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mv1simp · 13 days

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Haunted ♥️ Part 1 of 2

Alpha!Max Verstappen x Reader (Omegaverse AU)

it’s where we go, it’s what you see (I know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me)

As Mercedes’ rookie female driver, you garner a lot of media attention, even more when you reveal you haven’t presented. You don’t care about true mates or presenting - all you wanted was the championship. You’d be a lot closer to it, if it wasn’t for the dominating Alpha Max Verstappen. But after your late presentation, you two realize there’s a lot more to your bond than competition.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, primal themes, dom!Max, Sub!Reader, enemies to lovers. WC: 5.4k

Triumphantly holding the trophy up in your hands, you beam at the sea of black and white fans who scream their approval. Winning your second race after having fought your way throughout the season as the new Mercedes driver was an unforgettable feeling - sealing in that it was your talent, not luck that got you the first. And no one had given you a harder time and held up your long overdue win than the reigning world champion - Max Verstappen. Turning to your right, you reward him with a smirk as your national anthem finally plays instead of the Dutch one.

He doesn’t hide his frustrated glare at you from his P2 podium that instinctively makes you want to sprint away and hide in your safe garage behind Toto. You’re a bit annoyed he’s still taller than you, even though you’re on the highest step. One of the downsides of being 5 foot compared to Max’s tall 6 foot frame - but that hasn’t stopped you from finally taking the win from him and proving how deserving of your seat you are, you remind yourself.

As the first female driver in decades, you’d sent shock waves through the paddock when Mercedes had pulled you out of the F4 pool and straight into their seat after the loss of their golden boy, Lewis Hamilton, to Ferrari. What had been even more shocking was the fact that you were an Unpresented female in a sport that was almost exclusively dominated by Alpha males.

Like the majority of premier athletes, most of the drivers had presented from a very young age as Alphas. Unsurprising - given the traits of ruthless competitiveness, aggression and passion that came naturally to Alphas. And out of all this group of already highly dominating drivers, Max Verstappen was the alpha, well known for his perfect instincts, the ultimate apex predator. His early career was famous because of how, at 17, his intimidating aura had been enough to make grown men racing on the same track give way to the younger alpha. This automatic submission Max was able to elicit from others was one of the many, many benefits that came with being an Alpha in society - especially for one such a powerful as Max.

So when you - who was not an Alpha, or even a Beta, but rather an Unpresented - showed up to the paddock for your first ever race and then ended up somehow going wheel to wheel with the reigning world champion by Lap 20, jaws dropped and headlines were rapidly printed. Presenting as an Alpha was rare, an Omega even rarer - with the majority of the population being Beta. However a small population also remained Unpresented, spending their whole lives without any sign they belonged to any gender. Essentially, you were like a scentless Beta - but just several rungs below on the social ladder as Alpha commands had minimal effect on you. It could be worse, you had mused when started racing - you could have been born an Omega.

Omegas were a rare breed and highly sought after. With their attributes of being sweetly nurturing and natural carers - they made the perfect match for protective Alphas. Of course, as the world had historically always been ruled by Alphas, in turn Omegas had been stereotyped as the soft, submissive, delicate ones who needed to be closely guarded in society’s eyes.

So it had been suprising to you that there were not one, but two Omega drivers on the paddock this year. Yuki Tsunoda made sense, you supposed, with his slight frame and pretty features giving him away. But he certainly swore so aggressively up and down the track he’d have the commentators asking if maybe he had been assigned the wrong group. Alex Albon had been much more surprising with his very Alpha-like build - but given his quietly confident aura and gentle nature compared to the other drivers who were always aggressively arguing, it made sense looking back. And it had been even more surprising when he announced he’d found his true mate and Alpha, his girlfriend Lily.

Really, you were grateful you didn’t have the drama that came with being assigned a presentation. Even if it meant you would never have a true mate, you could live with it if you could have a shot at being world champion. But goddamn Max Verstappen, with his intense gaze and powerful aura that even you would feel tickling the back of your neck, across the paddock, would keep getting in your way. Your first P1 though, 2 months ago in Japan, you hadn’t let him win and successfully defended him off. It was the only advantage of being Unpresented - unlike the other Alphas and Omegas on the track, you were the least affected by his suffocating presence and used that to your advantage when pulling dangerous manoeuvres that vexed the Dutch driver to no end.

And he’d certainly let you know it after your first win - after a neutral indifference to you when you approached him on your first day to greet him, unlike the majority of the drivers who’d curiously flocked to the first female one. But after you took P1 from him, he claimed angrily, with dirty fucking moves, what was that overtake on the 2nd corner- you’d formed an instant dislike of him. Just because you didn’t bend to his will like everyone else?! Just because you’d won using the same move - you pointed out to him furiously - that he’d used to overtake you on the last race?

The pair of you had become quick rivals, butting heads more and more as each race went on and providing lots of great content for the media which ate it up. Sometimes Max would confuse you into thinking you were friends - occasionally murmuring helpful advice as you watched the post race highlights in the cooldown room, or shutting down sexist questions you’re repeatedly asked in the driver interviews. You’d think this was the warm, caring Max that you’d heard existed off the grid. But then you two would have some racing incident or the other and he’d be back to the fire breathing lion he usually was.

That first P1 in Japan had been bittersweet to you - because after your argument with Max, when you’d gone back to your hotel to admire your new trophy, you’d started to becoming increasingly unwell for a few days and had high fevers. You hadn’t even realised what was going on until your Beta coach banged on the door demanding to be let in, before saying you were finally presenting, 5 years late, as an Omega.

You’d been shocked and upset, of course, leading to a very traumatic first heat in a foreign country where although the desire and lust hadn’t been intense, the longing for an Alpha to comfort and protect you as you cried and whined has been so overwhelming. You had never wanted to feel anything like that again, so disempowered - so you had sworn your manager to secrecy and after a very private meeting with you, your teammate George Russell, your managers and a very concerned Toto Wolff - you’d tearfully told them what had happened. You’d expected to be dropped from the team, but they had taken one look at your distress and instantly calmed you down. Mercedes will most certainly not be dropping their very promising rookie, who had just taken P1 at her 4th ever F1 race, Toto had reassured you firmly, exuding calm confidence as he handed you a tissue. George’s large hand rubbed warm circles on your back and within a few minutes you’re laughing at jokes the two tall Alphas made to cheer you up, unable to resist the urge to protect the small Omega in front of them and using their scents to soothe you.

Regardless of how understanding your team principal had been, the fact was it would be terrible PR for you to publically present as an Omega female and risk the loss of sponsors. Given that the first heat after the presentation was notorious for being especially painful in an effort to attract a fated mate from the very start, Toto had guided you to a discreet specialist doctor to ensure the world continued to believe you were Unpresented. You’re relieved, hating the idea of being stereotyped as something delicate and pretty to be protected when you were anything but. You literally drove like a suicidal madwoman at 300km/hr for a career! So you’d promptly been started on high strength suppressors to avoid any issues with a first heat happening in the middle of a race weekend, and a couple sprays of sweet perfume later no one would be any the wiser if they picked up on any residual Omega scent that the suppressors couldn’t block.

So here you were now, celebrating your second win in Barcelona with a few of the drivers and friends at a 3 story club downtown. Although you’d been enjoying drinking and laughing with your friends, you’d been unable to stop the shivers that ran down your bare spine from your rival’s intense gaze, still simmering with anger, across the dancefloor where he was talking to Lando. You hated the way that you still felt so affected by him, by his scent that always seemed to drift over to you, always smelling more and more heady each time you saw him. And the urge to submit to him was just stupid and desperate, you thought, rolling your eyes and taking another shot. It turns out your “slutty inner omega whore” as you had not-so-fondly dubbed her, seemed more interested in having a strong Alpha’s dick inside her, instead of hating said Alpha for trying to run her off the track. Multiple times.

And tonight, the suppressants were clearly not doing their job because you couldn’t control the way you squeezed your thighs together, panties suddenly damp with the thought of an alpha like Max keeping his eyes on you - instead of the girls who had been throwing themselves at him the second he’s entered the club. You tell your inner slut who delighted in this attention to get it together, because the attention was likely murderous rage from the competitive Dutch champion at losing a race. Forcing yourself to ignore the prickles down your spine, you take another shot instead and head back to the dance floor.

Many, many drunk dances with your girlfriends later, you found yourself safely dropped off at the hotel. Pressing the button, you waited patiently for it to come down, fanning your face because you felt strangely hot in the night chill despite having left the club. And then you feel it - that heady, dominating aura that makes you want to fall to your knees. Spinning around, you see Max standing there, dressed in a rare outfit of a fitted white tee and tight pants, accentuating his broad shoulders and thick thighs. Fuck, you had forgotten Redbull was staying in the same hotel as your team this weekend.

He smirks at you, asking if you’d had a good night celebrating, because it’ll be the last win he’ll let you have this year, Princess. You despised the nickname he’s given you over the Redbull radio one race, and how it had stuck in the media too - the pretty little Mercedes princess. You give him an unimpressed glare and tell him to fuck off, Verstappen as you get in the elevator, staying right by the front with your back purposely to him. As the doors close, you can’t help but notice through the reflective wall how Max’s dark gaze unabashedly wanders down your body, enjoying the sight of your curvy, petite form dressed in a backless halter satin minidress and stiletto heels that accentuated your thick ass. Forbidden delight curls in your abdomen from the thought of an alpha as strong as Max finding you desirable. A deeper part of you - one that you would never admit to anyone - can’t deny that you desperately wanted Max to want you, having always idolised him before you joined F1. That when you’d picked out this dress you wondered if Max was going to be out tonight, if he’d see you in this outfit…and find you pretty.

And you’d never, ever admit that recently you woke up with damp thighs and lingers of a dream of being underneath a dominating blonde Alpha, his voice deep and accented as he whispered for you to take it all for me, prinses…

Again, you promptly tell your inner slut to close her mental legs - just in time as the elevator opens before both your floors to let in a large group heading to the upstairs bar.

They’re a drunk, rowdy bunch of businessmen and you’re in no mood to be felt up - and you find yourself moving beside the protective aura of Max. You scowl at how you couldn’t seem to control yourself around the taller man then find yourself surprised when he moves to cover you from their curious gazes. His wide shoulders block out their view of how enticing you look as he crowds you into one corner, his back to them. You nervously make sure you don’t stare anywhere else but straight ahead at his toned chest, your heart beating at 200bpm as the desire that’s pulsing through you being this close to him. Especially when he’s decided to look so fucking hot tonight, that intoxicating deep scent making you light headed, like luxurious velvet running down your skin, like burnt amber, smoky and woody from the embers of a winter's night fire. That wicked inner omega of yours can’t stop purring at how your scandalous choice of dress gives Max a generous view down your cleavage.

The elevator comes to a stop with a sharp jolt on the businessmen’s floor, startling you out of your thoughts and you find you’ve placed a manicured hand on Max’s toned abs to steady yourself. And as soon as you touch him - the first time you’ve ever laid hands on him, you realise later - electricity crackles in between you both. His scent becomes all the much headier to you - as if all the same flavours had suddenly become 10 times amplified. It makes you whimper and again, your body betrays you with the fresh wetness that suddenly drenches your panties.

The change in the air is instant, tension clearly palpable as you nervously peek under Max’s arm and realise the group of businessmen aren’t leaving the lift - and instead all their eyes are turned in your direction with lustful gazes. You shiver but don’t hesitate to glare at them as you tell them to get out. They don’t move, looking entranced at you, when a low, threatening rumble from Max’s chest makes it very clear that you are not to be messed with - unless they wanted to go against the strongest Alpha in a 100 mile radius. Slightly tilting his head to look back at the group, Max’s narrowed eyes and threatening aura makes them run off with their figurative tail between their legs.

The elevator closed with neat ding, moving back up, and suddenly you realised you were in a very compromising position with your rival - who had definitely noticed the very Omega-like addictive, sweet smell you were giving off as a supposed “Unpresented” female.

Verstappen- you say anxiously, frantically thinking of what to say to convince him to keep your secret. But all thoughts are cut off when Max unexpectedly leans down and buries his face into your neck, making you gasp. Your hands grab his shoulders to push him away, to ask what the fuck he thought he was doing. But the words don’t even make it out of your mouth because your head is spinning from his lips now pressing kisses against your delicate collarbones. Somehow, you’re finding yourself winding your fingers in his blonde locks, which were just as soft as they looked.

By the time the elevator reaches your floor, you’re almost falling to the ground from the sensation but Max easily supports your weight against him. He’s guiding you out of the lift and trapping you against the nearest wall - and following immediately with his hard body pressed right up against your soft one. You’re whining that he needs to stop, what is he doing, you’re in a hallway for anyone to see, but he cuts you off again with his husky voice as he breathes out that this scent, your scent, princess…fuck, I’d thought it was perfume or something but it’s all you, isn’t it? I can’t get enough of how intoxicating you are.

Tilting your head back with his strong hands, he bends down to the opposite side now and shuts up your half hearted protests by licking a line straight up the column of your throat. Oh my god, your inner omega was having the time of her life right now. Max, you murmur weakly, and he sharply inhales as your gazes meet. The dark hunger in his eyes is clear when he tells you to say that again.

And when you sweetly call his name again, he’s kissing you, still leaning against the wall in the dimly lit hallway, and you automatically moan into the passionate kiss because it feels so good, so right as his lips moved against yours with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

But when the lift dings, signalling another arrival to your floor, Max turns to look with narrowed eyes at the potential threat and you’re reminded of how wrong wrong wrong this is and how you’d lose all your sponsors if the media found out about this scandal. So you use his second of distraction to use your small frame and slip under his arms, hastily swiping your card and slamming the door behind you when you enter.

Heart beating, you lean back against the door as your replay what just happened over and over, your hands running over your tingling lips where Max’s - your rival - has just been a second ago. Across the other side, Max leans against your door just the same. He’d let you escape his hold - for now - but he wouldn’t next time, because he knew what it meant to smell a scent so divine it made him want to destroy anything that so much as glanced in your direction. That made him lose all inhibition and pin you against a wall as he desperately resisted the urge to bury his fangs in you right there. You were his fated mate, he thinks with relief, pure joy and warmth spreading across him with the idea of having you as his mate. The one who he’d not thought he’d find at age 26 after meeting countless women. And yet here you’d been the whole time, right in front of him, the only driver who drove him so wild on the track. He'd never thought about why the pretty little Unpresented driver was able to generate such strong responses from his Alpha unusually quickly. With a backwards glance to your room where you safely hid, Max wandered away, contemplating how he was going to claim his Omega who hated him.

Meanwhile, the kiss has sent you into an absolute flurry of panic, trying to come up with ways of convincing your rival to keep your secret, having no idea why he suddenly found your scent irresistible. Your half baked plans came to an end when Max texted you the next day to meet him in the hotel lobby to talk. No fucking way, you texted back furiously, so you can get me alone and kiss me again without my permission?

You’d flown back to Monaco an hour later, ignoring Max’s replies. Clearly, he seemed as troubled by this…situation as you were, and judging by the fact you hadn’t woken up to headlines about you secretly being an Omega, it seems Max was keeping your secret - for now, at least. And you were terribly confused by how good his kiss had made you feel, even though you were furious with how he’d done it without asking, as if you belonged to him.

So you decide to ignore Max for the whole week, but when he shows up at your apartment door unexpectedly, you couldn’t hold him off. We need to talk, he’d said tersely, and that’s how you found yourself on the apartment rooftop - surprised that Max hadn’t barged his way into your apartment. In fact, he stood well away from you, leaning against the railing and looking out towards the setting Monaco sun over the pristine Mediterranean waters as you watched his back uncertainly. Just when you were going to ask him what he wanted, he began telling you the story of how his Alpha father, Jos, had claimed his Omega mother, Sophie before she had been ready. You tilted your head, confused. You were very familiar with that particular media scandal - where Jos had deliberately performed the claiming, the ancient ritualistic tradition of an Alpha marking an Omega as theirs - in the peak of Sophie’s career, and had illegally used their mating bond to manipulate her into early retirement and focus on the family instead. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, of how no court or laws could protect an Omega fully from the abuse of a controlling Alpha.

I- I know about your parent’s story, it was quite…anyways, why are you bringing it up now? Max didn’t answer your question, turning around instead to face you. You felt that same fluttering beating of your heart as his intense blue gaze locked in on your doe eyed brown one. After she was able to get the divorce, he continued, she finally found her true mate. And she told me about the difference she’d felt, in how my father and her mate had treated her, how one had made her into the wife he wanted and the other had protected her as she chose to life she wanted for herself.

You’re truly confused now about why he’s still on this topic, and tell him that you’d even spoken with his mother when you began racing about her advice as a female on the track, and you’d expressed your sympathies for how hard it must have been to have her career tarnished so early by an abusive Alpha. Being her son was one of the few things you actually respected about him. Thinking he was foreshadowing what he was going to ask of you, your scent became sour with anger. So, out with it, Verstappen, you demanded, what’s your blackmail plan, I know you know about me being an Omega, are you going to make me promise not to try for P1 because you can forget it-

Max cut you off then, stepping forward and making you tilt your head back to look up at him. You wanted to step back so desperately, knowing what happened last time he was so close - but that inner omega vixen of yours was far too satisfied with the reassuring, soft spicy scent Max was now gently emitting. You hadn’t even known he was capable of anything other than the intense scent he used to dominate on the track.

No, schat, Max says softly. I’m not going to tell anyone anything you don’t want shared. Or use it against you. I wanted to tell you my parents story…to show you my father is the kind of Alpha I don’t want to become. I don’t want anyone to go through what my mother did. You can literally feel your body relaxing from his reassuring words, with the way he had called you darling in Dutch for the first time, from his soft look and scent. And it pisses you off to no end, that he can use his biology to make you feel like this - you’d had no idea the effect from an Alpha could be this strong on you. You realize you’ve involuntarily said that out loud when he tells you it isn’t normal for you to react this intensely to an Alpha, but it’s because it’s him that you’re reacting to. At your perplexed look, he’s reminded that your parents are both Betas and you had very limited knowledge of presentations, compared to his own family which were exclusively Alpha-Omega mates for generations.

Because…because we’re rivals? You ask, those sweet doe eyes of yours blinking up at him and making the urge to protect you bloom deep in his chest. Unfortunately for his inner alpha, he was about to cause you a lot of distress with his next words.

Because - Max swallowed, because, schat, we’re true mates. I’m your Alpha, if you’ll have me.

The distress that comes off you is instant and makes Max want to jump off the balcony railing, if it means ending your despair. You’re stammering out your shock, confusion, and then just straight denial at his claim, insisting it can’t be true - but he watches you with an apologetic expression, only speaking after a long time once you’ve let out all your conflicting emotions. He softly explains why it was true, that you might not know because your own parents weren’t a true match but what happened in the elevator, the reaction to each other’s scents - it was the first step to prime you two for the claiming.

He can see the colour drain from your face, flushed caramel skin now going pale as your distress turns to pure rage, steeped with fear - of him, Max realises. So that's why you're pretending to be so nice, isn't it? you question hotly, so that I say yes to your claiming just for you to use it order me to leave racing? And you'll act like its so different to your parents-

Max can't bear this foreign pain in his chest any longer, each furious word from you twisting a knife into his heart. His inner alpha is screaming at him to comfort and console you, so he does just that by stepping forward again and taking your small form into his large arms, forming a secure hold around you. Your annoyed shriek is muffled against his toned chest, but after a few seconds you calm down once he says, sounding so unusually desperate, he will never do the claiming until you ask him too, even if that's well after your racing career finishes. You pause, hearing the genuine sincerity in his words, and somehow deep within you a sense tells you that Max is telling the truth. As his warm, large hands soothingly rub circles on your back, you find yourself closing your eyes and lean into him, your french manicured hands pressing against his firm muscles and hearing his strong heartbeat through his chest.

You stay like that for a long time, slowly processing everything he's told you, until the sunset disappears over the Monaco horizon and the bright city lights emerge. At some point his arms have wrapped around your soft waist, one hand firmly on your hip and the other cradling your head against him, softly stroking your dark curls. If anyone had told you a month ago that you'd find yourself in this position with goddamn Max Verstappen you'd have laughed them off the track. But here you are, your inner omega purring with satisfaction at the secure embrace of your strong Alpha. You find yourself returning his comforting embrace by tentatively moving your small palms up over his pecs and across his ridiculously broad shoulders, looping around his wide neck. You hear Max's breathing hitch as he feels your shy touch, and then he’s hit with your delicious scent as your new position exposes your neck. It's the same as in the lift - so sweet, like exotic Indian jasmine on a hot summer night, like burnt sticky vanilla in the stroopwafels he adored as a kid, on the rare days he was allowed to go to the park instead of karting. But this time, your scent is even more inviting as your desire for him is stronger, and he doesn't fight his instincts and buries his face into your delicate neck again. He inhales deeply and leaves you gasping when he starts leaving lazy, soft kisses in the hollow of your throat. This time, you can't bring yourself to pull away, your fingers gently threading into his hair as you tentatively call out V-Verstappen, this is-

That's not my name, prinses he rumbles lowly, Dutch accent slipping through as he continues moving up your neck, leaving hickeys with flicks of his tongue and gentle, teasing nips of his sharp fangs - teasing, but not puncturing your tantalising caramel skin. And when you sweetly moan Max for him, looking up at him with those wide brown doe eyes, heady with desire, and a pretty red flush across your full cheeks, he meets your plush lips with his own. There's no hesitation this time, your fingers tangling into his messy blonde locks as you kiss deeply. His large hands running across your body make you feel like you're on fire. And when he grabs a hold of your thick ass, squeezing it like he owned it and and pulling you even closer to him, you're gasping and moaning sweetly into his mouth. He doesn't hesitate to slide inside your parted lips, completely dominating the kiss as he easily takes control over your tongue despite your efforts to battle against his.

Max, this is so wrong you say breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as his large thigh parts yours, your skirt sliding up as thick muscles come into contact with your aching core. You're certain he's going to be able to feel the wetness rapidly pooling between your own legs. Then why does it feel so right, prinses? He cockily responds, squeezing your ass greedily again and moaning himself when you start grinding against his leg, your wetness dripping past your soaked panties and ruining his pants. Fuck, he was never going to take these off, so he would always have the intoxicating scent of how sweet you smelled when you were so desperate for him, hmm?

The harsh ringing of your phone you'd set on a nearby table startles you. Max ignores it, flexing his thighs up against you to tempt your self control again as your inner Omega begs you to let the Alpha - your Alpha - claim you right here, right now, for all the world to see. But through the haze you see your boss's face flash on the screen and suddenly you're reminded of what's at stake. Snapping to your senses, you stumble away from Max's strong hold, making him growl in annoyance as he reluctantly releases you from his arms. This is why I didn't want to talk, you hiss at him, but he can tell from your scent you’re more conflicted than angry. Because you- you cutely flush, -we can't control ourselves for more than 5 minutes without something like this happening. You gesture to the space between you two as he watches you inquisitively, taking in every small movement with a tilt of his head like he was a lion stalking a deer. Stay away from me from now on, Verstappen you say with a scowl on your pretty face, pointing right at him, his sharp blue eyes not missing the slight tremor that gives away how affected you feel by him. I need to focus on winning this championship and not your…slutty Alpha seduction techniques.

He lets you go, smirking as you practically sprint away down the stairs to avoid any further temptation, enjoying the view of your generous ass from behind. Using his thumb to brush the dampness you left on his pants, he licks it away, chest lowly rumbling in approval as he confirms you’ll taste just as sweet as you looked, as you smelled. Next time, he promises his disgruntled inner Alpha.

After all, it was only a matter of time before he claimed you - it was a question of when, not if. The dark, controlling parts of him wanted to lay his claim on you right now, knowing that you desired him and would be unable to resist if he wanted to have his way with you. But you’d be so much sweeter, more pliable, more eager for him if he waited until you came begging.

He’d have his fun in the meantime.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x you #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #omegaverse #f1 driver reader #driver!reader #18+ mdni

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pickingupmymercedes · 3 months

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Of thorns and blooms - Lewis Hamilton

request: "Can I request a Journalist reader, who lewis has his eye on and she interviews him and smexy antics ensue after the gathering. She wears a light up floral crown which lewis finds so cute and when they they celebrate an anniversary, he gives her an actual crown." - @omgsuperstarg

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fashion Journalist! Reader!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: It took me sooo long to get the tone to this one right, but I hope it was worth the wait.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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Y/n adjusted her dress for the hundredth time as she waited for the next person she would interview, the humidity in the air boiling them all in the enclosed paradise the famous steps of the MET. The buzz of the Gala was like a living entity. And tonight, she wasn't just a fashion journalist, she was a guest, courtesy of a hand-delivered invitation from Anna Wintour herself.

A small proud smile played on her lips. It had been a long road, from the early days working in college fashion blogs to the owner of her own digital media platform. She had conquered every step on the ladder the had envisaged for her career, and the MET Gala was the cherry on top.

Her gaze swept the red carpet, catching a flash of black that snagged on her breath. Lewis.

They'd met a few times before, most notably for his iconic Vanity Fair cover in 2022. Shot in pink, in none other than Valentino, it had been a bold choice, and she had made it justice in the interview. I was a peek into the soul of a man who rarely had let himself be seen that way. It was raw, honest, and had garnered her more praise than any piece she'd ever written.

On the human level there had also been something else, a connection beyond the professional aura, but it had remained just that – a spark.

Over the years, they'd stayed in loose contact. She would congratulate him on a good race, he would message whenever he read one of her articles, a selfie once, holding her printed fashion annual he'd found at an airport in Dubai.

It felt like a secret language, a shared appreciation in their vastly different worlds.

And that night, he looked…untouchable.

A vision in a custom Burberry creation. Although not far from the usual black, his overcoat was anything but ordinary, adorned with hand-embroidered floral motifs that shimmered under the camera flashes, the thorns in his necklace a powerful statement. Heritage and resilience.

As Lewis neared her corner of the press pen, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on her, a flicker shone within them. He diverted his path slightly, heading straight for her.

"Y/n!" he boomed, his voice surprisingly warm for someone who always tried to maintain his stoicism.

"Sir Lewis Hamilton" she replied, offering a professional smile. "Looking sharp."

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "You clean up nice yourself, Voltaire."

"Voltaire?" she raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Your floral crown. You quoted Voltaire on gardens being the only art that imitated nature in your preview of the met" He gestured towards her head, where a crown of intricately woven white flowers sat, each petal tipped with tiny LED lights that cast a soft glow. "It looks incredible by the way."

Her smile widened. "Maria Grazia Chiuri and I had a blast designing this piece. We wanted to honor the history of the floral crown, worn for centuries, but with a modern twist."

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You always manage to find the hidden meaning, don't you?"

She met his gaze, the intensity surely not lost to her. "Fashion is all about meaning, Lewis. It's a language, a way to express ourselves." His gaze holding on to hers as she continued “Your statement in this Burberry. It's a powerful one”

He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes, but just as he was about to answer back a microphone was thrust in front of them. A reporter, eager to get a quote looking impatient.

"Mr. Hamilton," the reporter began, "your outfit is quite…unexpected. Can you tell us the inspiration behind it?"

Lewis straightened his shoulders, slipping back into his professional persona. He launched into a detailed explanation of the Burberry design, his voice smooth and practiced. Y/n listened, captivated by his words and by the way his gaze flickered back to her every few seconds, a silent promise of something.

When the interview ended, the reporter scurried away. Lewis turned back to her; his smile warm. "They only gave me a few minutes," he said with mock disappointment.

"Well," she teased, "perhaps you could tell me the "real" story later," she finished, mirroring his playful tone.

A slow grin spread across Lewis's face. "Perhaps" he replied winking, a gesture that would have sent a lesser woman reeling. "I’ll find you later." He gestured towards the throng of celebrities and socialites milling about.

As Y/n wandered into the museum, she navigated the wave of guests with small talks and greetings alike. Her platform had gained traction over the past months, and her presence was becoming increasingly sought-after. But tonight, the glamor felt secondary as the show stoppers stood behind glasses of exhibitions.

As she stood and admired one of Balmain’s first collections, a familiar figure caught her eye. Lewis, leaning casually against a pillar, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was alone, just observing her, a smile breaking across his face as he saw she had noticed him, he made his way towards her, his movements graceful.

"There you are," a low rumble in his chest. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Hardly," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.

"So," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "tell me about this secret language of fashion."

"Where do I even begin?" she laughed, a genuine, carefree sound. "Every stitch, every embellishment, every cut – it all tells a story. A story of who you are, where you come from and how you want to be perceived."

The conversation flowed easily, a back-and-forth about the art of fashion, their contrasting worlds, and the subtle messages woven into every outfit. Lewis, she discovered, was surprisingly well-versed in fashion history, his knowledge going beyond the surface. He spoke of iconic designers, groundbreaking trends, and the evolution of style through the ages, his voice filled with genuine passion as he recounted how he had learned so much from her own words.

"You know," Lewis said, his voice softer now, "you're not like anyone else I've ever met."

" This one is not gonna cut it" she asked, her heart skipping a beat.

"Right…" he said, his gaze locking on hers. "But I meant it though. You look at the story behind people. That’s rare."

His words hit her like a sucker punch, laying bare a truth she hadn't dared to public admit. She had always craved for connection with people, and fashion, she had discovered, was her way to reach for those who held their stories and dreams in their eyes and heart.

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, breaking the intense eye contact. "Perhaps you see the same," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He leaned closer; his breath warm on her ear. "Tell me about your dreams, Y/n. What stories are you trying to tell?"

And then, when she couldn’t avoid his gaze on her anymore, when the silence of his question had almost drowned her, a booming voice cut through the air. "Lewis! There you are. We have to get going."

Lewis sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. "Right" he said, a touch of regret in his voice before he turned abruptly to Y/n, as if he had just decided to take a jump "I have a proposition for you."

Intrigued, Y/n raised an eyebrow. "A proposition? Do elaborate, Hamilton."

He leaned in again, close enough for his lips to brush against her ear. “Are you, by any chance, willing to pass on those other after parties and come to mine?”

Y/n seemed to be taken aback, but just like before, when she was about to answer him, he shot her a look “I’ll text you the details. I’d love to know your stories.” And with a final lingering look at her, Lewis offered a charming smile. "Until later."

The afterparty held a low-key energy, a contrast to the frenzy of the Met. Y/n found herself at Lewis's expansive New York City apartment, surprised by the choice of venue. It wasn't the club she'd thought of, but a tastefully decorated space that felt more like a home than a celebrity crash pad.

Lewis had introduced her to a motley crew of people. Some of his friends, but mostly, a mix of young, up-and-coming designers, photographers Y/n knew by reputation, and even a couple of journalists she had came across an article or two. The air buzzed with conversations, a refreshing change from the interactions of the Met.

As the night wore on, the crowd thinned. Y/n found herself gravitating towards a corner where Lewis stood, deep in conversation with someone she remembered to have seen at some shooting before.

"That's Kelly," Lewis said, noticing Y/n's approach. "A design prodigy. Just landed a gig with Channel"

Kelly's smile widened as Lewis introduced them. "It's an honor to meet you, Y/n," she said, her voice brimming with excitement. "I've been a huge fan for a while now."

They chatted for a while, the struggles and triumphs of breaking into the fashion world. Looking at the young woman's vibrant energy, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the platform she'd created.

But as Kelly was whisked away by another group, a comfortable silence settled between Y/n and Lewis.

He gestured towards an empty stool beside him. "Mind if I steal you for a bit?"

Y/n accepted the invitation, a playful glint in her eyes. "Only if you answer a question for me first."

"Shoot," he said, taking a swig from his drink.

"This isn't exactly the afterparty I expected," she said, gesturing to the relaxed setting. "Why here?"

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that made her feel inadequately naïve "Maybe this is the real me," he said. "The part that doesn't crave the constant spotlight."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conversational whisper. "I thought you'd like this kind of party. I like to distance myself from the buzz when I can"

Y/n nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "A safe space."

"Something like that," he replied, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long.

"So," Lewis began, breaking the building tension "I’m still waiting to hear about your dreams"

And so, for some ungodly pull, at a rather uncomfortable stool, she opened up to a man she had never really expected to create any kind of connection. Maybe, exactly because she never so that coming, it felt so easy to tell him her most guarded hopes.

She spoke of her platform as a way to democratize fashion, to give a voice to those who felt unseen, unheard. She spoke of empowering individuals to express themselves through who they really were, regardless of social status or bank balance.

As Y/n talked, she noticed Lewis's eyes gleaming with genuine interest. He wasn't just listening politely, he interest genuine, his questions insightful and thought-provoking. And she wondered if it was really that unexpected to find this depth hidden beneath him.

"That's incredible" Lewis said, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re giving people the tools for them to tell their stories."

"Exactly" Y/n said, a sense of understanding as he smiled with her. "It's about self-expression, about telling the world who you are."

A thoughtful frown etched itself onto Lewis's face as she leaned into the counter. "You know," he said, pausing mid-sentence, "you're quite a puzzle, Y/n."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Me? A puzzle?”

"There's this incredible fire in you" he continued, his voice low and husky, "a passion for giving others a voice. But then there's this… " he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

"What?" she scoffed playfully. "I always thought I such was an open book."

Lewis chuckled; a dark, sexy sound that surely didn’t go unnoticed. "You talk about empowering others, yet I get the feeling there's a whole story you haven't shared of where that desire comes from"

Their connection had been simmering throughout the night, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Now, with Lewis's gaze holding hers captive, it threatened to tip over.

The conversation around them seemed to fade away, swallowed by the growing awareness between them. Y/n felt his unspoken questions echoing in her mind, a challenge she couldn't ignore.

As the night wore on, the guests gradually dwindled. One by one, they bid farewell to Lewis, leaving him and Y/n alone amidst the empty bottles and scattered laughter.

Y/n found her gaze drawn to him again. He stood by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, his profile sharp and captivating. The urge to break the silence, to bridge the growing gap between them, became overwhelming.

She rose from the stool, her movements deliberate, and walked towards him. He turned, his surprise evident in his eyes.

"Everyone's gone, I should go" she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don’t. Please" he replied, his gaze still locked on hers. "I’d love if you could stay and"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Y/n cut him off, stopping just inches away from him. The air crackled with electricity, the unspoken desire a tangible force between them.

She glanced at the faint outline of his abdomen in the fabric of his Dior shirt, her fingers tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric. Then, in a bold move, she let her nails lightly scratch across his chest, sending a jolt of heat through him.

Lewis's breath hitched. He pulled her closer by her waist, his eyes burning into hers.

Their lips met in a heated kiss, a clash of urgency and teeth. Lewis's hands roamed freely over her back, his touch numbing her to the surroundings. He was hungry for all of her.

Y/n found herself caught in the current, her own desire rising to meet his. His lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

A dark part of her, a voice fueled by the intoxicating aura of him, entertained the idea of becoming just another name on his long list of conquests.

But then, as his hand reached for her thigh, a wave of clarity put an end to the haze. This wasn't a one-night stand she craved. This connection, potent and undeniable, deserved more.

Y/n broke the kiss, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. "Lewis," she whispered, her voice husky.

He stared at her, confusion, concern and desire evident in his eyes.

"Dinner first," she said, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Then maybe we can explore this mystery you see in me."

A slow smile spread across Lewis's face, the heat in his eyes softening to amusement. "Dinner it is," he agreed, his voice raspy. "But consider this a warning. I don't give up easily."

Sunlight danced across the Aegean Sea, glowing through the large round window of the yacht's cabin. Y/n stood before the vanity, applying a final touch of lipstick, her reflection a picture of contentment.

Five years. Five years since that MET and Lewis's afterparty, a whirlwind that had swept them off their feet and turned their world upside down.

A soft knock at the door startled her. "Come in," she called out, her voice filled with a hint of anticipation.

The door creaked open, and Lewis stepped inside. He was a vision in his crisp white linens, his hair free from the braids.

But it was the velvety box in his hand that held her attention.

"There you are," he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he walked towards her.

Y/n watched him through the mirror, her heart still skipping a beat whenever he was around. He stopped behind her, his warmth radiating through her back.

"What's that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"A little something for my favorite fashion journalist" he replied, his breath tickling her ear as he leaned close.

He opened the box, inside, nestled on a bed of white satin, lay a breathtaking piece of jewelry – a floral crown crafted from delicate diamonds. Each petal was meticulously designed, some adorned with tiny thorns, others bursting into bloom.

It was both graceful and powerful. And it wasn’t quite a necklace, nor quite a tiara. It was a piece of art.

"Lewis," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "It's…incredible."

He took the crown from the box, his touch gentle as he held it up to the light. "Anne Wintour helped me design it," he admitted, a hint of pride in his voice. "She said it reminded her of your outfit at the Met Gala, all those years ago."

Y/n held her breath as she looked at the jewelry. The floral crown, a memory of their initial spark, now reimagined with diamonds. The strength and beauty of their love that had blossomed despite adversity.

"The thorns," he said, her voice barely a whisper, "they represent the challenges we've faced, the distance, the different worlds..."

"And the flowers," he finished after clasping it to her neck, his voice husky with emotion, "represent our love, always blooming, even in the face of those challenges."

He adjust it to her skin, his touch gentle. "It's meant to be worn by someone who sees the world differently, who tells stories with every thread" he said, his gaze holding hers.

He cupped her hand in his, his eyes brimming with love. "Someone who wears her heart on her sleeve," he continued, his voice low and husky.

She turned and their lips met slowly, a lingering kiss that spoke volumes of their love and shared journey.

"Happy anniversary, Y/n," he whispered, pulling away but not letting go, his eyes shining brighter than any star.

"Happy anniversary, Lewis" she replied, the diamond floral piece catching the sunlight and reflecting a thousand tiny rainbows in their eyes.

______________________________________________________________

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justlemmeadoreyou · 5 months

Text

1. prepping (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

summary: you landed your dream job as a line cook at harry styles' prestigious haus kitchen restaurant in chicago. the tough chef job demands focus, but it's really hard when your boss looks like harry styles.

words: 4.3k

warnings: nothing major in this one

Your palms were sweating as you gripped the steering wheel, driving through downtown Chicago towards your new job. You kept glancing down at the address on the printed directions, double checking that you were heading the right way. The last thing you wanted was to be late on your first day.

Ever since getting your culinary degree, you had applied to what felt like hundreds of restaurant jobs, desperate to get your foot in the door of a real professional kitchen. But very few places wanted to hire someone so fresh out of school with no actual experience.

Finally, after months of dead ends, you had landed a line cook position at Haus Kitchen - one of the hottest farm-to-table restaurants in the city. You could scarcely believe your luck when you got the call saying you were hired.

Haus was the brainchild of Harry Styles, international superstar singer turned chef. After his chart-topping solo music career, Harry had traded in artist life to pursue his lifelong passion for cooking. Using his accumulated wealth, he opened up Haus five years ago to rave reviews, quickly earning a well deserved Michelin star.

You vividly remembered watching Harry's transition from a pop idol to dashing culinary entrepreneur play out in the media. As a teenage girl, you had been obsessed with him during his One Direction days.

Your bedroom walls were plastered with Harry's posters and you had relentlessly played their songs, sighing over his tousled hair and pouty lips. Then as you got older and Harry went solo, your boyband crush evolved into more of an intense celebrity infatuation as he cultivated a cool, rebellious image.

There were countless gossipy blind items about his infamous hellraising, flings with models and socialites, and run-ins with the law. You had followed all the scandalous Harry headlines with rapt attention - from getting papped stumbling out of nightclubs with an endless parade of beautiful women to getting arrested for drug possession outside Soho clubs.

But finally in his late 20s, seemingly bored of rockstar debauchery, Harry had pivoted to reset his image as a knowledgeable culinary entrepreneur. You admired how he transformed from tabloid bad boy into a refined, successful businessman and chef.

He began studying haute cuisine under the tutelage of famous European chefs, traveling abroad to hone his skills further. While continuing to record new musical projects independently, Harry started establishing himself in the culinary world through guest stints on TV cooking shows and food/wine events.

With his brooding good looks, charming personality, and serious culinary chops, the world fell for Harry's new sophisticated image. Before long, he was the subject of breathless puff pieces in food magazines as "the sexiest Renaissance man in the kitchen." It seemed natural when Harry soon opened up his passion project Haus to capitalize on his popularity and love of food.

Now nearing your mid-20s, your teenage fannish obsession had cooled into more of an admiring celebrity crush. You had stayed aware of Harry's journey, but your priorities were focused on graduating culinary school at the top of your class and finding your own big break in the Chicago restaurant scene.

So when you landed a job at Harry's iconic Haus, it almost didn't feel real. Not only would you be working at one of the city's most exclusive spots, but under the same roof as a chef you had admired for ages.

Not that you expected to have any real personal contact with Harry himself, you reminded yourself as you merged onto the exit for downtown. He was an internationally famous mega-celebrity who had to have hundreds of staffers, not to mention being handsomely paid to just be the smiling face of the business while professional kitchen vets like Paul Thomason handled the day-to-day operations.

Still, you had to admit to yourself that a tiny part of you tingled at the mere idea of being in the same building as Harry Styles...hopefully catching a glimpse of that handsome, endlessly charming man in the flesh...

You shook your head dismissively and double checked the directions again, annoyed at getting so easily distracted. This was your big break, your first serious job in the industry. You needed to bring your A-game and focus, not dwell on silly celebrity daydreams.

It was your fantasies of becoming a respected chef that needed to take priority.

You pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant, double checking that you had the address right. The sleek, modern building had a neon "Haus Kitchen" sign glowing over opulent double-door entrances flanked by velvet ropes and cheerful outdoor seating areas.

Taking a steadying breath, you cut the engine and sat for a moment, giving yourself a pep talk. This was it. No more messing around doing coursework or labs - this was the major leagues with all the intensity of a real professional kitchen. You had to bring it all day, every day.

As you climbed out of your beat-up Honda, you smoothed down your spotless new chef's whites, making sure everything looked pressed and presentable. With your knife kit tucked under your arm, you walked towards the entrance with purpose, chin held high.

From the moment you stepped through the doors, it was like being transported into another world. The smell of simmering sauces, roasting meats, and freshly baked bread envaded your senses. Even hours before opening, the energy and hustle for dinner prep was palpable.

Off to the left was the main dining room you had studied photos of online - effortlessly cool with vaulted exposed wooden beam ceilings, brick accents, and casually modern decor. Pendant lighting glowed cozily over tables draped in white linens and rustic chandeliers hung over plush tufted leather banquettes. A lively bar area centered the space, stocked with top-shelf liquors and backed by a dazzling display of custom glassware.

In the distance ahead, you could hear the clamoring of the kitchen in full swing. Your stomach did a nervous flip - this was it. Taking another fortifying breath, you headed through the archway.

You emerged into a large, sleek open kitchen layout, all stainless steel and butcher block islands. Uniformed cooks were buzzing at their stations like a well-oiled machine under the barked commands of an older, stocky man you immediately recognized as Head Chef Paul Thomason.

Despite his gruff reputation, watching Thomason in action was nothing short of mesmerizing. He moved between stations with the easy grace of a conductor, sampling sauces, tweaking seasonings, and directing the workflow with gruff orders. There was no wasted movement or micro-expression as he continually tasted and perfected dishes, alternating between thoughtful contemplation and decisive action.

Though you had only seen Thomason in pictures and television appearances, his fierce focus and mastery were unmistakable. This was what true professional kitchen expertise looked like in the flesh.

Feeling like a mouse that had wandered into the lair of a lion, you hovered near the entrance, uncertain of what to do next. The kitchen team flowed around you in a choreographed dance, deftly ignoring your presence as they prepped and plated flawlessly.

After a few minutes of anxious loitering, the intimidating Thomason seemed to finally notice you. His grizzled features contorted as he scowled, looking you up and down through eyes squinted with decades of kitchen smoke exposure.

"You must be the new kid," he said gruffly, crossing his bulky tattooed arms over his broad chest. Even without raising his voice, Thomason had a rumbling bass that easily carried over the kitchen's clanging din. "Christ, you're shorter than I expected. Think you've got what it takes to keep up around here?"

You nervously clutched your knife kit closer while trying to not look as flustered as you felt. "Y-yes, chef!"

You swallowed hard, hyper aware of everyone around you now watching the interaction. "I, uh...I came ready to work as hard as it takes. Whatever you need from me."

Thomason grunted, squinting at you for another long moment in consideration. Then he jerked his head towards the back. "Get changed out quick and meet me back here in 5. I'll get you started on prep and we'll see what you're made of. Don't keep me waiting."

"Yes, chef!" you responded immediately, wincing at how high your voice had gone up an octave.

Without another word, Thomason turned and strode back into the controlled chaos of the line, immediately redirecting his attention to sauces and garnishes. Letting out a shaky breath, you scurried towards the changing rooms, heart jackhammering.

Well, you were officially in the thick of things now...

You hustled back out to the kitchen, trying not to look frazzled from your rushed change. A young Hispanic line cook spotted you and waved you over to his station.

"You the newbie?" he asked, not unkindly. When you nodded, he jerked his head towards the walk-in refrigerator. "Thomason wants you to start by breaking down some of the produce delivery for prep."

"Got it, thanks," you replied, eager to prove yourself. The line cook gestured you through the door into the immense chilled walk-in.

You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the cold, taking in the sights and smells of the impressive stockpile. Shelves upon shelves were stocked with an array of fresh seasonal produce - crates bursting with leafy greens, bushels of root vegetables, flats of vibrantly colored tomatoes, exotic fruits, and mushroom varieties you had only read about.

Your culinary school had humble basics for ingredients, nothing like the bounty of locally-sourced, meticulously selected provisions that Haus Kitchen demanded. You felt a thrill at getting to work with such an extraordinary pantry.

Respirating clouds puffed from your mouth as you scanned the inventory tagging system. You had been taught similar protocols in your food safety courses, but there was something exhilarating about putting that knowledge into practice in a real professional environment.

Grabbing a stack of plastic totes, you made a game plan for which items to start prepping first based on perishability levels and what would be needed for that evening's specials. Though you started out slow at first, you steadily built up a cadence of meticulously cleaning, trimming, and sorting into appropriate storage containers.

By the time Thomason stuck his head in to check on you an hour later, you had developed an efficient system and made solid progress through a mountain of deliveries.

The head chef grunted in approval as he inspected your neat stacks of prepped produce, crossing his arms as he looked you up and down with a critical eye.

"Not bad, kid," he rumbled. "Clearly know which end of a knife to use, at least. C'mon back out, got some protein fabrication for you to tackle next."

You diligently followed Thomason back out to the main kitchen, wiping some sweat from your brow with your sleeve. Despite the industrial cooling system, the heat blazing from the ovens and range tops made the open kitchen feel like a furnace.

As Thomason led you to a stainless steel butcher's block island, you couldn't help but gawk at the array of gleaming knives hanging from magnetic strips overhead. The blades were works of art - sleek, razor sharp, and clearly extremely expensive.

Gesturing you over, Thomason grabbed a boning knife and twirled it deftly before handing it to you. "Let's see how you handle breaking this down."

He gave the block a solid smack with his meaty palm, indicating for you to get started on the glistening slab of beef tenderloin before you. Taking a steadying breath, you gripped the bone-handled knife firmly and leaned over the cutting board.

"Yes chef," you murmured before carefully piercing the thick cut of meat, angling the blade with practiced precision from all your training.

Around you, the kitchen bustled with the usual rattling pans, sizzling ranges, and Thomason's occasional barked orders. But as you fell into the rhythm of deftly separating fat and sinew, the noises began to fade from your awareness.

You were completely focused on your knife work, confidently sawing through the tender flesh as you reduced the tenderloin down to portions and trimmings for other stations to further break down. It was meditative, almost hypnotic, the way you instinctively slid the blade along rendered paths of butchery.

After your initial intimidation of the intense Haus environment, you started to find your groove and calm amidst the choreographed insanity surrounding you. You were so laser-focused on the satisfaction of properly executing each slicing technique that the rest of the kitchen chaos became mere white noise.

You had no idea how long you stayed absorbed in the butchery, but eventually you became aware of a presence at your elbow. Glancing up, you nearly jumped to see Harry Styles watching you work with an unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his slim-fitting slacks.

His dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the fitted cotton fabric clung to his toned arms and chest, a few chest hairs peeking out of his slightly undone top button. A single necklace rested in the divot between his sculpted collarbones, drawing your eye to the alluring hollow of his throat as he swallowed hard.

You froze mid-slice, mesmerized by watching the tendons in Harry's wrist and forearm flex as his hands flexed restlessly in his trouser pockets. After a beat, his pillowy lips curved into an easy smile, crinkling the delicate crow's feet at the corners of his kaleidoscope green eyes.

"Afternoon," Harry said in that lazy, husky drawl that used to make millions of fans swoon. He flicked his eyes down to your handiwork before bringing them back up to your face. "Looking good there, newbie."

You blinked, not trusting your ears for a moment before realizing with a jolt that Harry was very much real and quite close. Like, unnecessarily close for your over-stimulated brain to handle.

"Uh...I-I, um...th-thank you?" you croaked out, wanting to cringe at how lame you sounded. Get it together, this wasn't the time to geek out–you instructed yourself.

But Harry didn't seem to notice your fumbling, simply giving you a dimpled half-smile before reaching around you to snag a stray piece of trimming from the butcher's block. He inspected it contemplatively before popping it into his mouth, those plump lips wrapping obscenely around the bite as he chewed and ruminated with relish.

"Perfection," he declared after swallowing, shooting you another crooked grin like you were co-conspirators sharing an inside joke. With a subtle wink, Harry pivoted on his boot heel and sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune.

As he retreated, you risked a glance down at his form-fitting trousers shamelessly admiring the way the fine fabric cupped the ample curves of his pert backside. Even at his age, Harry Styles had the muscle-toned body of a man decades younger - long, lean muscles taut under golden tanned skin.

You blinked hard and shook your head, annoyed at catching yourself ogling your new boss like a drooling fangirl. Pull it together! This was totally inappropriate and unprofessional. You had zero business daydreaming about someone who gave you your paycheck, no matter how obscenely famous and heartthrob-ishly handsome they were.

Firmly re-focusing on your knife work, you determinedly put Harry from your mind and tried to re-immerse yourself in the rhythm and refuge of the butchery. But the memory of his distractingly lush mouth so close kept replaying over and over, preventing you from recapturing your previous sense of meditative flow.

Dammit, you needed to get a grip! This kind of inappropriate crush on your employer was exactly the kind of silly, immature behavior that would make you look like a unprofessional joke in a serious kitchen environment. Blowing an opportunity like this was not an option.

Later, as you untied your apron strings and joined the team in breaking down the last stations for cleaning at closing, Thomason sidled up alongside you. You braced yourself for more of his typical gruff rebukes or criticisms.

Instead, the veteran chef simply gave you a long, considered look before saying gruffly, "You did good work today, kid. I can already tell you got the stuff to handle it around here if you keep your head down."

You blinked up at him in surprise before managing a small smile. "Thank you, chef. I really appreciate that."

Thomason grunted noncommittally before wandering off, likely to oversee something else. As you tidied your workstation, you couldn't help feeling a small glow of pride. Despite the craziness of your first day, you had seemingly passed this initial trial with flying colors.

As you left through the back entrance into the quiet night air, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself a satisfied smile. Maybe, just maybe, you really did have what it took to succeed in this highly competitive environment after all. For tonight at least, you had handled the punishing pace and standards. Tomorrow was another day to prove yourself all over again.

***

Your day started before sunrise the next morning, brewing a strong coffee and reviewing the notes you had taken the previous evening about which menu items needed prepping. By the time you arrived at Haus, reinvigorated by the crisp morning air, the kitchen was already a hive of activity in preparation for lunch service.

The intense scrutiny under which you worked only amplified with the daylight. Every slice, every sauté was carried out under the watchful eyes of Chef Thomason and his steely gaze. More than once, you felt his presence looming over your shoulder, inspecting your work with the same critical eye as a diamond cutter examining a flawless gem.

"This slice is uneven," he barked, startling you. You flinched, resisting the urge to make excuses as he continued, "The portions all need to be identical for plating. Paying attention to details like that is the difference between a sloppy meal and a stellar one. Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, chef," you replied tightly, making a minor adjustment to your knife work. Though his words stung, you had to admit Thomason was completely right. In a restaurant of this caliber, any minor imperfection could spell disaster.

You redoubled your efforts, pouring all of your concentration into each preparation, each plate. By the time the end of your shift rolled around, you were drenched in sweat, your feet screaming from being on them for 12 hours straight. But you had successfully made it through day two without any major mishaps.

As the whirlwind of dinner service finally calmed to a stopping point, you stood in the kitchen obediently waiting for Thomason's inspection and inevitable critique. But to your surprise, he merely gave a curt nod of approval before waving you off.

"Not bad, newbie," he grunted. "Get a good night's rest. We'll need you back bright and early tomorrow."

Those few gruff words of acceptance warmed you more than any high praise could have. For Thomason, a man of very few words, his small nod seemed to indicate you were, for the moment, living up to his exceedingly high standards.

The high from that small victory buoyed your spirits as you made your way towards the back exit, already dreaming of the few hours of sleep you might be able to grab before starting the cycle over again. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you nearly bowled someone over coming around a corner.

"Whoa there!"

You froze, looking up into the grinning, mirthful eyes of Harry Styles himself. Up close, the force of his charm and magnetism practically crackled in the air around him like a physical force. His sweater clung distractingly to his lithe, muscular frame and his chestnut hair was casually tousled. A pair of small diamond studs glinted in each ear.

"Sorry about that, H-Harry," you stammered, resisting the urge to take a flustered step back. You were vividly aware of just how little physical space separated the two of you. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

If he noticed your frazzled state up close, Harry didn't let on. His pink lips merely curved in an easy, dimpled smile. "No need to apologize. I don't usually make a habit of lurking around blind corners, to be fair."

You laughed before you could stop yourself, surprised at how easily he was putting you at ease despite your elevated heart rate. Up close, Harry's eyes weren't just green - an entire kaleidoscope of colors ranging from jade to emerald to amber seemed to shift and dance in his gaze. It was...dazzling, frankly.

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to take a subtle step backwards, putting a more professional amount of space between the two of you. The last thing you needed was to do something wildly inappropriate that would get you fired before the end of your first week.

"Still, I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings," you replied, aiming for a respectful, levelheaded tone. "It's been a really intense couple of days just trying to stay on top of everything."

Harry nodded in understanding, arching one perfectly sculpted brow. "Thomason hasn't let up on you at all, I take it?"

When you shook your head ruefully, he chuckled. "I know that seems like his permanent state - gruff, perpetually unsatisfied, and grumpy as a hibernating bear. But honestly, the fact that he hasn't fired you already is a good sign you're doing well."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait...really? But he critiques everything! I feel like I've gotten nothing but corrections so far."

"Exactly." Harry's dimples flashed as he grinned. "That's how you know he sees potential in you. If Thomason didn't think you had what it took, he wouldn't waste his breath giving feedback. He'd just cut you loose and hire someone else to start over."

His words were like a soothing balm on the anxiety and self-doubt you'd been carrying around for the past couple of days. You hadn't realized that Thomason's critical approach was actually a twisted form of acceptance and mentorship. The revelation caused the hard knot of tension between your shoulder blades to finally release.

"Huh," you exhaled, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips as you finally understood Thomason's tough love. "I guess I should take that as a compliment then."

"Absolutely," Harry agreed with an approving nod. Then his expression softened around the edges, growing earnest as his gaze searched yours. "Look, I know it's a huge adjustment and the pace here can be absolutely brutal starting out. But for what it's worth...I think you've got what it takes to be something really special in this kitchen."

You felt yourself flush at his unexpected praise, your stomach fluttering with a swarm of nervous butterflies. Harry held your eyes for a lingering moment before seeming to mentally collect himself.

Clearing his throat, he flashed you one more crooked grin. "But don't take my word for it - the proof will be in your work. Stay focused and trust the process. I've got faith you can handle it."

With that, he brushed past you, his shoulder grazing yours in a way that made your entire body buzz with friction. As Harry sauntered off down the hallway, you couldn't stop yourself from turning to watch his retreating form - the easy, rolling gait, the tantalizing sway of his hips below the slim cut of his trousers, the tousled waves of his chestnut hair.

You let out a shaky exhale, feeling off-balance and electrified all at once. Get a grip, you scolded yourself firmly. That was your boss - your incredibly famous, wealthy, and wildly attractive boss. Daydreaming was a one-way ticket to catching inappropriate feelings and potentially torpedoing your entire career before it even started.

And yet...you couldn't quite silence the part of your brain reliving Harry's velvet tone and intense eye contact as he professed having faith in your abilities. Just the casual warmth of his voice and proximity had set your heart pounding in a way it hadn't since you were a hormonal teenager, utterly dazzled by his rock star persona.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to turn on your heel and head for the exit. Overthinking could only lead to dangerous territory. You needed to stay laser-focused on your work - that was the only way to succeed at Haus and make your culinary dreams a reality.

As you stepped out into the fresh evening air, you paused for a moment on the deserted back stoop, closing your eyes and taking a few centering breaths. When you opened them again, you felt the last fluttering tendrils of Harry's heated presence dissipate, replaced by a familiar sense of determined calm.

This job was your priority now, not silly schoolgirl crushes or indulging fantasies about your wildly unattainable boss. You knew better than to get distracted by daydreams that could only lead to self-sabotage.

With a decisive nod, you strode towards your car with renewed focus. You would prove yourself at Haus through your skills and work ethic alone. No other agenda, no unprofessional entanglements allowed.

Your passion was cuisine, creating nourishing dishes that delighted - that had to remain your sole priority. You couldn't afford any distractions from that lest you squander this incredible opportunity. Steadying your breathing, you looked forward with fresh clarity and resolve.

Tomorrow was a new day to earn your place in Harry's formidable kitchen. And this time, you vowed, you were utterly prepared to meet the challenge with your complete and undivided focus.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! this is an idea for a new series that will probably have 6 parts??? i guess. but do tell me if you like it! because there's no use in writing when nobody reads 😭😭

feedback | masterlist

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli

@tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere @speedywritingharrystylesjudge

@mypolicemanharryyy @theendx888 @ladscarlett @daphnesutton @youcan-nolonger-run @prettythingsworld @chesthairrry @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs @hisparentsgallerryy @harryhitties @storyschanging @selluequestrian @islakp217 @swiftmendeshoran @princessaxoxo @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hermoinelove @chronicallybubbly @angeldavis777

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concerningwolves · 1 year

Text

Amazon are upping their print costs for books, which means some (possibly many) self-pubbed authors may have to also up the cost of their book(s). I'd like to say now, to make it crystal clear for the record, this is not authors being greedy.

I think someone who looks up the royalty rate for KDP and sees "60% for exclusive publishing and 40% for non-exclusive" would think "Wow, these authors are getting paid good money!" but once you calculate the amount of the list price that Amazon eats after printing costs, that percentage can be literally pennies. The minimum, and I mean the absolute bare minimum that I could sell When Dealing with Wolves for after the changes is £12.48 – and if I did that, I would make £0.00. That's zero money. No royalties.

I repeat: 40% royalties on a book listed at £12.48 = nothing.

I currently have WDWW up at £14.00. My "40% cut" from that is £0.76. After the printing cost changes go into effect, I'll make £0.61 from each sale instead. I really don't want to up my prices, because frankly it enrages me that Amazon won't let me list my book for anything under £12, when the standard price of a fiction paperback in the UK is usually around £8.99 – but writing isn't my priority job, so I have that luxury. I'm not trying to make a living off my writing so much as using it to supplement what I make from the freelance career, which is a choice I made because I knew I could never cope with the workload required for a ""serious"" self-pubbed writing career without sabotaging myself. The £0.15 difference in royalties from one book sale isn't going to be the difference between me eating or not; it just really really annoys and disheartens me. (And, also, is further proof that I can't sustain a full-time writing career, because I'd run myself ragged for too little gain and then I wouldn't be able to eat).

But there are plenty of authors who are writing as their primary source of income, either because they can't do anything else or because they took the plunge they're building their career (and it shouldn't matter to you why someone is writing full-time, by the way. You want fiction media to interact with, then you need writers, and writers need to be paid in order to live in order to make more media). It's these authors who will have to up their book prices, and I feel in my bones that it's these authors who are going to face the backlash.

So, if you must be pissed off at someone, be pissed off at Amazon. The authors are probably pissed off, too (I certainly am!), so you'll be in good company.

(And if you can, buy the ebook version because we get better royalties, or see if the author has their own store where you can get the book, since they'll have more control over their own prices there).

#this is okay to reblog btw #i am venting but also royalty talks are something that's important for writer communities to have #writeblr #self publishing

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harrysgal · 4 months

Text

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (4)

harry styles x yn aspiring filmmaker — social media AU

I am actually a little bit nervous about this part, so I hope you enjoy it.

About the smau: yn starts posting videos on youtube and is trying to build a career as a filmmaker. Things are going pretty well for her and she starts getting more attention when she creates content about shows she goes to. She’s also a fan of Harry’s music and some of his fans start getting suspicious when his team starts interacting with her.

Disclaimer: The story it’s set in 2021 and it will follow their relationship through the LOT leg in the US. Since this is nothing but fiction, I will be following some of the real timeline but also adding my own stuff. On top of that, I won’t be basing myself on Harry’s actual posts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PART 3 — DENVER // MASTERLIST

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I DIG YOUR CINEMA (PART 4) — THE VIDEO

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

liked by bestfriend, anthonypham, mollyjane_x and 59,302 others

yourinstagram im sorry its taken me so long to show up. i thought time would give me the ability to find some words to say, but as it turns out im much better at telling things through a camera than through a pen (or a keyboard, in this case). when i posted my first video on youtube, all i wanted was to find myself again after finally getting free from a relationship that drained the fun out of me. making movies is something that ive always been passionate about, so i thought — why not? three months later, when i posted my first video at a concert, all i wanted was to tell the story of a woman who, after raising two kids and giving everything she had to make everyone around her happy and safe, finally had the opportunity to make one of her most “innocent” dreams (seeing shania twain) come true. fast forward to this week, as i post my latest video all i want is to tell the story of a man who has the entire world in the palm of his hand and yet lives his life as if he’s merely another ordinary soul on earth. what happens now, and what you do with this story (or with any other ive already told), its not up to me anymore.

that all being said, thank you harry for trusting me with this story. it wasn’t mine to tell, but you allowed me to do it anyway and i’ll always be grateful for that. so, again, thank you.

ok i will stop typing now.

actually, im just gonna add that i hope you all enjoy this video as much as i do (but if you don’t, thats fair, and i’ll accept it just as much)

ok, now im done :)

view all 11,073 comments

lookitsnyoh 👑👑👑👑👑 harryfan9 this was so much more than we’ve asked for 🙏🙏🙏 user1 its been almost 24 hours since you posted this video and im still 😲!! YOU’RE INCREDIBLE user5 absolutely amazing! unexpected, captivating, touching… 10/10! yourbrother Kinda sucks that I don’t even feel like teasing you this time. I’m just proud.

↳ sisterinlaw Printed and framed already. ↳ yourinstagram … i dont even know what to say right now ↳ yourinstagram ＠sisterinlaw i’ll need a copy of that pls

harryfan your mind is so brilliant im so in love with this and i know i speak for the entire fandom when i say: THANK YOU 😭

↳ harryfan5 no really bc we’re so used to getting practically nothing that she coulve just done anything and we would’ve still died… and yet she gave us THIS? ↳ harryfan7 yn deserves the best in life period ↳ harryfan54 c’mon… it’s not THAT good

harrystyles 😲 so this was my story you were telling?

↳ yourinstagram i kept my side of the promise, didnt i? you were supposed to keep yours ↳ harrystyles fair enough. you’re welcome x ↳ yourinstagram 😌😌😌😌😌 ↳ yourinstagram thank you ↳ harrystyles you’re welcome x ↳ harryfan25 OMFGDSGFUAGFBH ↳ harryfan11 ＠yourinstagram ＠harrystyles sorry guys do you want us to leave you two alone? ↳ harryfan51 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 ↳ harryfan17 wdym you kept your side of the promise??? what did you promise????? what is it?????

harryfan10 pls we need more harry content already user7 Don’t go missing again, we miss you here!

Sep 9, 2021 •

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

liked by yourinstagram, bestfriend, jefezoff and 5,187,031 others

harrystyles I’m honored to say ＠yourinstagram has turned the beginning of this new chapter into a lovely short-movie, one you can watch right now on her youtube channel.

Thank you Yn for being so caring and respectful about everything and everyone involved in this project. To watch this idea turn into reality has been nothing but inspiring.

Welcome to the team, it’s too late to back out now. x

view all 203,557 comments

bestfriend this moment is all mine. 20+ years of friendship are FINALLY paying off.

↳ user3 you’re so unserious i love it fgajdujn ↳ yourinstagram im doing it just for you <3

harryfan5 noooooo I can’t do this my heart can’t take it pls stop 😭😭 harryfan23 I CANT BELIEVE YNS FIRSTS WORDS TO HIM WERE SHUT THE FUCK UP HAHAHAHAHA annetwist What a wonderful job you’ve done dear ＠yourinstagram 🥰

↳ yourinstagram ❤️ ↳ harryfan54 🙄

harryfan66 who are you and what have you done to the real harry? 🧐

↳ harryfan14 for real tho lmao ↳ harryfan74 yup. ive been saying it: another strategy just to get a random famous on harrys back. as usual.

harryfan9 NOT HARRY EXPOSING THE FIRST TIME THEY TALKED????

↳ harryfan3 and the fact that HE texted her first??? ↳ harryfan9 pls!!! molly gave me your nUmBeR 🤪🤪

harryfan15 oh you’re so sick for this AHDUAJHDJ yourinstagram THOSE messages? REALLY???

↳ harrystyles I’ve been explicitly forbidden to post a picture with you so I had to improvise. ↳ yourinstagram ok but did you also have to conveniently leave my next message out of it? ↳ harrystyles Yes x.

Sep 9, 2021 •

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— — — — —

PART 5: FROM SAN ANTONIO

— — — — —

#harry styles fake ig #harry styles fake instagram #harry styles fake social media #harry styles smau #harry styles social media au #harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n

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improvementor · 2 years

Video

youtube

Learn from “The greatest ad man who ever lived” (according to Garry Halbert) - Claude C. Hopkins. This is a short animated summary with bits of wisdom that I have gathered from his book Scientific Advertising. Also available as a Blog Post.

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zvaigzdelasas · 2 years

Text

Cuban Pedro Rafael Delgado, a 56-year-old accountant, saw his life change dramatically just days after Cuba approved a set of laws by referendum in September that allow gay marriage.

For more than a decade, Delgado, who works at a Communist Party office, lived as "friends" with his 62-year-old partner, Adolfo Lopez. He lacked basic rights and felt shunned even by his own family because of his sexual preference. "Being gay was the embarrassment of the family and I always lived with that," he told Reuters. Cuba's family code, a set of measures and regulations that establishes the rights of all Cubans, regardless of sexual orientation, to marry and adopt children, changed everything, Delgado says.

But activists and experts consulted by Reuters say the sweeping, government-led campaign to promote the law did more to moderate entrenched homophobia and machismo than the fine print of the code itself - which governs the totality of family relations and not just issues related to sexual orientation.

"There is no doubt that it represents a change...not just legislative, but also in mindset," said Adiel Gonzalez, a 32-year-old activist and professor.

"Some say that (change) is solely due to the code, but that is false," said Gonzalez, adding that changes in attitude existed before, but the discussion around the law helped people to accept other sexual orientations.[!]

For months ahead of the referendum, the government flooded Cuba's TV, radio and newspapers, which it controls, to promote the law. The government also put up billboards on national roadways and held parades, while Communist Party leaders, including President Miguel Diaz-Canel, repeatedly touted the measure.

That one-sided media push did not sit well with everyone. Cuba's Catholic Church, in a missive just before the referendum, said the state's overwhelming support and control of the media had stifled voices of opposition.

The government said at least half [!] of the island's 11 million residents participated in town-hall style meetings prior to the vote aimed at discussing and refining the measure.

Cuba registered 75 same-sex marriages in October, according to state newspaper Trabajadores. That is more than 2% of the total 3,300 marriages reported for the month, the data shows.[...]

However, same-sex households in the United States account for 1.5% of homes occupied by couples of any sex, according to U.S. Census Bureau data. [...]

Cuban transgender medical student Ariana Mederos, of Matanzas, recalls two years earlier explaining to her university rector that "he" was now a "she."

At the time, she was unprotected by the recently approved Family Code.

"I cried. I thought I was going to give up my career," she told Reuters, recalling the day. "But just as I thought it was over, he told me, 'We are going to support you throughout your transition and you will have all our support, including that of your professors.'"

Mederos says she too believes attitudes shifted in Cuba with the discussion ahead of the referendum.

"Cuba is changing and I am proof of that," she says. "I've seen positive changes but there is still much to fight for."

14 Nov 22

#homophobia/

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i-was-today-years-old-when · 1 year

Text

i learned who is the most accidentally famous person ever

Imagine you're a regular 70 year old Hungarian guy, who, after a satisfactory career as an electrical engineer, has finally retired and is spending his days in peace. I know I'm asking you to get bored even in your imagination but bear with me. It's about to get fun…

So this one day, some photographer, who happened to see a picture of you vacationing, on a social media site, approaches you for a photo shoot and you comply, because there's nothing much to do.

You then proceed to upload some of your photos on Google, to see how stock photos work…

..and who uses it. (Uh oh) Because now, things start escalating…

While you're sitting in your home, punctually maintaining your routine of getting bored, there's some random guy on some random part of the world, who looks at your stock photo and finds immense potential in it, in your face, in your smile. (And no, he's not gay)

The potential for the next revolutionary meme. He posts it on Facepunch.

And fortunately for him (unfortunately for you), the meme clicks. So much so, that a Facebook page called “Maurice”, springs up, which gets 10k likes in no time.

When you first see your meme, you find it offensive, but there's nothing you can do about it, so you let it go (thinking that it'll die soon). But you duly warn your acquaintances to be more wary the next time they upload their photos on the internet.

But alas, you're already on your way to the list the most famous memes of all time. There are people on 4chan, who, in a thread dedicated just for you, start theorising that you must be some sad old man who has to work as a stock photography model. Then, an Imgur user goes on to compile notable quotes from the above 4chan thread into a gallery post titled “Hide-the-pain-Harold”, which garners more than 8,80,000 views in just three weeks.

You are now a classic meme template.

Eventually, you decide to publicly recognise yourself on a Russian social media site called “VK”.

You transcend from being bits on the Internet, to actual prints on a coffee mug, on a skirt! Documentaries are made, and articles are published about you. There's a random Quora user who nominates you as one of the most accidentally famous person from Hungary.

People start recognising you on streets. Some of them now want to get a picture taken with you. You're a celebrity for wrong reasons. After having lived 70 peaceful years as a harmless guy, you've become world famous - as a painter, as a singer, as whatever the next notorious meme maker wants you to be.

You are Arató András, the meme guy. Every single time a stranger recognises you, you acknowledge it with a smile, but there's an inevitable pain which just cannot be hidden.

So you smile like this,

I feel your pain Harold.

Hide your pain, Harold.

#today i learned #facts #truth #history #memes #meme

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wolfythewitch · 1 year

Note

This is a bit cringe honestly, but my mom and I are absolutely OBSESSED with your work. We have both been for years. We don't connect on a lot of things, but your art is on the things we just mutually adore.

I was just looking through old text messages, and I saw my mom praising your work a ton. I remember when she got me my WACOM art tablet, and Clip studio subscription, she said, " I checked out that Wolfy person's speedpaints and this is the program they used! " She was so excited

I remember I saved up to buy some of your art prints, and my mother ended up going shopping with me to get the perfect picture frame for it. It took a LONG while since the measurements were a bit odd, but she helped me find the right ones.

They both hang right in front of my face at my art desk.

She would look through your socials and excitedly show me whenever you posted. My middle aged mother who had mostly.. not art stuff on her feed had your stuff sprinkled in there too, yknow? it was reallt neat to witness.

It was a world she didn't really understand, but the sheer beauty of your art was able to pull her into it.

I had begun my career as a digital artist a few years ago, because of the support I was able to get from my mother. She was opened up to this whole world, and understood it, partially because of your work.

I'm remembering all of this because I had a friend come over recently, and she pointed out one of my prints and asked about it.

Thank you. I'm hoping to save enough to purchase your art book soon. You're a brilliant artist 💞💞

THAT'S NOT CRINGE AT ALL THAT'S SO SWEET. This actually made me tear up omg. I'm glad you both could connect through my art that's so cool!!! I also hope she follows my more tame social medias haha I just remembered how much bullshit I post on some sites

#junijupi #wolfy tedtalks

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j-jonah-jameson-official · 3 months

Note

Does the Daily Bugle have a tv news program yet or are they entirely print media?

WE’VE HAD SEVERAL BROADCASTING PLATFORMS DURING THE BUGLE’S ILLUSTRIOUS CAREER! I SUPPOSE I CAN SPARE A MOMENT FROM MY NEVER-ENDING CRUSADE FOR TRUTH TO SHARE SOME HIGHLIGHTS…

1. J3 COMMUNICATIONS

BACK IN THE 90S WE BEGAN OUR HUMBLE EXPANSION INTO CABLE NEWS WITH J3 COMMUNICATIONS. WE WERE SMALL POTATOES BACK IN THOSE DAYS, TACKLING A FEW OF OUR MOST LOCAL VILLAINS. UNFORTUNATELY, WE WERE DROPPED AFTER 5 SEASONS ON AIR DUE TO BUDGET CUTS, BUT I STILL BELIEVE THERE ARE SOME DIE-HARD FANS OUT THERE THAT MIGHT GET US OFF THE GROUND AGAIN. DAMN, FOX…

2. DAILY BUGLE COMMUNICATIONS

THEN OF COURSE WE CAME TO THE MAINSTREAM IN THE EARLY 2010S WITH THE DBC!!! A NEAR 24/7 CHANNEL REPLAYING ONLY THE HIGHLIGHTS OF MY FINEST DIATRIBES AGAINST THE WEB-SLINGER AND HIS CAPED COMPANIONS! A CONTROVERSIAL TAKE ON NEWS-COVERAGE, BUT DAMNIT I STILL STAND BY IT AND SAY OUR FIRST TWO SEASONS ARE UNDERRATED AND WORTH A WATCH!

3….??????

MORE RECENTLY WE UH… HUH?! THE HECK IS THIS?! MISS BRANT!! I WANT YOU TO FIND WHOEVER WROTE THIS CRAP AND FIRE THEM! ACTUALLY, UNFIRE THEM AND BRING THEM TO ME SO I CAN DOUBLE FIRE THEM!! THE BUGLE’S NOT SOME CONSPIRACY RAG, WE’RE THE COLD, HARD, TRUTH!!

#REGARDLESS OF OUR ITERATIONS #THE BUGLE’S CORE VALUE REMAINS THE SAME #AND THAT’S TAKE DOWN THE WALL-CRAWLER NO MATTER THE COST!!!#daily bugle advice column

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hellishattempt · 9 months

Text

𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 - false positive

cr 101strk on twitter, src from pin

🢥 summary : celebrity!au jjk men and rumours swirling around your established relationship, wc 2.4k 🢥 series includes : choso, fushiguro toji, geto suguru, gojo satoru and nanami kento, part two of five 🢥 content : celebrity!au, female reader, mostly angst, some fluff, married, body dysphoria, pregnancy, photoshopping / body editing, miscarriage, sickness, blood, fake newspaper used, paps being an ass, lying, use of pet names, suggestive content if you squint so hard your eyes are almost closed, i hate winter so this is set in like summer, jasper simping for nanami the entire time, the ending is what it is, not proofread we die like robins /ref

. . . BEING MARRIED TO AN AUTHOR has its perks, especially when you're a reader yourself. you always got to read the first drafts, and the second, and the final drafts before anyone else, including your husband's editors. nanami claimed that if it wasn't good enough for his wife, then it wasn't good enough to be published. you always thought that was a bit extreme, but you loved his writings either way. however, sometimes it was hard to find the time to read the latest chapter he sent you, because your job drained you. you were an influencer, and had currently signed a promotional deal with koh gen do, a popular japanese makeup brand. recently, you were barely home, busy with photoshoots and videos for koh gen do, on top of the content you had to make yourself.

neither of you really liked the limelight, nanami especially. you were young and naive when you joined social media, rising quickly to popularity. it was something you enjoyed, and you still do enjoy it, but it felt more like a tiring obligation than an aspiring career. you blame the paparazzi, nanami blames societal expectations, although he's not the paparazzi's biggest fan either. throughout your dating, and going on six year marriage, you and nanami have had your fair share of scandals. this one had to take the cake, however.

you were out, doing one of the last rounds of photoshoots for your endorsement deal. nanami was home, trying to churn out the latest chapter on his to-do list. he wasn't very successful. the mostly blank document had two words on it: CHAPTER THIRTY in the fancy font you had selected to be chapter headers. any attempt to write after that failed. every paragraph had been written, rewritten and deleted. so the buzz of his phone was a welcomed distraction.

it was an article post from red sun times, a relatively newer newspaper company in japan. nanami preferred them because they were quieter, at least compared to japan newsline or tokyoto sistership news. but the article title cause a deep frown to wrinkle nanami's sculpted face.

. . . "IS NANAMI KENTO'S WIFE PREGNANT?" was in big bold print on your phone screen. you didn't see it right away, but your makeup artist did. she got your hairstylist's attention, who read it just before your phone shut off. they both began to pepper you with compliments.

"congratulations, nanami okaa-san!" aki, your makeup artist beamed. your eyes widened at the term. 'okaa-san' literally translated to 'mother' of which, you were not. she should've used 'oka-san', which meant wife literally, and ma'am respectfully. "you look so skinny, i couldn't even tell!"

"yes, congratulations! how did nanami-san respond?" your hairstylist added, smile wide on his face. "better yet, how did your families react? oh, i bet they were overjoyed."

you sat there confused, racking your brain over what the two were referring to. "wh-what? what are you talking about?"

they stared at you with blank faces, their excitement slowly fading into a confused expression that matched yours.

"y-your pregnancy," aki stuttered out, as though it was obvious.

"pregnancy? i'm... i'm not pregnant," you stated, getting out of your chair. "who told you i was pregnant?"

"we just saw the news flash on your phone," your hairstylist defended, gesturing to your phone. "there was an article from red sun times and the title read: is nanami kento's wife pregnant?"

"i'm not pregnant," you repeated, growing in frustration. the fucking nerve. "do i look pregnant?" you snapped, causing the pair to furiously shake their heads and protest the article. you scoffed, grabbing your phone and your bag, storming out of the dressing room. the directory of photography called after you as you exited the studio, but you paid no attention to him.

safe inside your car, you opened the article. you also had a slew of texts and missed calls from your husband, but you didn't have the patience for him right now. the article was crudely written, at best. red sun times had been losing subscribers and readers lately, and this seemed like a last ditch effort to get their subscriptions up again. it didn't make sense to you, however. neither you nor nanami were a-lister names in the celebrity world. nanami didn't even consider himself a celebrity. sure, you both had a hefty fan base, but it was nothing compared to some of the other celebrities of japan, like the model gojo satoru or the mma fighter fushiguro toji.

it didn't matter, anyways. it wasn't the words of the article that hurt. it was the pictures. all them were of you with nanami on your latest outing. your anniversary was coming up, and nanami always got really sweet around that time, taking you out on dates on the days leading up to your anniversary. your anniversary was in three days, and a couple of days ago, nanami had taken you to a strawberry farm where you each filled a bucket's worth of strawberries, that were then all eaten on the picnic following the farm. the picnic spot was the riverside where he had proposed about seven years ago. you had an amazing time, and fell a little bit more in love with your caring husband. his sensible attention to detail, his doting words, his thoughtful actions, all of it made the date, and your relationship, perfect. now this article and its malicious pictures tainted that saccharine memory.

. . . THE IMAGES HAD CLEARLY BEEN EDITED. that's what your logical brain was trying to scream at you, but your emotions weren't listening. a small bump had been added to your stomach in each photo, your hips had been wider, and in a couple, your breasts had even been adjusted, as though they were full with milk. you felt sick. it was so hard to tell the difference between what was edited and what wasn't. did you really look like that? did red sun times even have to adjust these photos? "you look so skinny, i couldn't even tell!" the words of your makeup artist bounced around your pounding head. if you were so skinny, why did she still assume you were pregnant?

you had tried so hard that day to look pretty for your husband, wearing his favorite yellow sundress of yours, with the sweetheart neckline and puffy sleeves. nanami always said he preferred your natural look, but you had still glossed your lips, tinted your cheeks a faint pink and dusted your nose with highlighter. you had tied your hair up with a soft yellow ribbon, curling the loose strands. you had checked your reflection at least fifteen times before deeming yourself fit for the day. you had looked good in the mirror, so why didn't you look like that in these photos?

tears threatened at your eyes, but you swallowed them with the lump in your throat. you were almost home now, and you were sure that nanami had seen the article. he loved the red sun times because they didn't do stupid stuff like this. guess they just lost another reader.

"darling?" nanami's voice rang out as you entered your home. he walked into your vision, looking worried. you hadn't answered your phone at all, hadn't even read any of his texts. "oh, koibito..." his voice softened as you raised your head to meet his gaze.

you look so despondent with your watery eyes, and sullen posture. you hadn't even removed your shoes before he had scooped you into his arms and you were sobbing into his shoulder. you don't know how long you stood there in the foyer of your home, everything silent except for your choked breathing. there was a dark blemish on his wool sweater now, but nanami waved it off when you tried to apologize.

he guided you to the living room, helping you sit on the grey sofa that you had bought together six years ago. nanami worked wordlessly as he removed your shoes and coat; he took your phone and bag, placing them on the stand by the front door. a high pitched whistle echoed from the kitchen, and moments later he returned with a cup of steaming sencha, your favorite kind of tea. you felt so pathetic, sitting there sniffling while your husband tended to you.

when he returned for the final time, nanami had changed into a black t-shirt, and sat on the leather ottoman opposite from you. his elbows rested on his knees as nanami watched you sip the tea he had made you. he didn't speak, but only because he couldn't find the right words.

nanami prided himself on his syntax and vocabulary. he was the type of person who always said the right thing at the right time, it's why being an author was the only career option he cared for. but here, you sat in a stifled silence. he knew he should say something, but what? what were you were supposed to say in a situation like this? you were clearly distressed, and it was nanami's role as your husband to offer you words of encouragement, but his tongue was dry.

if nanami was honest, he almost wanted there to be some truth to the article. you hadn't exactly been trying for kids, but you hadn't not been trying. kids was something you both knew you wanted, but you hadn't discussed it in further detail. reading further into the article and viewing the photos made it clear that it wasn't true, at all. nanami knew almost immediately that when you saw this, you were going to breakdown, and he would be there to pick you up. so he ordered your favorite ramen, made your favorite tea and held you in his arms until you had calmed down.

nanami knew that you would believe the edits, that you would see yourself like that. despite how much he praised your body, you hated it, and he hated that. anytime you made some side comment about your stomach or thighs, it almost started a fight. he loathed the way you saw yourself, and nothing he argued stuck with you.

in the last few months, however, nanami was starting to see some progress. you stared less in the mirror with your meticulous eyes, pinching flaps of your skin between your fingers. you began to buy less healthier foods, and stopped mentioning the stupid diet you had placed yourself on. you wore clothes that you specifically avoided unless you had nothing else to wear, because of the way they displayed your figure. he knew that this article had erased all of that progress.

"i'm sorry, nani" you croaked, curling your knees into your chest.

"shh, no, koibito," nanami disregarded your apology. "you don't ever have to apologize about your emotions, especially not to me." he moved from the ottoman to take the spot next to you, pulling your small frame into his. one hand held yours while the other stroked your hair amorously. "the article was cruel, and any person with a heart would be reacting the same as you. don't worry, i've already called their editor and he said he doesn't know why the piece was published when it wasn't supposed to. it's being removed as we speak."

your heart welled at his words. he was so patient and understanding. moments like these made you love nanami more. and it gave you the confidence to tell him the truth.

"kento," you began, pulling away from him slowly. you used his given name over your nickname, nani, for him. you only used it during fights or confessions. he immediately perked up. "i..." you sighed. words were always nanami's thing, not yours. "i'm not upset about the photos."

"oh?"

"okay, well, i am, but for a different reason than you think."

"and what reason is that, koibito?" his tone was emotionless, as if he hadn't decided how to respond yet.

"i know you think it's because i'm always stressing about my body and the way it looks, and you're worried because i haven't been fretting over how i look as much, right? well, that's because i was pregnant, and i decided i couldn't care about that when i had bigger concerns, like the tiny life in my stomach." it became harder to speak, your sentences broken by tears and sobs.

"...was?" nanami's voice cracked, and his misty eyes matched yours.

you nodded, "was. i... i had a miscarriage."

"w-when?"

"about a week ago. i was about a month and a half along."

"you mean that time you canceled girl's night because you were sick? you told me that it was just your period, and you sent me out to get you stuff from the store." nanami's brows furrowed.

"yeah, that's.. that's right." you took a breath to steady yourself. "there was just blood everywhere, and i was a wreck and i didn't have the courage to tell you. i know how badly you want kids of our own, and i just didn't want to hurt you."

"hurt me? baby, you were the one hurting, and i just played it off like it was normal. i feel terrible."

"you couldn't have known," you reassured him. "but that article, and those photos, it just tore me apart all over again. that's how i should look, that's how i want to look, but i lost that part of me, that part of us."

nanami didn't respond at first, just reached back out for you. you both sat there, quiet sniffles and crying the only sound in your home. he continued to comfort you, even though you felt like you should be offering him comfort. after all, nanami is learning that you were pregnant and now no longer pregnant all at once.

"koibito," he murmured after a while. "i want you to know that i love you no matter what. i don't care how you look or how you don't look. you're my wife, and i didn't marry you because of your body and figure. i married you because i fell in love with your laugh, your smile, your unpredictable personality, and all the other beautiful things about you. i'm always going to support you and love you. and if you want to be pregnant, then i'm happy to oblige."

you laughed despite your sadness, swatting at him playfully, which elicited a "what? i'm serious!" from nanami.

"shut up," you muttered, still chuckling. he smiled, happy to see that you were laughing along with him. nanami pressed a kiss to your temple, humming an "i love you" against your skin.

you snuggled deeper into him, craning your neck to meet his eyes. "i wanna be a mom, nani."

he wrapped both arms around you, meeting your gaze. "then a mom you shall be, my koibito."

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genyawritesshizz · 5 months

Text

A Hum of Time Toshinori Yagi X Reader

Part 2

Part 1

Summary: An innocent relationship between two workaholics could not possibly be that eventful. Just two individuals finding comfort within each other's company and the occasional cup of coffee. What happens when a secret that could ruin both of their careers brings the whole thing crashing down? In a heart wrenching decision, you must do what is best for all three of you and brave the future alone. Will you ever tell the truth? You might not have a choice.

10661-word count

first part of the fluff. Gotta get all cute and mushy before I go in for the kill ;)

To go back to when the two of you actually had time to talk and frolic within each other's company. When the future seemed brighter: When things were easier.

You had signed to work for All Might’s agency a few months ago, and so far, it has been an absolute delight. The pay was incredible, but the most remarkable aspect was how well organized the staff conducted missions and reports. As an up-and-coming hero, you needed a stable foundation to grow.

Toshinori typically kept to himself, pushing his full focus onto the task at hand when it came to anything work related. Head always glued to his computer screen and hands typing away on keyboard. A crucial and unrecognized portion of hero work involved never ending hours of paperwork. Between reports, emails and the overflowing inbox of media or fan mail he rarely found time for breaks when in office. However, he’d force himself to take short breathers from time to time, just to rest his reddened eyes from the blazing screen.

He always picked the same seat in the cafeteria; tucked into a corner beside one of the many extensive windows to gaze out at the surprisingly still busy street he sat alone. The room was silent as it was well past lunch, in fact most of his employees had already gone home for the night as it was nearing 8PM. Recapping his daily to-do list within his mind he sighed, so much to do with so little time in the day.

“Um excuse me” whipping away from the street view he is faced with a woman standing before him, a laptop in hand and frustration evident on her face. “I'm so sorry to interrupt your break sir but I had a question, and I was wondering if you could help.”

Shocked, his train of thought fell off the rails. In his weakened form it was exceedingly rare for anyone to approach him much less ask for help.

“Of course,” Nodding to the seat in front of him, his mind scrambled to recover. Sitting down with the laptop you sighed in defeat.

“Thank you so much, nobody else is here and this report is due tonight.” Turning the screen to face him you began explaining your dilemma, something about incorrect formatting, an easy fix for someone like him who could practically type one of these up in his sleep. Though he did not recognize you with a quick scan of the file you were attempting to submit he recognized it as a heroic police report. A document that all heroes must submit after an arrest. To the average secretary it would not have sparked suspicion from a simple glance. However the discretely marked fine print was all too familiar to him. You must be one of the newly contracted heroes. He hadn’t had the time to properly look over the roster of employees in quite some time, truly a neglectful fault of his. He made a mental note to check.

After showing and explaining how to fix the format your report was submitted.

“Again, thank you so much…” You trailed off “Oh yeah, I completely forgot! Im (Y/N).” You felt like a total ass; You had marched up to this complete stranger durring his break, made demands that he assist you and didn’t even introduce yourself. Your cheeks tinted in embarrassment. The man chuckled, he hadn’t even noticed the lack of formalities.

“No worries (y/n), Im Toshinori Yagi” He reached a slender hand out, which you happily shook. Taking your own mental note of how his digits completely encased your own hand, nearly reaching the wrist. “Let me know if you ever need help again.” He smiled and let go.

“It’s nice meeting you Toshinori, I’ll be seeing you around!” Returning the smile graciously and folding the laptop closed, you got up to walk away. His eyes trailed your retreating form.

He thought that this would surely be the only time your two paths crossed. A fluke scenario.

Oh, how fate had a funny way of making things happen.

It was another long night of burning the candle at both ends for the symbol. The weight on his eyelids begged him to call it a night as he finally wrapped up his nightly duties. Yet when rounding the corner and coming face to face with someone, almost knocking both parties over, he was wide awake. Focusing instead on ensuring the person he’d carelessly almost ran over was unharmed with profuse apologies. There you stood, a steaming hot cup of coffee in hand, thankfully non spilled onto your wrinkled blouse, and a pile of papers the size of Texas in the other.

“Hey Toshinori! ” His name rolled casually off your tongue. You looked dead on your feet, the same bags that lined his eyes matched yours. “You’re good! No harm done”

“Hey?” Confused, he glanced over to the double handed clock on the wall, 11:34pm. His thin eyebrows furrowed, casting a dark shadow. “What are you doing here so late? It’s almost midnight.” Laughing lightly you eyed him skeptically, your own eyebrow quirked.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Before he could try and concoct an excuse you continued “I figured I’d get the last of this finished otherwise it’ll just pile up.” He could argue that it already was.

“Did you need help with that?” The aforementioned exhaustion had crawled away into the deep recesses of his mind, most likely to return with a vengeance later, at the thought of being able to help you again.

“No no, I'm okay, besides a bunch of this stuff is pretty classified.” He wanted to chuckle at that, as All Might he had full access to any and all files in this building, from a delivery receipt to top secret government documents. His reach most likely exceeded that but, as Toshinori Yagi the department head he had to respect the illusion of limitations.

“Oh right, sorry.” He scratched at the back of his neck, feeling a bit of awkwardness sink in.

“No worries, thank you for the offer though” once again he watched you walk away, down the hallway and out of sight.

His own personal curiosity nagged at him to finally find the time to properly look at your file. Taking his rebound of energy now was as good a time as any, best to do it while it was fresh on the mind. Turning his computer on again he pulled up the agency's employee catalog and searched your name. There you were, that same smile you gave him moments ago reflected in the photo.

‘(Y/n) (y/l/n) - Siren. Quirk; Voice. ’ Scrolling through your profile he skimmed over the most recent reports. Not shocked to see some having been posted mere minutes ago. Not bad, great in fact, you’d only started here two months ago and already had a substantial amount of arrests under your belt. Although most were for minor offenses it set a promising future. Scrolling back up he read through the short biography under your photo graduated UA with substantially high marks seven years ago, studied at The University of Kyoto with a major in business, had been a sidekick under various different heroes for two years, and over the last year have been working as a private pro hero. Now at the age of twenty five you’d been contracted under his prestigious agency. The recruiting team really knew how to pick the best, he’d have to praise them for their dedication. With the itch satisfyingly scratched he, for the final time tonight, shut his computer off.

Like clockwork, late at night, when the halls were barren wastelands, the sound of a coffee pot brewing another batch and the buzz of overhead fluorescents somehow always connected the two of you.

“Good evening (y/n)” Yagi greeted from the other side of the printer, both of you sporting matching stacks of paperwork in hand.

“ Evening Toshi, how are you?” He always enjoyed these little chats and the nickname you’d given him, it made him feel more like a person.

As strange as it sounds, if he wasn’t out being a public symbol he was in meetings or filing paperwork about it, not that he minded of course. It was his job, his sole purpose in life, yet it often left him feeling like a ghost when in his normal form. If he wasn’t actively being All Might then he was simply just existing. But with you, you actually spoke to him, to Toshinori Yagi. He found himself yearning for more, even if ‘more’ meant just brief casual workplace conversation.

“I’m fine thank you, and yourself?” Gathering the warm paper from under the collection doc he organized his stack.

“Oh you know me.” You laughed. It’s true, throughout the passing weeks he had grown to know you as a workaholic, just like himself. With your coffee freshly poured you turned to exit.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” The words left his mouth so effortlessly, spilling out without giving himself time to process what exactly he’d asked.

“That’d be nice, I’d love the company.” Before his mind could spasm with embarrassment and explode with apologies for intruding, your reply stopped the thoughts dead in their tracks. Grabbing his items the two walked down the hall side by side. He no longer had to watch you leave.

The sounds of keys tapping, papers shuffling, and the occasional quiet sip of coffee filed the otherwise silent room. To compromise from your refusal before he sat in a swivel chair oppositely facing your own along with any papers not currently being worked on were to remain downward facing, as to keep some privacy. Though with his height, if he wanted to, he could easily look down at your screen. Even sitting Toshinori towered over you. Not that he would ever break the thin layer of trust you’d built together by peaking. The clock ticked on, minutes turned to hours and soon it was half past one. Yagi had finished his daily reports and scanning through his emails about an hour ago yet he could not bring himself to get up and leave. Instead he chose to sit and wait for you. The silence brought a sense of comfort. That was until a soft humming called his attention. The sound so smooth and airy if it hadn’t been for the dead quiet he would’ve lost it. Taking a quick glance down at you, still weary of possibly invading privacy, he noted your body language. Your eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration, yet your forefinger tapped to the same beat you hummed. It must’ve been absent minded. Not wanting to break your focus to ask the name of the song, as he did not recognize it, he instead gladly listened as your voice swelled and lowered to the beat your finger set.

“Alright and done” With one final mouse click you had finally finished for the night. “How are you doing over there Toshi?” Peaking over your screen you scanned his work area, everything had been stacked and paperclipped into neat piles. Looking from the stack up the man he meekly smiled down to you.

“Just finished” Not a complete lie, he had actually busied himself with organizing. Not something he typically ever had time to do, but a nice way to pass time and something his future self would be thankful for.

“Perfect, well, thank you for your company.” This was your dismissal of him, and as kindly as you worded it, it still gave him sinking disappointment. His body begged for him to say something to stall and give more time. He did not want to watch you leave, not yet.

“I'll walk you to your car if that’s okay.” Once again he found himself speaking without thinking. ‘What has gotten into me?’ He's never been this outspoken while in his weakened form.

“Oh that’s okay, I walked” This ignited a spark in him, he could feel the hidden inner All Might guiding his actions.

“It’s one in the morning and way too dangerous for you to walk home alone! Please allow me to go with you.” You were more than capable of handling yourself. Toshinori of course knew this, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Especially with the spiked rate of crime recently. At least that was his excuse for the offer, instead of his true selfishness of wanting more human interaction. You contemplated the offer for a few seconds. For anyone else to ask such a thing you would’ve found it to be creepy, but from Yagi, your quiet but friendly late-night coworker, it felt nobel. Though you knew little to nothing about the tall blonde who sat in your office, he practically radiated a sense of safety and honesty. Like the first ray of sunshine peeking through the cloud after a storm. Besides, if he tried anything with malicious intent you’d deal with it swiftly. A small smile tugged at the edges of your lips as you caved and agreed to his offer.

As the two of you awaited the next elevator cart you sparked a small conversation, curious about the man who’d taken a bit of your interest.

“So Toshinori, tell me a little about yourself.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Well, for starters how long have you been working for the agency?”

“I’ve been here since the beginning.”

“The beginning as in the opening of the department?” Your eyebrow rose in suspicion while his furrowed. Nervously fiddled with the sleeve of his cuffed shirt he knew he was about to give away his age with this next admission. Already knowing there was a bit of a gap between the two of you he hoped you wouldn’t think of him as some old geezer.

“No, the beginning as in the opening of the agency. So about ten years.” Your eyes widened with a light gasp.

‘If he's truly been here for that long then he must be some higher up, a boss, most likely a department head or upper ranked manager. I hope I’ve made a good impression. This job is critical to my career.’ You thought. Taking notice of your shocked expression, his worries flooded.

“Are you friends with All Might or something?” You teased with a chuckle, hoping he’d laugh as well to quail your own insecurities. Finally the doors to the elevator opened awaiting its passengers. Walking inside you pressed the ground floor button. Thankfully missing the way his face dropped for a split second before quickly regaining his composure. He tried to laugh with you, sounding a bit forced but still managed to convince you. Now standing beside you he felt both relieved you hadn’t thought of his age but hearing the possible connection to All Might sent a shiver down his back.

“Something like that, I know him.” You once again felt intimidated at his words. You had meant it as a rhetorical question but hearing him admit he did in fact know All Might had your mind buzzing with curiosity. “But then again who doesn’t?” Visibly relaxing you knew you’d most definitely blown his words out of proportion. He was right, who didn’t know All Might? He was the world's number one, the best of the best.

‘Surely having worked for him for over a decade I’d hope he knew him.’ Again you pushed the little part of you that spewed anxiety down.

“Ya know, I’ve worked here for almost half a year and have yet to actually meet him. Though, I can't say I'm surprised, being the symbol of peace he must be unbelievably busy.”

‘You have no idea’ The fact that he had any downtime to even sleep was a miracle. Yet, here he was, spending those precious free moments to stand in this elevator and walk you home. In his eyes, it was time well spent even if his aching body begged for his bed.

“From what I’ve seen over the years, yes, his schedule is usually packed. But who knows maybe you’ll run into him one day.” He prayed it would be under pleasant circumstances. Most people who met his heroic form were in danger or in need of help. Another mental note was made to try and squeeze in time around the office as All Might, for morality's sake of course. You hummed at his statement, allowing the comfort of silence to once again fill the air. The ding of the elevator signaled it had reached its destination.

The walk was similar to your time together in the office, quiet, but never awkward, oddly relaxing. You had begun humming again, the same song from before. His curiosity grew, without the constraint of breaking focus he had to ask.

“What song is that?”

“Oh sorry, was I being annoying?” You felt your cheeks redden, you hadn’t realized you were humming aloud, It was something you did absentmindedly. Normally you could catch yourself but with the lack of sleep it must’ve slipped past the filter.

“No, no, you sounded great, but I don’t recognize the song. I just wanted to know what it was.” Toshinori felt his own embarrassment rise, he didn’t mean to come off as rude for asking, he simply wanted to have a conversation. Looking up at the man who towered over you, an eyebrow raised and your eyes glowed with excitement, their own curiosity flowing.

“Do you like classical music?” Pondering your question, Toshinori reminisced on his limited collection of music. Recently he preoccupied the otherwise tense silence of car rides with whatever was on the radio. Not paying it much attention, just something to fill the void. In his younger years he enjoyed light rock and the occasional new wave. The only time he could recall ever hearing anything related to classical was when attending mandatory formals.

“To be honest it’s not something I've ever really listened to, but I am open to giving it a try.”

You smiled up at him, “The song was La Boheme, maybe next time I'll play it for you” His heart picked up its pace, lightly hammering against his chest. You said ‘next time’, as in these office hangouts would be a recurring thing? He definitely would not mind that. In fact, he hoped you had meant it.

“Well this is my stop, thank you for walking with me Toshi. It was really thoughtful of you.”

“Of course” Standing on your doorstep you looked back at him, it felt wrong to leave him like this; out in the driveway, walking alone down the lamppost lit sidewalk. As if there was something else that needed to be done or said, strange. You watched as he waved goodbye and began walking away. Just for a few more moments before shaking away the odd feeling.

Your nighttime routine quickly evolved,it wasn’t everyday, but most that he found himself sitting across from you. Both whittling away at the never ending piles of papers. You’d happily hum a song as time ticked by and Toshinori listened. Sometimes he’d surprise you with a coffee from the break room, made a tad on the bitter side for your liking but you’d always drink it anyways. The gesture always had you smiling, to know such simple things made you giddy, had him wishing he could do more.

At the end of the long grind out of paperwork he would always walk you home, it truly made your heart soar as this was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for you. Even if you were a hero and would 100% be okay with walking the short fifteen minutes home, the fact that he did not know this and was willing to risk his own safety to protect you caused a warmth within your chest. Truly selfless, a quality all heroes should have. Your emotions ran high, each time growing fonder.

Walking into the office you felt as light as air, despite the still stinging scratch in your throat, nothing could bring you down. You had successfully infiltrated and apprehended an underground trading ring. As an up and coming hero having your first major headliner was no small feat. Opening the door to your office your eyes immediately landed on the still steaming cup of coffee resting on the desk with a sticky note attached to the side. The cup was not the cheap styrofoam from the break room, instead the cardboard had elegantly swirly floral patterns, it must have been from a cafe.

Peeling the note off it read,

‘Won’t be in, Have a great night (y/n) -Toshi’

Although you were a little disheartened at the fact your…friend would not be accompanying you tonight, the fact that he bought you a coffee sent your heart doubling in beats. As the sweet foamed top hit your lips you could not help but acknowledge the fact that Toshinori was truly a charming man. You’d have to thank him for this sometime.

It was an odd morning, the agency had decided to schedule you for night patrol as opposed to your normal daytime route. Being at the office within its peak business rush felt nauseating, you could handle the crowded streets at the crosswalks, reporters, and flocks of fans but the overcrowded elevators and lines out the door to reach the front desk had your heart palpitating.

Typically when walking in you’d be suited up, as you’d just finished patrolling, and any left over crowds would part like Moses to the sea for you. However as a regular appearing worker you were just another person clogging the flow. All you had to do was make it to your office then things would be normal again, or so you thought. Finally maneuvering out from the crowd you found relief at last. Sitting down with a huff at your swivel chair and opening the encrypted browser it hit you, what were you supposed to do? Typically in office you’d be filling reports from the patrol but seeing as though your schedule was flipped left you scrambling to fill time. You never thought you’d be cursing yourself for staying up to date on reports until now. The only thing to do was read through your emails and hopefully, well maybe not hopefully, get called out to the field early.

Your jaw nearly fell to the floor when opening your email. The glowing red notification bell chimed and a triple digit number filled the box. Closing the tab and reopening it you find that it was in fact not a glitch, that number was real. Scrolling through the unread emails your mind began fizzling with both pure excitement and dread. From cute to weird, hundreds of new and old fans congratulated you on your recent arrest. Even some lesser known newspaper outlets and beginner journalists had sent emails asking for interviews.

An email that stood out and had you grinning from ear to ear was from a mother and son. She said that her little boy had a quirk similar to yours and that he had ‘fallen in love’ with you. Attached was a video of him. His vibrant blond hair had been styled into an outlandishly tall spike atop his head, dazzling green eyes stared up into the camera. He could be no older than eleven.

“You’re the coolest hero ever, Siren! I want to be a hero just like you! YEEEAAAHHH” He held out a peace sign as his vocal quirk activated causing the camera to shake and wobble. Laughing and being sure to save the video onto your desktop you made a mental note to send a video response encouraging the boy once you were suited up.

Of course a few bad apples left you feeling a bit grossed out with their overly sexual comments, which were promptly blocked, yet your chest swelled with pride and devotion. With the first couple dozen email replies you tried to take time to appreciate their support. However as your finger typed then deleted and retyped again you felt at a loss for words. Staring at the bouncing line waiting for your text you felt restless. Yes, of course you wanted to pour your heart out to each and every one of them but the sheer number had you overwhelmed and flustered. Already sending over two hundred emails you eyed the clock and sighed with relief, it’s almost lunch time. Before you could look back down your eyes did a double take outside the sliver of a window was a towering figure walking. Quickly sliding out from behind your desk you dashed to the door and pulled it open, managed to catch the backside of the slender built man.

Were you really about to chase after him?

With feet thudding against the carpeted floor, not quite running but fast enough to try and catch up, you tailed after him.

Yes, yes you were.

Rounding the corner you felt like an ant as you were met with a bustling swarm of people, the room was ariot of voices all merging together to create a hive minded roar. Peering over their heads on your tippy toes you finally spotted your target. Thankfully he towered over the average person. You’d have to ask him exactly how tall he was, for now you needed to sift through the hoard to even talk to him.

“Excuse me” “Pardon” “Just trying to squeeze by” “Sorry”

“(Y/n)?” Stopping your struggle, you stopped dead in your tracks, finally, Toshinori stood a few feet away. Confusion clearly read across his face.

“Toshi!” You called, waving a hand out. Somehow the man was able to cut through the winding lanes of traffic with ease and soon he stood before you in silence, an eyebrow raised but a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Realizing he was waiting for an explanation as to why you had followed him your mind short circuited and snapped back to reality. Why exactly did you race after him again?

“I, uh, wanted to thank you for the coffee last night, that was really nice of you.” You felt like a bashful schoolgirl, a deer caught in the headlights, so shy and exposed. Even with your half thought out reasoning his hinted smile blossomed into a full teeth flaunting grin. A bony hand coming up to comb the spiked hair at his nape, a nervous habit he had yet to nix.

“It was no problem at all, really.” A moment of silence passed the two of you once again locked in a stalemate of bashful eye contact. Thinking on your feet an idea popped into your head.

“Would you like to grab some with me?” The tips of Toshinori’s ears and apples of his cheeks felt hot as a rush of blush spread over them. His ears heard the words yet his poor brain failed to understand their meaning, over analyzing and exaggerating the situation. Surely you weren’t asking him on a date, no, this was simply just to return his kindness. Not that he’d mind if it was, but if it was then wh-

“If you’re free, that is, I’m pretty much done with everything for now” You lied. Truth be told you desperately needed out of that office for if you read one more email your corneas would combust. Feeling rather awkward at his growing silence, your brain scrambled to make light of the situation. Knocked out of his own spiraling mind he regained his composure.

“Yeah sure, I was actually on my way out now.” He was not lying completely. His full truth was that he’d been on his way to get some much needed rest, he had been up all night tracking down a potential lead. Hurried and ready to return to his bed before exhaustion had him passing out on the way, he felt a second wind at your offer. Suddenly awake and well aware of his surroundings. “Where would you like to go?”

Your own mind pondered the depth of your offer. Did you just ask him on a date? Not necessarily, however if he wanted to think of it as one you were not opposed.

“I know a place.”

The walk was brief, just had to cross a few streets over. However, the violent whip of wind against your bodies had both of you shivering. Hastily trying to telepathically speed up the timer of the cross walk. Looking over to Toshinori you took pity on the thin male. His thin long nose was beat red and face pale aside from his cheeks which looked almost frostbitten. His hands rubbed together to try and generate some form of warmth. Shivers racked through his body, his coat and long-sleeved shirt did nothing to protect him from the unfortunate cold front that had swept through Japan. At any moment you expected him to sprout icicles. Winter was approaching with a vengeance. As an avid weather watcher you had been more than prepared for the front. With your winter coat, thick knit sweater and scarf you were faring much better. Just as another blast of wind threatened to reap the blonde's soul, a weight wrapped itself around his neck. Instantly warmth surrounded his frozen skin.

“Here, you look frozen solid” Looking down to you he watched as you stood on your tippy toes. Hands outstretched as you wrapped your scarf around him. A tender smile, the softness in your eyes coupled with the gesture had him astonished. You were so close. Bringing his own hands up he held the fabric, running his fingertips along the crocheted yarn. He felt his face warm up and not just from the scarf. He’s certain that if it wasn’t for the blood already pooling in his chilled skin he’d rival a tomato.

“Thank you (y/n)” You did not reply, instead you gave him a simple nod of reassurance. Your own cheeks turn a shade of crimson, surely just due to the cold. The signal at last changed and the couple briskly walked the last stretch.

A ‘place’ being a hole in the wall cafe located a few blocks away from the tower. Yagi never had a chance to frequent this shop as every time he was out and about it was either far too early or late and the cafe was closed. That or he was in a rush to get somewhere. Either way he just never could find the time. For you, this cafe was a home away from home. A place where you break your couple hour fast, also known as sleeping, from caffeine first thing in the morning.

Even though the staff only recognized you as Siren walking through the chiming door frame and having the delicious smell of black coffee with a hint of cigarette smoke still felt nostalgic.

“What can I get started for you?” The larger women behind the counter typically automatically rang up your order however, In civilian clothes and with a man you were unrecognizable. Though rough around the edges she was truly excellent at her craft.

“Good afternoon, I’ll have a medium brown sugar espresso please.” You started, glancing over at Toshinori awaiting his order. He bit lightly at the inside of his lip while scanning the menu. Truth be told he had no idea what he was looking at. Before meeting you he was always more of a tea drinker. Very few times had he dabbled in the world of coffee. The one he bought for you yesterday was a shot in the dark, completely at the barista's discretion.

“I’ll have the same.” You smiled up at him, you did not expect him to copy your order. You found it oddly adorable.

“Never hurts to try new things.” He sheepishly smiled back at you, the irony to be saying that over coffee given the recent enlightenment of feelings felt rather silly. Hopefully you hadn’t picked up on his hidden innuendo. However, the light blush on your cheeks and the way you quickly looked away in search of a table suggested otherwise. Picking a cozy table beside the window you attempted to calm your raging emotions. A light coating of frost coated the window, it was snowing. Taking a seat across from you, his long arms resting atop the table folding in on the other. His eyes scan the retro decor, taking everything in him not to stare at the women before him. The faint smell of your perfume and body wash wafted into his nose thanks to the scarf, which he found so fitting for you. Warm and inviting, cozy, he could drown in it. Allowing himself to steal a glance over to you, your eyes watched the small tv in the corner of the cafe. The older flatscreen showed one of the many local news channels.

Broadcasting was an overview of this week's crime report, “Several arrests have been made following the take down of a local drug trading ring at the hands of newcomer hero Siren. It is believed to be linked to a much larger operation; the case is currently still under police investigation.”

He saw the way your lips curled in a proud and determined grin as the reporter spoke of your accomplishment. His own mind felt the same. He had taken down thousands of villains yet the satisfaction of it never dulled. Seeing his fellow heroes succeed in chipping away at the tyranny of evil always made his chest swell with pride.

“She did an amazing job.” He stated, distracting you from the casting. Keeping your composure as to not give anything away you nodded in agreement. Even if he was complimenting you without realizing it you felt your heart hammering against your chest and suppressed giddiness bubbling.

A call of your name signaled your order was ready. Taking the coffees in hand you passed one to Toshi. He eyed it before taking a small sip.

“This is delicious!” He proclaimed, taking another gulp from the cup. Those few times he did try coffee had been less than pleasurable, even with the occasional splash of creamer. However, the lack of nose scrunching bitterness combined with the silky-smooth foam top had his mind soaring. You couldn’t help but giggle at the newly formed foam mustache that sat atop his thin lip. Subconsciously you had grabbed a napkin and began wiping it away. Upon realizing you had crudely invaded his personal space you quickly pulled your hand back.

“Sorry!”

Toshi once again felt heated, he could not catch a break from being flustered. He had not been touched by a woman in… He was vastly unprepared, almost intimidated at the intimacy. Your touch was tender and gentle against him. A sputtering cough wrecked through his body. Taking a napkin of his own he coughed into it for a few seconds before finishing wiping it away.

“No no, thank you. I didn’t even realize I’d made a mess.” He tried to sound confident, You responded with a nervous laugh, trying to push your own embarrassment aside.

“Ever considered growing a mustache?” He joined in your laughter. The sound of his lower baritone voice mingling with your higher pitch was music to your ears.

“Definitely not my style.” His style in question seemed to only consist of wearing clothing far too large for him and allowing his spiked blonde hair to go wild, yet somehow you still found it alluring. In its own messy Toshinori way.

“So” You paused, contemplating your next move. You’d never asked personal questions throughout all the endless nights of paperwork, keeping everything somewhat professional and surface level. Weather, the local news, or how the damned coffee maker in the breakroom sometimes spit grounds in the bottom of the pot. However, with the ever-growing flame between you two it only felt right to dig a little deeper now out of the confines of the office walls. His thin eyebrow rose, and his head tilted to the side. Stirring the contents of your own coffee cup you thought of a couple questions, again, nothing too deep yet nothing superficial.

“Do you have a quirk?” He sighed; a shot of fear ran down your spine. Had you crossed a line? Was that too personal? It seemed pretty standard in modern society to ask w-

“Unfortunately, no, I don't. Back then when I was younger it was a lot more common than it is today.” Once again, he found himself dancing around the truth. It was not a complete lie per se. “What about you?” Curious as to if you’d also white lie.

“Yes but, it’s really nothing to write home about.” Knowing that you wanted to keep your identity as Siren a secret he should not have pressed it any further, but his curiosity as to where you’d take the conversation compelled him to.

“What is it? Can I see?”

“Haha, you do know it’s illegal to use a quirk without a license.” Easy cop out, a way to evade his question without seeming suspicious. Smart.

“Alright alright, you got me there. What made you want to start working at the agency?”

“Helping people has always been a passion of mine, whether that meant becoming a hero or filling the paperwork. I’ve always been willing to do whatever it takes to protect those around me.” Another well worded reply as to not give away your true profession, Toshinori again felt a ping of pride radiate in his chest. Being a hero, he knew you had to be at least a little selfless but hearing the determination in your words and the glimmer in your eyes solidified that suspicion.

“I feel the same way. After all these years I’ve put into the office my biggest driving factor is that I'm helping others.”

The two heroes sat together until both cups were empty. Throwing away the now empty containers they began the trek back to the agency. This time you did not mind the push of the wind as it forced your bodies closer. You were so close, if he had the moxy he could reach out and hold your hand. It taunted him, every gust of strong air brought it closer and closer. Maybe if he was in his mighty form he would. But as Yagi Toshinori he felt far too shy. Part of you purposefully baited him, yet he did not take it.

‘interesting’

The days melted together as the weeks slowly ticked by. Your conjoined nightly routine meant the blond was starting to become a regular fixture in your life, not that you minded one bit. His company was always welcomed after a stressfully long patrol; it felt rejuvenating to sit down and relax while wrapping up the daily reports with him. He in turn felt the same. Of course it could not be every night but on the ones it was, both heroes felt the sparks of their blooming relationship burn.

That was until Thursday, the fourth day in a row of an empty office. It wasn’t uncommon for heroes to be out of the office for a few days, however he knew that you were not on any missions as he hadn’t assigned any. This worried him, had something happened? Initially he thought you were out on patrols, perhaps you had shifted to the night crew permanently. Looking at the schedule it was clear that was not the case. Did he scare you away at the coffee shop? He thought it had gone well, great even. Upon checking your profile he found his answer.

‘Injured in Recover. One week suspension’.

You’d been hurt fighting a group of thugs, not severely but enough to put you out of commission for a week. Yagi felt an immeasurable amount of guilt, seeing his fellow hero’s hurt always lit a fire inside him but you being hurt unleashed a whole new array of emotions.

‘But why? Why do I feel like this?’

Why did this make his hands shake and his emotions run rampant? Yes, he considered you were his friend by now, but he’d never felt this way. So raw, so charged, possessive even.

It scared him.

Monday was when he finally saw you again. It had been eight days since your injury, and you were finally cleared to come back to work.

When he initially recognized that it was you walking down the hallway a large smile graced his lips, ready to give you a warm hello. However, the way your head hung low and the bend in your posture caused it to slip away. You did not acknowledge him, you never even glanced up, instead you beelined it down the hall and made a swift turn towards your office; the door slamming shut behind you. This did nothing to quail his raging emotions, in fact it just added fuel to the inferno. He could practically feel the sadness radiating off of you. But he remained hopeful, perhaps you had a bad morning.

It was still early in the day, maybe he’d see you in the break room later gathering your usual coffee. It was not to be. He could however hear the buzz of chatter in the room. The way people openly discussed their theories on what happened to you. From an abusive relationship to villian attacks, the rumors spread like wildfire. His fist grew tight as he left the breakroom, having heard enough. He’d have to send a mass email to his department heads about workplace drama. This was absolutely unacceptable behavior.

He understood the embarrassment that came from being hurt better than anyone, as a hero you're supposed to be ‘invincible’, like nothing could possibly hurt you, yet it happened. It happened to him and he was undeniably the strongest hero of them all.

It had only been one year since his injury first occurred and all he ever wanted was for people to stop looking at him with pity, stop coddling him, stop bringing it up and just let him move on. So that’s what he intended to do with you.

As the clock struck midnight he had yet to see you emerge from your office, the only indicator that you were inside was the sliver of light escaping from under the door. The small window had been drawn closed. As he rounded the corner to check once more the sound of violins and symphony caught his attention. Only loud enough to escape under the door it still caught his attention.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked. Receiving no answer he contemplated leaving, giving you the space you seemed to demand. But, the pit in his stomach demanded to at least check on you. He had to, needed to know if you were okay. He knocked again.

“(y/n)? It’s Toshi.” The music stopped. His breath caught in the back of his throat, until finally the door opened. Standing in the half-cracked entryway you finally made eye contact with him. Finally seeing you face to face again he felt fury flow through his veins. Your lip was bruised a deep purple and split down the side, your cheek did not fare much better matching in shade and your once vibrant eyes seemed dull and puffy. He’d both seen and had worse but seeing those marks on you made his heart sink and hands wad up in a white knuckles fist. He released the stuck air, reminding himself of what he would want in this situation and pushed his concern down “Mind if I join you?”

When you first heard the knock on the door you wanted to ignore it, let whoever was there to piss off, for surely it was another coworker asking questions about your injuries. All day that’s all you heard, whispers and talks about your appearance. If you saw another pamphlet from the local health department on domestic abuse slid under your door you would actually have a meltdown. It was demoralizing and utterly humiliating. You are a hero; you're not supposed to be so weak. Your whole job is to protect the weak.

However, hearing Toshinori call from the other side made the once dampened spark of happiness light up inside you. Testing the waters to gauge his reaction you opened the door. Seeing him have little to no facial reaction and hearing his question made your tense posture slightly relax. He simply wanted to work with you again.

You opened the door wider for him to step in, like all the times before he sat his laptop across from yours and sat oppositely. You slowly took your usual seat body tense. He noticed the way you flinched when bending to sit, you must be bruised elsewhere as well. Instead of bringing up his concerns he chose to ask something else.

“Could you turn the music back on? It sounded nice.” Your eyebrows raised, looking at him for a second before hitting the play button on your phone. Music filled the quiet room. A soft solo with supporting instruments brought a sense of serenity to the air, melting away the thick tension. Toshinori had hoped to hear you hum to the beat, though unfortunately you did not. Truth be told he just wanted to hear your voice, you had yet to say anything to him. However, he did not want to push for anything more, you were clearly under a lot of emotional conflict and stress. He was simply happy to see you again.

Instead, he allowed the swell and flow of the music to fill his mind.

Your throat felt unbearably dry, definitely an improvement from last week but still the burning sensation had you reaching into your desk drawer for another cough drop. Toshinori couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering down at the contents, lozenges, throat sprays, syrups and tea packets overflowed the wooden drawer. Glancing over to the wastebasket, it was filled with handfuls of wrappers, a few used tea bags and crumpled pamphlets.

You caught his eyes, the way they glanced between the drawer, the trash and finally to yourself. Yet, he did not say anything. As if having enough over the counter numbing spray to stock a pharmacy was normal. You squinted at him, analyzing, searching for a reaction to which there was none. Taking a small sticky note out of your pocket you quickly scribbled a message down and slid it over to his side of the desk.

Looking down at the note Yagi smiled.

‘The name of the song is A time for us - Nina Rota’

Taking his pen he wrote his response and passed it back.

‘The violin solo was pretty. What is the name of the other instrument?’

‘It’s an oboe, a double reeded woodwind instrument.’

He had never heard of such an instrument. The night was spent filing paperwork and passing notes recapping each song that played. A pile of sticky notes now collected on each side. He never questioned aloud your use of notes instead of actual spoken conversation, he was smart enough to put the pieces together. A vocal quirk and that amount of medication must have meant overuse of it results in lack or hindrance in speech.

Your final report was sent, and with that your last sticky note was sent his way. A small blush dusted your cheeks as you pushed it into his awaiting hand.

‘Walk me home?’

After reading the note a large genuine smile stretched up to his hallowed cheek bones. In that moment time felt as though it slowed down, just for a few seconds. With the lack of collagen and much body fat he’d seem somewhat unappealing to some, however taking a genuine look at the man before you, things started popping out like they never had before. The way his messy blond hair framed his prominent sunken cheekbones, you subconsciously wondered if it was as soft as it looked. How deep his cerulean eyes truly went, so much admiration and kindness swam within them as he looked down at you, they almost appeared to be glowing. Did he look at all his friends like this? The note being slid back broke your daze.

‘I’d love to’ You could not help the explosion of blush that spanned from your cheeks to your neck. Quickly gathering your items, you tried to hide from the blond. What has gotten into you? What had provoked such intimate thoughts?

Were you…

Developing a crush?

Nonsense, Toshinori was simply a friend of yours. A friend that you enjoyed spending time with, a friend that did not judge you, a friend that had your palms feeling sweaty and your head airy with just a smile. A friend that you had just wondered if their hair was soft or if they looked at you in a special way… Yeah, just a friend.

Your body betrayed your mind on the walk back to your house. Just like at the coffee shop you found yourself standing closer than usual, absentmindedly seeking him out. Never close enough to accidentally touch, but if either of you wanted to you could easily reach out. Almost but not quite. If he noticed he said nothing, allowing you to walk as close or as far as you wanted.

When the walk came to a close and he turned to leave, you could not help but reach for him. Toshinori was shocked, your hand was gripping his white sleeve. Unsure of what to say he turned back to face you, head leaned slightly down to study your expression. Wanting to question if you were alright, if there was something wrong, however the words never came to fruition. Eyes locked together in a silent stalemate you felt alive, energetic even, in a bold and impulsive move you sent yourself forward. Arms outstretched, to embrace the lean man with your head crashing against his chest.

Body overcoming the mind.

Time felt stagnant in that moment, despite his initial shock his own body took charge, as his longer arms fell around your waist bringing you closer. Craning his neck down to rest atop your head to fully envelope you. He reciprocated the physical affection full heartedly. The scent of your perfume and shampoo nuzzling his senses once again. Oh how he had missed it, the scarf you lent him weeks ago had long since lost the scent. The softness of your hair, the way you fit so perfectly against him, and the overwhelming sense of tranquility was intoxicating.

Hugs did not have to be inherently romantic, as he hugged his adoring fans frequently but this time it felt different. Intimate. Harmonious.

The two remained silent, reveling in the warmth that grew between your met bodies. Emotions ran rampant yet neither felt embarrassed.

Lifting your heads, eyes again looked into each other, the emotional doors were clearly open for the other to see. Longing, want, and adoration swam in both sets. The distance between slowly decreased, eyes still open, never detaching. No thoughts, only actions.

You both wanted more, to stand with the other a little longer, to allow the space between to completely close. However a buzz from his phone signaled the moment was over. Realizing the situation you both pulled away, faces a glaze and radiating heat. Neither one made apologies, however the air felt bogged down with words unspoken. Closing his eyes he sighed. Relaxing a bit before opening them again he looked back down to you with a smile, cheeks still rosy.

“Goodnight (y/n)”

“Goodnight Toshi.” Returning the grin you turned on your heels and headed up the driveway. The same guilty feeling from the first night returned.

Your relationship had changed forever that night.

Was this a good change? You were not sure, but one thing was for certain, it felt right and You wanted more. Of all the people that bowed at your feet, drooled at your magazine covers and begged for your affection, the one that managed to catch your attention was a quiet man shrouded in mystery and clothing three times his size from the office.

‘What the hell am I getting myself into?’

That night Toshinori sat atop a roof, peering over the city. He should’ve called it a night long ago however, his mind was in disarray with thoughts.

‘What am I doing with her?’

All the hours of sitting inside your office he had convinced himself he purly wanted a friendship. Just someone to occasionally talk with to quench his selfish need for human interaction. All these feelings were out of concern for a friend, simply being nice. However after tonight his resolve was faltering. Maybe the hug was out of solace, a way for you to find comfort after a rough week. Possibly. However the more he reminisced on his own feelings and the way you looked at him had that solution increasingly incorrect. He recognized the eyes of someone enamored, people looked to him with such eyes daily in his Mighty form daily but, never as his weak regular self.

The feelings he had not even realized he suppressed bursted out of him. He could deny them no longer. He wanted to be more than a friend with you. But, could he allow himself that? Could he really go through with this?

Back on patrol you finally felt like your old self again, fully healed and ready to be back in on the action. Taking the information you had gathered from the thugs you set your sights on getting to the bottom of this rabbit hole. The men were simple guards, goons, middle of the food chain. What you wanted was their employer, the top. Based on the information they’d spilled and the matching tattoos on their bodies you were clearly dealing with a deep rooted ring. Well-established and on the rise if they could afford to hire people with half decent quirks and fighting skills. Not to mention this would be the third established branch you’d snuffed out. One man kept mentioning an abandoned building, that must’ve been their headquarters, with a distinctive graffitied symbol the same as their tattoos on the door. Walking down the damp alleyways closer to where you apprehended the suspects you stuck close to the walls and quieted your footsteps. Scoping out the building you find five men standing post outside.

‘Must’ve stirred the hornet's nest’ you thought. This could be difficult. You had to be strategic about this, fighting five on one was not optimal. As a licensed hero you could not engage unless they were actively committing a crime. Just had to find evidence of illegal activity and another way in. A broken window on the second floor gave you an opening.

Controlling the frequency of your voice you produced an infrasonic sound wave to propel you onto a nearby building. The pitch was far too low for the natural human ear to pick up. Latching onto the wall you waited for the men to turn their backs, just for a second then strategically propelled yourself again, gliding through the air, you aimed yourself for the window. Successfully landing within the confines of the building with a light thud. Sweeping a look at your surroundings you analyzed the situation, luckily no one was on the floor. Hearing loud thumps race up the stairwell you darted out of sight.

“I heard something. Didn’t you?” Two more men emerged, taking a quick profile of them. You determined one was young, far too young to be in a place like this, while the other was far older, perhaps a mentor of some kind. You calmed yourself, huddling closer to the stacks of boxes you took shelter behind.

“Stupid boy, there is nothing here.” The older man swung on the boy, a solid smack to the back of his head had him stumbling forward. Landing right beside your hiding place his face lifted from the creaking wood floor. For a brief second the two of you made eye contact. Wild eyes widening in fear and mouth agape ready to scream you thought on your feet. Breathed in, focusing on the boy you whispered a command.

“Quietly leave”

The sound waves penetrated his ears as it was made only for them. His mouth shut and eyes glazed over devoid of emotion. In a fugue state he stood up, turned to the older man without acknowledgment and began walking back down the stairs.

This was your special move, how you got the name Siren in the first place. ‘The command’ as you dubbed it could only be heard by its intended target as you directed the waves directly through their canals forcing their eardrums to verberate. As long as the frequency of the pitch was just right and the subject could understand your words their mind felt compelled to follow. A hypnotized state. Your ultimate trump card to get out of any sticky situation. Though you always paid the price with each use. Your throat felt raw and scratchy. Sighing you pulled out a small bottle of spray from your utility pouch and coated your throat. The medication managed to subdue the burn for now.

Moving down the stairs, the room before you confirmed the suspicion. Tables piled high with stacks of wrapped substances, presumably drugs, with several men including the two from before taking from the stacks to packaging them into small shipping containers and stacking them onto a pallet. Several guards watching the men work, occasional barking orders with threats of punishment should they not comply.

You had to find a way to take them out without destroying too much of the evidence. With the state of your throat it wouldn’t be possible to unleash a full screech without ending up like last time. Knowing this could get sticky you clicked the side of your ear piece. A signal was sent out to other members of the agency.

All Might’s phone buzzed, looking down to the small device his thick eyebrows furrowed, causing deep creases to shadow over his gaze.

‘Siren - Stand By - Location Attached. Video Attached’

This was a non-emergency broadcast, a precaution set in place as a ‘just in case’. It was not uncommon for his contracted heroes to send signals like this, in fact it was promoted, should the situation get out of hand back up already had been alerted. However, seeing the signal from you put a bad taste in his mouth. His intuition bell rang. All complicated feelings aside, given your recent accident and being fresh off of recovery, he chose to make his way over.

He’s thankful he did.

The dilapidated building arose with commotion, bursts of flames spewed from the doorway and thunderous yells echoed into the alleyway. Bullets flew freely and ricocheted off the brick.

Unfortunately, you had only managed to take out four guards before being spotted, the ensuing firefight had you pinned against a wall for cover. The workers with heads ducked down and looks of pure terror had scrambled to escape once the battle began. The last guard inside possessed a pyro quirk. His haphazardly thrown fireballs had the shabby wooden wall you hid behind beginning to crumble. Seeing as though most of the evidence was burning to ashes a sound wave could help extinguish and knock out the man. Just had to time it in between attacks and be wary not to over do it again.

Capering out from behind the wall you took in a deep gulp of air, full of ash from the fire the air burned your lungs. Your mouth opened, and a haunting screech howled through the air. The fires extinguished and the man was sent flying through the front door.

Still cautious of the guards outside you carefully peaked around the doorframe, only to find all five bound together. The man who you’d successfully blasted lay in a groaning heap before them. His head surly buzzed as earrings rang. Stepping outside, the sun had begun dipping below the towering building painting the sky a muted marmalade. Sweeping the area your breath caught in the back of your throat in a gasp despite the ever-growing pain.

All Might stood before you, his smile wide across his chiseled face as he tied the final knot around the men. The remaining sunlight streaked out from the space between buildings painting the already vibrant man in a brilliance of light. “I’ve dispatched these evil doers. How many more are inside?”

In all the months you had been working at his agency you had yet to meet the man himself. To finally meet him in response to your direct signal had you giddy and awe-inspired. All Might rose to fame while you were in your late teens. You had watched him even in his early days in America as he swiftly became the world's number one hero. A true hero. Your hero. He was who pushed you to try harder in your early years. Through the toughest courses as UA to the years of side kicking he made you truly strive for the top. To push yourself above and beyond ‘Plus Ultra’!

“All men inside are taken care of” Pushing past the burn in your throat you swallowed back your saliva and mustered a reply through strained vocal cords.

“Great work Siren! I’ve already alerted the authorities. They should be here soon.” Together the two of you drug out the rest of the thugs from inside.

Paparazzi, reporters and fans gathered at the alleyway entrance, curious to get a glimpse of the action. With any heroic arrest or commotion they flocked. However, with All Might making an appearance they came in droves. A police barricade pushed the swarm back however sooner or later you’d have to entertain them.

A million cameras flashed and a thousand questions asked as the two heroes stood together taking the brunt of the media assault. Both you and All Might gave short brief answers to the first few questions until a woman holding a giant lensed camera pushed herself to the front announcing she was from The Musutaful Times, the most prestigious paper around, and would like a photo.

“Of course!” Before you could think, All Might's muscular arm draped around your shoulders and pulled you against his hulking body. His smile widened and his opposite hand's thumb stuck out. He stole a glance down at you, through your mask you looked at him. Seering cerulean blue locked onto you, even with the barrier it felt as though he could look through it. The moment lasted less than a second, yet it sent a shiver down your spine with a heatwave of blush rushing across your cheeks. A lopsided smile stretched across your own face as the camera flashed.

In the blinding blitz of it all you had failed to realize the fire-quirked villain had burned through his rope restraints. The rest of his gang had already been loaded up into cars leaving him the last one standing.

“You’ve ruined everything!” In a fit of retaliation, he summoned a blazing ball of fire and launched it directly at you. Quick on your feet you attempted to dodge the attack aimed at your head, however the smoldering projectile managed to graze over your face. Scorching your mask. Shaking off the initial attack you readied yourself to attack. A loud smash and burst of dusty air signaled the fight was once again over. All Might had stopped it, but what he could not stop was the flash of the cameras and the shocked gasps from the crowd as your mask fell into melted pieces. Your face was on full display. Horrified you backed away, terrified of the once adoring crowd.

“Come on” Strong arms grabbed you from behind. In an instant the ground fell away and became distant.

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