...

So by this point they’ve got a good idea of their characters, how they roll, how they react under pressure and during downtime and throughout all this, Justin Hammer would make cameos because he’s SHIELD’s main weapons supplier [...among other groups, which in and of itself foreshadows some of his shadier connections later on] and between him and Tony, they’ve basically cornered the market on experts in that field— which comes in handy when we’re talking about alien tech. 

Justin wouldn’t get much screentime compared to the others, but enough for the Avengers [and the audience] to see he makes for a very good foil for Tony, with their differences being highlighted all the more due to the similarities. After all, both come across as good people: Tony’s very friendly to anyone who isn’t on his shit list, and Justin acts very polite and gentlemanly to strangers [and is 100% a mom friend to anyone he cares about]. Tony’s a hero, though, while Justin’s long since made it clear he was a businessman first and foremost.

Through all this, Justin and Tony’s dynamic is intentionally kept vague— one moment they’re perfectly friendly, the next they'll be at each others’ throats and, again, sometimes can get misinterpreted as something else. 

Then the Reveal happens, and suddenly all those past encounters and hints come up and it’s so obvious in retrospect but—

Who would’ve expected it?

Tony. 

Tony’s the only one who’s not surprised by what the latest intel’s hinting at, obtained from an intel broker who turned up dead not long after [...because said broker’d also been messing with HYDRA, but that’s the plot twist that comes up in the next season]: nothing specific, nothing concrete, but something that ties a good chunk of the previous Villains Of The Week together to reveal a far, far greater threat. 

The Cabal, and while some of its members have long since become familiar names— e.g. the Fantastic Four normally are the ones who have to deal with Victor Von Doom, but not always— its founder had been a mystery for the longest time. A mystery that has just been ended, except nobody could have expected to see the name on the file.

Everyone else’s caught flat-footed and going through several permutations of ‘oh shit’, meanwhile Tony just leans back, scrubs a hand down his face, and looks out the window with a low whistle.

“Well played, Justin. Well played.”

.

Which is when the audience learns more about their very strange dynamic, which gets revealed to have started out a rivalry during their childhood [and has now basically escalated to the most high-stakes game of chicken there ever was, but shh].

Here’s the thing: if Tony were to call their rivalry off, Justin would stop.

But...

Tony can count on one hand how many positive constants he’s had in his life: Jarvis’ [and, after his heart attack, JARVIS’] presence, and his rivalry. Those are the two things that’ve been there for him through thick and thin, the only two safe places where he knows where they stand, knows they won’t try and tear him down and that means something. 

JARVIS will never leave him [not this Jarvis, at least], but... this rivalry’s been a thing since before he met Rhodey, since before his parents died and Tony’s not entirely certain just how much it’s shaped him, but he can count on one hand how many people give a damn about him and want to see him succeed and— 

Tony’s not sure he has it in him to call it off. Not at this point. 

Not when part of him knows why he did it, because— well, every superhero needs an adversary, don’t they? For a moment, he’d been surprised Justin had the guts to do this, but it makes complete sense the more he thinks about it and Tony knows just how little respect Justin has for the others, of course he’d be the type of guy who’d go “ugh, fine, if you want something done right, gotta do it yourself”. 

.

also, before this all seems very one-sided, I think I forgot to mention that Justin’s really benefiting from this rivalry too— not as obvious early on, but it gives him something to focus on and work towards. 

Something that kept him from depression when he thought too much about his past life and discovered just how much he’d forgotten, was still forgetting, something to keep him from being bored when he looked up one day and realized— he didn’t actually have any goals in this life, did he? 

Not when his life thus far had been dictated by his parents, and he’d been okay with following along to their script for him because if it wasn’t him, it’d be his sister or an innocent child who’d be forced to live up to their impossibly high expectations as the heir to Hammer Industries... but it was something he was resigned to at this point, not something he was particularly happy about. 

This time, he... didn’t know what he wanted in life. Nor did he remember what he’d wanted last time— had they wanted to be a doctor? Teacher? Writer? They didn’t remember anymore— and it’s startling to realize that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled if he wasn’t talking to his little sister. 

Justin’s never been one to seek out the approval of the adults in his life— the fact that he was surrounded by Parents of the Year [note the sarcasm] probably had something to do with that— and remembering a past life means he sees everyone his physical age and lower as kids, so he doesn’t see many people as equals.

...and then Tony decided he’d like having a rival.

At first, yeah, it was confusing; even as an adult, Justin didn’t entirely get why, but it was. Something.

Something good, and gets even better because this is something they both decided, that had nothing to do with the meticulously-annotated plan his parents had for his life, and while at first it was weird, Justin found he was actually enjoying himself [for once].

To the point where he found himself actually getting honestly, genuinely invested in said rivalry, and if he sometimes found himself trying to drill self-care into Tony sometimes, well, those bags under his eyes made them look bad, okay? It was self-interest, nothing more, really!

Really.

So when Tony went and became a superhero, Justin found himself taking a step back for a moment as he paused to consider his actions.

Paused before taking the plunge, because this was it, was serious, was pushing the limit and going past the point of no return. Was he really willing to do this?

A moment to consider things, deliberate on the possible consequences and what could happen— then he gave a sharp, decisive nod.

“Yes, we’re doing this.” 

[slashingdisneypasta]

Harper Alexader x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: The Fake Love Of My Life

Notes:

I want this to only be part 1 in a series because a. Fake dating. b. Harper needs more content on this site, and c. I actually have some ideas.

Motivation is the problem, haha. But hopefully I'll figure it out.

Plot: I’ve! Always! Wanted! To Write! A Fake Dating Scenario!! So here we go. After 2 centuries of judgy looks from the older folk in town and getting questioned about why you’re not married, you and Harper have decided to pretend to be together to finally make people stop it.

Warnings: I think its fine? Discussion about sex, but not outright said and there are no ya know... intricate details haha XD

“Oh, Y/N I can’t tell you how pleased I was to hear about you and Harper Alexander! Gosh, we all thought you’d be alone forever!”

“You’re such a pretty couple.”

“It took you long enough to find a man!”

“And my, what I catch, girl. You’re one lucky gal!”

“You’ll have to bring him over Wednesday for dinner with Ted and I!”

All. Week; This is all I’ve heard. I mean, it was expected (In fact, it was the intention) for people to be relieved and get off my back about finding a damn man, but good grief. You’d think the whole thing would’ve cooled off, by now. I’m exhausted from acting pleased about this and their words.

I mean, god, since I hit 16 I’ve gotten this gip about finding a guy, and right from the get-go (Actually, since I was younger, I’ve felt this way) I’ve been against it. Even before I died and everything normal here, everything we knew, became obsolete- The idea that just because I was born with tits, I need to legally tie myself to a big strong penis in order to survive made me feel... incomplete, rather then enthusiastic.

Other girls, my friends, dreamt about their perfect men and the way that he would kiss them; How the world would shatter, in supposedly a good way, when he finally found them. And I did want to be right there, dreaming with them! I so did. Because they just looked so happy... And it was so easy for them to be so, as well. But... I just... couldnt. It seemed ridiculous to me, so I just supposed that I was made... wrong. I could never see the sense in it. I still can’t, and I can’t imagine a time I will. I’m me, whether I’m dragging along the dead weight of a husband, or not. Thats enough for me; Why cant it be enough for the people that love me? Why on earth do I need the extra unnecessary baggage weighing me down?

... But still, after a century and a half of it… admittedly, a girl breaks down a bit. A little bit.

I mean, not entirely, of course, seeing as Harper’s and my ‘relationship’ is nothing but a farce to benefit us both and not in fact a real effort. Effort enough to suffer through the town’s seemingly endless congratulations at least, yes. But effort enough to find a real relationship? No.

But god- the effort I am putting in, is a lot. The way they're talking to me; It makes me sick. They speak like I'm finally whole- like I wasnt so, before. Its archaic and obnoxious.

Its so bad, that sometimes - more and more often these days, - I have to break away. Escape. And, ironically enough… there’s only one place I can go to in order to get that, aside from spending all my time alone.

Sneaking up behind that place, or person, I lay a hand on his shoulder, feeling him jump slightly under my surprise touch, which makes me grin as I sit down beside him. “Hey,” I greet Harper, the only person I can go to for any kind of peace now, wierdly enough. He flashes me an annoyed eyeroll, not quite as much the charmer with me then as with modern folk that come traipsing into town and our eager clutches. He quickly returns to whatever he’s whittling; Quite focused. Taking a deep breath of fresh, non-stuffy air, I close my eyes for a moment. Ahhhh, the quiet…

Usually, I can find Harper here, on the outskirts of town. Or he finds me here, depending on which of us ran out of patience with the others, first. Today I survived longer, which is uncommen as Harper has an extraordinarily strong poker face, but either way; We’re finding ourselves alone together here more and more often these days. Which was weird at first, and actually still is a little bit strange still, but I'm sure it'll become more natural soon enough. I mean, we will be married after all, sooner rather then later.

Despite knowing Harper our whole lives, going to school together and ending up in similar circles, we were never really... good, friends, I guess you could say. He was never at the forefront of my mind, like he was a fair few of the other girls in our year- my girl friends included. We did get thrown together quite a bit as our groups tended to run together (Husband-Hunting… ), and then at various weddings and such, too, as my friends managed to share their chosen victims. This does mean that when we announced our 'engagement', no one was magnificently surprised even though we hadnt openly dated (Or dated at all), though, so there you go.

'Fate'.

But Harper and I never actually sought each other out, until now. Until he had the ‘fake marriage’ idea. Neither of us wanted to find someone, really, so it only seemed... sensible. This way, we can keep living the way we have been; Just, you know, in the same house. And occasionally we'll have to attend events together- which is not out of the ordinary, anyway!

Exhaling, fingers on either side of my lap digging gently into the decaying wood of the bench we're on, I open my eyes slowly again. I'm recharging already.

"So... " I turn to Harper, who doesn't look back this time. He just continues to focus on the wood and the knife in his hands, a look of indifference with a tone of annoyance, on that handsome face. But then again, what's new? When he's not seducing poor, bewitched women to eat he isnt actually all that sweet! After the Jubilee, he drops the act as soon as he can. In fact the act starts to fizzle away as soon as his job is done.

He wasnt always this way. I mean, he's always had bite but he genuinly was the golden boy when we were in school, and even through to our adult lives; But being stuck here after the earth discarded us, has taken its toll. Everyone grew darker, and continues to do so as we're stuck here longer. Miss Peaches, the Mayor, Granny, and I certainly wasnt except, either- so I dont blame him for the change. Its the only natural part of what happened.

A soft look on my face, I raise my brows in query. "How are you today?"

A disaffected sigh comes out of him, and he shrugs his shoulders in that derisive way that people do when they don't particularly want to talk about it. "Same as every day, I s'pose... Yourself?"

"Very similar."

Sniffing, he forces his blade down the block of wood- sending a particularly thick shaving to snap off the end. "Figures."

"Yeah... " Figuring myself that Harper is really not in the mood to talk right now, I take the hint and look away from him; Close my mouth, and my eyes. If he doesnt want to talk, then I can really relax. Here, I'm safe from the way people look at me - now us, -, and I can just stew. Be me. Think about me things. Like the books I've been reading, and the food I'm interested in learning how to cook, and the garden! That's just fine with me.

A few minutes later though, when I'm totally lost somewhere in my own head between fantasy lane and sounds-of-the-forest avenue, Harper decides to speak up again- and it shocks me out of my own head so hard I nearly damn well fall forward off of the bench.

"So Y/N- "

"Christ- "

Luckily, the grip I had on the bench saves me from what I think its safe to say would have been a humiliating, and painful, fall. Unfortunately though, it doesn't save me from the 'Why are you so ridiculous' look from Mr Darcy, here. Nevertheless, with the effort of an awkward smile on my part, he looks back to his widdling and continues.

"I've been thinking, about our impending marriage." Right, right. "And I'm wonderin'- What's gonna happen on the weddin' night?"

"... " My eyes flicker over Harper like he just grew a third arm. What- where did this come fro- Harper- Why!? "What!?"

"Well, my mother used to say that people could tell when a couple hadn't consummated the marriage." He shrugs, still under my disbelieving, bug-eyed gaze and entirely oblivious of it. Or at least seeming to be. Perhaps he's ignoring me. "She said it took Granny and the Mayor weeks, and everyone could tell."

"Yeah," I scoff, sarcasm dripping off the tip of my tongue as I continue to look at him deeply incredulously. I never planned to sleep in the same bed as him, much less perform that particular marital 'duty'! "And do you also still believe in Santa Claus? They absolutely cannot tell that kind of thing! Its a fairytale!" ... right?

Harper actually sets his work down now, and looks at me, and it is the most shocking experience... "You sound mighty sure of that, Y/N. But I'm not, and I don't want to risk the, uh, 'integrity' of our scheme. This is just as much servin' me as it is you and I'll be damned if it's put in peril- for any, reason."

"Integrity!?" I mimic, dubious and horrified.

"Yes, integrity. Look, I'm not too delighted about the idea, neither." WELL- insulting, much? He catches the insulted look on my face and smirks at me, and all I can think about for a flash is what a smug prick I'm marrying. "But I also don't want our cover blown. So I'm just thinkin' we give it a thought. We might have to."

"I've never even seen a man, uh, in any state of undress!" My cheeks are heating up hotter and hotter by the second. Its such an embarrassing thing to admit!- And definetly not what I expected by coming out here. I'm Pleasant Valley's resident sacrifice-safe virgin, and I've never even thought, seriously, about doing... anything... like that. I never thought, really, that I would need to! With sex comes a relationship, and with a relationship comes people looking at you all happy- oblivious and ignorant to the fact that I eas perfectly content before.

"That's your problem? That it'll be your first time and not... that it'd be with me, of all people?" Harper asks, putting words in my mouth and laughing about it. Ugh. Rolling my eyes, I just avert my eyes in annoyance. Because to be quite honest - to myself. Not him, - , due to our shared history and out of all the possibilities, it doesn't feel totally out of left field at all for it to be him. For him to be the one, that I...

But I cant say that, because that would ruin our entire plan because then he will think, misguidedly, I have feelings for the bastard, and that certainly isn't true. "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I ain't never gone all the way with a lady neither."

Sighing, I refuse to look at him still. Despite the slightly less obnoxious way that he said that. "You still have more experience then me. And that's not fair." And god, now I sound like petulant child. That's just great. I need only pout to complete the look.

"Hold on there, Y/N. Before I lose you to your lil tantrum- " His hand falls on mine, on the bench, but I don't really notice because I'm tuning around to snap at him.

"I'm not being dramatic- "

"'Course not." See, he says that, but the eyeroll that follows sure doesn't emote faith. Quickly though he continues on. Well, quickly enough- "Maybe we should put in some practise? I mean, we'll have to kiss in front of people at least at the wedding." My mouth falls open in shock, as he ignores it and scrunches up his face in scepticism. "Have you even kissed anyone, before?"

"Harper, you're being ridiculous." I feel like crossing my arms, but realise his hand is holding mine down on the bench between us and decide not to move. "And of course I've been kissed." But as I think back on it, a flicker of awkwardness flickers over my face, a frown spreading across my mouth. "Once... "

To my future husbands credit -because I must credit his name with nice things. Otherwise he's just as an ass and I really cant bare the thought of marrying an ass if I'm going to do it at all, -, he does try to steal himself from sniggering this time, at least, but I can still tell what he's thinking when he rolls his eyes, and says so sarcastically; "Well consider me proven wrong." Scowling at him may give me frown lines, but it also makes him continue, which is a mercy I consider worth it. "Here I was thinkin' you were some spring chicken here- " Nevermind.

"Fine!" Swivelling in my seat, I turn to face him with a determined look on my face because of which the laughter in his eyes disappears, and I raise a brow at him, quite expectantly. Like well?? "You want to kiss me, Harper? Go ahead. I'm not kidding, lets do this. If what you say is true, then its a small price to pay for romantic security." I shrug. "And you're right- we will have to do it in front of people at the ceremony, at least, so we might as well get the awkwardness over with now. I don't know about them being able to tell whether we've consummated, but I do give that people could tell if we hadn't kissed, before."

For a few moments, Harper just stares at me. Like he doesn't quite know what to make of me right now, or... I don't know. I really don't know what he's thinking. His face is just blank, so I roll my eyes and sigh. "Are we doing this, or not, Harp- "

Suddenly he has moved forward, killing the distance between the two of us on the bench and cupping one side of my face in his hand with which he was so oddly holding onto mine, before. And the look on his face is so intense now that something in me that doesnt understand the principal of the thing, wants me to back down- but instead I force that little voice to pipe down and look stonily back at him, slightly craning my neck in order to do so. "Fine, Y/N." He says, slowly. At a normal volume but darkly. Deeply. "If you want to."

"It was your idea, Harper." I remind him carefully, seeing as he seems to have forgotten that fact. It was his idea, to practise. This wasn't for me. I dont... I dont want this! My voice comes out steady, but the erratic beating of my heart right now is anything but. And voice is also quiet, unlike his. Because he's so close, of course!- Thats why I needn't raise my voice. Thats the reason. He hasnt affected me, at all.

Harper's handsome but I've known him too long for him to be able to render me dumb like any of those travellers. Surely.

He nods to me, an almost scary look in his face. I'm suddenly reminded, for some reason, of the terrible things this pretty boy is capable of. "Okay."

"Okay." I say as well, because I've done some terrible things, too.

And then he leans down- and we're kissing. No further warning, just his lips against mine and a lovely glittery feeling in my tummy. My eyes flutter shut because this far better then that uncomfortable kiss I had with Harvey McGreevy when we were 14; In fact I almost forget to focus on this. Because this practise- like when you recite a poem a million and 1 times in order to be able to recite it easily thr next day in class. But I remember just in time before I accidentally lose myself, and tilt my head so our noses can be more comfortable, and apply a little bit of pressure into it like I've been told you're supposed to. Am I doing it right????!

Harper, of course, has no trouble with it. His pressure is perfect and he rubs his nose against mine, which is weird but nice at the same time. Its sort of affectionate, which is the weird part because we aren't a real couple and this is only purely for logical reasons... a fact that I myself have trouble remembering in the moment. Especially when he flicks his tongue against my bottom lip, a far cry from the way Harvey had smooshed his slimy wet tongue against the crease between my lips, asking for access that I don't even consider before allowing him. One of his hands, the one that isn't tucking wild hair back behind my ear, finds my waist and holds me there, and the grip is comforting.

As I let my hands fall on his shoulders, gripping him as I just enjoy the kiss, I tilt my head a bit to the side -Which side? I dont know which side. Does it matter? I'm forgetting where I am... - in order to allow him better access and actually moan, mortifyingly, at the feeling of a mans tongue in my mouth, which really shouldn't be as wonderful as it is, but is. He starts to kiss me more fiercely as soon as that comes out of me, and I'm just thinking about running my hand up through perfect hair, when-

"Wo-ho! Lookie here! Two young lovebirds getting a little bit amorous in the safety of the woods, huh?" A yelp escapes me when the sound of the Mayors loud teasing enters my ears and I immediately snap away from Harper like he stung me. Gaze flashing to him as my cheeks heat up once again in embarrassment, I catch a scowly look of irritation cross his face before he manages to pull himself together for Mayor Buckman; Who's setting his hands on his hips like he's telling off a pair of wily teenagers. "Lucky I happened upon ya, huh? Wouldn't want either of you to jump the gun- not before the weddin', yes?"

My lips are pink, I'm sure, and they feel tingly from the intensity of that kiss. God, I had no idea that he'd... do it like that... I run a thumb over the bottom one, thinking to myself and wondering what the hell happened there, how it got out of hand so quickly like that, as Harper focuses on Buckman. That was... weird.

Lets... just go... with 'weird'. Yep. Thats all. Just... wierd. And surprising. Definetly, surprising.

A forced rone of relief slips into Harpers voice. "Um, 'course, Mayor. Yeah, thank you." Harper hops up quickly off the bench, and away from me, smiling brightly. My eyes snap up to him when he moves, to see what he's doing- like I'm not done with him, or something, which I definitely, most certainly, absolutely am!! Thats enough 'practise' for the day Y/N!! I have to tell myself and the fireplace built in an odd place, in the pit of my stomach. Harper glances back at me momentarily and I just get hotter. "Just cant keep my hands of a' her, sometimes, hah hah... "

My stomach flutters at his, fake, words for the first time since we started this. and I hop up off the bench myself, and promptly reach the Mayor in .2 seconds in order to get away from Harper. Chewing nervously on the inside of my cheek, I offer just an awkward look to the older man before redirecting my gaze to the ground. Yep, nothing to see here, sir... Despite my inflamed reaction to the words, I play my part well. Rolling my eyes and blushing. "Oh Harper- don't say things like that!"

"Oh that's fine, don't bicker on my part, I'm just headin' off again." The Mayor himself sounds a little awkward, as he clasps his hands together behind his back, rolling on the balls of his feet. A glance up at his face reveals that he's looking around and struggling not to laugh. "Far be it me to leave my two-cense where it don't belong, anyway!"

"Yes, uh, see you later at the bar, sir!" Harper salutes, a definite sense of discomfort to the gesture for once as the fact occurs to us both, that as soon as Buckman leaves us we'll be alone, together, again.

Promptly, I turn to the Mayor before he can make an escape.

"Actually I'll come with you, Mayor!" The words slip out of me far faster then necessary. I don't know why I'm acting like this but the feeling of Harper watching me now is too much, too suddenly, and out of nowhere, so I'm forcing myself to focus on the Mayor - who looks deeply amused at the whole situation, thinking its just two young lovers acting squirrelly around each other, - and paste a polite smile to my face. "Headin' back to town? I have to get back before too long anyway, as well. It'll be getting dark. soon. Accompany me, wont you?"

"Uh, a'course, but wouldn't you rather your beau here walk you back?- "

Out of the corner of my eye I catch Harper moving, as if about to play his own part and indeed walk me home but I just shake my head. "Nope! Uhhhhm, we're finished, anyway-" I close my mouth, stopping myself before I say anything else that will make it even harder for the Mayor not to burst out laughing. "Right, so... so lets go!" Then I'm grabbing the mayor by the arm, and dragging him off back to town.

My heart refuses to slow down its manic beating until I'm sure, that Harper isn't watching anymore.

~

Its a couple of hours later when I see Harper again. I'm just getting ready for bed, when the front door clicks unlocked and creaks open, and only one other person in town has the key to my house- so instead of grabbing a weapon, I just pull on another layer and head down stairs. Harper's waiting in the front door, the screen door closed behind him and that familiar half annoyed/half disinterested look about him; On his face.

I cross my arms after pulling the extra layer of cotton tighter around myself and my sleep gown, feeling awkward standing near Harper; Under his subjective gaze. "So... hi?"

"I thought we should talk about that kiss. I wanna make sure that everything's okay, between us, after that. I mean... wouldn't wanna hurt your delicate sensibilities."

Eyes flashing, I curl my fingers over my arms tighter, a glare flaring at him and his smart mouth, and the smirk on his lips. "Theirs nothing delicate about me, Harper."

"Really? You seemed pretty spooked, to me. Took off like a broodmare just after the whip comes out. And I don't think it had anything to do with the mayor." Harper continues on, and I scrunch up my nose as him in response.

"Maybe I was just sick of your face, twiggy."

For a moment the boy just continues to smirk at me, seeing something entirely too amusing in my standing up for myself for my taste and only making my frown crease deeper; Like I taste something bad. "... Well alright then," The silence finally breaks. "If you say so, then I guess its so. I mean, you did run off pretty quick though... "

"Yeah. Well." Slowly, a mischievous smirk of my own rises. "I was afraid maybe you enjoyed that kiss a little too much."

"Oh I wouldn't be afraid of that, sweetheart."

"No?" I perk a brow, knowing that that's bullshit. "I guess it shouldn't happen again, then, right?" Maybe its my imagination, but Harper looks a tiny bit unhappy about that, but he nods in agreement. Then for another few seconds we just look at eachother, silent as a new phase in our... weird, now... relationship, settles over us. Taking in a deep breath, I shake my head, looking down. "So, um. Anyway." Something may have changed between us under the skin level but we still have a job to do. That hasn't changed. "The, uh, dinner party later this week. You'll pick me up at 7?"

"Always do." Harper shrugs, finally letting me off the hook from his penetrative gaze and folding his hands into his pockets, settling carefully into the new tone I've set.

"Well... good. So that's all set." Running my bottom lip through my teeth, my eyes flicker from the floor to Harper. "See you tomorrow?"

"Probably." He agrees, nodding his head. But doesn't move to leave. I open my mouth to ask him what he's just standing around like a goon for instead of leaving my home so that I may sleep, but he beats me too it- suddenly walking over, closing the lovely distance between us and guiding me closer by the arm; And presses his lips gently to mine.

Immediately a surprised gasp escapes me but my eyes flutter closed anyway and I kiss back on an impulse before he pulls back again. I raise a brow. "And what was that for?... "

"Appearances. Y'know- anyone could be watchin' us. With the door open like that and all," My eyes flicker past his face and to the open front door, the screen not offering much privacy. But also- there is no one there??? Everyone's going to bed at this time. This is Pleasant Valley, not goddamn Washington. "I'm just conscious of our arrangement, is all." He shrugs. "Wouldn't want us gettin' called out for not actin' enough like a couple or nothing."

"No... " No, you wouldn't want that. "Okay, well, if this kissing thing is going to be a thing we do now- then you gotta give me some kinda warnin- "

Another kiss is pressed to my lips, warning-less. When he pulls back this time, I deadpan at him. A laughing smile slips across his face, a great change from his usual brooding self. A little closer to what he's like with the victim girls, and it shocks me for a moment.

Then Harper opens his mouth, and a cheeky grin slip across my lips. "Hey, I make no promis- "Before he can finish what he was saying this time, I give him a kiss of my own- feeling him realise what I've done to him this time and then return it.

I am really surprised, at how nice kissing him is.

When its over, though, I point wordlessly to the door over his shoulder and raise my eyebrows. He looks, turns back to me, and fakes a put-out expression. "What? Sick of me now? Gotta get rid a' me so your other fake fiancé can come visit?"

"I'm tired." I say pointedly, pulling out of his arms and closer to the stairs, even as theirs a little grin on my face. "So get out."

"Well damn," A grin full of superficial southern charm on his face, Harper goes back to the screen door, and opens it. I pull my shawl closer around myself once again, and cross my arms back over my chest. "And here I was just startin' to feel welcome." He steps out of my house, onto the porch, then turns back; His normal visage back. "So, I'll see you tomorrow sometime?"

"Probably!"

[malereader-inserts]

Christmas Cheer

Fandom: Avengers Pairing: Avengers & Male!Reader Summary: Everyone is spreading the Christmas Cheer Word Count: 1291 A/n: Sorry about unable to post, my laptop still hasn’t been fixed.

Merry Christmas from England :)

New York City.

Its the place you want to be for the holidays, the snow is unbelievably pretty and the decoration always stands out the best than last years. Growing up in New York, Christmas still takes your breath away, if you weren’t feeling the Christmas cheer then doing into downtown New York and you’ll find all the cheer you need.

Still, it was the first time you wouldn’t be spending Christmas with your family. You had lived in the Avengers Base, like many others, and your parents were on holiday for once.

All their kids were out of the house and your parents figured it was back to exploring the world, making the most of their lives. You were fine with it, you like seeing the messages in the family group chat to see your mother busting out her moves on the dance floor at the cruise and it’s always a crack to see your dad on the FlowRider. Your siblings were married with kids or spending their Christmas with their significant other’s family.

Meaning, it was the first time you would be spending Christmas with the team.

You consider them a second family, so you weren’t bothered about spending Christmas with them. The only struggle you had was buying gifts for them, there was a lot more of them than you immediate family, so budgeting was a little harder this year - but, luckily, you planned ahead and started buying gifts at mid-October. 

Peter and his aunt were coming to the base as well to celebrate Christmas. Tony couldn’t have a Christmas by himself with his wife and daughter - Morgan was begging to see her uncles and aunts. Clint decided to bring his family along to the base as well, more like Laura had pestered him about it.

It was a packed household, but, it warmed your heart. The Christmas tree was big enough to have presents under the tree. You put it up the moment it hit December 1st, everyone came in the morning to see you tangled in tinsels.

You remember Sam complaining the loudest that you should have waited for everyone to be up so he could help. He loves doing the decorating the tree. 

Obviously, there was a loud argument on who should put the star on the top, eventually, it was picked that you should do it. You like admiring the tree from time to time. 

The Christmas activities were highly forced by Steve, only because everyone seemed to agree to spend Christmas with each other. So, of course, there was a gingerbread house competition. Everyone knew that everyone in the team was competitive, but you’ve never seen such fury between Bucky and Steve, as Steve was betrayed by Bucky, who loudly teamed up with Tony.

Steve gasped, dramatically, and yanked Banner to be his partner, the poor man was sputtering excuses as you looked at him sympathetically. You had banned Natasha and Clint being in a team together as Clint grumbled and teamed with Wanda as you teamed with Peter, Natasha pulling Sam by the ear to get their spot to join the competition. 

Vision and Rhodey were the judges since they were the most likely not to be biased. Concluding, Tony and Bucky the winner as you and Peter came third, with a sulky second place of Steve and Banner. 

Of course, it had snowed, so there was a snowball fight. This was started by Bruce, surprisingly. He had picked up snow and clumped it into a ball. He was supposed to hit Clint, missed and hit Natasha. 

The silence was deafening when it had happened. 

It was all good when she hastily picked up a clump to throw back at the scientist, who was sure he was dead for. 

You can’t remember the last time you had a snowball fight, it had been years really. It was great fun, especially with a gang of superheroes. No one was backing down in the fight, it had only stopped when Nick Fury came to visit and he was hit in the face with a stray snowball.

No one knows who threw it. 

(It was Rhodey.)

When that stopped everyone seem to try and play it off as if they weren’t having a snowball fight. You, Peter and Wanda did a few snow angels and inevitable - seeing that Clint had declared a competition on the best snow sculpture, with no teaming up. 

You were doing the judging this time with Bucky by your side, he liked shouting insults towards Steve to overthrow his game. You weren’t surprised that Tony had built his own Iron Man suit with snow. You were surprised to see that Natasha built Spongebob, you were unaware she knew what that was, she doesn’t seem the type to enjoy a cartoon. 

“Does it have to be a grand thing?” You asked as you watched everyone build such great sculptures, taking up the front of the base, luckily they were located in the middle of nowhere.

“Where’s the fun of not doing it ENORMOUS!” 

The winner was Bruce with his sculpture of a massive cat, Clint was sulking when he wasn’t even declared second or third.

“Clint, you built a giant dick, you could have put some detail on it!”

“Go suck some dick, Wilson.”

(Clint was bitter that Sam took second - he built the head of a falcon.)

Christmas has most definitely been the best time of the year. How could possibly forget everyone having a movie week of Christmas movies? Don’t forget a highly toxic argument that rise among the team which was the best Christmas movie.

“It’s clearly Home Alone,” Peter spoke loudly as Banner scoffed.

“No, it’s The Grinch.”

“Okay, just because Hulk is green and so is the Grinch-” 

“Steve!” You called him out as Natasha was busy howling in the background, her side was hurting from laughing too hard.

“I’m just saying Elf is a great movie.”

“Of course you would say that, childish!” Bucky called him out.

“Oh, what do think is the best one then Bucks?”

“It’s a wonderful life,” Bucky said as if it was obvious.

“The guy was going to kill himself, how is that the best Christmas movie?!” Tony argued, “Come on, guys, it’s Polar Express!”

“Actually, it’s Die Hard.”

“CLINT SHUT UP!” Everyone shouted as he started to crack up again.

“(Y/n), what do you think is the best Christmas movie.”

You put your hands up, “I am not getting involved with this...”

“You suck, man,” Sam announced, with a smirk on his face, “Krampus.”

“That is a horror film,” Rhodey pointed out, looking at Sam as if he was insane.

“A Christmas horror film,” Sam says, hands out with a bright smile.

“I would like to watch that,” Thor piped up, his hand up to talk.

You raised an eyebrow, “For once, Thor had been so quiet that I forgot you were here.”

The argument lasted for a while, but everyone had seemed to forget about it or at least, sweep it under the rug as Christmas was nearing closer. It was lovely to see everyone in a Christmas cheer, wearing lovely and ugly sweaters.

(Bucky had taped a mirror onto his sweater with a note cello taped to the jumper saying “Ugly.” - Tony did not take it well.)

You admired the tree, a few nights before Christmas, excited to open gifts. Though, upon inspection, perhaps you have to be the parent to be holding a black bin bag and collecting everyone’s wrapping present this year.