#anyway he has his own family and whatever but like *stares* I will happily follow him around with wonder in my eyes as he explains-

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

me today:

*smile on my face under my mask*

following my teacher as me and the class inspect the building bc my teacher wants to show us different building materials and how they are used.

*follows him around like puppy*

*still smiling*

*learns about concrete forms and soldier stills*

*follows him around like a puppy*

[skzsauce01]

Clementia

Anniversary Request Special

Description: You’d always had a special place in your heart for Lee Minho even though he gives you countless reasons to hate him. How long will your patience last?

Warning: alcohol, sexual assault

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: fem!reader x Minho

“Y/N—”

“Go away, Minho.”

“Y/N, look at me.”

“I said no!”

“Well I said I’m sorry.”

You snap around to face him. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Lee Minho. You screwed up. You. Screwed. Up. I gave you one request, and you couldn’t even do that.”

“I had my reasons!” he protests.

“Yeah? Well let’s hear them.”

He emits a few noises but can't come up with anything. His face flushes red, but not as red as yours.

“There’s no excuse for breaking someone’s heart ever. Remember that.” You turn on your heels and begin walking away until he says something even more repulsive.

“Why do you care so much? She’s not even your real sister!” he calls after you.

You pause, unable to comprehend how such words could ever enter your ears. You then slowly walk back to him as he stiffens with every step you take.

“Not my real sister?” Your voice is soft, but it is effective.

“I mean—”

“You’re saying the girls at Epsilon Phi aren’t sisters?” Your voice begins to rise. “We’re more sisters than you and I were ever friends, Lee Minho! We love each other more than biological families do, but of course you wouldn’t know how that feels, would you? All you have in your chest is a cold, hard piece of coal!”

You turn away and break off into a run this time. Tears stream down your face from being insulted and betrayed by someone you held with high esteem.

You like Lee Minho. Of course, you’d never admit that. To the world, he is just some kid of your mom’s friend who annoyed you to no end, but through the arguments and time spent trying to prove each other wrong, your feelings grew bit by bit. When he had a relationship with your very own Little, you held in your feelings and wished them both the best. After all, you love both of them, and their happiness together was good enough for you.

That is, until Minho broke things off as nothing but a fling.

Minho has always been a huge flirt, but he’d promised to take her seriously this time. You made him swear it, and you emphasized how much your Little meant to you. Now, because you’re his family friend, your Little won’t even speak to you. Minho had ruined your and her relationship, and evidently yours and his too.

He didn’t used to be like this, all manipulative and amorous. You remember he used to follow you at the heel, caring about nothing more than sticking gum in your hair. It wasn’t until senior year of high school did he start hanging out with random girls and trying daredevilish things. You missed the old Minho, but you thought you’d accept him for all his changes since you did, after all, like him.

Until this moment, that is.

What he did was too much. What he said was too much. You know he is becoming toxic, and if he is going to continue down this path, even your love isn’t going to bring him back to your heart.

Minho watches your waning back then slams his fist against a nearby tree with a curse. You didn’t give him enough time to explain, not that he would have been able to in front of you.

You’d forgive him though, right? You have to. When he messed up before this, Minho could be sure you would. But now, he isn’t so certain. He has never seen you so angry and disappointed before, and he did that to you. Him. Minho lets out another string of curses and trudges back to his room.

He tries making it up to you the very next morning. He shows up to your 8 AM class with a cup of coffee and slides it onto your desk before sitting down himself.

You don’t even look at him. You just take the cup and slam it down in front of him, causing its contents to spill and burn your fingers. He quickly takes your hand in his and begins wiping it with his sleeve, but you recoil your arm and take out your own napkin.

The next place he tries is at your neighboring frat party. He knows you would be there, so he wears his tightest black jeans and a loose button-up. This trick has worked with other girls, so he hopes it would on you.

He takes the dance floor with his powerful dance moves and charisma. He can see you deliberately turned away from him and chatting with someone else, so he dances towards you. The cheering circle that has formed around him moves as well, engulfing you into the crowd.

You finally turn to make sure you don’t bump into anyone. Minho takes this chance to shoot you a wink which draws the crowd’s attention to you. They cheer and push you towards him despite your protests.

Minho takes your arm and leads you in the dance. You used to like dancing with him; your and his flow matches perfectly, and the two of you could revive a dying party just by dancing together. Today though, you just aren’t having it.

Minho puts a hand on your shoulder and scoops his hips low earning a cheer from the crowd. You can hear them calling your name, anticipating your response. You look down at Minho and immediately recognize his choice of clothing.

I wonder who’s going to have her heart broken tomorrow, you think with a dry laugh. Minho flinches, recognizing that sound. You take his falter as a chance to fling his arm off of you before walking away.

A chorus of oohs fills the room, and the crowd splits like the Red Sea for you.

You hear your name from his lips again. “Y/N!” It is more strained now than it was last night. Desperate. Defeated.

You gave him some thought after hearing the sincerity in his tone, but you are glad you did not turn around that night when you see him in class with some other girl on his lap. Whatever. He’s dead to you now, so why should you care what he’s doing?

Minho watches as you walk farther and farther from him. He pushes the girl off and continues to stare with narrowed eyes at you as you greet your new seat neighbors.

This isn’t how he predicted you would react. Truthfully, he kind of knew this attempt wouldn’t work. For one, it hadn’t worked once since he first tried it in high school. He thought hanging out with other girls would make him more attractive, more desirable by competition. At least, that’s what some then-college kids told him. Once he started, he just found himself unable to stop. It was a self-feeding cycle, really. Holding onto other girls and charming them numbs the void in his chest, but you ignore him whenever he acts like this which only further widens the gap. 

What is he to do though? This is the only life he knows, and so, it is the life he leads. Not all love stories can end happily.

And his sure doesn’t seem like it is going to. 

Sirens wail in the background. With the amount of girls he’s fooled around with, he kind of had it coming. Minho stares at his wrists, not daring to think, but one thought keeps recurring in his mind: you. He is going to disappoint you yet again. You already hate him, and now you are going to see him handcuffed too.

The cold wind makes him shiver when you, his emergency contact, open the door and step into the station. Your eyes immediately find him, and you make your way over.

“Y/—”

“Are you hurt?” you ask plainly.

Despite your icy tone, those three simple words fill him with a warmth he hasn’t known for a long time.

“I’m okay.” His hands reach forward, wanting to grab yours and keep you with him, but you’ve already walked away to announce your arrival to an officer.

“Miss L/Y Y/N?” a young official greets a little too enthusiastically. She looks familiar, you note.

“Yes, I am she.”

The officer looks pleased by your annoyed attitude towards the defendant. “Mister Lee is here tonight because of an accusation by Miss Choi of assault,” she informs you coyly.

You look at him. “Minho,” you said with a chilled voice. “Is it true?”

“No! Y/N, I wouldn’t—”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“Excuse me?” the officer sputters.

“I believe him,” you repeat. “He’s been going out with more people than I have fingers, but he never laid a finger on them.”

“But Y/N, that doesn’t mean he can’t start now,” the officer protests. “You’re his contact, but you hate him now. Surely, he’s changed”

“First of all, it’s Miss L/N to you, Officer” —you read her name tag and pieces begin to fall together from her eagerness to convict Minho to the inkling you felt the moment you saw her— “Yoo. And secondly, is it not against the law for you to be working on a case where your cousin’s the accuser?”

“How did you—!”

“Nothing escapes us Epsilon Phi sisters, even news from other sororities. Besides, Minho never plays with the same girl twice. As expected, this report is filed for an incident two months ago. You, Officer Yoo, knew I was his contact and waited for us to get into yet another fight before having your cousin put in the accusation, didn’t you?”

She scoffs in your face. “That’s a bold accusation from yourself towards law enforcement.”

“Where is the accuser right now? Shouldn’t she be here for interrogation as well?”

“Well she—” the officer looks increasingly flustered. “She needs rest after having to relive the memories of what happened. We’ll call her in tomorrow. Anyway, Mr. Lee Minho, I can hear your testimony now in room #3.”

Minho stands obediently.

“Wait. I request someone else interrogate him,” you object.

“We’re busy right now,” Officer Yoo huffs. “We can’t just let you choose who does the job.”

You cross your arms. “Sure. Interrogate him and have the entire case be nulled after I file a conflict of interest.”

Officer Yoo grits her teeth but returns to her station to call for another officer.

In the meantime, you turn to Minho. “Don’t answer anything you don’t want to, especially if they start leading you on with questions. It’s in your rights to remain silent, alright?”

Minho nods numbly at your words, still confused as to why you are so nice to him. Before he can figure it out though, an older man appears from the back and takes him to an interrogation room.

“Mr. Lee Minho?” 

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Chief Jeon. I’m just going to ask you a few questions today; is that alright?”

“Yes.”

The chief nods and pulls out some papers. “Would you mind describing what happened with Miss Choi?”

“Well I was with—” he gestures towards the papers with his accuser’s name on it— “and we were hitting it off. She bought me a couple of drinks and at some point leaned in to kiss me. I realized something at that point, and I stopped her. She got angry, saying how she spent all that cash on alcohol for me, and threatened to accuse me of assault if I didn’t do what she said, but I knew I couldn’t do it.”

“Because of what you realized?” the chief repeats.

“... Yes.”

“And what was it you realized?”

“Do I have to say it?”

“According to the law, no, but if it can help you with your case, you might want to.”

Minho fidgets with his cuffs. “They can’t hear me from outside, right?”

“No. They most certainly cannot.”

And so, Minho tells him.

Minho turns around while the metal bars clang shut behind him. The chief thinks he has a pretty good chance, but due to the gravity of the accusation, they still decided to keep Minho in holding to give the accuser more time to make her case.

You stare at him from the other side, arms crossed. Minho takes the fact that you’re still here at two in the morning as a good sign for him.

“Thanks for being here,” he tries to start a conversation.

“I didn’t really have a choice.” So cold.

“I’ll change my emergency contact.”

“Please do.”

He winces. “Look… Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for insulting your sisterhood and for hurting your Little. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

He looks at you with those doe-like eyes of his. For once, you don’t feel anything while looking back at them.

“That’s not why I’m mad anymore. In fact, I’m not even mad,” you tell him. “My Little told me what really happened. She told me that she was actually the one who dumped you after you adamantly refused to kiss her. I asked some other girls you’ve seen and they all said the same thing. That’s why I was so confident with the officer earlier. I guess I owe you an apology for getting angry when you weren’t at fault.”

“Then”—he holds out a hand sheepishly— “truce?”

You look at it but keep your arms crossed. “Taking a step back from you has made me see things I wasn’t able to before, Minho, and that’s made me realize how much you’ve changed. You were my friend, my rival— someone who never failed to get on my nerves but also someone I couldn’t go without. But now” —you drop your arms and shake your head— “I can’t even recognize you anymore.”

You take a step back to leave. You’ve done this many times before, like when he stuck a plastic spider down your shirt or when he called you stupid in front of your crush in fifth grade, but something about this time feels different. Something about this time tells him you aren’t turning back around once you left.

A sudden despair grips Minho and he runs into the bars. “Wait!”

You pause, offering him one last second.

“Your Little,” he gasps, “did she tell you why I wouldn’t kiss her?”

You nod. “The others I asked did too. They said you were thinking about some other girl while you were with them.”

“Not ‘some other’ girl. One other girl.”

“I know.” You begin to walk again.

“Then why are you leaving?” He reaches a hand out, trying to grab any part of you. “Stay with me. Please, Y/N, stay.”

You don’t pause a second time. Out of desperation, he cries out, “Y/N, I love you!”

That makes you stop midstep. He holds his breath as you put one foot back then the other next to it to face him. You are so beautiful when you look at him. He melts under your gaze as you focus on him and only him. He’ll cherish you this time when you give him another chance. He’ll quit this playboy lifestyle. He won’t take advantage of your patience anymore. He’ll give you all that his heart has to offer. He’ll make sure you’re the only one in his eyes. He’ll love you. He loves you.

“Minho.” You relax your shoulders and straighten your back. You tilt your head just slightly forward and erase the edge off your tone. “I loved you.”

[puppypeter]

✨ All fics are complete! ✨

He Loves Me Cause I’m Cute, He Thinks I’m Pretty Funny | 2588 words 📱

He watches it back one more time after it posts, checking for typos in his subtitles and captions, and has to laugh again.

Steve fucking Rogers? His brain thought he could pull Captain America, literal superhero and America’s favorite sweetheart?

“Hello I’m a 35 year old amputee living in New York and I think that I could get Steve Rogers.”

OR

the one where bucky posts a tiktok and steve is utterly smitten.

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Bucky is a tour guide who enjoys sharing the rich history and culture of each city they pass through with a bunch of early-20's college students who just want to know the cheapest place to get drunk.

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The rest is, as they say, history.

You Make My Heart Skip A Beet | 3853 words 🧑🏼‍🍳

“I made soda bread.” Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.” The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

Ollie Meets Bagel | 5517 words 🥯

He was a skater boy, Steve said let's get bagels, boy.

Steve wants to start doing this twenty-first century thing properly. He gets help in the form of skateboarding, skateboarders, bagels, and Sam Wilson.

Taxi | 5113 words 🚕

Bucky Barnes was, he hoped, a good taxi driver.

He's so good, he actually tries to return lost property that ends up left in his car and... well. It has some unexpected consequences involving a National Icon.

Enough said.

Leg Day | 12157 words 🏋️‍♂️

“So talk to him,” Sam says.

“I can’t,” Bucky groans. “I can’t, Sam, I. He just.” He fluffs his hair up and stares at Sam, distraught. “I want him to bench press me.”

“Okay, so it’s serious,” Sam interprets. “Got it."

(Or: The one where Sam is Bucky's long-suffering roommate, Bucky is a hot mess of a millennial, and Hot Steve spends far too much time on the Lat Pull-Down machine.)

Love In Aisle Four | 2127 words 🛍️

When Bucky needs to swing by the supermarket after a long, hard day of work, the last thing he expects is to meet a cute grocery clerk named Steve…

Coming Up Easy | 45515 words ✍🏻

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Steve says, his face open, eyebrows raised in a tentatively hopeful expression. “Why don’t you come stay at my place for a while? I’ve got an office that I barely use, and a change of scenery might do you good, right? Help you beat that writer’s block?” With a crooked smile, he adds, “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

While Bucky would normally crack a joke about how that’s exactly what a serial killer would say, right now, all he can do is blink at Steve in surprise, heart tripping over itself in his chest. Steve wants him to come and stay at his place. In Massachusetts. Just the two of them.

"Oh," Bucky croaks. "I- Wow."

“I mean, no pressure,” Steve says hastily. “Totally fine if you don’t wanna. I just thought I’d offer, in case it might help, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Bucky ignores the little voice in his head that sounds an awful lot Nat and Becca, telling him he’s setting himself up for heartbreak. “I mean, if you’re sure, that would be amazing.”

Anywhere The Wind Blows | 8845 words 👨‍🚒🎖️

After a catastrophic fire that shakes him to his core, Steve Rogers quits his job as a Brooklyn firefighter and relocates to a cabin in the remote Canadian wilderness, wanting quiet and solitude and to maybe never have to speak to another human being ever again. He gets his wish, more or less, until a recently injured Bucky Barnes is discharged from the Army and rents the cabin next door.

The Safer Course | 7918 words | Part 1 of Won’t You Be My Neighbor 🏡

When Steve moves to the suburbs in 2033, he intends to retire from superhero life.

He does not intend to fall in love with his pain-in-the-ass neighbor.

Every Year I Have You | 7064 words | Part 2 of Won’t You Be My Neighbor 🏡

Steve set the bar pretty high, as birthday presents go.

Bucky is determined to outdo him when July 4th comes around.

Beneath The Mistletoe | 21203 words 🎄

Bucky had a bet with his sister that if he didn’t have a boyfriend to bring home for Christmas by the time he was 25, he had to give her $200 and go blonde for a year. But now he's 25, it’s nearing December, and not only is Bucky as single as ever, but he’s also running low on cash. He doesn’t exactly want to bleach his hair, either.

At least Steve is willing to upgrade their relationship from best friends to fake boyfriends.

The Settler | 52203 words 🍞

“What do you want to do?”

Steve pauses and looks at them.

What he wants is to stay with them. He doesn't have any family left, they all died before he even joined the war and became... this. Captain America turned whatever he is now. But Natasha and Sam have become his family over the years. Not just because they're on the run together, fugitives and vigilantes, but way before that too.

He doesn't want to leave that.

But he knows that, realistically, he can't stay with them and they can't stay with him.

So he looks at them with a smile and lies. “I don't know.”

OR; In which Steve retires and finally finds a place to call home.

You Can’t Put Your Arms Around A Memory | 1148 words 🐈

"Alright, Bucky," Steve slows his steps, watches his neighbour stop at the bottom of the next flight of stairs. There's a canvas bag in his hand that Steve didn't notice earlier, cream coloured with the figure of a sleeping, black cat painted on it. "Have a good day."

He thinks Bucky's cheeks pink up a bit right then and there, but Steve can't tell. He's too distracted by his pounding, foolish heart, by the way Bucky smiles bashfully, and ducks his head. The way he seems like he wants to stay.

To Believe In Tomorrow | 3959 words 👨🏻‍🌾

Bucky's mornings at the community garden get a little more interesting when the new guy shows up.

Maybe This Christmas | 24873 words | Part 1 of Maybe ❄️

Bucky’s not going home for Christmas. But it’s fine. He’s spending Christmas alone in his apartment, but it’s cool. He’s not feeling up to seeing his family after his accident anyway, plus he has to work. He’s totally fine with it. But then he runs into Steve, literally, and suddenly his Christmas isn’t looking so empty after all.

-----

Hurrying was a bad idea. Bucky’s foot hits a patch of ice and slides out from under him in what would have been a comical cartoon banana-peel-like trip, if it wasn’t happening to him, and he braces himself to hit the ground. This is going to hurt.

“Fuck,” Bucky screeches, but as he lands on his back, it’s not the cold hard concrete he expected, but a solid mass beneath him. Oh god, Bucky thinks as he realises he smacked into the person behind him and took them down with him.

Maybe This Year (Will Be Better Than Last) | 133868 words | Part 2 of Maybe ❄️

Last year, Bucky Barnes met Steve Rogers. Well actually, he slipped and fell on him. What followed was the best Christmas either of them had ever had. But what happens when Christmas is over and life returns to normal? What happens after the Christmas miracle?

-----

Bucky should have known. He did know. When things seem too good to be true, they usually are. And Steve is the best thing that has happened to him in a long time, possibly ever, so of course it couldn’t last.

Maybe This Time (I Hope I Get The Chance To Say Goodbye) | 34561 words | Part 3 of Maybe ❄️

Steve and Bucky Barnes are happily married. They've made it through some hard times and come out stronger and happier, together. Then Steve gets called on to come out of retirement for the most important mission of his life and everything changes. Everything.

-----

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas…” Steve starts singing along softly, and Bucky chuckles, before leaning his head onto Steve’s shoulder, always happy when he’s in Steve’s arms.

“From now on, our troubles will be miles away…” Bucky joins in.

Dancing round their living room, just as in love as ever, their troubles seem light-years away, if not non-existent.

Sadly, they’re closer than they think.

The Unexpected Gift | 9504 words | Part 1 of When Winter Comes 🐕

Steve Rogers is fine.

After ending a long-term relationship with Sam Wilson, Steve moves back to New York. He's tired and lonely but depressed? No. At least, that's what he thinks.

From the window of his apartment, he watches a dark-haired man and his service dog sitting in the park, wondering what his story is.

The Winter Storm | 2218 words | Part 2 of When Winter Comes 🐕

"If I could give you one thing in life, I would give you the ability you see yourself through my eyes, only then would you realize how special you are to me."

After Bucky and Steve confessed their feelings for each other, life has its own twisted way to challenge the most profound love.

One January Night | 4213 words | Part 3 of When Winter Comes 🐕

Before going back to work, Steve Rogers still has things to learn: 1- Depression is a bitch and the battle against it isn't an easy one. 2- Dating a person with disabilities comes with its share of challenges.

Bucky Barnes Has His Shit Together (And Other Lies He Tells Himself) | 14159 words 🔒

You’d think a guy who owns one of the most successful bakeries in Brooklyn, has a million-dollar smile and that antiquated good ol’ boy charm, blond hair and blue eyes and biceps for days, would know what’s what.

But don’t let that fool you: Steve Rogers is a mess.

Obvious | 917 words ☕

"Oh, I have a prompt! So, it makes me laugh how painfully obvious Steve and Bucky's feelings are to everyone when they're in that pining, slowburn, does-he-doesn't-he phase. But imagine Steve and Bucky working in a coffee shop together and constantly bickering, nudging and playfully flirting with each other. And all the employees and patrons are so invested in their relationship and just want them to kiss already but no one realizes that Steve and Bucky have been married since they got out of HS."

[arrowflier]

Omggg my heart is aching with the small Mickey and Ian one 😭😭 please do a part two fuckkkk

I’M SORRY ANON BUT LOOK LOOK I FIXED IT.  Moved this to the top of my prompt list so I wouldn't leave you hanging.

Part 1 if anyone needs their heart broken before I make it better.  The parallels will make more sense too.

--

It's early on a Saturday afternoon when Mickey sees it. 

They're over at the Gallagher house, watching Franny while Debbie works and Liam studies upstairs.  Mickey has just finished chasing Franny around the house in a rousing game of liquor store robbery and collapsed on the worn sofa next to Ian, letting the other man drape an arm over his sweaty shoulders.

"She wear you out?" Ian asks, amused, as he turns down the volume on whatever comedy show rerun he was watching.

Mickey shakes his head, letting the movement tuck him more thoroughly into Ian's hold.

"Nah, just gotta give Little Red a break," he claims, but grins when Ian raises his eyebrows at him.

The both turn back to Franny, still zooming around the living room like a ginger Tasmanian devil, and Ian laughs.

"Yeah, looks like you really did a number on her," Ian quips, and Mickey elbows him in the gut.  Ian lifts him arm to grab Mickey by the hair, shaking him lightly.

Mickey smacks ineffectively at his husband's hand.  "Hey man, watch the..." he trails off.

Because from the corner of his eye, he can see what Franny is up to.  She’s bent over a box Debbie had brought down from the attic that morning, digging through old toys and papers, pulling out an old, raggedly, doll.

A doll that looks oddly familiar.

Mickey stares long enough that Ian notices, and releases him.

“Mick,” he starts, sounding worried.  “You okay?”

Mickey clears his throat.  “Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he says, then, “where’d that old thing come from?”

Ian gives him a confused look, so he nods his head at the doll that Franny is now happily playing with on the living room floor.  She bends it’s limbs in all sorts of unnatural directions as they watch.

“Oh, that?” Ian says casually.  “That was Fiona’s I think.  Debbie lugged it around for a while too, back before she stole that kid.”

Mickey’s head snaps toward him.  “Stole the...” he shakes his head.  “No, never mind, I don’t wanna know.”  He sits quietly, feeling Ian’s eyes still on him, and thumbs the side of his nose.

“Why?” Ian finally asks, and Mickey huffs. 

“Not important,” he says, then stands abruptly from the sofa.  “Hey, why don’t we take the kid to the park today?”

Franny hears that.  “Park?” she asks excitedly, jumping up from the floor.  She runs over to Mickey, dragging the doll by an arm, until she can wrap her own arms around Mickey’s leg.

“Yeah kid, why not?” he offers, ignoring Ian’s confused face behind him.  “Go get Liam too, little Einstein probably needs a break.”

Franny eagerly runs off to do as she’s told, and Ian stands to move forward next to Mickey.  He wraps his arms around him from behind, loose but present, and Mickey leans back into it.

“What’s this about, Mickey?” Ian asks softly, but Mickey just shakes his head again.  

“Tell you when we get there,” he promises instead.  “It’s fine, Ian.”

Ian tightens his hold briefly, then lets go when the kids come storming back down the stairs, relenting.  He helps Franny into her coat while Mickey helps Liam track his down under a stack of laundry, and then they’re out the door, and off.

--

The route to the park is familiar.  They pass the building where Ian had pressed him against the wall in broad daylight to kiss the life out on the way to the L after a family dinner.  And the alley where someone had tried to mug them one night only to run away when he saw Mickey’s tats, leaving them both laughing so hard they had to hold each other up.  

When they got to the park itself, Mickey made straight for the bench where Ian had sat on his lap two weeks ago just to piss off some holier-than-thou, gentrifying housewife.  Franny and Liam immediately made for the playground together, but Ian followed him, sitting close at his side this time with an arm around his waist.

For a moment, they just watch.  Liam is helping Franny climb the jungle gym, no small feat considering that she still hasn’t let go of her new favorite toy: that dirty, torn, raggedy doll that Mickey had somehow recognized from twenty-odd years ago.

“So,” Ian finally starts.  “We’re here.”

Mickey hums.  “We are,” he agrees.  He leaves it at that just long enough to feel Ian’s chest heave in a sigh, then smiles and scoots even closer.

“You come here a lot as a kid?” he asks Ian, who’s surprised by the question.

“Uh, I guess,” he answers slowly.  “I mean, Monica brought us sometimes, but she’d kinda forget we were here, so we usually told her we didn’t want to go.”  He turns his gaze to Mickey’s profile.  “Why?”

Mickey shrugs.  “Met you here,” he reveals, and can tell by the way Ian’s arm stiffens around him that the other man doesn’t know what to make of that.

“No, you didn’t,” Ian disagrees.  “I think I’d remember that, Mick, come on.”

“Nah, I did,” Mickey insists, still not looking at him.  “You were like, a baby then, you wouldn’t remember.”  He knows Ian wants to respond to that, but he doesn’t let him, pushing on instead.

“Musta been you, Lip, and Fiona,” he tells Ian.  “All together over by that sandbox.”  He points at the broken plastic turtle that’s seen better times, now barely holding any sand at all.  “Your idiot brother stole that damn doll from her and ran.”

“Franny’s doll?” Ian asks, intrigued.  “How are you so sure?”

Mickey snorts, and finally turns to face him, one leg coming up onto the bench between them.  Ian’s arm falls from his back, his hand landing on Mickey’s knee, where his thumb starts to stroke back and forth.

“I’d know you anywhere, Red,” he shares.  “Your hair’s like a fuckin’ target man, can’t hide that shit.”

Ian blinks at him.  “But you said I was a baby.”

“You were.  Like, one or two, I guess?  But you already had the hair.”  Mickey reaches up with one hand, ruffles it through Ian’s close-cropped curls, and laughs when Ian goes cross-eyed trying to see what he’s doing.  “Even then I wanted to fuckin’ touch it,” Mickey muses.

Ian finally catches that hand and brings it down between them, linking their fingers.  “Why didn’t you?” he questions.  “I mean, I didn’t know you for years after that, why didn’t you come talk to us?”

Mickey’s lips twist.  “Tried to,” he admits.  “Well, sorta.  But Fiona was protective, and you started fuckin’ cryin’.”  He looks down, then back up through his lashes.  “Scared the shit out of me, man.  Thought I fuckin’ broke you.”  He shrugs.  “So I left.”

They’re quiet for another moment, before Ian breaks the silence.

“Too bad,” he sighs.  Mickey looks at him questioningly, and he grins.  “If I’d known you were that soft earlier, I might have made a move before you tried to kill me.”

“Uncle Mickey, Uncle Ian!” Franny shouts, interrupting their moment.  She runs toward them from the playground, Liam trailing behind her.

Mickey shifts to put both feet back on the ground, leaning forward to catch her as she barrels into his legs for the second time that day.

“What up Little Red?” he asks, but she’s too busy poking at the tattoos on his hand to respond.

He looks up when Liam answers instead.  “Time to go back,” Liam says, “I gotta finish that workbook tonight.”

“Says who?” Mickey asks, and Liam rolls his eyes.

“Says me, because I don’t want to do it tomorrow,” he responds, and Mickey mumbles nerd under his breath, but obediently stands and hoists Franny up onto his hip.

“Nooo, Uncle Ian!” she cries, wriggling, and Mickey scoffs as Ian reaches over to take her with a shit-eating grin.  

“Fine, take her,” Mickey says, “we all know I’m still the favorite.”

It’s Ian’s turn to roll his eyes, turning to carry Franny back toward the house.  Liam follows behind them, but Mickey lingers.

He looks out over the playground again.  He’s been there more in the last two years than he ever had been as a child, sat on that bench with Ian and run through the woodchips with Franny and even pushed Fred on the baby swings once.  The kid had smiled up at him like he was the king of the world, even fucking reached for him after.  It was a far cry from the days he prowled the edges, selling drugs and spotting targets for his pops.  Even farther from the days he had wandered back on his own when his mom wasn’t there, just hoping to catch sight of that splash of fire-red again.

“Hey Mick!” the owner of that red hair calls from behind him.  “You coming?”

Mickey smiles.  He casts one more look over everything, then turns.  Ian is waiting for him, Franny in his arms, Liam at his side, and Mickey goes to them.  They know the way home, but he’ll walk it with them anyway.

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 23: Home

[prev]

[masterlist]

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After 5 long years, your family finally moves to a new house. It’s bigger than the house Kiyoomi first lived in. Since you have kids now, so more rooms must be added. You don’t even know how your husband managed to find such a big house that is close to the city.

Kia is beyond excited to have her own room after 3 long years of sharing it with her younger siblings “Wow! My room is so big!” Kia says in awe, her eyes wandering her new room. She climbs up the bed and jumps on it, letting out a series of laughter every time the sole of feet recognize the springy feeling. “I love my bed! It’s big and it’s all mine!”

“Kia, be careful or you’ll fall,” Kiyoomi warns her. Done checking with Kia, he follows Mina and your family dog, Momo, inside her new room. “Do you like it?”

“Where’s Momo’s bed?” Mina asks as she looks around the room for the said thing. The Shiba Inu follows behind her like a loyal servant.

“I thought you wanted Momo to sleep beside you?” Kia’s eyes turn wide in joy as she runs to her father. She raises her arms so Kiyoomi bends down and she gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“Momo, give papa a kiss too!” Mina cheers and the dog jumps on Kiyoomi. He catches him with his hands and stretches his arms away from his body.

“We’re not close enough to be kissing,” Kiyoomi tells Momo and puts him down. Momo resembles his cousin, Komori, so Kiyoomi feels awkward showing affection towards him.

Kiyoomi leaves Mina to discover her room, which is very kid-friendly since that’s what he specifically asked the interior designer of the house when it was being built. He then heads to where you and the twins are. From your posture and way of speaking, it seems like you’re having an argument with your youngest children.

“What’s wrong?” Kiyoomi asks you, casually putting a hand on your hip and pulling you close to him. He eyes Kin and sees the scowl on his son’s face. Kiyoomi sticks his tongue out, childishly mocking him.

“Stop that. He’s your son,” you scold your husband and he stops making fun of Kin. “Kin and Mira wants to sleep in their rooms.”

“Then, let them? Does it really matter?” Kiyoomi answers and the twins nod, agreeing to his words.

“We’re big now!” They tell you in unison.

“You’re three and you don’t want to sleep with mama anymore?” You sigh in disappointment.

“Are you scared on your own mama?” Kin frowns and you nod dramatically. Kiyoomi gags at your acting and you nudge his side with your elbow. “Do you want Kin to stay with you?”

“She has me,” Kiyoomi butts in and Kin gives him an unamused gaze.

“You’re not even home most of the time...” Kin rebuts with confidence. Kiyoomi grimaces at his son’s words and you just laugh. “Right, Mira?”

“Right!” Mira just agrees to whatever her twin brother says.

“Listen to the kids, Omi,” you whisper to him and he rolls his eyes. “Please set up the table in the garden. It’s almost dinner time.” You kiss your husband’s cheek and then you hear Kin chant that he wants kisses too. You fulfill your son’s wishes before skipping happily to your new kitchen.

The three of them set up the table just like you requested, while the two older girls help you in the kitchen. “I’m cooking the meat now,” Kiyoomi tells you as he takes out the meat from the freezer. You hum and continue cooking the other dishes.

“Go help your papa set up the table,” you order Kia and Mina. They wipe their hands clean before going out to help their father.

Kin and Mira keep running back and forth from the kitchen to the garden as they carry one plate at a time. Kia and Mina are arranging the table cloth and wiping the benches clean. Momo is helping by making sure that no bugs or birds are landing on the plates and being cute of course.

“Do you want meat?” Kiyoomi asks his kids. They don’t answer him as they are too preoccupied with other things.

Kia hears him and answers, “I’m not in the mood to eat meat papa.”

“Momo, do you want meat?” The dog barks at his question and points his forefingers at him. “You’re my favorite child for a reason.”

“Why is Momo your favorite child? You said you’re not even close enough to kiss!” Mina pouts and glares at her father.

“Mama said favoritism is bad!” Kia reprimands her father, her hands on her hips. “We are your children! You should love us equally!”

“Right! Love us equally!” Mira echoes her sister’s words, putting her hands on her hips as well.

“I thought I was your favorite!” Kin complains and Kiyoomi’s eyes dart at him.

“You don’t even like me!” Kiyoomi complains back and Kin raises his forefinger up as if he’s going to make such a great point.

“But mama said you specifically asked for me, which means I am your favorite,” Kin explains and just when Kiyoomi is about to make a retorting statement, Mira shouts.

“Papa! The meat is burning!”

“Shit!” Kiyoomi curses as he tries to weaken the fire. The garden falls dead silent as his kids stare at him in disbelief and shock. Their father could curse? “What?”

“You said a bad word!” Kia gasps dramatically.

“Said a bad word!” Mira mimics Kia’s dramatic gasp.

“No I didn’t!” Kiyoomi tries to argue, attempting to sound believable.

“Papa, stop lying. Even Momo heard it...” Mina says in disappointment. The barks as if he’s agreeing to Mina.

“Remember when I said I’ll buy you a trampoline when we move houses?” Kiyoomi tries to change the topic so he can escape his children’s interrogation.

“Shit!” Kin says loudly, and as if on cue, you go out to the garden and hear your three year old son cuss with all of his heart.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi! How many times do I have to warn you about not cussing in front of the kids?!” Kiyoomi face palms and glares at Kin. The younger boy just shrugs and runs to help you with the dishes you are carrying.

Before dinner starts, you want to take a picture of your family for keepsake. Sadly, that isn’t easy to do with four kids.

Mira and Kin are fighting over who gets to sit on your lap, leading to the twins crying. Kia is restless and hungry and just wants the picture to be taken but her siblings are acting up, which leads to her acting up as well. Mina is shy and hiding behind Momo. Kiyoomi is trying his best to make the twins to settle down so he attempts to take Kin away from you, but the boy just grabs his hair and tugs on it quite harshly.

In the photos taken, you have no good ones as expected. Kia is frowning at all the pictures. In one picture she’s rolling her eyes in irritation. Mina’s face can’t be seen since she’s hiding behind your family dog. Kin is still grabbing Kiyoomi’s hair and scratching his face, holding whatever is close to him. Mira is wailing on your lap and is screaming ‘papa’ since she wants to be with Kiyoomi now. Meanwhile, you and Kiyoomi look so tired and haggard in the photos. The only one who looks good in the photos is Momo. The dog is just sitting and smiling with his tongue out. So much for just one family picture.

Dinner finally starts after that chaotic pictorial and you say your thanks before eating. Kiyoomi cuts the burnt steak he cooked into smaller pieces and attempts to give it to Kin. His son rejects it so Kiyoomi sighs and takes the meat out of his bowl.

“I’ll eat it!” Kia volunteers and lifts her bowl so Kiyoomi can put the meat in it.

“I thought you were not in the mood for meat?” Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at her but gives her the beef anyways.

“I changed my mind,” Kia reasons.

No, she didn’t. Kia hasn’t changed her mind. She really doesn’t want to eat the steak but when she saw Kiyoomi’s sad expression because of Kin’s rejection, she felt bad for him. She can’t scold Kin about rejecting food yet since he’s young, but she has to show him that the food their parents are providing them is special

“It’s good papa,” Kia compliments her father. Kiyoomi smiles at her and he continues to cook meat. She eats what he gives her without complains. Seeing his sister eat with gusto, Kin asks for meat and eats it.

“Me too!” Mira gives her bowl to Kiyoomi which he gladly puts the sliced beef in. She happily eats it and even feeds her twin brother with it.

Kia watches her father’s face light up in satisfaction which makes her feel blissful.

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It’s 12AM and Kiyoomi feels a small hand tugging on his finger. He wakes up from the touch, and sees his son with an almost crying face. “Hi, buddy. Why are you up?”

“Want to sleep with you,” Kin answers, pulling his little blanket close to his chest. Kiyoomi’s heart softens. Kin may act like he hates his father, but deep down he wants his attention and affection too.

Seeing his son’s scared image, he jumps out of bed and picks him up. If Kin is scared, so must be Mira.“Okay. Let’s go get your sister first.” He walks to Mira’s room as quiet as possible so he doesn’t wake you or any of his daughters up.

Kiyoomi sees Mira’s door open so he quickly checks the room and doesn’t see her there. He hears murmurs from Kia’s room and also notices how Mina’s room is empty.

“Don’t be scared. Nee-chan is here!” Kiyoomi overhears Kia speak. He peeks at the small opening at the doorway and sights Kia putting Mina and Mira to bed. “Do you want me to tell you a story?”

“Yes...” Mira answers, shifting closer to Mina so they can cuddle. Momo is sleeping at the end of the bed, unbothered.

“We are going to have a new baby sister!” Kia confidently announces.

‘That’s not a story! That’s a gossip!’ Kiyoomi chuckles and then enters the room, which surprises his three daughters. “What are the three of you talking about that is keeping you awake at this?”

“Papa! Tell us a story!” Kia tries to hide their recent conversation, but her expression is giving it away. She looks like a deer that has been seen in the middle of the road. “Mina and Mira were scared so they went in my room to sleep.”

‘They’re still sleeping together in one room after all.’

“Okay. I’ll tell you a story. What kind of story do you want?” Kiyoomi gives in and sits on Kia’s bed. He puts Kin down on the bed and he snuggles close to his twin sister immediately.

“About you and mama!” Kia giggles as she joins in her other siblings.

“Again?” Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at her. Kia loves hearing stories about the two of you. It puts her at ease.

Kiyoomi starts to share a random story about you and him during high school. Your first time meeting his family exactly. And midway, he hears his children snoring soundly so he stops speaking. He then notices Kia looking out her window.

“Go to sleep...” He tells her.

“Papa, I am so happy you’re my father,” Kia says out of nowhere, taking Kiyoomi aback. “I don’t think I would be this happy if you weren’t.”

“I’m happy you’re my daughter, too.” Kiyoomi kisses the top of her head and then smiles at her.

Kiyoomi is thankful.

Kiyoomi is very thankful that she is his daughter. If he didn’t meet Kia 5 years ago, he wouldn’t know where or who he’d be now. Having children changed him and probably made him a better person. He still can’t go on a crowd on his own, but if he’s with his kids, everything possible for him. Kiyoomi is willing to go out of his comfort zone if it means his children’s happiness.

Kiyoomi thankful that you gave him a chance to prove that he can be Kia’s father. Not just Kia, but also Mina, Mira and Kin. He knows how stressed you are with having to take care of 4 kids and him not being around most of the time, but you still stayed. You never gave up on motherhood, your children and him. He falls in love with you again and again every single day just for it. You are the best thing that has happened to him.

Kiyoomi is thankful that he has a house where you and your children are in. He doesn’t go home everyday but he knows that when he does, you’re there to welcome him. Kia is there caring for her younger siblings with you. Mina is there drawing on the living room, while her dog, Momo, sleeps on the couch. Mira is there running after her twin brother and making sure he doesn’t hurt himself. Kin is there watching everything you do because he loves you so much. You’re there raising your children with sincerity and love. You and your child are there waiting for him.

Kiyoomi is thankful that he gets to go home to where the five of you are.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is thankful that you’re his home.

“I’m also excited for my new baby sister,” Kia mentions again. Kiyoomi for sure knows you aren’t pregnant because if you are, you would be complaining about it again. Or are you hiding it from him?

“Did your mama tell you that?” He asks for assurance that this is only part of Kia’s imagination and random child babbles.

“No, but I’m sure that mama has our baby sister in her stomach.” Kia closes her eyes and hugs Mina who is beside her.

“Okay...” Kiyoomi lets it pass and slowly drifts back to sleep, too tired to go back to your room.

Morning comes and you wake up to an empty space beside you. “Kiyoomi must have gone jogging...” You yawn and stretch your arms up. It’s already 6AM but you don’t hear any of your children chant the word, “mama” so you stand up and check on them. The silence is too rare that it’s scaring you.

Mira’s, Kin’s and Mina’s rooms are empty so you get anxious. You’re telling yourself that maybe Kiyoomi brought them jogging with him so you’ll feel better, but your anxiety grows since you know that Kiyoomi will never bring the four of them with him. Momo goes out of Kia’s room so you run to it, in hopes that your children are all there.

They are, and your husband is also there.

Kia and Mina are tucked in Kiyoomi’s armpits. Their hands holding onto their father’s shirt. Mira’s face is flat laid flat on Kiyoomi’s stomach, but her body is on the bed. Kin is on his thighs, the small boy hugging the muscular leg. You let out a silent giggle at the cute sight in front of you.

And all that happiness fades when you suddenly feel lightheaded. The feeling of being nauseous hits you so you run to Kia’s bathroom, which wakes everyone in the room up.

“Babe, are you okay?” Kiyoomi asks you he shakes his kids off his body.

“See, papa? I told you mama has our baby sister in her stomach!” Kia states as she rubs her sleepy eyes.

“We’re having another child?!”

End.

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Thank you so much for supporting my first ever story here. This will forever have a special place in my heart. I hope you all enjoyed it ♥️

[hopeless-ro-simptic]

Familiar Cerulean Eyes

Might change title later. 

Omegaverse: Alpha Dabi X Omega Reader, also a little bit of Alpha Shoto x Omega Reader. 

Summary (Kinda?): Reader was sold to the Todoroki family to be Touya Todoroki’s mate when they reached of age due to the readers nullification skin quirk (I don’t know what to call it). Endevor was 100% sure that Touya would present as an Alpha and the reader has been showing signs of being an Omega since early childhood. However, after Touya died *Ahem*, Endevor kept reader around with the plans of giving her to one of his other kids if they showed promise. Shoto being the one that was chosen for her after he presented. However things go sideways when she is kidnapped by Dabi. 

Notes: Reader has a nullification quirk that only works on her own body. Basically her skin acts as a barrier and anything that is made from a quirk cannot effect her. Example being that she isn’t burnt by any of the Todoroki’s fire, by the airborn effects such as the smoke that she inhales still cause damage. Physical quirks like Kirishima wouldn’t be affected by her quirk. Also piercing quirks that deal with getting past her skin like Toga’s or Stains would still affect her. Feel free to ask questions! 

Also this is a slow burn. There is no smut in this part but I expect there will be at some point. 

Click here for a full list of parts! Part 2  

Word count: 3.5 K 

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Fire. It was everywhere. You had never seen a fire this large, you were completely engulfed in the flames, yet you weren’t burning. You’re quirk was the reasoning, preventing any damage to you from outside quirks. That was the entire reason that the alpha Enji Todoroki bought you, because he knew you couldn’t be harmed by the current inferno that was his eldest son Touya Todoroki.

“Y/N!” Came the gruff Alpha voice of the current number two hero, glaring down at you. “Make him stop before he burns this whole place down.”

You shivered, even at such a young age, you showed all the tale tell signs of being an Omega. You wanted to tuck tail and run away from the angry Alpha glaring down at you, but you didn’t dare. Glancing back at the raging inferno, you hesitated, while it wouldn’t burn you to touch the fire, it didn’t make it any less terrifying.

“GO!” The smack across your petite face made you chirp loudly with pain, covering your swelling cheek with your hand, tears springing to your eyes.

The fire in front of you both suddenly switched to a different hue, and you could tell that it was burning even hotter than before. The fire was the last time you looked at something with that shade of blue and enjoyed it.

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Piercing blue eyes glared at you from across the room as you gathered up the plates from the table. They followed your every move and you could feel your omega begging to release out a distress scent or to chirp or anything under the terrifying glare of the imposing Alpha. Why was he still here?

“Y/N, I will accompany you to the market today.  I have a couple things I need to get anyways.” Shoto was releasing his usual calming scent but he wasn’t even looking at you. He was watching the news on his phone, completely ignoring whatever conversation his father was trying to have with him.  

“Okay, great.” You tried to keep your voice even as you finished up the dishes quickly. You wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. Your omega even more so, but you should of paid attention to how you worded your response.

“He is an Alpha and you will regard him as such!” The larger Alpha’s voice rang throughout the house and you could feel your body freeze against it’s own will. You let out the softest of all chirps, hearing the chair scratch against the floor as he stood up, the temperature in the room raising.

“I am not her Alpha yet. She can address me as she pleases!” Shoto’s own alpha voice rang out against his father’s, steam building in the room as the hot and cold met. You closed your eyes and slapped an imaginary hand across your omegas mouth to keep her quiet. If you didn’t react, he would leave you alone.

“Let’s go Y/N. I’ll have the car pulled around.” You immediately turned and dashed from the room following Shoto’s quick stride, only stopping to quickly bow to Enji, your eyes downcast.

Once in the car, Shoto let out a soft sigh, his eyes watching outside the window. It was a Saturday, and he didn’t have classes for the day which is the only reason you were allowed outside of the house, away from the protective scent of the pack.

“I’m sorry, Shoto… I should have chosen my words more carefully.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He didn’t even glance at you, causing a slight frown to cross your face. He had grown so detached from you recently since he had told you he wanted to wait until he graduated from UA to bond with you. You had been totally fine with the request, and in all honesty you were relieved. You had grown up together, and you knew that one day it would have to happen, but you were very much so uncomfortable with the thought of being intimate with Shoto. You knew he probably felt just as uncomfortable. But that didn’t stop your Omega from worrying about the fact that Shoto may never want to be with you like that.

“A-are we okay?” You could feel your omega start to stress, a sour smell filling up the car as you crossed your arms around yourself feeling the overwhelming anxiety creeping in of a mate that would never want you. You knew from the day that your family sold you to the Todoroki’s because of your quirk that life wouldn’t be a fairy tale, but you had always latched onto the fact that the Todoroki pups were so sweet to you from the moment you met. After your to be mate, Touya had died, Shoto was always there to tell you it wasn’t your fault. You had hoped that you could at least be happy with him.

Shoto finally looked at you, his nose scrunching up at the smell emiting from your omega, him releasing his own calming scent, much stronger than at the house. Waving you over to him you shuffled across the seat and up against his warm left side, desperately trying to keep your emotions in check. He pulled your hair back and nuzzling up against your scent glands trying to calm you down the way he often saw other alphas do, making sure to scent you lightly so that you would be safe at the market from other alphas.

“Y/N, relax, we are fine. It will all be fine. Once I graduate and become a pro hero, we can bond and we won’t have to stay in that awful house anymore. Then you can nest all you want and no one will take it apart. I promise. I’m sorry for making you feel like this.”

You relaxed once you were engulfed in his scent, peppermint filling up your nose. While he was a couple years younger than you, you knew he would make a great alpha. He did genuinely care about you, and you knew he would always protect you and keep you safe. He wouldn’t get mad at you when you “made a mess” of your room nesting. Maybe one day you two would be able to be proper mates and there will be a different kind of love there. Maybe some pups of your own. 

The car had pulled to a stop and you let Shoto finish up scenting you to cover up your own omega smell before you both exited the car. Shoto offered you his hand to help you out which you happily took, and was a little shocked when he didn’t immediately let go of it. His grip was light and awkward but at least he was trying to show you it was okay. It was short lived though when about ten feet into the market it was too crowded to even hold hands. Instead you lightly gripped onto the back of his shirt following him closely as he weaved through the crowd.

You followed him like that for about ten minutes, only briefly pausing at stalls to pick up the short grocery list that you had brought with you for the week. Only after the list was complete did he finally stop at a stall with freshly made Soba. Rolling your eyes as he weighed his choices as to have it hot or cold you looked around the market.

Something smelled… familiar… but also new at the same time. It was hard to pick it out over all of the mingling scents from the many different people around you. You also weirdly felt like you were being watched. Glancing around you didn’t see anyone staring at you that you noticed, and what was weird about it was that your Omega didn’t feel threatened. Shrugging it off as Shoto turned to ask you what your order was, the world around you exploded into chaos.

“Fire!” Screams surrounded you at every turn and the air turned foul as all of the panicked scents filled the air. Soot covered people’s faces and you could feel the heat of the fire but couldn’t see where it was coming from. Shoto was gone from your sight and immediately your Omega screamed out for him to come back. Desperately wanting to smell his familiar and comforting scent again. You were shoved to the ground by a passing beta group and you felt a sharp pain in your wrist as you braced yourself against the ground.

“Shoto!” Tears were streaming down your face and you weren’t even sure when you started crying. Everything was getting hazy and the smoke in the area was making it hard to see or breathe. The fire must be close if it was affecting you like this. Briefly you wondered if you were in the fire yourself. You could hear others calling out and screaming to run around you but you were frozen to your spot in fear. You hated fire. Everything about it was awful. Memories started swimming in your head of cerulean blue eyes and a fire that matched them as well as the red fires that emanated from the Alpha back at home that hated you.

You felt yourself curl up in a tight ball on the floor behind the food stall, your omega chirping wildly, desperately just wanting Shoto to come back and take you away from all of this. Where did he even go? Probably to go be a hero and put the fire out, but why would he leave you alone?

You sat frozen like that, in full panicked omega mode, for what felt like hours but in reality was only a few minutes before you passed out from the smoke fumes. Only waking up when lean arms reached under you, picking you up and cradling you in their arms protectively before carrying you off to safety of home. You barely registered the pretty blue of the eyes staring down at you before you were out again, consumed in darkness.

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Blue flames fading to red licked against your skin, you not feeling anything but an uncomfortable heat from them as you pushed through the smoldering rubble searching, screaming.

“Touya! Where are you?” You choked on the smoke filling your lungs, but you didn’t dare stop searching. This was your fault. You should have gone in and calmed him down when you were told. It would be your fault if he overheated. Your fault if he got hurt, if he…

No. There was no way. You pushed past the burning in your lungs from the smoke. While the quirk created fire couldn’t hurt you, the smoke that resulted from it definitely could. But still, you kept searching, and you would keep searching until the fireman came and pulled you away, tears streaming down your face as you realized that you’re to be mate was no where to be found.

You would never forgive yourself for the death of Touya Todoroki.

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You sat up with a start, your head pounding as you gasped for air, your lungs still thinking they were full of smoke. You were surrounded by a scent you didn’t recognize. No, that’s not entirely true. You had smelled it before, but you couldn’t place where. It was a strange smell, like a cinnamon whiskey covered in smoke and tobacco. Rubbing your head you looked around at your surroundings, letting out a chirp and pulling your knees into your chest when you realized you were being watched.

The bedroom you were in didn’t look familiar, but the cerulean eyes staring back at you from a chair in the corner distracted you from looking in detail. The lights were out and the dark grey walls made you feel like you were in a teenagers goth bedroom, the only light coming from between the blinds on the window. Other than the bed, a dresser and the chair, there wasn’t very much in the room, if you excluded the overwhelmingly tall and lean black haired alpha that was splayed out comfortably across that chair, his eyes never leaving yours as you did a quick scan of the room, a smirk on his lips.

Even in the barely lit room, you didn’t miss the glint of silver staples and the marred purple-toned skin. You also couldn’t ignore the section of the ceiling that was scorched black above your head. Your eyes widened at the realization that the delicious and somewhat familiar scent was emitting from the alpha in front of you. The smell of cinnamon whiskey and tobacco engulfed in smoke was oddly a warm and welcome smell, but that didn’t change the fact that it was coming from one of the most notorious villains in Japan.

His eyes never left yours as you did a quick mental scan of yourself. You don’t think you were injured other than the throbbing in your right wrist. You also were still in the same clothes as you had been wearing at the market, and even though the alphas scent was strong, you could barely make out the peppermint smell of Shoto, comforting you a little at knowing the alpha hadn’t forcefully scented you. Yet.

The Alpha in question was growing tired of the silent game but he was just as stubborn to let you speak first, pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his lips, lighting the end of it with his pinky at the same time. The small candle sized blue flame was enough to have your omega releasing a distress scent that you were surprised you were able to hold back until now.

The Alpha merely glanced back up at your form, his eyes raking your body slowly, enjoying the view that was in front of him.  The way his eyes hugged the curves of your body, slowing down in parts that particularly enticed him, had you shivering like a wet pup. Once his eyes reached yours again, you watched as his tounge slipped out, sporting a glinting metal ball, licking his lips slowly keeping eye contact with you.

The omega in the back of your head, the one that apparently had a death wish, made a quip about how hot that was but you immediately shut her up and reminded her who exactly you were dealing with.  And as if you needed to be reminded, the Alpha finally, taking his time, stood up, towering over you and taking up a majority of the small room. You watched as he flicked his smoked cigarette to the floor, stepping on it to put it out.  You couldn’t help but pull yourself into the corner of the bed, inching away from him and pulling into yourself, chirping wildly as you closed your eyes waiting to die. You weren’t sure how he was going to kill you, but you didn’t think it was going to be quick when he found out he couldn’t burn you.

Instead of the all too familiar heat from fire, you felt the bed dip as his rough hand slip underneath your jaw, forcing it up to look at him. Opening your eyes you were nose to nose with the bright blue eyes that took your breath away. From this close you could see all the little flecks in them that made up their piercing color. They looked rather familiar.. handsome even, but you refused the dwell on that and forced yourself to stop chirping  and releasing your distress scent as it clearly wasn’t helping the situation. You recognized that the villain probably had the room scent proofed and sound proof, or you were far enough away from civilization that no one would come to your rescue just based off of a distressed omega.

Covering your omega’s distress was difficult, but you had plenty of practice in the last several years, and you were all too familiar with the fact that some alpha’s got off on terrified omegas.

He still didn’t speak as he looked down at you, in fact he didn’t seemed rushed at all as his eyes searched yours for something you weren’t sure, flicking to different parts of your face like he was trying to memorize it. His grasp on your chin didn’t loosen either though, and his free hand snaked its way onto one of your ankles, gripping it lightly, to keep you in place.

You couldn’t handle the silence anymore.

“Are you going to kill me?”

The smirk on his face faltered and a look of almost confusion and something else briefly passed across his face, before it was covered back up with the signature smirk.

“Why would I do that little mouse?”

“Because you’re a villain..” You’re voice was scratchy. You were thirsty, but you weren’t about to tell the murderer in front of you that.

“Ah, so you do know who I am.”

You nodded, unconsciously licking your lips to relieve the ache that was settling there from the dryness. This only caused the villain in front of you to shift his gaze down to your lips, his own parting slightly, breathing in your scent.

“What’s my name?” His voice had dropped an octave and sounded raspier now, which you didn’t think was possible. The sound of it stirred something deep inside you that you begged to hush. The omega inside you was at war with itself. You reminded it once again that you were face to face, nose to nose, with a damned murderer. So to further remind yourself, you forced out his name between clenched teeth.

“Dabi.”

It almost seemed like the villain pouted for a second, like he was wanting another answer, but instead of providing you insight to his reaction, he pulled away from you,  turning back to his chair and sitting down. A wrinkle on his nose in disgust.

“Why do you smell like that half and half hero brat?” That caught you off guard. How did he know Shoto’s smell? How long was he watching you before he captured you?

“H-he’s my alpha..”

“You’re not bonded.” He pointed out lazily.

“We were waiting.”

“What would he possibly be waiting for? That’s just an invitation for someone else to come along and snatch you up5. By the smell of things, he doesn’t even take the time to scent you thoroughly. You sure he even wants you? Has he even noticed you’re gone?”

Your omega let out a soft chirp, hurt by Dabi’s words. You didn’t need to be reminded of anything that he was saying. In the back of your mind you knew it was all true. As much as Shoto tried for your benefit to make things work between you two, you wondered if he even cared that you were gone. Losing you meant he finally had the free will to court whoever he wanted. That Momo girl he was always talking about from school came immediately to your mind.

You tried to push these thoughts to the back of your mind and remind yourself that Shoto still cared about you and still would protect you no matter what. You tried to tell yourself that he was probably on his way right now to come save you and that once he did he would pull you into his arms and dispel any of the villains scent and replace it with his own until you couldn’t smell anything but peppermint.

You also ignored the lone thought pressing into your skull from all sides that maybe you didn’t want Shoto to come rescue you. Maybe you could get out of this without his help and maybe you could start a new life, one where you got to choose your own Alpha.

“Let me go.” Your voice barely a whisper, you couldn’t meet the eyes of the Alpha in front of you.

“No.” He snorted and rolled his eyes like what you said was the stupidest thing he ever heard, and maybe it was given that you just asked a psychopathic killer to just let you go on a whim. “Here’s the deal. You are staying here with me, because you are mine.”

You met his eyes when he said that. Confusion and a bit of fear creeping back into your face. Your heart rate picking up as you hugged your body to shield it from him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bond you without permission, I’m not into rape.” His face showed that he meant that at least, the disgust at even the thought of a forced bond evident for a moment before he shook his head, his eyes caressing your body once again just like he had done several minutes earlier. “But mark my words, Omega, I’ll get permission.”

He licked his lips slowly, once again showing off the piercing in his tongue. His eyes focusing on your lips before finally meeting your own eyes again. You could smell the pheromones pumping off him, making the air around you smell absolutely enticing against better judgment.  

“You were out for almost 8 hours, we need to get you taken care of.” You swallowed, unsure of exactly what he meant by that. 8 hours? And Shoto wasn’t here yet? “Are you hungry?” His voice once again dropped down to that raspy level, and you couldn’t help but let out a small squeak like a mouse caught in a trap.

For some reason, unbeknownst to you, your omega shuddered and not in fear.

[littlemisslipbalm]

I live in the neighbourhood - Part 3

What happened to the cycling classes after work and the occasional drinks with coworkers? Now it was flying to Italy to vacation for the December holidays with Harry and his family and friends.

Ok part 3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and the final part of ilitn i believe! let me know what you think! plssss! Not proofread, but your support means the most and it means the world to see your thoughts, literally anything about it, and this little harry I always have to remember that’s the simp your honor ^ right there! anyway happy reading!

Read Part 1 | 2

Word Count: 10.9k | Warnings: swearing, smut! (finally) - oral (m+f receiving, dirty talk, choking? i can’t remember ngl there might not be, sloppy sex, outdoors by the pooldeck just btw, christmas, idk but hopefully nothing I missed, feelings! happy ending (possibly rushed 

-

“You’re really flying to Italy and then traipsing around the Italian countryside for three weeks with Harry and his family? I cannot believe you’re leaving me behind.”

“You’re gonna kill me for saying this, but he had said I could invite a friend or two if I wanted. But I thought it’d be weird with his family so you literally can’t be mad at me!”

“Fine. I’ll move past it, but how did you move past the whole panic attack? Like you barely spoke to him for a month and then he’s on your doorstep and you’re kissing and agreeing to a Roman Holiday?”

“It’s Harry,” she sighs, laying down on her couch. “How could I not, I got scared because he was gone, but once he was back, nothing else mattered.”

“I guess,” Cate mumbles.

“Oof, sorry Cate I have another call, I’ve got to go…”

By the time she tries to pick up the other line has gone to a message and she’s left to listen to her boss over a voicemail:

“Hey Y/N, I know your holidays have just begun, but I wanted to inform you that you’ll be getting a new client in the new year. Big artist! Anyway, just wanted to inform you that I’ll be emailing over some of their paperwork. Feel free to ignore it until the new year! Have a nice trip.”

She sighs. “Interesting...but will definitely be waiting for the new year to even think about work,” she says to herself.

She throws her phone to the side. Tired of all the phone tag and messages she had begun to have to deal with as the Holiday season dawned more and more upon her. She had more important things to think about. Most important being the suitcase laid out before her and the flight she was bound to be taking in less than 24 hours. This time, she wouldn’t be picking Harry up from the airport. No, this time they were flying out of London Heathrow together.

Together together? She wasn’t sure. The kiss on her doorstep and plea of Italian holiday meant a lot to her, but did it scream committed relationship? She had no idea when it came to Harry. Maybe it was better not to ask and just wait until he told her. Wondering had gotten her in a pit last time and she never wanted to feel the way she had over the last month while he had been gone.

She sleeps in her bed for one last night before leaving for a month. Harry had managed to convince the airline to allow Rori to ride with them in first class, so she wouldn’t have to leave her dog in a kennel or with friends during the holidays. She was grateful for that and she just didn’t understand how she had gotten so lucky as to have someone like Harry in her life.

They fly first class and while Harry had secured her ticket last minute, she insisted that he take her money to pay for the ticket. She was determined to not lose herself in this process. She would happily go along with Harry’s crazy life as long as she maintained her constitution. And paying for her own ticket was one of her ways of doing that.

The flight is short, a quick jaunt compared to the arduous trips across the Atlantic, both her and Harry were quite used to from their work and family lives. He smiles at her throughout the journey, coming across the aisle often to check on her and pet Rori. He would make little jokes that wouldn’t make anyone else laugh but them and he would grab the airpod she would take out and play whatever she had been listening to and offer a dance. His little dances were so sweet, if strange and awkward in the small flight cabin.

She wore grey marbled leggings and a matching thick strapped tank top beneath a nondescript hoodie. Harry’s dressed quite nice for traveling, she presumes in case he’s papped. Linen trousers, a collared coat, and some beaded necklaces he had taken to wearing over the last few months - each month seemed to add on another necklace, but she wasn’t counting.

He had reminded her to bring large sunglasses for the airport.

He had said “I don’t care if we’re seen together, but it’s more for your comfort. I hate when my friend’s lives are put on display for the whole world. You’re not the one who signed up for this.”

She had been appreciative and grabbed her largest pair of sunglasses because truthfully she didn’t want to be seen with Harry. She didn’t want the whole world knowing her or her business, it wasn’t who she was. No, not at all. So when they step off the plane and head to baggage claim after customs, she feels aware of her surroundings in a way she never has been. It reminds her of the way Jeff, Charlotte, and Mitch had conducted themselves in the bar that one time. Extremely alert. Watching people’s eye movements and considering whether they recognized her companion. She trails behind him a fair amount, three paces at least. Harry glances back every few moments, checking in to make sure she’s still with him as they move through the bustling airport.

They make it to baggage claim with no stops, but sadly Harry’s luggage seems to give him away. That or just his presence, he was a 6 foot tall and extremely broad man who gave off this energy that couldn’t help but turn eyes. And all it took was one of those eyes to recognize the fluff of hair, the olive-y skin, the peaking bird tattoos and colorful necklaces to alert the world of just where he was.

He doesn’t get stopped for any pictures, but she feels the number of eyes on him grow. She also watches as Harry doesn’t shrink from the growing attention. If anything, it simply makes him move quicker, but only slightly. He glances at her once to see her hood up and big green glasses covering up half her face. Rori has left his carrier and is covering the other half as she pushes a cart in front of her. He makes a nondescript nod and then sets off towards the exit, she follows behind easily.

By the time they’re in the car that was waiting to drive them to Harry’s villa, he’s gotten buzzed by Jeff just to check-in since a few photos have been uploaded of him at the airport. People were so fast. She shook her head in disbelief as she looked up Harry Styles on twitter and saw the scene she had just been apart of minutes ago on her screen now. She’s unrecognizable in the photos she happens to appear in and to everyone else she looks like another traveler instead of Harry’s companion or whatever she was to him. Instead of his friend.

Harry calls Jeff as they’re driven to his lovely sprawling home near Lake Como. He informs him they’re fine - he is quick to ensure that Y/N is well after asking her himself once they had gotten into the confines of the small car. She thinks it’s sweet especially because she was sure that Jeff really was more focused on Harry and his well-being since he was both his friend and his client while she was just an extra. The two men talk about the flight and customs and what Jeff will be doing with his holiday since he had turned down Harry’s invitation to come out to Italy as well. This leaves her to stare out the window at the passing scenery. She and Rori are completely content with this as they watch the tranquil life around them as they pass by little forests and towns over cobblestoned ground.

The colors seem brighter throughout Italy compared to the sad and gloomy winter of London. The dreary scape traded for something far more picturesque. Italy growing ever more beautiful the closer they drive to Harry’s home. Everything was so radiant, from the sun shining above her head to the little dew drops still pooled on the perfectly green leaves of plants she knew not the names of.

The car pulls up to the long driveway to Harry’s place which he insisted was just a house, but she knew better. The driveway felt like half a mile of perfect cobblestones, seemingly handpicked to make the smoothest drive. Outside the house sat a gorgeous little convertible that was in between steel and cream and sparkled in the sun. The top was currently up, but she could tell the interior was just as nice as the exterior. Harry had a thing for cars and she suspected that no matter where he was, he managed to keep his cars in perfect condition.

The house was breathtaking due to its simultaneous simplicity and intricacy. It’s coloring was variations of cream and gold and some terra cotta. But it sprawled into the hillside behind it and wrapped around the nature to the side of it and the pool to the back right of it. There also was a little separate shed like thing that also seemed to be a residence. Harry insisted it was just an extra bedroom, but it looked like almost another house to her.

As she stepped out of the car, she thought that she might get lost in that house if she was left to wander around it by herself. A feeling she feared to get accustomed to.

The door of the house was a dark green that seemed oddly familiar to her as she walked through it. And when Harry looked back to make sure she had gotten in the house alright she recognized it. His door somehow matched the color of his eyes in dark lighting. A green that was timeless and ancient at the same time. A green that was unnerving yet inviting. A green that was Harry. She never thought she had a favorite color, but in that moment she was sure it was his eyes.

Harry calls her name and she realizes he’s been saying it for awhile.

“Sorry?”

He smiles fondly at her confused face and leans towards her as if he might kiss her. She stops breathing in that moment, wanting more than anything for that to be his next move. His chest brushes against hers, his warmth invading her space. His face is a mere milimeter from hers and she can count every speck of stubble on his jaw. But his lips don’t brush gently over hers in a way that she knew was addicting. Instead, his strong hand reaches past her and shuts the entrancing green door gently.

His eyes flicker back to her face when he pulls back, taking a single step backwards to allow for a comfortable space between them. Still close, but not like he’s about to embrace her expecting frame and kiss her.

“I asked if you wanted a tour of the house? Or if you just wanted me to pick your room.” His eyes are crinkled at the corner, a smile on his face even though his mouth is hung open in a lingering question.

She blinks her eyes and twitches her head to glance around the rest of her surroundings. Rori had run off the moment they had gotten in the door. The hallway Harry and she found themselves was narrow and simple, a single painting right behind Harry’s head was the sole decoration and a tapestry style rug beneath their feet. She nods after a moment, feeling all her words caught somewhere in her throat for no reason at all.

“Good,” he nods and gives her a funny look, trying to understand her quiet demeanor. “Just drop your stuff here for now,” he adds.

His hand encircles her wrist, as it had grown accustomed to, to lead her through the house. She bites her lower lip to muffle the little giggle that somehow escapes her as he tugs her playfully down and through the house.

He goes on about almost every piece of art and trinket he has hung and placed throughout the house. Each thing has its story and Harry waxes eloquent on every single one. He shows her each room in the house and then leads her outside through the single door of the master bedroom on the second floor. The door takes them onto a small balcony that overlooks the center of the estate which included the pool and then a garden to the left of the converted poolhouse - what Harry insisted it be called when Y/N had told him it was a mini house.

His hand has traveled down to intertwine with hers as the tour had drawn on. So as he leads her down the little spiral staircase to the ground floor, she hums at the warmth his thumb rubs into her skin ever so softly. His eyes flicker to her face and hold her gaze for a moment as he watches her descend the last two stairs.

She smiles at him, her cheeks rosy from the air outside. They walk between the garden and the pool to reach the “converted pool house” and she stops for a moment to dance her fingers through the perfectly clean pool water - he must have had a housekeeper who came by recently to open everything up and clean it all.

“This is truly amazing, Harry,” she sighs as she stares out at the entire house from the single stone upstep to the little cottage. It gave her a view of the entire place besides the front of the house. It was gorgeous.

Harry nods, tucking his head to his chest slightly, possibly feeling a little bashful. Behind the successful man that stood before her was a young boy with a dream that had made this possible and he never forgot that.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely and unlocks the door of the cottage, a similar green is painted on this door as well.

She goes ahead of him at his request and he watches her fingers on the green paint, caressing it softly, each finger never wishing to leave it as they slowly depart its surface. This place is just a microcosm of the house they had just been. A kitchenette, a living area, a bedroom, and a full bath - including a freestanding tub.

She all but runs around the place, fingers running over the countless spines of books that Harry mindlessly chose to store there in ceiling high bookshelves and eyes taking in prints of personal photography he had been too nervous to store anywhere but here. There were larger poster sized prints as well as smaller ones, all black and white, of different scenes on the walls of the living area. Some were portraits of loved ones, others were landscapes of cities and countryside alike, and some were of past lovers with their hair swept behind them as they looked back at Harry in some beautiful place. She smiled at these obviously film photographs and turned to Harry after a moment, almost mirroring the people in the more personal pictures.

“When’s the last time you used your camera?” She asks.

Harry’s figure is perched in the door, his body slightly slumped on the frame while he rolls his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. He hums, thinking back to the last time he took out his camera.

“Last tour...I think. I got film back with Camille in it and I just didn’t feel like putting more in it after that,” he rasps out and clears his throat at the end, clearly unnerved by the topic.

“Well, these are beautiful, you have a smart eye for catching precious moments,” she smiles softly, understanding Harry’s apprehension.

“Thanks,” his voice still a bit deeper than usual, “I still use my Super8 pretty regularly when I’m doing things for work. Like when I shoot music videos, I usually bring it along to get my own footage for later.”

She only nods and watches him enter the room, moving closer to her to gaze at the images more up close as well.

“I like to have something to remember it by. Just in case, someday,” he starts and sighs, eyes trained on the wall of memories, “My mind isn’t what it once was.”

She watches him delicately place his hand on the couch behind them to brace himself and she notices the slight fear in his face as he says it. She blinks at the scene in front of her. A man in an amazing moment in his life fearful that it might all disappear from his vision someday. A horrible thought that seems to plague him more often than one would expect.

She nudges closer to him immediately. Her shoulder brushes his arm as she presses her head to his own shoulder and stays there firmly.

“Thank you,” she whispers and his head drops down to look at her face now radiating warmth against him. “For sharing this with me.”

His hand on the couch moves to wrap around her shoulders and pull her closer. Instinctively, she wraps her arms around his waist and he rests his head atop of hers. He stays silent but places a chaste kiss in her hair. She squeezes harder, telling him everything is alright and all he had to be with her was himself.

He switches his gaze between the girl wrapped up in him and the pictures of the rest of his life in front of him and he takes it all in. He feels safe, a comfort he was hard pressed to find with his life always on the move. The bustling change felt eons away while he was wrapped up in her. She was constant and kind. Understanding. She took him as he was, no expectations. That realization has him melting further into her, his head dropping down to her shoulder and nosing into her hair. His hands cusping at the back of her neck and the small of her back. And he presses firmly yet gently.

They stand there, swaying slightly to an unknown tune that played only in their private world of just them two.

A branch sways too and breaks them out of their reverie when it taps against the French doors that lead out to somewhere else in Harry’s estate.

“I think I’d like to stay here, if that’s alright,” she says, pulling back from him only slightly.

His hands migrate from their embrace around her back and neck and slide to her hip and her shoulder separately. Her hands both rest on his chest and she feels his consistent heartbeat that she had been listening to for the last few minutes against her ear.

His eyes sparkle at her suggestion. “Really? There’s plenty of spots in the main house,” he rushes.

“No, I love this place,” she glances around once more, soaking in the cozy room that housed Harry’s art. “Plus, your family will be here tomorrow and you should all be together under one roof for the holidays. I know how rare that can be.”

He nods in agreement and twists a tendril of her hair around one of his fingers slowly. She doesn’t notice until he makes an experimental and playful tug on it. Her lips purse at the feeling and her eyes narrow.

“You’re an evil little thing under all those layers of niceties and kind words, Mr. Styles,” she says as she pulls away from him.

Now that it was decided on where she would be staying for the next few weeks, she wanted to get her things settled and take a shower possibly. She also needed to check in on Rori and see what he had gotten up to while they had been wandering.

Harry laughs, filled with an unmatched glee as he follows her out of the cottage and back into the main house, “I can show you evil if that’s what you want, dove. I’ll give you anything you want.”

And while she knows he’s saying this in jest, she knows he’s also telling the truth. He’d give her just about anything she wanted, all she had to do was ask.

-

After settling the house a bit, finding where Rori wanted to sleep - he chose inside the main house, and some showers, she and Harry both felt refreshed.

She walked out of the front door of the cottage and crossed to the French doors at the middle point of the house. They had them open to get fresh air in the house and she walked right through and into the kitchen where she found Harry and her dog happily perched on the countertop.

Rori batted at Harry’s hands and nuzzled into his scratches as Harry cradled him to his chest. It was criminally sweet and she knocked on the door frame to pull Harry’s attention away from her furry friend.

“You look nice,” Harry smiles.

She glances down at her outfit; a cashmere olive colored sweater and high waisted cream corduroys along with her sneakers of choice. She thought it was casual, but she appreciated the compliment nonetheless. She murmurs a thanks and a quick “you too”, she didn’t even need to look at what he was wearing, he always looked good. Her head tilts to rest on the door frame as well, her eyes trained on Harry’s face.

“Do you want to go for a drive?” He inquires as he places Rori back on the ground.

The dog scampers to her side for a moment before running off to do his own thing. Her lips quirk up on the sides and her eyes narrow slightly. He’s looking at her with a quiet confidence set in his jaw that she doesn’t quite understand.

His smile makes her bite her lip, slightly unnerved by the energy he was giving off. Maybe it was because they were completely alone - not something new to them since that’s how they interacted almost solely, but something about being in Italy seemed to have shifted the dynamic. Something in the water or whatever that saying was.

“Do I get to drive?” She stands from her leaning position and crosses in front of him.

His laugh comes out quickly and heartily. “No chance, dove.”

She groans and pushes at his shoulder.

“Trust me, you’ll like it better. Can just enjoy the scenery, don’t have to focus on the road.”

He wraps a hand around her waist and then scoots her towards the door that would lead them out of the house. She giggles at the contact and she feels him watching her. It felt nice, felt simply theirs.

He drove her down the driveway and onto a country road until it merged into a road by the lake. He brought the top down so the wind rushed around them, blustering about as he drove at a quick yet somehow leisurely pace. She glanced at the scenery and took a few pictures, but something else kept demanding her attention.

Harry. He was a quiet kind of handsome in this moment. It wasn’t in your face, it was just how each curve of his skin seemed perfectly placed. Every pore was clear and every mole had a reason. His tattoos peeking from his collar and shirt sleeves were that perfect inky black that remained smooth. It was consistent, the way his hair fell over his forehead and he would smooth it back without even thinking. His eyes were focused and bright, yet slightly stormier than normal. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. And she wondered what she had done to be beside him at that moment. Wondered what it was that she had done to be cared for by Harry.

His hand on her leg brings her out of her mind once again. His looks always seemed to get her lost in thought. He was just that special. No one else had ever caused any similar reaction. His fingers splay on her thigh, no rings on them today. He rubs his thumb back and forth softly and she leans closer to him to whisper in his ear. They were completely alone, but it felt like something even the wind didn’t deserve to hear.

He tilts his head to her, eyes flickering to her movement for a moment and then back to the road. His hand on her thigh slips upwards with how she moves.

“I’m the most lucky girl in the world,” she says, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she says the words.

She pulls back and stares at him, her hand going down to her thigh to play with his lovingly. He looks at her again and sees her serious expression. This causes him to pull over on the side of the road by the water. He rubs at her thigh again with his thumb and she shifts in her seat.

“And why’s that?” His voice low as he asks and shifts the car into park.

“Because I’m here, with you. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything in this world.”

He hums in response and licks at his lips when her sweater happens to fall off her shoulder. She notices the slip, but doesn’t bother to fix it since she also saw how Harry’s eyes danced over the newly exposed skin.

“I wouldn’t trade this either” the words dance slowly off the tip of his tongue. His accent fuller as he says the last word. “Let’s walk around,” Harry suggests when he sees her eyes flicker between his and his lips.

They explore the grassy area that lives just before the dip of the water at Harry’s request. He guides her along with his hand entwined with hers. Her eyes stay on only him still, the scenery unable to compare to the beauty of him that she was just fully realizing how bad she wanted to be enveloped in. His profile is illuminated by the sun shining above them and she swears he’s sparkling under the light.

The fear of what they were and all of the things that came along with labels were the furthest away thoughts. The man who had been the quirky neighbour had transformed into the man she was pretty sure she was in love with. Too afraid to say those three words, she decided the best thing she could do was to show rather than tell.

“Harry,” she calls and he stops his wandering, turning to face her instead.

A hand reaches up to trace over his strong cheekbone and caresses down the side of his face and cradles his slightly stubbled jaw. Her thumb rubs over the place where his dimple often showed up. He sighs into her touch and says her name back. His voice fails him as he gazes down at her, everything he means to say dies in his throat, for once at a loss for words.

She purses her lips and reaches up to connect their lips, having missed his sweet lips touch. They were meant to press against hers. Harry seems to forget how to breathe, her initiating the kiss between them, something foreign to him, but not unwelcome. He leans down to make it easier on her and she glows in his reciprocation. His hand shifts to cradle the back of her head as the kiss continues. Their lips dance, brushing back and forth, tongues slightly licking into one another’s mouths ever so delicately, playfully even.

A specific clash of teeth as the kiss continues leads to a breathless laugh from her as Harry presses himself closer to her. His other hand pressing her waist safely into him. She happily obliges, sinking one hand to rest over his backside which makes him smile.

“Naughty,” he mumbles against her brightening lips, eyebrows bobbing over his closed eyes.

She laughs now, her head tilting up for a moment, eyes opening to look at his face, yet up so close it's just his eyes and upper cheeks. His eyes are extra large from this angle and the grey green they had been dancing between had merged into a darkening seafoam green that was rather rare for them. She wanted to take an inventory of every color his eyes managed to be, but she was sure the list would never end.

“You like it,” she quips back, a peck sneaked at the corner of his mouth. That little love touch leads to more minutes of making out. Her supple and soft chest against his strong one, hands roaming the other’s body searching for purchase. Soft sighs and gentle moans leave Harry’s mouth when she nibbles at his ear and leaves loving kisses to his neck and collarbone. She makes similar sounds when he laves his tongue over the hollow of her neck and mouths happily on her neck.

The sight of them is two lovers enthralled in each other’s mouths and bodies in a meadow beside a lake. The sounds of nature are only overtaken by their happiness with each other.

When he ruts his hips against her body and she writhes against him with eagerness previously not seen, Harry realizes just how in public they are and he pulls away. A whine of discontent falling from her lips before she can control herself.

“We should…” He falters again, staring down at his neighbour he had begun to want more than anything else in the world, “Should head back.”

“Right,” she nods curtly.

Hands falling back to her sides, but Harry grabs one of them and intertwine their fingers as they had them before. She smiles so wide her eyes crinkle at the corners and he can’t help himself to peck at the left side of her temple.

They drive back to the house and Harry suggests a dip in the pool which Y/N agrees to easily. Something to cool them off from the heavy makeout session they had partaken in down by the water.

“Everyone else is arriving tomorrow,” Harry says after he surfaces from his expert dive into the deep end. He treads water lightly and drifts towards her.

She’s floating on her back a little ways from him. Her hair was shimmery all wet again and the  skin of her face glowed with tiny droplets. Her eyes were closed as she moved her hands back and forth through the comfortable water.

She feels his eyes on her, burning into her, waiting for a response. She peaks open one eye and looks at him. His cheeks pinken quickly from the slight embarrassment of being caught, but he doesn’t look away.

“It’s going to be really fun, Harry,” she rights herself and swims closer to him causing him to smile happily. “I’m really happy to be here.”

“It won’t be just us anymore,” he says, swimming backwards and creating a slight chase for her as she follows after him.

She narrows her eyes at his tactics, but still follows as he swims to the edge of the pool where they could both stand.

“Nope, but we’re gonna really get the holiday spirit flowing. Family dinners and games, shopping for gifts...this really is one of my favorite times of the season,” she smiles back at him and puts her hand against the edge of the pool, her chest emerging from beneath the cooling water.

Droplets roll down her chest, racing down her body and in between her cleavage. Harry’s eyes follow the water droplets disappearing beneath her bright red tied bikini top. He gets distracted when the air pebbles her nippls beneath the thin wet fabric, his tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight. The round of her breast was especially full in the thin fabric. He had never seen this much of her despite their friendship lasting for many months now. It was...mouthwatering and his eyes stayed trained on her breasts as they rhythmically moved up and down with her breathing. It was like a spell.

That he was brought out of when a splash of water flicks at his face. She gives him an obvious look saying she had caught him staring and then she rolls her eyes at his smirk obviously not embarrassed by his latest fixation.

“We won’t be alone like this,” he steps closer to her, his own chest running with water droplets. His hair messy and wet atop his head as he pushes it off his forehead. “Possibly at all for the next three weeks,” he continues and hears her breath catch as he moves even closer. His body hovers a moment away from hers as he stares down at her. His nose almost brushes hers as he starts to lean down. She stays almost completely still. Her head moves though to allow Harry access to where his mouth seems to be headed, the side of her neck.

“After today,” he whispers before smudging an open mouthed kiss just below her ear.

A small gasp escapes her at his hot breath and a searing kiss against her chilled skin. She feels his smirk on her skin as he continues down her neck, leaving spongy eager kisses down the column.

“Well, I don’t think that’s a problem,” she tries to remain composure, feeling the burn inside of her pitch back up. The fire had dulled from the kissing by the lake once they had swam, but here he was pressing into her once again. Suddenly more eager and forward than he had ever been. Her breathing is hard to regulate with his expert hands running along her naked sides below the water and his legs backing her into the edge of the pool while his lips make love to her neck.

“Oh?” Harry hums, moving a hand up to fiddle with a strap of her top, the wet nylon twisting easily and then he lets it snap back softly. Her arousal only grows from the tiny smack. “Not a problem, eh?” His lips travel down between her breasts and she gasps in anticipation.

“Won’t be able to make you feel this good anytime you want,” he breathes and then ghosts over her covered pebbled nipple.

“You’re a tease, Harry,” she grips at his shoulders that are hunched to allow him to kiss on her. Her eyes having the perfect view of his curved neck and spine, the skin an expanse of clear perfect flesh, no tattoos in sight from this angle. The little curls at the nape of his neck trickling with spare droplets as he sucks on her own skin.

“Hmm…” his lips travel back up to the underside of her jaw causing her to tilt her head back and her stimulated chest to press into Harry’s. A chuckle passes against her skin as he feels her two points press into him.

Then, suddenly, he pulls back and grips at the back of her head to make her look at him. His eyes are deep and dark as the day starts to wear on, the sun beginning to set off in the distance.

“Maybe I need to demonstrate just what you’ll be missing out on?” He tilts his head at his suggestion and the glimmer in his eyes shows that he knows exactly what he has to say to get his friend - and soon to be lover - riled up.

Her chest heaves once, longing for the warm touch of Harry’s lips again. “What are you getting at?”

“Wanna make you feel so good you’re begging me to call my family up and tell them to not bother coming because we won’t be leaving your bed for the next few weeks.”

A breathless laugh leaves her, in disbelief, but also in wanton need. Her desire for him grew tenfold in the last ten minutes. His last sentence leaves her itching with longing. For his touch as he promised it.

“Give me the best you got then,” she challenges, her conviction never wavering despite her needy state.

That little sentence is what sets Harry’s eyes ablaze and has him gripping her waist and picking her up and setting her on the edge of the pool.

A quick press of his lips against hers and a “wait here” before he’s pulling himself from the water and shuffling to grab one of the towels he had laid out. She watches him curiously, confused why he had just promised to ravage her but was pausing to towel off.

He comes back with the towel and lays it behind her.

“Harry, what are -”

A finger presses to her swollen lips as his other hand goes to her shoulder and lays her back.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

She nods, eyes wide and glassy as she stares up at him kneeling over her, his body between her bent knees. He leans down to press another kiss to her lips and then begins his decent.

“Gonna make you feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” he whispers.

Down her throat that he had happily been sucking on. His lips ghost over her still hard nipples and his hot breath has her arching off the ground immediately. A whine leaving her lips when he mouths between her two breasts in the valley just above the tie of suit. His fingers dance around on her skin, playing with her swimsuit fabric and she wants to scream at him to just untie it and really touch her, but she refrains. He continues his assault down her body. His hands grip at her knees when his lips travel below her navel. Her breaths have grown more strained as he’s gotten closer and closer to her heat. The cold wet fabric that covered her was a poor substitute to what she wanted to rub against her.

“Please,” she begs in a sigh as Harry’s lips skip where she wants him, instead traveling to her upper inner thigh.

He spreads her legs wider with his arms and her back arches further, her body just about fully on display for Harry. His eyes flicker up to her face that was staring right back down at him, watching his every move.

The cheeky bottoms left little to the imagination and the ties on the sides were so enticing Harry’s fingers smoothed up her thighs and began to toy with them. His face now hovering over her clothed center. His breath fanning the flames of her arousal just below the cherry fabric.

“See,” he smirks, eyes back on her face, “I haven’t even touched you yet, but you’re already begging.

“You’re an ass,” she grits out, trying to not be bothered by how easily he has gotten her in this position.

He clicks his tongue and tugs experimentally at one of the bottoms ties, “S’not a very nice thing to say to the man who’s about to stick his tongue in ya’?”

She gasps and slaps at his right shoulder at his crudeness. “You’re dirty!”

“And you’re wet,” he says confidently, smirking up from between her legs.

His fingers finally tug the ties undone and pull the fabric away from her center. The red bikini bottom falls limply to the ground and Harry’s eyes train on her glistening mound. Wet with the pool water as well as her arousal. To add to the cool air ghosting over her newly exposed skin, Harry blows his own breath over her. She writhes at the sensation, she bites at her lip to hold back any possible moans.

He glances at her face again and settles one arm to be wrapped around her leg and pressing down on her left hip. His other hand snakes between his face and her body and lightly drags between her folds. She bucks her body again, completely in need of some friction after all of the build up and teasing of today. Every nerve down there was electrified at the possibility of Harry finally touching her like this.

His finger pulls back and a string of arousal clings to him, a testament to the filthy thoughts she had about her neighbour. Thoughts she had pushed away for so long until recently. Thoughts she only indulged in in the dead of night, when she was exhausted but her mind insisted on wandering to the green sharp eyes that might stare at her if he ever were to delve into her depths. Her hands would travel to where he was now and rub out a triumphant shake of her thighs and heaving chest all in hopes that maybe he would bring her to that euphoria himself one day. Well that day was today.

He filthily takes that finger into his mouth and grins.  “So wet,” he corrects.

His eyes disappear from view as he launches into his work. His drying curls flop over his forehead and tickle at her lower stomach slightly. He flattens his tongue and licks a strong stripe between her folds. The wet from her weeping hole spreads to her lips and around her clit as his finishes the lick with a little swirl. He uses his free hand to spread apart her lips a little more and takes the new angle to suck on the little puffy nub that is already throbbing. She gasps audibly when he pulls off of it with a squelching sound.

“Fuck,” he sighs and goes back to eating her out, happily pressing his tongue into her.

His hand on her hip travels to grope at one of her breasts and he deftly pulls at the top’s tie and grips onto her skin underneath the fabric. The strong grip mixed with his expert work between her thighs has her moaning loudly and her body writhing as he builds her up.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he rasps, thumb on her nipple flicking happily back and forth. “Scream it out,” he says into her quivering center, “Nobody around to hear you, be as loud as you want.”

She moans louder at his words, her hands gripping harder into his hair. The thought of this scene turns her on even more. In all honesty, if someone did hear them she’d kind of like it. If someone walked in and saw her stretched out next to the pool with their wet bodies writhing against each other in pleasure. Harry’s head buried between her thighs making her feel better than she ever has, her breasts falling out of their top as he massages them harshly.

“Taste so sweet,” he groans, lapping at her tight hole, the muscle contracting against his tongue’s invasion.

She liked how messy he got with it, not that she really had much coherent thoughts in this moment. But his hot tongue swiping up and down and back and forth over her glistening lips and sucking on her clit left her breathless. Her juices and his saliva were making a mess of her thighs and the towel below her. When Harry felt her getting closer he’d back off and pay attention to another part of her and then go back to sucking and nipping perfectly into her.

She was eventually stuttering out, “I’m going to cum, Harry.” Breathing becoming uneven as she was about to tip over the edge. He nods, sucking harder at her clit one last time before taking his tongue and pushing it in and out of her hole, one of his thumbs traveling to rub over her clit in quick succession.  

“Cum for me, dove,” he mumbles quickly before going back to making her feel good.

She grips her own nipple now with one hand and Harry’s hair with the other, her hips pushing up into Harry’s face over and over again. And then she’s hitting her climax and tipping over the edge, a moan ripping from her throat and freezing on her face as Harry eats her out through it. His tongue licking over her quivering pussy. His thumb rubbing comforting circles around her clit until she stopped shaking. Her breathing slowing down, eyes fluttering open eventually. They lazily stare at the man below her who’s lips and chin are slick with her juices as he grins up at her.

“Do you want me to call my mum now or wait until you’re fully back on earth,” he says slyly and kisses the inside of her thigh once more. Eyes lovingly staying on her pleasured out face.

“Seriously talking about your mom while you’re still between my thighs,” she breathes out, completely in disbelief. Harry and her had never gone that far before and it was life changing. He had been right, even if she didn’t want to admit it, she wasn’t sure if she could go three weeks without that again.

He sits up and begins to gently pull back on her swim bottoms and tie them back up. She lays there watching him work.

“How about now?” He asks with a smirk, moving to sit beside her and help her sit up when her bottoms have been readjusted. The fabric against her newly sensitive area was definitely interesting, but she couldn’t care with Harry beside her. She ties off her top on her own, even though Harry gestured that he could do it.

“Shut up,” she laughs and takes a hand to caress at his cheek.

He nuzzles into her touch.

“You forget I’m staying in the cottage...separate from everyone else,” she winks at him.

“Think they’ll still be able to hear ya’ from in there, dove. You’re a loud one,” he bites the inside of his cheek as he teases her.

She huffs and drops her hand, “I was gonna return the favor, but now I don’t think so.”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh and reach out to her face, he pulls her face close to his, bringing her eyes level with his. “I’m just teasing. Plus, you don’t need to return the favor, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

A laugh bubbles from her lips at the thought of Harry wanting her as much as she wanted him and she pecks at his lips. She grimaces only a little, tasting herself on him still.

“We’ll just have to be sneaky,” she pulls back and rests her forehead against his.

“Yeah,” Harry breaths out. His breath hitches when he feels her hand begin to trail down his chest and fiddle with the hem of his shorts. Her eyes are trained on his, expressionless like she wasn’t beginning to palm his hardened length over his sticky swim shorts.

“I told you,” he musters, “You don’t have to.”

“But,” she rasps, finally. “I want to,” she licks her lips with determination, “Want to make you feel good, too.”

He hums as her soft fingers go back up to the hem of his shorts and he helps her pull them down as he gives a nod of approval to her watching eyes.

Her eyes widen when his length is finally revealed and its bright red tip stands tall and strong against Harry’s stomach, placing itself slightly just below one of the ferns. Harry watches her lick at her hand and then places it between his thighs, her body positioned right next to him. On her knees, she makes an experimental first pump, seeing how his body responded. Her eyes mainly watch his face and an open mouthed smirk twitches onto his face when he notices her gaze. She pumps him again, twisting her wrist this time and swiping at the precum leaking from his tip. A groan leaves Harry’s mouth at that and his stomach flexes, the skin beneath his many tattoos hardening.

“Feel good?” She inquires.

“Great,” he breathes out as she leans forward on her knees and attaches her mouth over his head.

She slowly moves her head down and attempts to fit his entire length into her mouth, but despite her best efforts, she can’t quite get her throat to open up for his entirety yet. After holding him there for a moment, his head scratching at the back of her throat, she pulls off. Heaving a sigh and continuing to work him with her hand, her now glassy eyes look at him. Saliva gathers at her mouth and Harry can’t help himself but reach one of his hands from behind him to her lips. He swipes at it and presses the wet to her lips which she sucks at eagerly, a whine hidden beneath the action.

When his hand pulls away she says, “You’re quite girthy.”

“Girthy?” He sputters, both at the funny comment but also that she’s said it while still jacking him off.

“Mhmm,” she nods seriously, “Couldn’t get you all in.”

“That’s alright,” he starts, but falters on a specifically masterful tug. She grins, knowing what she's doing to him. “You seem to excel, no matter the setbacks.”

“I’ll get it eventually,” she begins to speed up her strokes, “Just need a bit of practice.”

Then her lips are pressing back onto Harry’s prick. She sucks solely at his head and Harry moans out as he gets more sensitive. Then she slides down further and bops her head vigorously. She wants Harry to come undone for her just like she had for him. Make him feel like she had moments ago. And within a few more minutes of enthusiastic sucking and pumping of her hands, even some fondling of his balls which Harry had been extremely receptive to, she has him stuttering beneath her.

One hand gripping at her hair, while the other keeps him upright, Harry’s head is thrown back on his shoulders as he tries to keep his eyes open and trained on the girl taking him so well down her lovely little throat.

“I’m almost there, sweetheart,” he pants, his hips bucking up once as he begins to lose control.

This only spurs her forward, spit drooling down his cock every time she pulls back from his slightly. Her ass is high in the air now as she arches over his length, trying to get him to unload.

“Taking me so well,” Harry praises. “Fuck,” he exclaims at another squeeze of his balls.

She swirls her tongue around his runny head and then hollows her cheeks and sucks on him with everything she’s got. This has Harry cursing and repeating her name, his load spurting into her mouth as she stays still. His chest now covered in beads of sweat as he tries to catch his breath after tipping over the edge himself. His eyes are trained on her. She keeps her lips diligently around his cock, wanting to swallow everything he’s just expended. When he’s done, she pulls back and sits on her legs, swallowing quickly and staring at Harry as she does it.

His eyes bug at the sight. She was the hottest woman in the world and she’d just sucked him off so well that he’s pretty sure he saw stars. Then she made eye contact as she swallowed his cum with her pretty little bikini barely covering her anymore, as she seemed to shift slightly uncomfortable in her drying bottoms. God, he was fucked.

“Shit,” he says, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re an absolute angel.”

-

Harry’s family arrives the next day and the pair have a hard time keeping their hands off of each other. She doesn’t know why they decide to start this little game where they pretend like they don’t want to jump each other’s bones each minute of the day. But as the days go by, they maintain to his family and chosen family that they are only neighbours who became friends. Anne gives a knowing look to Gemma every so often and Gemma’s boyfriend whispers in her ear sometimes, but for the most part they buy it.

No one notices that some nights Harry’s or Y/N’s beds are vacant sometimes. They don’t see him descend his spiral staircase at midnight or see her scamper next to the pool and slip into her cottage in the wee hours of the morning.

In the nights, it’s Harry’s soft lips pressed against her hot skin, panting praise and leaving little bite marks that can’t be seen with clothes on. Her lips mouth at his shoulder when fills her up and she exhales a breath that feels like she’s been waiting to let go for her entire life. They make each other feel good and they don’t talk about it but the secrecy of it makes it all the more enticing.

At least that’s what she thinks. Harry had been completely ready to tell his family about him and Y/N, at least that things were new between them, but when she introduced herself to his mum and Gemma she had said she was a friend. Harry had gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing hard, taking in the change of direction and agreeing with Y/N immediately. “Just a friend” he confirmed with a nod of his head and glance at her. She had smiled wide and given a hug to the other most important women in his life like she’d known them forever.

He didn’t understand why she wanted it this way, but his objections would be forgotten when night fell and she’d do the things he’d only dreamt of. Her breathy whimpers and pliant body would all but wipe his mind of any other thoughts but her and then he had no complaints, just a wish for the night to never end.

Y/N doesn’t even tell Cate when she calls her a week into the trip. It’s just something she wants to keep to herself and Harry. Their own private world.

It’s Christmas Eve when that bubble pops. The Champagne has been flowing for hours non stop - well only stopping when a different drink is in their hands, whether that be red or white wine or a mixed drink Harry has decided to concoct.

In the big Italian house, he’s free of prying eyes and he’s able to truly spend quality time with his loved ones. They have fancy dinners at private restaurants, go on gorgeous hikes, swim, and relax. They have a good time with playing holiday games, which they do most nights when they stay in.

Tonight’s the first night that Harry and Y/N haven’t ended up on the same team. He fears that most times he cheats it by swapping a paper or two, but tonight the alcohol has fizzed his brain and he forgot. This shouldn’t be a problem, not really. Except that everyone in the house has learned over the past week and a half that besides being perfectly matched in almost everything else, Harry and her are both equally and extremely competitive. Being on the same team has both advantages and avoids squabbles like the one the house has found themselves in at half past 11.

Harry’s arguing that his team got the last question before the buzzer went off, but she won’t back down. She is sure that Gemma had said the correct answer, but after the timer had run out. Everyone else was too sauced to care, but Harry and her were adamant and passionate about game play. As the argument heats up, Anne gives Gemma another one of those looks.

Y/N has stood up and crossed the short distance to Harry. She’s a breath away from him and he puffs up his chest, his eyes dark and serious as he’s ready to fight for this win all night.

“The time was out,” she says simply, but her eyes are beginning to glower.

“No. It was not.” He states back.

His eyes narrow at her as she stares right back at him.

“Was too.”

“Was not.”

They go back and forth, rapid fire as the alcohol in their veins flows straight to their mind and hearts.

“Children please!” Gemma exclaims,  finally growing tired of the bickering. “It’s Christmas. Harry show some spirit and let your guest have the final say.”

They think she’s done but then adds, “Or else she might never want to come back here.”

Harry exhales harshly through his nose as his gaze flickers to his older sister and listens to her scolding. Handing over the timer to Y/N, which had been what kept them from moving on, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

“Oh gosh,” Y/N says after a moment, her frazzled mind processing that Harry’s leaving has something to do with her. A hand goes to her lips for a moment, a ghost of his warm breath still there, but gone too soon.

“I’ll...I’ll be right back,” she confirms and exits the room, following Harry’s footsteps.

She finds him on his front porch step, his breath misting in the cold air, much like it would back in London when they’d walk the neighbourhood streets together.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she says, placing a hand on his left shoulder to really get his attention.

He turns from looking out at the clear night sky, his nose and cheeks already pinkened from the night breeze. His eyes are still dark out here, but there’s no malice or anger behind them. His lips tilt up on one side for a forgiving half smile, but there’s also some pain mixed in there.

“You wouldn’t not come back, right?” He asks helplessly, his smile faltering.

She swallows, taken aback by the question, both unsure of where it came from but also how exactly her drunk brain was supposed to respond with the double negatives.

“I’d come back next Christmas and the Christmas after that, Harry,” she whispers, “If you wanted me to of course.”

“Of course I’d want you to. I want you, sweetheart. All the time.” His voice isn’t slurred, but it’s raspy, a slight dry mouth from all the alcohol consumed tonight.

“Okay,” she confirms, “Then I’ll come back.”

They stand on the porch silently for a few minutes, eyes on one another, but no movement towards anything. It’s not a profound moment for their hazy minds, despite the meaning behind their words. It’s not quite clicking for them, but maybe tomorrow when they wake up with massive headaches it will register.

“I really am sorry,” she repeats when she sees little goosebumps begin to prick at his skin.

He had forgotten a jacket. And while his drunk blanket makes him immune to the feelings, her brain still registers that she doesn’t want him to get sick.

“S’alright. For what it’s worth, I was being a little childish. So, m’sorry too.” He says sincerely, maybe a little slurring of words slipping in.

He reaches a hand out of his pocket to touch at her upper arm. She can feel his warmth from beneath her thin long sleeve. They smile at one another and turn to reenter the house, feeling the giggly tide of alcohol wash over them again. Euphoria on their mind rather than family game malice.

Just as they’re about to open the door to the house. The two of them at the precipice of a house, a place they often find themselves, Gemma swings it open face and with little care for its heaviness. She glances between her brother and his “friend”  and then up to the top of the door.

The top of the door? Why was she looking at the top of the door? Mistletoe.

“Mistletoe!” Gemma exclaims, pointing between the two of them. “You’re beneath the mistletoe, go on!”

Harry shakes his head in protest, falling onto the sword of friendship again. But then Y/N is grabbing at the back of Harry’s neck and pressing her lips to his. It’s a little sloppy, but Harry can’t help but enjoy the taste of her against him. They slot together like they usually do, but this time his sister is watching them, which is a little odd, but his muddled mind quickly forgets that fact. Her tongue is the deciding factor as it licks into his mouth and he licks back, pulling her closer by the waist. They get lost in the kiss and only pull apart when they hear a cough.

Gemma is now accompanied by the rest of the household watching them in disbelief. Everyone’s eyebrows are raised and even Rori is standing with the group, confused that the humans didn’t know they were doing this.

“Erm…” Harry has no idea what to say, shifting to face his family more fully.

Y/N blushes and shrinks into Harry’s chest, feeling like a teenager caught in the closet with her crush.

“That’s not how friend’s kiss one another,” someone murmurs.

There’s a few “I knew it”s mixed in as well with the rest of the chatter.

“Well…” She finally musters and throws a hand out to her side in a ta-da motion,

“Happy Christmas!”

-

After the revelation on Christmas Eve, everyone won’t stop teasing Harry and Y/N. The two laugh it off but something always nags at the back of their head. What they were to the other person. The status of this relationship. This friendship that had taken a turn to something else entirely.

It’s another Eve of a holiday when Harry finally musters up the courage to ask her directly. They learned from Christmas day that they couldn’t drink as much as they once did for multiple reasons. So on New Year’s Eve, they both choose to only consume a couple glasses of Champagne.

It starts with “Can we talk about us?” right after midnight. Right after Harry’s just started the New Year with her lips on his. She hears his question and takes it in, her stomach twisting with nerves and possibly excitement as well, and nods.

They slink off to his bedroom, but not for the activity everyone else was certain they were engaging in.

He sits them on the edge of the bed, both her hands clasped in one of his. He’s been quiet all day, she just realizes as he stays silent another moment longer.

“I love you,” he says in his dimly lit room.

Her jaw drops slightly, not quite expecting those three words yet.

“You don’t, don’t have to say anything yet. I just wanted you to know that,” he continues. “And that I want to be with you.”

“Harry,” she starts, breathless at his words.

“No,” he stops her again, “I felt something draw me to you the day you moved in across from me on Sherwood, like I was meant to know you or something.  Then I met you and you made me feel so comfortable, all I wanted to do was be with you and that month when you didn’t really talk to me...dove, those weeks were wretched. But when I came back, it was like nothing happened and I was so happy because I couldn’t fathom life going back to the way it was before you. When we kissed, I felt overjoyed, I was so happy that you liked me like that because every time you called me friend...felt like a knife in me. I don’t want to be just your friend,” he pauses to say her name again, “I don’t want to be just your lover, I want to be your boyfriend or whatever they call it now - If you’ll have me.”

He takes a deep breath and blinks away the little well up of water that had grown in his eyes. He had forgotten to blink for a moment he realized.

His stare had been intense as he’d confessed all of his feelings to her, but she didn’t feel intimidated, his gaze had warmed her with its sincerity. It had strengthened his confession.

She sighed, her own eyes not as strong as his, unable to hold his gaze as she herself said her own confession.

His hand rests between them on the bed, steadying himself upright with it. She places her own hand over it and their fingers slightly intertwine. She feels him begin to fiddle with her fingers like usual. Like normal.

“Thank you,” she starts, “Of course I’ll have you. All the time, Harry.”  She repeats his words from Christmas Eve back to him.

He starts to interject, the rambling thing, but she tugs at his pointer finger and he takes it as a sign to be quiet.

“I want to be your partner, too. I want it all with you, lover,” she gazes at him now, his free hand reaching up to caress her cheek in that moment. “Want it all,” she repeats in a whisper before he’s kissing her again.

Kissing her and kissing her. Over and over again. Because she was his. And he was hers. And it was a happy beginning. A happy new year and a happy new beginning of a relationship that was bound in friendship, born out of proximity, and nurtured by two kindred souls.

And it all started with her parents making her take her dog. Harry really needed to thank that dog for being the best wing man to ever run around on four legs.

-

Who knows who that new client of Y/N’s might be...

[mlm-writer]

The Rest of Our Lives (Leonard McCoy x GN!Reader)

GIF Source

Pairing: Dr. Leonard Horatio McCoy x Gender Neutral Reader Rating: Teen and Up Words: 1551 Summary: The Enterprise is on a terminal course with a black hole. There is not much time left, so now is as good time as any to confess the feelings you have kept to yourself until now. Note: This is for fluffgust, but this piece is defo angstgust... Reader is part of the Enterprise and it is lightly implied they are a red shirt, but they could be anything. The prompt was ‘rejecting sexual advances and it ends fluffy’ and it is there if you squint.  Tags: ANGST, dash of fluff because I had to, bad speech by Kirk because I could not write a better one, kissing, cuddling, making out, rejected sexual advances, implied major character death and no beta we die like everyone in this fic.

The vastness of space stretched before you as you peered into the sea of stars from one of the smaller observation decks. Normally the sight could always put a smile on your face, but not today. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you tried to find the beauty of outer space, only to find darkness and death in an ocean of coldness. 

“Always knew I would die on this ship,” a familiar voice came from the door. You hummed in agreement. “Just always thought it would be being sucked through an airlock, an explosion or being shot at by aliens the captain pissed off.” You shifted and twisted your head to catch sight of the CMO. 

“I take it Scotty has not found a way to start up the engines…” You stared back through the glass, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Appears it is death by black hole for all of us then.” Dr. McCoy hummed in reply, confirming your fears. This was torture, waiting for death, helpless. “Doc, what do you think we should do with the time we have left?”

You turned away from the window, facing the Southern man full-on. He stared at you with an unreadable expression. Dr. McCoy licked his dry lips before speaking. “Try to die without regrets,” he answered. You took a deep breath as you crossed your arms. 

“Was afraid you’d say that.” “Why? Have a lot of things you left for later?”

You chuckled and shook your head. “No, just one…” You dropped your arms, only to fidget with your own fingers, eyes trained on where you were pinching the skin. “You know me, unafraid and lunging head-first into everything, following whims…” You turned your head to stare at the stars again, afraid of meeting the eyes of the man in front of you. “But feelings scare me, to be honest. If I break every bone in my body, I know I can count on you to put me back in working order, but if my heart gets broken…”

A hand took a gentle hold of your harm, just above the elbow. “I’d gladly meld that too.” You looked up at him, eyes finally meeting. His eyes held a beauty that made the universe pale in comparison. “I did not come here to look at the stars,” he added, half a confession hidden in those words. 

“Doc… Leonard… I need you to be straight with me.” You did not like how vulnerable those words sounded, how vulnerable they made you. He pulled you close, closer. You found yourself in his arms, head resting against his solid body. 

“I like you. I don’t wanna die knowing I never said it,” he murmured. His voice rumbled through your body. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly. You assured him the feeling was mutual, before your hands started roaming along his back, shoulders and arms, memorising the feel of his body. 

“Leonard Horatio McCoy, would you like to spend the rest of your life with me?” He let out a scoff and agreed, both of you aware that the rest of your life was unlikely to be longer than 2 hours. You spent a good few minutes just holding one another. A little later you found yourselves sitting against the glass and snuggling. You raised your head from his shoulder and put a hand on his cheek. “May I?” 

His eyes met yours as he nodded. “All yours,” he muttered, before you both leaned in. His lips were a little chapped, but felt warm against yours. When you parted, there were a few seconds of just blinking at each other, before you both leaned in for more. 

Lips danced together in slow, sweet kisses. It took a while, before you felt his tongue make an appearance. You were all too eager to take this further. It felt like heaven and the ship disappeared around you. There was no hopeless Enterprise. There was no black hole sucking you to the next life. There was just you and him on this carpeted floor under dim lights. 

You swung a leg over him and straddled his lap. You held his face close with one hand on each cheek as you made out. There was no helping it. There was just too much you had held back and too little time. You got a little teeth involved as you grinded down on him, indicating you were ready to go all the way. Your lips did not leave his until you felt both of his hands on your underarms, pulling your hands away from his face. “Hmm?” you questioned as you finally opened your eyes, immediately noticing his rosy lips. 

“Hey, I know we don’t have much time, but… I don’t think we should go so fast.” You blinked at him, trying to clear your head from the fog of desire for the man before you. “Please say something.”

You cleared your throat and tried to get off his lap, but he held you in place, tilting his head at you. “I’m sorry”, you whispered as you averted your eyes to the crease between his brows. You wanted to explain yourself, but the right words were not coming to you. Leonard seemed to understand anyway. He pulled your head towards his until your foreheads were touching. 

“Let’s not ruin this with doing things we are not ready for yet. Even if there is no later for us, I can die a happy man just having this… Can you?” You casted your eyes up, staring into his. It was mesmerising, almost dizzying to see someone look at you like he was looking at you. You nodded with an affirming hum. He smiled in relief. You sat there for a while, on your knees with his legs between yours and your foreheads touching. 

“Enterprise crew this is the captain speaking,” Captain Kirk’s voice spoke gently over the intercom, “as you know, we are on a terminal course with a black hole. In about fifteen minutes the Enterprise will be submitted to gravitational forces that will make survival for us impossible aboard the ship.” You sighed and tried to pull away, so you could focus on whatever the captain had to say more, but Leonard kept you in place.

“I won’t take up all of that time. I just wanted to thank all of you for joining this voyage. This ship has always had the finest crew, with the most admirable people in the galaxy. It has been an honour and if by any chance black holes lead to another universe, I hope I get to serve with all of you again.” You leaned against Leonard, closing your eyes so you could focus on Kirk’s voice and the feel of being held. 

“Even out here, far away from any civilised place, we are not alone. Look around. You’ll find people who will stay by your side until the end. You’ll find colleagues, friends, perhaps lovers.” You opened your eyes to find Leonard look at you like you put even the most breathtaking views of this galaxy to shame. “I look around and I find family; family I’ll happily die with. We did good out here. Each and every one of you has earned a place in the history records. This may be the end, but none of you will ever be forgotten. We’ll live forth in the work we’ve done and the stories they’ll tell about us.” You could hear the blond man’s voice crack. “May history be kind on us all. Kirk out.”

Silence fell over you. It hung thick in the air. There was not a word said, until Leonard guided you off him. “Captain will want me on the bridge. Coming with?” You moved off him and helped him off the floor. 

“Of course. We were going to spend the rest of our lives together, remember?” He let out a bitter chuckle. You held hands as you walked to the elevator. You passed by many people you have worked with during your long service on the Enterprise. There was crying, desperate hugging. Some were so calm it must have been a defence mechanism. 

There was no comment on your closeness when you entered the bridge with Leonard’s arm around you. Captain Kirk held out an arm and Leonard joined him by his left side, putting his other arm around one of his best friends. You soon found Chekhov by your side and you offered him a smile as you linked arms with him. 

The space in front of you was void of stars. There was nothing but the endless void and a small timer in the corner of the front screen. No one really said anything. You felt a kiss against your head from Leonard. You felt like you should be singing or something, a final song to unite each other before death, but this was not a heartfelt movie. This was real life. This was the end. 

You took a deep breath as the timer neared its end. Grips tightened. You took one last look at Leonard, a dark expression on his face. You closed your eyes and leaned your head against him. He was the last thing your eyes ever got to witness. 

[reluctant-mandalore]

may i request din finding out his s/o is a sith lord when they go to rescue grogu and later while cuddling have a “Tell me every terrible thing you’ve done and let me love you anyways” moment

Warnings: hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling, sith!reader, established relationship, playing with canon, kissing, not beta read. 

Word Count: 3679

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader (also sith!Reader) 

a/n: Hey anon!! Thank you so much for the request and sorry its taken so long for me to finish it! I hit a huge writing block with requests and decided to focus on other works. That combined with how busy school got, I fell super behind on fics. Anyway, the concept of sith!reader was really fun to explore and honestly it was something I wanted to explore long before I got this request. I might write a few other things for sith reader of y’all are interested. Otherwise I hope you all enjoy <3 

Note: fic will be labeled as ‘secrets revealed’ on my masterlist and on ao3. 

“Look at you darling! Switching sides must come really easily for you, hm?”

Moff Gideon’s words had echoed throughout the cockpit, his image flickering within the hologram that shined before the three of you currently stood there. A sharp pain of dread had bubbled within you at the weight of what he had said, unease finding itself littering within your thoughts as the meaning behind it had settled among you all. You knew eventually this would come up, but had you thought you would have more time before it did. Honestly you didn’t think it would be here so soon, otherwise you would have already prepared yourself for this discussion with the Mandalorian.

“What?”

“Oh you didn’t know Mando?” Moff Gideon had smirked, his smile the most sickening thing you had ever laid your sights on, “Your little friend there is a sith.”

The Mandalorian’s gaze had snapped to yours in an instant, confusion and concern held within its blistering depth. He didn’t know much in regards to the sith, but he had learned well enough about them in his time traveling with the child. He had heard the horrors of what they had done—the wars they had raged and slaughters they had committed—he knew that the sith weren’t good. In fact they were the exact opposite of good. The sith were dark and evil on all accounts.

“That… That’s not true.” He had said in disbelief, the idea of you being one of them seeming so unlikely to him. You had always been so sweet and kind, treating the child as if he was your own. Even caring for him and the Mandalorian as if you were family. You couldn’t be a sith. “He’s lying. Right cyar’ika?”

Unmistakable shame had consumed you at his words, and you had looked away from him at his pleading question. You couldn’t seem to form an answer, and honestly you didn’t know if you wanted to, especially not with how he was looking at you in the moment.

“Mando listen… I-”

“-And,” Gideon’s voice had cut you off, his enjoyment of your suffering in the situation clear in just his tone alone, “They’ve been working with me the entire time. Well. They were at least. Doesn’t seem like you’ll be bringing me the child anytime soon there, especially not when you’re playing house with a Mandalorian.”

At the imperial’s words, Din’s gaze had finally moved from yours and down to the child that was still held tightly in your arms. His fingers visibly twitching with the sudden need to snatch the little one from your grasp. His concern and worry was evident even with the helmet that shielded his expression from your view. The sight of which had only caused for your heart to crack with sadness at the mistrust he was sending your way.

“Well congratulations my dear sith lord on your happily ever after!” Gideon had said as he ended off his call with a laugh. The holopad shutting off soon after, and allowing for a deathly silence to fall over the room once more. The air of the small space now feeling tight, and almost suffocating, as you two stared at one another for what felt like an eternity.

The Mandalorian had approached you cautiously after some time. Every step he took calculated, and slower, the closer he got. He had soon nearly snatched the child from your grasp—almost as if touching you for even the slightest of seconds would have burned him—now shielding the little one away from your prying eyes, and whatever evil he must have thought you carried.

You couldn’t blame him of course. As you probably would have reacted in the same way if you were in his shoes, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to see your beloved Mandalorian responding like this to the news. It hurt to see his mistrust in you.  

“Din…”

“Let’s get out of here.” He had replied sternly, setting the child down in his own seat far away on the other side of the room, before motioning for you to take the other opposite one. “We need to get as far away from here as possible. Don’t want Gideon catching up.”

Another wave of pain had washed over you at his sudden coldness, causing your eyes to brim with tears, as you had nodded and followed the Mandalorian’s directions anyway. You didn’t have the heart to argue or even defend yourself at this time. Din was right after all, you three needed to leave the area as quickly as possible. The Imperial and his ship were surely close on your tail if he had felt the need to speak with you over the communicator.

The ride to the next planet was dreadfully quiet. Not even the child had cooed or chattered on the way there. Instead he had simply stared between you two with lowered ears and wide confused eyes. He had to have known something was going on, though it was unclear if he knew exactly what had been said and done.

Eventually the ship had landed flawlessly thanks to the Mandalorian’s piloting. Than a quick check of the area had made it apparent that you three had managed to escape the Empire’s hold once again.

You had watched as the Mandalorian fiddled with the control panel. He was making sure the ship was settled and secure just as he always did after landing, though this time you could see the unease in each of his movements. He hadn’t said a word to you yet, but you knew the two of you would have to talk about what happened sooner or later. Better now than never.

“Din I think we need to talk.”

“I’m putting the kid to bed.” He had stated simply, not even looking at you as he stood from his and made his way down to the hold with the child in toe,  “It's way past his bedtime.”

You didn’t say anything in response to his words after he had left you alone in the cockpit. Instead you had chosen to move down into the hull and to your own cot silently, as you figured that you wouldn’t push him to talk tonight. Though of course, this reasoning of yours hadn’t stopped the feeling of guilt and despair settling firmly within your gut from the brisk interaction.

The sheets there were stiff and cold as you laid within them. Clearly they hadn’t been used in a long while, as you usually choose to share the sleeping quarters which belonged to the Mandalorian with him. Both of you had enjoyed the other's presence more than sleeping alone, and with your growing relationship, it just seemed normal for you two to begin sleeping in the same bed.

Tonight of course would be the first in a long time where you would be sleeping alone again.

From your cot you could take in the sight of Din rocking the child, as he tried to sooth the little one into resting. He had seemed to struggle with it tonight. The kid was far too restless to want to sleep any time soon—regardless of the long day he had just suffered through. You had watched the two of them for another moment, smiling sadly, before closing the curtain which had once provided you with privacy. Although tonight it had only felt like another wall between you and your family. Now existing only as a reminder of the details of your life you had hidden from them all this time.

Din had eventually managed to get the kid to lay down and sleep. A sigh of relief could be heard from the other side of the curtain that had separated your space from the surrounding area. More rustling and the clicking of metal could be heard shortly after. The sound of it making you realize that he was now getting himself ready for bed. You had figured he wouldn’t be coming to see you that night, but the confirmation had still felt icy to your heart, and you found yourself once again on the brink of crying.

That’s probably why the knock on the wall next to your cot was such a shock to you. It was Din’s usual way of asking for permission to enter your enclosed space. He was always kind and considerate, wanting to make sure that you were always comfortable regardless of whatever else had happened. Tonight seemed to be no different in this regard at least, and you took comfort in what little normality you could hold onto.

“You can come in.” You had answered quietly, propping yourself up as you watched him pull the curtain back to let himself in, forcing a smile at the sight of him entering. “Is the kid ok?”

The Mandalorian had already stripped himself down to his under clothes and helmet. The metal shield which still remained over his face was a clear sign that he had been feeling uncomfortable and uneasy in the moment. You two had been together for a long while now, and he had ended up showing you his face some months ago. It was still only a recent development in your blossoming relationship, and it was one you were sure you had just ruined for the man with your lies now unraveled.

No wonder he had chosen to keep it on this fateful night.

“He took longer to put down than usual.” He had said when your gaze had locked with his visor, though he had soon broken the contact all too quickly, looking away as he stood awkwardly before you. “He seems restless.”

“That’s surprising.” You had said, though your mind wondered if the child was so restless because he could tell his parents were currently at odds with one another. “You’d think after the long day he’s had he would be exhausted.”

The Mandalorian had only let out a grunt in reply, sitting himself next to you on the cot as another silence had fallen between you two. He had looked down to his hands, twiddling them nervously, as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say. He had looked up again briefly, as if he was trying to gage your expression, or even understand what you must have been thinking, but he had ended up lowering his sight again before finally deciding on what to say to you.

“So you’re a sith lord.”

The way he had gone straight to the point had almost made you feel surprised, but knowing him well, meant knowing that he was one to never beat around the bush. This was especially true when it came to important topics or situations, and even more so when they involved the child.

“Well no—I mean yes—but it's complicated and…” You had trailed off, looking away from him again as you tried to piece together exactly what you had wanted to tell him. Although you knew you had to tell him the truth regardless of how you felt and how much you wish you could just bury your past away from his sight. “Yes. At least at one point I was, not really sure if I count as one now.”

“Why?”

“I… I don’t know.” You had said, another wave of guilt washing over you at your words. Honestly you had felt unsure of what to say, or even how to explain it all to him. It wasn’t as if you had planned for your life to have gone that way. “Din I’m so sorry”

The Mandalorian had looked over at you, his own confession clear in just his voice alone, “Why are you apologizing?”

“I mean… I’ve done terrible things.”

“So have I.”

“No Din.” You choked out a sob, your lip trembling between each word that was spoken between you two, finding that you weren’t able to keep your tears in any longer. “I’ve actually done unspeakable things. I’m quite literally the worst of the worst.”

To your shock, his arms had moved to pull you into his chest, and you had found yourself cradled there as he hummed in a calming manor. “Tell me everything Cyar’ika.”

Those words from your love were the last ones to bring your already crumbling walls down. Your confession soon spilling out of you like the fiercest of storms. It seemed to have no end as you had rambled all your wrong doings to the man before you. All the way from how you had fallen, to the mission you had received from moff Gideon, and everything in between—there was nothing that wasn’t revealed by you to him in that moment.

Every confession had only brought more tears to flow from you, and as they piled higher you knew you had become closer to losing the man you loved. You had expected him to be disgusted and furious. You had assumed he would toss you aside and leave you to wallow in your disgrace. Any sane person would have, and you wouldn’t blame them.

The Mandalorian had done the opposite though, instead choosing to hold you close to him, as you talked and talked. Your whole life and terrible deeds being fed to him one by one. Even then he had never let go of you—even when hearing the worst things you had ever done—he had just kept you held tight in his arms while listening.

Eventually your words had died out, your confession of sins over as you now silently cried in his arms. His embrace had remained as a calming presence, and his shoulder had become a sturdy place for you to cry into, as you only broke down further into his arms. His hand had gently run soothingly circles along your spine—the same way that you had done for him on some of his worst nights—and his voice had been soft as he spoke reassurance to you in the most softest of tones.  

“I’m sorry.” You had mumbled again into his chest. “Din I’m so sorry about everything.”

“Was what he said true? About the child and your mission.” Din had asked, whatever he was feeling now unreadable, as he had waited for your response.

You had only nodded in reply at first, burying your face farther into the crook of his neck, though you knew you did not deserve such a comfort. “It is. All of it. I was supposed to take him from you after earning your trust and then take him back to Moff Gideon—leaving you for dead.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Din’s question had made you pull back and look away. A wave of heat washing over you at the answer which danced at the tip of your tongue. He had waited patiently for your reply though, allowing you to take as much time as you needed to form your thoughts together properly.

“Because I fell in love with you. I love you so much Din.” You had whispered as you looked back to him. His grip on you only tightening at hearing those words leave your lips. “I fell in love with you and the child. You’re the most important things to me. I’ve never had a family before now, but you two… you both treated me as such without a second thought.”

A sound of the child crying had interrupted you both before Din could form a reply, and he had found himself letting go of you, so he could stand and go to sooth the little one. You had quickly stopped him though, looking up at him through pleading and tear stained eyes.

“I… can I? Please?”

Din had stared at you for a moment, and it felt as if you would combust on the spot if he didn’t answer soon. After a brief silence, he had moved his own hand to brush away the tears on your cheek. The feeling of his skin against yours a comfort that you had found yourself leaning into while also basking in the warmth it had brought.

“Of course cyar’ika.”

From his words, you had soon stood and quickly made your way to the child. Even sooner, you had scooped the crying infant into your arms, rocking him back and worth, as you did your best to soothe him. A quiet and soft hum leaving you as you calmed the little child wailing in your arms.

The Mandalorian had watched from the sidelines, his heart swelling and overflowing with his fondness at the sight of the two of you together. He had continued watching even after the child’s cries had subsided, his gaze never leaving you two, as you had tucked the little creature back into his bed. He had soon stood again from the cot after that, quietly removing the helmet he wore and setting it to the side, before making his way over to where you still stood watching over the resting child.

“I love you too cyar’ika.” He had whispered when his body pressed into yours, his breath ghosting over your ear, as he pressed a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck. The scuff on his chin tickling you and sending another flush of warmth to coarse through your form again.

A small gasp had left your lips at his sudden touch and a few stray tears had formed at the corner of your eyes once more. “Din I… are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Even after everything I told you?” You had turned in his arms and felt your grip tighten along his own. Your eyes searching his for any doubt that they may have held, but instead only finding his undeniable love and fondness staring back at you within his brown hues. “Do you really still love me?”

“Yes cyar’ika. I still love you.” He had said, a small smile gracing his lips, as he nuzzled his nose against your own. “I never stopped.”

“But earlier...”

“I won’t lie, I was concerned and worried after hearing what Moff Gideon had said.” He had confessed, looking away almost shamefully, “I was scared that everything between us was a lie, and I feared that the child was in danger, or maybe had been for longer than I thought he was. I was afraid cyar’ika. I’m sorry.”

You had looked away again, another ping of guilt blossoming within your heart at the sadness you had heard in his voice, “I… Din I don’t know what to say honestly. Other than the fact that it's not you who should be apologizing.”

“Don’t be like that cyar’ika.” He had said gently, allowing himself to press another kiss to your forehead. “Now come on. It’s late, and you look exhausted.”

The Mandalorian had soon guided you to the cot again, and you had found yourself settled against his chest while wrapped tightly in his arms. Out of the corner of your eye, you could still see where the child slept soundly, and you had found yourself watching over him as you both laid there together in the darkness. The sound of the littles snores from the small creature, having brought a small smile to your face, before your mind had begun to wander back to earlier times.

“He knows.” You had said out of the blue, your tired voice causing the man’s eyes to flicker open and glance back down to you in his arms.

“Who?”

“The child.” You had replied, finally looking away from where the child slept, as you played and toyed anxiously with Din’s fingers that had intertwined themselves with yours.  “He must have felt it through the force. He could always tell what I was, and could always sense the darkness within me. He’s always known.”

“Hm. Is that why he didn’t like you at first?” Din had teased, and you felt his lips smile against your skin where they had rested themselves earlier.  

“Probably.” You had allowed yourself to chuckle at the thought. The little creature really hadn’t liked you at first, always throwing up a fit and glaring at you when he thought you had gotten too close to Din. “I don’t blame him, the sith and jedi aren’t exactly on good terms.”

“So I’ve heard.”

A smile played on your lips at his reply, and you snuggled yourself more into his chest at the feeling of his hand trailing along your back. The circles he drew causing small shivers and a wave of warmth to flow through you again. The gesture having relaxed you and allowed for your thoughts to teeter on the edge of sleep.

“I meant what I said you know? About everything.” You had mumbled with another yawn, as your eyes struggled to stay open, “I really do love you and Grogu.”

“I know, and we both love you as well.” Din had shushed you, allowing himself to kiss your forehead and mumble his own reassurance again. “Now get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning once you’ve rested, ok?”

You had nodded, resisting the tears that had tried to fall from your eyes again, as you had completely relaxed into his arms now. The need for sleep pulling you closer and closer to the dreamland you had so desired in the moment.

Din on the other hand had continued to draw shapes along your back, his eyes closed, as he murmured and hummed the sweetest of things into the kisses he left along your skin. Somewhere deep inside of your soul you had felt as if you didn’t deserve his kindness and love, but you had found yourself drowning within his affections anyway, clinging to his presence in a refusal to let it go.

The Mandalorian had no plans of letting you go anyway. He would hold you within his embrace and love you for as long as you allowed him to. Through the bad and the good—he’d be by your side even through the toughest of times. After all, you were a part of his little clan of three, and regardless of your past—he loved you like no other.

[mypoisonedvine]

Home for the Holidays | Robert Pronge (aka Mr. Freezy) x reader

summary: robert is tired of pretending to be normal, he’s tired of the shitty holiday known as christmas and he’s really fucking tired of watching his adorable, innocent next door neighbor without getting a real taste.  luckily, he has a plan to solve all three of these things.

word count: a bit over 5k

warnings: smut (noncon, vaginal and anal), gunplay, bondage, stalking, kidnapping, slight-to-medium breeding kink, innocent!reader, lots of degradation, blood mention, pain kink, spitting, implied age gap (??? kinda), cringy and disturbing dirty talk, maaaaybe the darkest thing I’ve ever written… proceed with extreme caution

Robert hated the holidays.  The fact that it was too cold to sell ice cream was a factor, sure, but he didn’t like anything else about them either— the cheesy music, the stupid advertisements on TV, the gaudy decorations everywhere… he wasn’t sure if there was anything he liked about this time of year.  Getting gifts would be nice if he actually had any friends or family to do that with.  Giving gifts sounded like too much fucking work anyway.  He was sick and tired of this stupid holiday and the way it started sooner every year, too.  

This year, when he heard Jingle Bell Rock on the radio for the first time of the season, something snapped.  He wasn’t going to just sit idly by and let the holidays come and go.  He wasn’t going to avoid and half-tolerate all the dreaded ‘cheer’ and ‘spirit’ like he had for the past few years.  No no, this year was going to be different.

This year, he was going to get a Christmas present for himself: you.

He’d been watching you for a long time, since the day you moved in next door.  It wasn’t often that a young woman lived alone around here, and for good reason.  Still, you had this air of blissful ignorance about you— you never caught him spying on you, for one, and when he was spying you were always off in your own little world, listening to your records, daydreaming about god-knows-what.  He wished he could know, because he figured it was something innocent and wholesome.  

You weren’t all innocent and wholesome, though.  He’d seen you doing the things you did when you were totally alone (or at least, you thought you were), late at night, cuddled up under the covers…

He wanted to see more, though.  He wanted to see everything.  And he was tired of waiting.

He was on his porch when you came home, and he waved; you waved back, your hands obscured by big fuzzy mittens.  Damn did he miss the summers, when you would wear tank tops and short shorts and wash your car in the sunlight.  Now you were all bundled up in coats and scarves, and even though you looked sort of adorable like this, he missed that perfect body he knew you were hiding under there.  

You were bringing groceries in from the car, and he could see you had a few bags in the backseat.  “That’s a lot to carry, lemme help you,” he offered as he jumped up from his seat and walked towards you.

“Oh, it’s fine, I’ve got it,” you dismissed, but you started to stumble and he had to catch you so you wouldn’t fall and drop your stuff.  “Thanks,” you mumbled awkwardly as you caught your footing— you felt so good in his arms he could barely stand it.  

“What is all this?” he asked as he glanced into the bags.

“Oh, uh, just Christmas stuff,” you explained.  He furrowed his brow as he saw you had bought enough food to feed a whole family.  

“Your folks comin’ into town or something?” he pressed, pulling one of the paper bags open to see inside.  “Or are you hosting a party I didn’t get invited to?”

“Uh, neither,” you laughed, “my family doesn’t… no, they’re not coming.  And there’s no party.  I just love cooking Christmas food and I thought, why not?  I mean, I’ll freeze whatever I can’t finish and have meals for the next month…”

“So you’re gonna make this whole ham just for yourself?” he clarified, admiring your ambition.

“Yep!” you grinned.  “I know it’s stupid, but I just love Christmas and I don’t think I need to justify celebrating it to a grinch like you.”

“A grinch?  Says who?”

“Freezy, you’re the only house on the block that hasn’t put up lights yet,” you smirked.  “It’s sort of obvious you don’t like this time of year.”

“Are you kidding?  I love Christmas!  I’m just subtle about it, that’s all,” he decided sternly.

“Really?  Are you going to see anyone for the holidays then?” you pressed.

“Uh, no, I’m sort of an… orphan, I guess you could say.  No parents or siblings or anything like that.”

“No girlfriend?” you grinned, elbowing him playfully.  

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he laughed, “I just know a few women who would be really mad if they heard me say that.”

“You’re such a dog,” you rolled your eyes.  “Will you help me carry these in or not?”

He sighed as he picked up two bags and carried them up to your porch, pushing the door open with his back to set them on your counters.  He’d been inside your place a few times— mostly with you there, a few times when you weren’t— and he noticed how much you’d changed in the spirit of the season: an enormous, real pine covered in lights and ribbons; decorative ceramic figures all over the place including Santa, elves, reindeer, and even a nativity on the dining table; stockings on the mantle, god knows who those were even for. 

You had literally decked your halls with boughs of holly.  

“Damn, woman, you went all out!” he observed with wide eyes.

“Well, I thought it would be nice,” you smiled, although it was a somber smile, “you know, Christmas like it used to be…” you trailed off as your gaze became distant.  You snapped back to reality with a little sigh, shaking it off and heading back to the car for another load of bags.  He understood that emptiness he saw in your eyes, it was all he felt anymore.  Maybe you could change that for him; maybe he could change that for you.

Aw, who was he kidding?  He didn’t care about that.  He just wanted to figure out what you were hiding underneath those puffy winter clothes.  If the smell of your stolen panties was anything to go by, it was going to be worth the wait.

//

Christmas Eve was just as boring and cold as any other day, except that it was filled with a riveting anticipation.  That was probably true for most people, but for Robert it was for something much more exciting than presents under the tree.  

Nightfall came early, it being winter and all, so it was already pitch dark outside when it was just about time for him to go over for dinner.  He considered smashing a window to get in, but then you might call the cops before he had time to explain, so he decided the easier method was just to knock on the front door.  He didn’t really care who saw at this point— besides, who’d be staring out their window to spy on their neighbors the night before Christmas?  Aside from Robert, that is.

“Oh!” you gasped when you answered the door.  The dark red turtleneck looked even better on you up close, like you’d jumped right out of a Norman Rockwell postcard— or a festive pin-up.  He didn’t wait for your approval before stepping in and shutting the door behind him, relishing the adorable look you wore as you stared up at him with the perfect mix of confusion and concern.

“I know you didn’t invite me,” he smirked, “but I figure two people alone on Christmas ought to be together, don’t you think?”

“Robert, I—”

He pulled his gun out from his belt, watching you freeze as he pointed it at you.

“I think you should start making dinner, sweetheart,” he instructed darkly.  You nodded quickly, walking to the kitchen as he followed you closely.  “What are you making?”

“H-ham,” you stuttered nervously as you turned on the stove before slipping on a cute little apron with white lace around the edges.  “With green bean casserole, and some gingerbread for dessert.”

“Sounds delicious,” he grinned, taking a seat at the bar and keeping his gun pointed towards you.  

Your hands were shaking as you tried to chop the ingredients, and he tutted a little in sympathy.  “Don’t be scared, honey, ‘m not gonna hurt ya.  It’s gonna be a great Christmas— just like the way it used to be, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” you shivered, lip quivering, “I… I wish you just would’ve asked if you could have some dinner, Robert, I would’ve happily had you.”

“Oh, you’re gonna have me either way.  Up to you if you wanna be happy about it.”

He laughed as he watched your eyes start to water, a meek little sniffle 

“Aw, don’t cry, pretty baby,” he cooed, “it’ll make me wanna skip right to the good stuff.  But, let’s just have dinner first.”

You stayed quiet after that, cooking in silence as he unabashedly undressed you with his eyes.  You looked like a perfect little housewife in that apron; he wanted to see you wearing just that, so he could bend you over the counter and— 

Damn, he was already hard, just like that.  You’d always had such an effect on him.

He went ahead and took a seat at the table once you were nearly done with the meal, leaning back to let you drape the fancy napkin over his lap (and smirking when you gasped a bit, obviously noticing the bulge in his jeans).

“I hope you like it,” you offered weakly as you set his plate in front of him.

“I’m sure you do,” he grinned, picking up his fork.  “You won’t like what’s gonna happen if I don’t.”

You just stood beside him for a moment as he took the first bite, smiling weakly when he hummed in content at the taste.  “Aren’t ya gonna eat?” he asked, looking you up and down.

“I’m not hungry,” you explained quickly.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, “it’s good.  You’re quite the little chef, aren’t ya?”

“Um, I suppose…” you deflected awkwardly.

“Learn to take a compliment,” he hissed, “say ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you,” you replied dutifully.  

“That’s better,” he announced firmly, shovelling the last bite of casserole into his mouth before working on the slices of ham.  Your ability to follow instructions was a good sign for how tonight was going to go— apparently for all your naivete, you still had a self-preservation instinct.  He couldn’t wait to exploit it.

He continued his meal in silence, delighting in the way your eyes watered and your lip quivered.  “Alright, sweetie, dinner’s over,” he announced when he was finished.  “Time for dessert.”

You shivered slightly as he stood up and approached you.  “You want gingerbread?” you asked innocently.  He frowned and shook his head, watching you start to cry again as he roughly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer.  

“I had something even sweeter in mind,” he informed you with a low growl, taking a big whiff of your scent— that same shampoo smell he was used to by now, mixed in with the new perfume you’d gotten a few weeks ago along with the warm, spicy smells of Christmas.  “Been waitin’ so long for this,” he groaned lowly as he leaned down to stare right into your fear-widened eyes.

“N-no, please,” you whimpered, weakly attempting to twist out of his grip, “you wouldn’t—”

“I would,” he disagreed as he turned his gun backwards, whipping you across the head with the handle.  He caught you before you collapsed, and hoped you wouldn’t be hurting too much when you woke up.  But he would deal with that then.  Right now, he had a present to wrap.

//

There was a radiating ache in your skull.  You felt that first as you groggily opened your eyes.  The next thing you noticed was that you weren’t in your bed.  Looking around, you couldn’t see well because the only light was from your Christmas tree, but you could see that you were naked and bound with ropes.  Oddly enough, on top of the ropes was thick red ribbon, gathered in a big bow right at your chest.

What the fuck is going on? you were about to ask yourself, but then it all became clear.

The shadows shifted, and your neighbor emerged from them.  You struggled against the ropes as you remembered everything, realizing what was happening.  Of course you had always thought he was a bit creepy (who didn’t?) but you were nice to him and he was nice to you.  How could you have known he was this disturbed?  

“That’s my favorite part,” he purred as he stooped down to be eye-level with you.  “The moment when they realize what’s going to happen.  You were so peaceful just a moment ago, knocked out and without a care in the world, and now you’re fighting for your life.”

You whimpered into the gag as he smiled at you, running his hands over your skin.

“I mean, not fighting very well, but fighting.”

You tried to kick him as he stepped closer but the ropes made it impossible.

“I think it’s time to open my present, hm?” he grinned.  You shook your head but he ignored you, slowly pushing your legs apart and growling a little when he saw your exposed pussy, ripe for the taking.  “Look at that, you’re wet,” he laughed.  You wrenched your eyes shut, refusing to believe this was happening.  “Don’t be embarrassed, that happens a lot.  Although I’ll admit, I don’t think any of them were ever this wet before…”

You jumped when his thumb started to rub your clit, the pressure much too intense and unexpected.  He laughed at your struggle, and you could feel your walls throbbing in response to the stimulation.

“I know I didn’t need to do all this to get you in bed,” he continued his taunting rant.  “I know you wanted me already— don’t think I didn’t notice you makin’ googly eyes at me like a dumb little schoolgirl.  If I’d’ve asked you out, I could’ve had you under me after a few drinks… but it’s better this way.  You probably would’ve made me wear a condom, would’ve made me be all gentle with ya, some wholesome missionary shit,” he laughed.  “I don’t have time for that crap.  It’s so much better with your body at my disposal, and you cryin’ those pretty tears.”

The shocks that shot up your spine from the way he was touching you made you feel like your body was betraying you.  How could this actually feel good?  How was it that the fear burning in your gut was actually adding to your pleasure and not nullifying it?

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he groaned as if he were reading your mind.  “I know you love it, little girl, don’t act so innocent.  I know you’re not the good girl everybody thinks you are.  You’ve been naughty this year, haven’t you?”

Even though logic told you not to play into his twisted game, you felt compelled to shake your head ‘no.’

“Don’t lie,” he warned, “I’ve seen you.  I’ve watched you play with this pretty pussy every fucking night.”

You couldn’t watch this any more, you couldn’t look at him while he did this to you.  Forcing your eyes shut, you tried to find a place in your mind to run away to.  Instead, he slapped you right on your clit and your eyes shot open as you whined.

“Keep looking,” he instructed.  “I want you to see it.  I want you to know that it’s me.  I want you to see what I’m about to put in you.”

He stepped back and hastily discarded his shirt, making quick work of his boots and trousers, too.  Then it was just his boxers, and you could see the outline of his erection already.  You hoped it wasn’t as big as it looked, but then he grinned as he pulled the fabric down and yep, it was— you tried to squirm away, uselessly.

“Aw, don’t be scared, baby,” he pouted, “I know it’s big, but with how wet you are I bet it’ll fit like a glove.  A really, really tight glove…”

He leaned down and pressed his lips right against your ear, rubbing his swollen head through your slick folds as you whined.  

“Gloves can tear,” he chuckled.  “Gloves can rip.”

Tears stained the ribbon of your gag as you tried to beg him not to, but it was too late— he was pushing forward and spearing you onto him.

“Fuck!” he groaned as he pushed all the way to the hilt, and your eyes rolled back as the stinging, burning pain shot up your spine.  “So fuckin’ tight, fuck, can’t believe I waited this long to get my hands on you.”

He pulled the gag down, smiling at you tenderly when you coughed out a cry of pain.  “Please,” you sobbed, “please stop…”

“No no, babygirl, I’m not gonna stop.  I wanna fill this slutty little cunt with my come.”

Renewed sobs shook your chest as your nails dug into your own palms, each thrust somehow going even deeper than the last, somehow hurting even more.

“Want my come, pretty girl?” he pressed, refusing to let you ignore him.  “Want me to shoot my load into this sweet pussy a’yours?”

“No,” you sobbed weakly, shaking your head, “no, no…” you trailed off, chanting it like a mantra as you felt like you might pass out.

“Aw, you’re not on the pill, are you?” he realized with a toothy grin.  “Never saw any empty packs in your trash.  Are you worried I’ll knock you up?”

“Please, please don’t,” you shivered.  There was nothing quite as demeaning as having no recourse but to beg even when you knew it would do nothing.  The only thing that came close was the knowledge that your orgasm wasn’t so far off— his cock was slamming right into your spot with every movement, his hips rubbing your swollen clit, and it was impossible to avoid the pleasure that was making your walls tighten around him.

“How could I not?” he countered.  “Fuck, you feel so good, how could I not breed this dripping, desperate cunt, hm?  There’s no way I’m pulling out now when you’re squeezin’ my dick so good like this.”

“Please,” you repeated, so quiet you couldn’t be sure he heard it at all.  You could hardly breathe with his weight on your chest, black static dancing at the edges of your peripheral vision.

“I’ll be honest— I hate kids,” he growled, “never wanted ‘em, but it does sound like a lot of fun to get you pregnant.  Would you like that, pretty baby?  Bein’ full of my kid?  I’d be so nice to watch you get big and know it was all my fault.  Think of it like a Christmas gift, from one neighbor to another.”

“Robert, please!” you cried, although it sounded a lot like you were begging him for more as opposed to begging him for mercy.  You weren’t sure how that happened, except that you could feel the coil in your gut tightening and tightening and tightening until it finally fucking snapped and you choked on nothing, your walls fluttering as a gush of wetness seeped out between your bodies.

“That’s it,” he groaned, “fuck, what a nasty little skank you are, Jesus… coming so hard from being tied up and abused by your neighbor, who knew you were a total freak?”

You couldn’t say anything, you couldn’t even think as hazy pleasure flooded your brain and you went limp in his oppressive grasp.  Exhaustedly, you slumped down and let him use you— all you could do now was hope he would finish soon.

“I mean, I knew,” he laughed, “but damn… you’re somethin’ else.”

He said it with pride in his voice, as your entire body burned with shame.  How had you already given in so quickly, accepted your fate and come harder than you ever had before?  It sort of made sense that this would be more intense than what you got from getting yourself off at night (and the thought that he’d been watching you made your stomach churn), but why was this so much better than the sweet, loving sex you’d had with your boyfriend way back when, before he’d run out on you?  Why was Robert, as disturbed as he was, the best you’d ever had?

“God, you’re so wet, I can fucking smell you,” he grunted through his teeth.  “You made such a pretty mess on my cock, babygirl.”

You could hear that he was right, you could feel the wetness that had dripped down to cover both of you— the wet slapping of his balls against your ass was disgusting, yet arousing, and you hated yourself for it.

“Shit, I’m close,” he moaned, “fuck yeah, just like that.”

You weren’t sure what he was referring to until you realized you were arching your back, forcing his cock to hit your overstimulated spot directly.  It made jolts of electricity course through your veins, pleasure sizzling just beneath your skin.  

“Kiss me,” he instructed, and you were too far gone to disobey as you turned and captured his lips in a kiss, instantly accepting his tongue into your mouth.  It was sloppy and forceful and kinda gross and he tasted like Christmas dinner and cigarettes, but it made your walls tighten around him again anyways.  Something about his beard against your face made you moan a little, the sound lost into his mouth but unfortunately not unnoticed.  “Fuck, I know you love my cock so much,” he purred, pulling back only as much as he needed to to speak— he was so close that his lips brushed yours with every word, those dark eyes staring right into yours until you felt entirely helpless to his gaze.

“Please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were asking for.

“Best pussy I’ve ever had, you know that?” he praised, grinning as you bit down on your lip.  “Yeah, you love being my good girl, you love pleasin’ me, don’tcha?”

“I— I don’t—”

“Just nod your head, dumb baby,” he grunted coldly.  After a moment of hesitation, you nodded ever so slightly and he moaned above you.

“Fuck— gonna come,” he informed you breathlessly, “gonna fill up your wet fuckin’ hole, ‘m so close, ah fuck—”

The first pump of his cock painted your insides and you cringed as you tried not to moan at the feeling.  His come was hot and thick as it filled you, the faltering thrusts of his hips making your swollen walls flutter weakly.  It felt like it would go on forever— his weak groans in your ear, his thick cock pulsing inside you, your breathing quick and fast until it felt like you weren’t getting any air in your lungs at all.  It stopped, finally, as he sighed and relaxed a little bit.

“Goddamn,” he breathed as he pulled out of you, making you both wince.  Already you felt soreness radiating from your opening, and your face burned as he looked down between your legs.  “Look at that, what a perfect little pussy I just ruined.  It’s all stretched out and red and covered in my come,” he announced proudly.  “There’s a little blood, too, but you’ll be better in no time,” he assured with a smirk.  “Red and white— it’s sort of festive, don’t you think?”

You swallowed down the acid threatening to come up your throat— of course he was disturbed, but did he have to be so disgusting?

Again, it was like he read your mind as he grabbed your jaw and forced you to open your mouth, spitting onto your tongue before commanding you to swallow it.  Just when you thought you’d reached the limits of his depravity, he found some new way to up the ante.  What worried you most, though, was the fact that he’d already come and hadn’t left yet.  Deep down, you knew it wasn’t over yet, but you hadn’t accepted it consciously.

“Such a good slut for me,” he praised through his teeth, “I bet I can go again, fuck, you turn me on so much.”  Pulling back a bit and gripping his cock at the base, you squirmed a little as you looked at it.  “You see this?  I’m still hard.  You make me feel like a fuckin’ teenager again, I swear.”

“I can’t…” you sighed weakly, your voice sounding all cracked and whiny as it moved through your sore throat.  “I can’t take it again…”

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, “I’m gonna give your poor cunt a break… so I can rape this cute little ass.”

“No!” you yelped.  “Please!  Not there!”

He slapped you quickly before maneuvering two fingers to your other hole, teasing it as he laughed at your pre-emptive wince.

“It’s not gonna be so bad, baby, I’m gonna get you ready for it first, see?  I bet you’ll love it, nasty little thing like you.”

The first finger slipped in with a little pop as the tight ring of muscle shifted to accommodate him.  You’d never had anything go up that way before, and it was nothing like you could’ve imagined.  Hissing in a breath through your teeth, you whimpered as he added a second finger already.

“Just relax,” he instructed.  “Not that I don’t love you gripping my fingers with your tight little hole, but it’ll hurt less if you just let it happen.”

You willed your muscles not to tighten even as he twisted his fingers inside you, moving slowly until he was buried all the way to the knuckle and then finally pulling back.  The third was a bit more of a challenge as he opened you wider, your fists clenching at the sting of pain.  He let his come drip down from your pussy to use as lube, which was undoubtedly the filthiest thing you’d ever experienced.  You tried to keep quiet and relax as he told you to, but your fight was renewed slightly as he pulled his fingers out and lined up his cock with your hole.  

“Please,” you shivered, “don’t do this…”

“When are you gonna stop fucking fighting it, huh?  How stupid are you?  You’re tied up on the floor, I already made this pussy mine and you fucking loved it, how much more obvious could it be that I’m gonna do this?  You’re fucked.  It’s over.  Just accept it and I’ll make it good for you.”

“This can’t be good for me,” you hissed through your teeth.

“Well, in that case,” he groaned, interrupting himself as he roughly shoved his cock into your ass.  The air was punched from your lungs as pain burned white-hot through your body— it didn’t feel like his fingers had done much to prepare you at all, with the way this hurt.  As soon as you had the oxygen needed to do so, you were crying again, loud sobs echoing around your dark, empty living room.  “I was gonna be gentle,” he taunted you darkly, “but you had to run that mouth of yours.”

You tried to choke out an apology, but it was useless as he shoved his fingers into your mouth. 

“Suck on ‘em, show me what your mouth is good for,” he demanded as you closed your lips and swirled your tongue around his fingers.  “Fuck, that’s better.  See how good it is when you know your place?”

You couldn’t really process his words, though, as you spent all your energy on trying not to think about how his cock felt in your ass.  It was like being full in a completely different way than before, like being opened wider than you knew was possible.  He pulled his fingers from your mouth and you hated the moan that spilled out after them.

“Your cunt is getting wet,” he sing-songed mockingly as he leaned back and looked down at it.  “You love it up the ass, huh?  Dirty bitch.”

You shook your head in denial (even though you could feel that he was right, at least about the first part), but he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him.

“Say it,” he grunted.  “Admit it, slut.  Admit you love getting fucked up the ass.”

“I…” you whimpered, barely able to get the words out even though you knew you needed to if you wanted to prevent him from hurting you worse.  “I love… getting fucked—” you stopped to swallow the lump in your throat— “up the ass.”

He backhanded you, hard, right across the face.  You cried and gasped all at once, choking on air from the force of the hit.  “WHORE!” he yelled right in your face.

You sobbed uncontrollably as he fucked you with more brutality than you’d known was possible.  “Please,” you tried to beg, even if you knew it was useless, but it was totally incomprehensible as you shook with the force of your cries, hissing in breaths through your teeth to try to cope with the pain.

“Thought it would take me a while to come again, but your ass feels so goddamn good— fuck, I’m close already.  Want me to fill up that tight little ass?”

You shook your head as you sobbed, shaking violently against the confines of the ropes.  Distantly, you heard the chimes of your clock in the other room.

“You hear that?” he whispered.  “That means it’s midnight— it’s Christmas.”

He leaned in until his hot breath tickled your ear and neck, making you wish you could turn your head away more than just a few centimeters.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” he purred, just as you felt his cock swell and pulse inside you.  Your eyes rolled back as you wondered if you’d ever been so full before.

It was a haze after that as he gently untied you, getting his gun out again and keeping it trained on you as he followed you to the bathroom and forced you to shower.  Force was a bit of an overstatement, though, considering your desire to clean him off of you as much as possible.  “I’m not gonna tell anyone, Robert,” you tried to calm him down as you shivered under the stream of water that hadn’t quite warmed up yet.

“Yeah, well, just in case,” he insisted as he waved the gun pointed in your direction.  “Wash between your legs real good, push my come out.”

“Not gonna matter if you knocked me up like you said,” you reminded him.  “A paternity test will be evidence enough.”

“Shut up,” he grimaced.  “Can’t prove you didn’t want it, anyway.  We both know you did.”

You didn’t respond to that, opting to shower silently instead and wincing every time you tried to clean between your legs.  You were going to be sore for days, if not weeks.

“We both know I’m gonna be back for more real soon,” he added darkly.  “Too good for just one night.” 

[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Summary and Ch.1

A Salvatore Moreau x Female!FishMutant!oc fic based on this idea I had the other day that a very specific subset of the fanfom went absolutely apeshit for, which I'm here for and decided to act on. I can't make any promises for consistent uploading or even a finishes product by the end of this, but so long as im still interested in working on it, I'll keep working on it, and if im not, then I wont, plain and simple. Anyways, here's the summary and chapter 1, please let me know what you think of the story so far, i hope you all enjoy (you'd better all enjoy), and I can't wait to see you all again for chapter 2. Bye! <333 (Link to ao3 posting will be in comments so check there if you want to read it there instead)

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

Summary:

Now, I’m sure everyone already knows the ancient tales that tell of a beautiful young woman slowly falling in love with a horrific monstrosity of a man. The pure and true love this innocent beauty comes to feel for him, despite his terrifying appearance, is the key that breaks the cruel and twisted curse under which he’d been kept prisoner. This allows the man behind the monster to not only return to his true human form, but then go on to live his Happily Ever After with the beauty who saved him. Everyone already knows of these tales, as well as the messages behind them, however that is not quite the way this particular tale plays out.

The tale I am about to tell bears many similarities to the one above, however there are also quite a few important differences. For while the original detailed a beauty falling for a monster because of the kind and loving man he was behind his hideous exterior, this is a tale of a beauty, with a few monstrous qualities of her own, falling in love with a kind and loving monster, not at all despite his grotesque appearance, but rather, in part, because of it.

This is a tale, where the Beast still falls for his Beauty first, but the Beauty is the one who will be pursuing her Beast.

Chapter 1: Mother's Gift

Few of those who lived isolated from the outer world, high up in the mountains of Romania, would expect anyone of reasonable sanity to be out traveling in this hellish sort of weather. The wind howling a demonic high pitched tune; snow, sleet, and hail pounding into the ground like an endless shower of bullets from the heavens; and hungry lycans still roaming the area, tirelessly looking for their next meal, would be enough to incentivize even the strongest of mortal men to seek shelter away from the deadly conditions of the outside.

A man by the name of Salvatore Moreau however, one of the 4 lords of this mountain region who lived in the reservoir just past the windmills, did not appear terribly concerned with what other people thought of the traveling conditions. Completely unbothered by the horrifying weather and threat of suddenly being ground into doggy food, the hooded man trudged his way through the dark and barely maintained snow paths. Starting at the reservoir and making his way toward the village, Salvatore moved as quickly as his deformed body would permit, an unusually chipper spring added to his lumbering hobble of a walk.

Mother had a gift for him.

Yes, a truly joyous day it was whenever Mother Miranda called upon him to join her and the other lords for a meeting. Miranda was usually so busy with her experiments that she rarely had time to visit her children outside of these ‘family meetings’ they’d been having recently. However, it would appear as though Mother has come up with a solution of some kind to this problem and wishes to share it with them in person. Whatever this solution is, the mutated man has no idea, as Mother Miranda had been quite vague in her message, however the fact that Salvatore was being given the chance to see his radiant mother AND receive a gift from her, all in one day, was more than enough to make up for how agonizingly lonely he’s been these last few months since winter set in, as well as how agonizing it was for him to walk in this weather.

Salvatore arrived at the usual meeting site just as the clock struck 8pm, precisely as Mother had instructed. However, much to the hooded man’s confusion, when he turned the handle on the large wooden door to enter the room, he quickly realized that he was currently the only one present. This was especially strange considering that, usually, at least one of his siblings was always present a little earlier than necessary, usually Alcina or Karl, but occasionally Donna with Angie in tow.

Mother had clearly said in her message that she wanted to start the meeting at 8pm sharply, so where on earth is everyone?

“Moreau” Mother Miranda’s voice called out, immediately pushing all thoughts from Salvatore’s brain as her powerful, yet lucious voice echoed against the halls of the room like a choir of angels.

“Y-yes! W-what… is it… M-mother Miranda? I-i-i came to you… j-just like you asked” Salvatore responds, bowing his head in reverence as he slowly crosses the room and approaches the otherworldly woman.

“So you did, though I suppose you coming exactly when I call makes the most sense. You always were the most obedient of my children” the woman remarks with casual disdain, her voice devoid of any sort of motherly affection or tenderness. Despite the clear disgust and disregard with which Miranda regards the hooded man standing before her, her words light Salvatore’s soul ablaze, filling his mangled body with intense feelings of heat and desire that melt his heart of the cold, icy frost that had frozen it over the course of the long winter.

“Y-y-yes, y-yes of c-course, Mother M-Miranda! I-i would… I would do any-anything... for y-you. A-anything you s-say... anything y-you n-need… I’d d-do it... f-for you. W-without question!” The deformed man says, practically getting on his hands and knees and crawling as he neared closer and closer to Miranda, stopping only when he’d arrived just in front of the steps the raven mother stood upon, his gaze trained at the ground as he knelt at her feet, awaiting his fate at his mother’s hands.

“I know you would, Moreau,” Miranda says cooly, gently brushing the palm of her hand against the black fabric that covers the top of Salvatore’s head, “which is why I’ve called you here today; to reward you for your loyalty and service to me thus far.”

Salvatore sinks sharp and jagged teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as he desperately tries to silence the needy whine that wanted to tear its way from the back of his throat. His body shivered and twitched in unimaginable delight from the sudden tender caress to his sensitive skin. How long had it been since someone had touched him so gently? How long since someone had spoken to him with such kind and soft words. Took the time to gather presents as a reward for years of faithful servitude? How long since someone had loved him like this?

‘Too long’ the disfigured man sighed to himself, reveling in the soft, gentle contact for as long as he is able.

“Moreau. Look at me” Miranda commanded firmly, and despite not wanting his beloved Mother to be forced to bear witness to his hideous face, he complied, lifting his head up and back to allow his gaze to lift from the floor and up at the glowing figure that was his Mother, his beautiful, incredible, intelligent, majestic mother.

The light shining down from above illuminates Miranda from behind. From Salvatore’s perspective on the floor, the light darkens her face and most of her torso and waist, giving a softened, almost ethereal glow around Miranda’s figure. This, along with the rest of her garb, makes Mother Miranda appear even more like the holy woman that Salvatore naively believes she still is. Despite her less than affectionate treatment of him thus far, Salvatore still stared up at the darkened face of Mother Miranda, his eyes shining with reverence, love, desire, and unending devotion.

“Y-yes... Mother?” Salvatore breathed, barely able to speak above a whisper as Miranda stepped away, gesturing for him to follow.

“Are you ready to collect your gift now?” The raven mother asks, speaking more softly than before and even holding her hand out to Salvatore, her pose and appearance mirroring that of a powerful god taking mercy upon her wretched follower, reaching out to reward the years of faithful servitude and worship.

Salvatore, barely able to keep himself calm as he stumbled to his feet, did not grace Mother Miranda’s question with a proper response, instead practically racing to take the woman’s outstretched hand in his own.

“I’m ready Mother… I-I’m ready for... my g-gift now… can I… c-can I have it n-now… p-please?” Salvatore begs, pulling at Miranda’s hand like an overly excited child, seemingly unaware of the disgusted twist of her face when the hooded man’s cold, slimy fingers firmly latched onto hers.

“Of course, my child” Mother Miranda says, pulling her hand back from Salvatore’s and instead placing it along the man’s hunched back, beginning to guide him to wherever it was the raven mother had hidden his gift.

As Salvatore limped next to Mother Miranda, the deformed man couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was that Mother had gotten for him. Was it a new cloak, to replace the worn one he was currently wearing? Perhaps a new set of romance films so he didn’t have to rewatch the ones he already owned over and over again anymore? Or maybe it was something to help with his digestion?

It would be nice to get his chronic acid reflux under control again.

Regardless of what the gift actually turned out to be however, Salvatore was merely pleased that he was finally getting a chance to spend time with Mother Miranda all by himself for a change.

Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d even agree to hold him, just like she always did back when he was still undergoing cadou treatment.

Oh how wonderful that would be!

[cutesilyo]

i know your eyes in the morning sun — an indophil fanfic

When a homesick Indonesia is unexpectedly taken out of his meeting for a day trip in Rome with Philippines, he isn't expecting much more than exhaustion ahead of him. Instead, what happens is a whirlwind of food, fun, and a surprising amount of reflection on their histories and differences as nations. And as he looks deeper and deeper in the other nation's bright eyes, he learns to come to terms with the feelings he's been ignoring for far, far too long.

Alternatively: a nation who's too attached to the past goes on a date with a nation whose entire philosophy is built on trying to live in the moment. Yes, there is kissing involved.

Also available on AO3, FF.net

—

“Tell me why we’re here again,” Indonesia groused.

“Unofficially, it’s because I’m busting you out of that damn meeting.” Philippines grinned, his purple eyes glinting mischievously under Rome’s bright sun. “Officially, it’s because we’re on a date.”

All Indonesia could do was sigh. He had arrived in Italy two days ago for a G20 summit, and all the meetings he’s had to attend since then had left him tired and restless. It would have been easier if it was like a normal ASEAN meeting, where he was at least familiar and friendly with all the members. But in the G20, he was the sole Southeast Asian nation there, and he found it difficult to get a word in everyone else’s chaos. Most of the time, he simply preferred to keep his head down and daydream about going back home.

It was during his third-favorite daydream (a peaceful afternoon at Borobudur, dressed in gold just like the old days) that Philippines had burst through the doors with his perpetually bright eyes and cheeky smile. Before he could even process what was happening, Philippines was happily dragging him out of the room while everybody else waved them goodbye.

And that’s how Indonesia found himself in his current predicament. Outside some random pizzeria in a foreign country, dazed out of his wits, and with the one nation who got under his nerves the easiest.

He really wanted to go home.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” Philippines patted him on the shoulder with a laugh, and Indonesia couldn’t help but tense uncomfortably. “It's not like this is a real date, I just made up some lame excuse to get them off my back. Besides, you were bored out of your mind there, weren’t you? I bet you weren’t even listening. You were probably thinking about your temples.”

“No,” he denied, but the other nation simply smirked knowingly. He felt his face go red in embarrassment. “Well, can you blame me? I don’t feel right around all those Westerners . . .”

Philippines just laughed at him as they walked in.

There wasn’t much to walk into. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, but just a small family-owned business that only had two round tables to the side. Other than them, there didn’t seem to be any other customers. Different flavors of pizza were behind glass, oddly rectangular in shape rather than the circular pizzas he was used to seeing in advertisements, but their names and prices went unlabeled. Even if they were, he doubted that it would help him much; while he was steadily getting used to English, the Romance languages were an entirely different matter.

“Buonasera,” the middle-aged woman behind the counter greeted them.

Indonesia could only nod awkwardly in response, but Philippines grinned cheerily. “Buonasera! Ciao bella, come stai?”

The two struck up a light conversation while he tried to decide what kind of pizza to get. He was used to thick-crusted, American-style pizzas, and he really didn’t see the point of eating something so expensive when a good terang bulan was always available. Besides, even if he didn’t particularly like pizza, he could see that the ones available here were an entirely different beast from the ones Pizza Hut sold at home. Much more greens and vegetables, for one.

Indonesia hoped he didn’t look too clueless when Philippines finally turned to ask him what kind of pizza he wanted. He just pointed at a random one and prayed for the best.

The other nation looked amused, but he didn’t comment any further. He just turned back to the woman and presumably rattled off their order in rapid-fire Italian that he could barely catch. They continued their conversation from where they left off, and whatever it was that Philippines was saying, it made the woman blush like a maiden. Suddenly, for a reason that he refused to name, he felt consumed by irritation.

His stony silence continued until the woman had given them their pizza, warm and each slice served in a small tray, and bid them goodbye. He’d barely given them a glance until they sat down on a bench just outside the pizzeria.

“So, what do you think?” Philippines asked him. He seemed more excited than he was. “This is your first, right?”

“I’ve eaten pizza before,” he grumbled.

“But this is different,” the other nation insisted. “This is pizza al taglio, Rome’s specialty! Come on, just start eating it already. I could hear your stomach grumbling since we left the meeting room.”

Indonesia stared at the pizza dubiously, ignoring how quickly Philippines was eating his own slice just beside him, before giving it a bite.

It was . . . good.

Not that he was going to tell the other nation that. He couldn’t bear the smug smirk that would be thrown his way.

Instead, he said, “It’s folded. It’s like a sandwich.”

“Boo,” Philippines stuck his tongue out at him. “If you must know, it’s called panino and it’s a lot better than eating it unfolded.”

“Unfolded,” Indonesia repeated. “You mean, like normal?”

Philippines gasped overdramatically. “I can’t believe you just said that! No, pizza al taglio is supposed to be eaten panino! Just ask Romano, he’ll say it's the best.”

“And I imagine if you ask Italy Veneziano, he’d say the opposite.” He took another bite, careful not to let any of the grease on his hands, and hummed appreciatively. “I think I ordered something different though.”

Philippines just laughed, a bit sheepishly. "I . . . may have taken the liberty of changing your order. The one you pointed at back there had pork sausage slices on it, so I got you something more halal. That one has arugula and mozzarella, and I know you like things a bit spicy, so I asked the lady to give you something more piccante. This slice has pepper flakes baked in the dough."

"Oh," he blinked, a bit stunned. Indonesia felt warmer than the pizza in his hands. "Terima kasih."

"Hey, as long as you're here with me, ako bahala sa'yo." Philippines stood up and grinned at him, eyes bright and his half-eaten pizza in his hand. "You know, the best thing about pizza panino is that you can eat them while we're on the go! How about we walk around the city, and I'll take you out on a real date?"

------

This was a mistake.

He and Philippines have never really hung out together much; either they only met for formal occasions or they were always joined by at least one other ASEAN member, so the chances they had to be alone were usually few and far in between. If he was being honest, it was probably better for his heart that way.

Still, he probably should've known better than to let Philippines take charge, because his definition of walking around and the other nation's idea of walking around were vastly different things. For one, he'd definitely rather be driving rather than walking anyway. It didn't help that he was still stuck in his stuffy formal suit and dress shoes, while Philippines was both comfy and stylish in his boots, jeans, and a fashionable overcoat. And though he preferred to get to his destinations as quickly and efficiently as possible, Philippines loved making stops at every little statue or shop that interested him. What's worse is that he couldn't just leave the other nation behind — between the two of them, Philippines was the only one who actually knew how to speak Italian and knew how to get around the city. His only choices were to suffer alone in a foreign land or to slowly murder his feet following Philippines around, and just this once, he'd rather swallow his pride.

"If only my motorcycle was here . . ." Indonesia sighed. "How long are you going to take?"

"Just a bit longer!" He heard Philippines shout from the back of the souvenir shop. "My neighbors would never forgive me if I didn't get them anything, you know!"

He was idly inspecting a small plastic replica of the Coliseum when the other nation emerged a few minutes later, proudly carrying about a dozen silver keychains in his hands. Indonesia couldn't stop himself from grimacing at them; in rupiahs, that was probably the cost of a plane ticket.

"You aren't going to buy anything?" Philippines said. He was fiddling around his pockets for spare coins. He seemed to have forgotten that his wallet was probably in the small leather bag he was carrying, and Indonesia didn't feel like telling him.

"Pass," he said. "I'll wait outside, if you don't mind."

Philippines shrugged, turning back to the cashier. "Suit yourself."

As soon as he stepped out into the cobblestone streets, he immediately felt restless for a smoke. The architecture, the weather, the people . . . it all just reminded him how far away from home he was. It was autumn in Italy, colder than it would ever get at his house, and with a sharp pang of his heart he realized how much he missed everyone.

He started worrying about whether Singapore had gotten enough sleep last night, because often the young nation would look at data until the sun rose, looking for where he could make himself stronger. And Malaysia got dehydrated too easily for someone with his water resources, so he always had to remind him about refilling his water dispensers every once and a while. Brunei had always been quiet, but he'd been too reclusive than was healthy these days; and even though Timor-Leste couldn't face him sometimes, he still hoped she was doing alright. He trusted Thailand and Vietnam could handle everything over at the mainland, but he couldn't help but be concerned about them anyway.

Then there was the nation he was with right now.

All of a sudden, he felt a warm breath on his neck and a whispered: "You're scaring the other tourists, mahal."

Indonesia barely held back a scream, furiously turning to face a mirthful Philippines that was clearly having the time of his life teasing him. "Would you stop scaring me like that? And don't call me mahal!"

Philippines just waved him off with a laugh. "Please, that was barely a scare. And you deserve it! I thought the way you kept staring at my bag was weird, but you meant to tell me my money was in it, right? Silly Indonesia, I can't know things if you don't actually say it."

"Don't blame me for your denseness," he shot back. "Besides, your idea of a date must be really sloppy if all you do is take me to tourist shops. Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Are you saying you wanted something more romantic? Oh Indonesia, how bold of you!" Philippines looked at him slyly.

He was suddenly reminded of how difficult it could be to talk to Philippines sometimes. "I just thought you'd take me to actual places, like the Coliseum. Or maybe a castle, I don't know."

They walked together in amiable silence towards a nearby bus stop. He almost cried in relief when they finally sat down after what felt like hours of walking. Maybe Indonesia was just feeling his age, but he was not nearly as full of energy as the nation beside him.

"I know you've been to the Coliseum before, so taking you there isn't nearly as exciting," said Philippines, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone. "Just so you know."

"Everything always has to be exciting for you," said Indonesia, with a huff.

The other nation winked at him. "What can I say? I love a little thrill."

He couldn't help but be amused at that. Whether it was thrill rides or thriller horror movies, Philippines was always raring to go. Still, though he was grateful, he was starting to feel a bit guilty about all the trouble he put the other nation through. He knew Philippines could be impulsive, but he didn't think he was the kind of person to drop everything and fly to Europe just to rescue him from another boring meeting. "I've been meaning to ask, but how did you end up in Italy anyway? I'd hate to think that you spent so much money just to go here."

"Don't worry! I didn't come to Europe for you," Philippines grinned brightly. "You're just a stop on the destination. I'm actually headed to Munich."

Ah. For some reason, that only made Indonesia feel worse.

"See, when I'm in Europe, I like to start by visiting the Vatican," the other nation continued. "Then Germany said that he had a meeting in Rome too, so we were planning to catch the train together. Didn't you notice that he was rushing to end your meetings as quickly as possible? It's Oktoberfest, you know."

Indonesia nodded slowly. "I guess September does end next week . . . ?"

"Dios mio," Philippines laughed. "I mean the beer festival, not the month. I'd invite you to join us but I know you don't drink."

"Even if I did, I don't think I could keep up with you and Germany," he admitted, which made the other nation's eyes twinkle with pride. "That still doesn't explain why you decided to crash the meeting."

"That's just because you weren't checking WhatsApp, which I'm grateful for." Philippines handed him his phone, which was opened to the group conversation they had with the rest of the ASEAN nations. "Here, I bet you left your phone at the hotel or something."

He did, but that was beside the point. Indonesia took the phone.

The first thing he saw was a selfie of Philippines at the airplane, snuggled up under the airline's provided blanket. Just boarded from Dubai! Be arriving at Fiumicino by morning, anything you guys want?

Abang is in Rome too, isn't he? Malaysia had asked. In that case, the both of you should bring back gifts! I need the best cheese for my sea cucumbers. Also, remember the keychains.

Singapore had sent one of his custom stickers. The merlion was sticking its tongue out.

Stop being so mean to him, or else he'll end up crying to me again, Thailand replied.

Not my problem he's a crybaby, Singapore said. Then he sent another merlion sticker.

Vietnam sent a laughing emoji, and then: You should visit Indo while you're there. You know how sad he gets when he has to go abroad alone.

Malaysia sent a GIF of a crying scene from some old movie.

Eh? But if I'm going to visit him, I want it to be a surprise! Philippines had whined. If he goes online soon, he'll already know. No fun in that.

It should be okay. He's probably asleep now anyway. And he doesn't check his phone during meetings, unlike you, Thailand pointed out.

It will be good for him to see a friendly face, Vietnam added.

Take care of him lah, Singapore had said. Make sure he enjoys himself this time.

PIRI WAIT I HAVE A GREAT IDEA, chatted Malaysia. I'll DM you just in case, so abang can't find out. He'll love it, trust me!

Oh no, said Vietnam, Thailand, and Singapore in separate, individual messages, to which Malaysia simply replied with another GIF. Brunei even mustered the energy to send a worried-looking emoji.

The last message, sent earlier this afternoon, was a selfie of Philippines with a cheeky grin. He was standing just outside the meeting room, and he had sent it with the caption: He won't know what hit him! <3

Indonesia sat there in stunned silence for a few minutes, until he was nudged gently.

"Come on, the bus is here," Philippines stood, putting his hands on his hips. Then he frowned at him. "Hey, Indonesia, is there anything wrong? You look a bit shaken."

"No, everything's fine, I just," he stammered. There was such a powerful feeling in his heart that he didn't have the capacity to explain. "Um, I don't have my phone with me, so. Please thank everyone for keeping me in their thoughts. Tell them I'm doing my best to make all of you proud."

The other nation stared at him for a moment, then smiled.

If Indonesia let a few tears drop while they were on the bus, Philippines was kind enough not to say a word.

-----

Their stop was on top of a hill. There was an impressively large monument of a man on a horse, but Philippines dragged him to the nearby café as soon as they got off the bus, and Indonesia realized that he was probably better off with a nice snack than looking at some old statue anyway. To be fair, he had been waiting for dessert all day long, and the crepes were warm and delicious and more than enough to satisfy his sweet tooth. He finished his in record time, and bought another one right after.

"Ah, there's that smile," Philippines teased, once Indonesia had returned to their spot. "I was wondering where it went."

He was too engrossed with his enjoying his food to respond, but he motioned go on.

"It's just—I've seen you with tourists, you know." Philippines delicately sipped on his drink, slow and careful like an old cat. "Remember when we had that ASEAN hang-out at Bali? The restaurant near our hotel was full of foreign customers, and the staff was overwhelmed, so you decided to help the staff serve tables and entertain the guests. You seemed really friendly there."

"You knew about that?" Indonesia flushed with embarrassment. He thought he managed to sneak out successfully; it was at the point that Vietnam and Laos got crazy drunk, after all. "Well, it's very different dealing with foreigners at my home and actually being in a foreign place."

Philippines hummed contemplatively. "I think I get it. You feel more in control when it's them coming to you, rather than the other way around."

"Yeah, I suppose so." He crumpled the wrapping paper in his hands. "It's different for you though, right? I think you're more used to foreigners than I am."

The other nation laughed nervously. "I'm not sure Boracay and El Nido can even compare—"

"I'm not talking about tourists."

He knew, of course, that Philippines met with many nations as part of his duties, but he had always taken to this role so naturally that Indonesia could only assume that his history had given him a leg up. Spain was stricter on imposing his culture on the other nation than Netherlands ever was with him, or England with Malaysia and Singapore. America was just as obnoxiously stubborn when he colonized him right after. And although he never forgot his roots as part of Southeast Asia, Philippines also kept much less of his pre-colonial culture and history than the rest of them. Anything before Spain took him away was hazy and, as far as his memory was concerned, he had spent his youth growing up with the Americas and Europe — and with his mannerisms and how close he was with the Western nations, he certainly acted like it.

When Philippines arrived at the meeting earlier, everyone was accepting him with open arms. Spain had fondly ruffled his hair and America invited him to a party at his place next week. France had cooed adoringly at how much he had grown since his youth and England reminded him that he was due to visit London's hospitals in the next month. Germany's cheeks were pink as he asked how he was doing and Italy immediately began talking his ear off about food recipes and restaurants. Mexico began crying with joy at the sight of him, while Argentina and Brazil embraced him like family. It was a miracle that the both of them were able to leave as quickly as they did; he was sure that they'd make Philippines stay for at least another hour, if they could.

Meanwhile, Indonesia's own presence was always forgotten. The only time he was talked to the entire meeting was when Australia made an awkward half-joke, half-apology about the spying issue again.

"I guess it's easier for me to relate to them," Philippines admitted, a melancholy look in his eyes. He was looking down at his still half-eaten crepe with an oddly bittersweet smile on his lips; the sun, only just beginning to set, cast a dark shadow on his face. "And for them to relate to me. But I would be lying if I said I don't feel out of place with them too, sometimes. Despite everything, we're still very different. Besides, all the cultural similarities in the world can't make up for the fact that I'm so far away from them all. There just isn't enough opportunity for me to talk to them as much as they can talk to each other."

Indonesia didn't know what to say to that. He settled for a neutral, "I'm sorry I brought it up."

The other nation waved it off. "I'll forgive you if you take a selfie with me later."

He didn't have any choice but to accept.

As he waited for Philippines to finish his food, Indonesia took the time to observe the other people around. Many of them were trying to take a picture with the huge statue, but there were also families walking around with their happily enthusiastic children. If he looked farther, he could see busts of what he assumed were various historical figures lining the pathways. Going by the number of cars that had been parked just across them, it seemed like the park was of good interest for both tourists and locals alike. There were enough people to suggest that the place was well-loved, but there were nowhere near the crowds he'd see when he passed by the other popular tourist destinations. The statue of the man with a horse was large and grand, but he didn't recognize it; he was sure that, whatever this place was, it wasn't featured on the usual travel brochures.

"I'm curious," he said slowly, "as to why you're so familiar with Rome."

Philippines gave him a wry twitch of the lips, sitting his chin on the palm of his hands. "I thought we were done talking about me and the West?"

"This is different," he defended. "I'm just asking why you know about this place. Italy never took us anywhere like this for the G20 formalities."

"Well, of course he wouldn't," he said, idly swirling his drink around. "Just think: if you have a nice and peaceful park that's meant more for relaxation and you also have more famous and historically significant places available, then you would rather take your visiting diplomats to the latter, right? So Italy takes you to Palatino and Campidoglio instead of here. If it were you hosting the meeting, you'd take them to Monas instead of Taman Surapati."

Indonesia thought about that for a moment, but no matter how much he wanted to argue, he was forced to accept that Philippines was right. Then he frowned. "But you just take everyone to Luneta."

The other nation winked. "It's to my benefit that Luneta just happens to be both historical, relaxing, and beautiful. Makes my life a lot easier."

"You're not actually answering my question," he pointed out.

Philippines simply hummed, leaning back on his chair. His hair was blowing in the cold autumn breeze. "There's not much to say. I've had to visit a lot recently, since Italy is full of my migrant workers, more so than anywhere else in Europe. But when we were younger, Romano used to take me here often. The things he'd say — well, now that I think about it, I think you could relate."

He almost choked on his spit. Indonesia had never been in much contact with Romano, especially as his younger brother was always the one who represented Italy in their meetings, but he couldn't see any similarity between him and that foul-mouthed, angry brat. At the very least, he liked to think he was much more friendly and polite.

Uncharacteristically, the other nation didn't take the opportunity to laugh at him this time. Instead there was only a faraway look on his face, pensive as he stared out into somewhere unknown.

After a moment, Philippines finally said: "Do you still remember being with your old empires?"

Indonesia stilled.

"I know I don't, but you were old enough to remember living with the other maritime nations together as Nusantara," the other nation continued. "There was a glory that you could remember living before Portugal and Netherlands came to your shores. You weren't Majapahit, but you carried his legacy and his blood; just like you carried Srivijaya's.

"Romano lived at Spain's like I did, you know. He liked me for some reason, probably because I used to get sick all the time and couldn't really annoy him as much as the others. One day, he took me to Rome for the first time. I was so amazed at finally seeing all the old ruins I used to read about in books, and then when I looked back at him, he was crying. He told me it was like he could never escape the shadow of his grandfather."

Philippines' smile was terribly bittersweet. "I remember thinking that, for the first time, I was grateful I couldn't remember who I was before Spain came. And ever since I met you again, I kept wondering if you ever felt like Romano did. Maybe you had all that burden on you and you never told us. Maybe you felt lonely too."

He remembered.

Back when all of them were just children, back when he had never seen fair skin except for when he traded with the Eastern Asian nations up north. China and India, of course, were always present. Vietnam was older, and despite all the fighting she did, it never looked like she was ever frazzled by it. Myanmar was the same, but because he was so distant and preoccupied with his own kingdoms, Indonesia saw him the least. He would see Khmer more often when she had to pick up her sons, cheerful Thailand, friendly Laos, and belligerent Cambodia, from whenever they decided to come by. In their household, Malaysia was already energetic, but he was always doubly so whenever Singapore was around; those were the days that the smaller nation still admired his brother. Timor Leste was still sweet and shy, hiding behind him at every hint of danger. Brunei, quiet as ever, spent his time diligently picking flowers for a young Philippines across the sea. Steady, dependable Majapahit had welcomed them all with a smile, and taught him to do the same.

Indonesia grew up without ever really knowing what loneliness was. Even after Majapahit had already faded away, Netherlands had visited him much more often than was necessary or appropriate for a normal colonial relationship. And though he was separated from the rest of them, his siblings were never too far from him either.

So he had to take care of them too, when he could. He had to, because he was the one who remembered the most about what life was like, before. He had to, because he was the oldest. He had to, because that was what Majapahit taught him. Whether he began to feel more and more weary as the centuries passed by and his own territory expanded didn't matter, because being able to take care of as many people as he could — that was the greatest power any nation could ever have.

Of course he remembered. He never let himself forget.

A gentle nudge from Philippines shook him out of his silence. Softly, he said, "You don't have to answer that if it makes you uncomfortable. Believe it or not, even I know when to back off."

"Sorry, you just caught me off-guard," he said, taking a moment to compose himself. Then Indonesia sighed. "You're not normally so serious. I was completely unprepared."

Philippines pouted. "Is it really all that surprising? I just thought, since you asked me a pretty personal question just now, it's only fair that I do the same to you. Answering that made me feel sad, so you needed to think of something that made you sad too! At least the both of us can feel sad together, instead of just me being sad all on my own."

Indonesia felt his eye twitch. "Your logic is really something."

The other nation just laughed, as if nothing happened at all. Then he stood, his grin wide and his hand reaching out to him, and said, "Come on, it's a complete waste for us to come here if all we're going to do is sit around! You can see all of Rome from Gianicolo, you know."

They watched the sunset from the hill's peak, and seeing the yellows and oranges being reflected in Philippines' purple eyes made for a pretty sight. As the sun shone its last light on the ancient ruins of the Roman Empire, Indonesia felt strangely at peace for the first time since he arrived. Maybe he'd even ask Philippines to properly introduce him to Romano one day.

-----

The Eternal City was beautiful even at night, but Indonesia just felt tired. He could sense that Philippines still wanted to go around with him — he mentioned something about taking him to a turtle fountain? — so they settled for slowly walking down the hill. They chatted about mundane things like food, gaming, and the merits of motorcycles over bikes, and it was unexpectedly nice. For some reason, Indonesia felt as light as air. He still wanted to go home as soon as he could, but he slowly realized that he wasn't all that opposed to just spending time with the other nation either.

"Say, Indonesia," Philippines suddenly said. "Do you know how to get back to your hotel?"

Indonesia took that back. He wanted to go home immediately.

The other nation giggled. "Don't tell me that you don't even remember which hotel you're staying at?"

He quickly turned his head away. He willed himself to look anywhere but the other nation, but he could still feel how Philippines was staring at him.

"Ah! I get it now," Philippines said, delightedly. Indonesia internally cursed himself. "Let me guess. You didn't have any plans of going anywhere but the meeting, the hotel, and the airport, so you thought it was fine if you left your phone behind and if you didn't care to remember your hotel's name. And, you kept falling asleep at the hotel shuttle that takes you to the meetings, so you can't even tell me about the nearby landmarks! My, how careless of you, Indonesia!"

"Why are you so smart," Indonesia grumbled, "for the most stupid of things?"

"I don't hear any denial," Philippines sang. "Well, whatever, that works out for me. Unless you're game for scouring through the dozens of hotels around the city, I guess I have no choice but to take you back to my place, huh?"

He faced Philippines, who was scrolling through his phone again, and said, "You don't have to do that. You can probably just ask Italy which hotel he arranged for me. I can take a taxi."

The other nation hummed. "Going from his Instagram stories, he looks like he's too busy partying with the others. Looks like France even brought out his special wine for the occasion. Hey, would you want to party with them? The bar they went to is just a few stations away by metro."

The last time he went to a G20 party, he and Germany were made to strip so that everyone could stare at their pecs. The expression he made must have been grim, as Philippines immediately backtracked. "I'm going to take that as a no."

Indonesia sighed. "Well, I don't want to disturb Italy and I don't want to waste any money trying to find another hotel. If you're really fine with me staying with you for the night, then I guess I have no problem with it either."

Philippines stopped in his tracks. "Eh? You're not going to make a fuss about it?"

Indonesia tilted his head, quizzically. "And you are?"

For some odd reason, the other nation seemed flustered. He was gripping the strap of his bag tightly and his cheeks were pink. "Well, you know, you're normally so averse to any of my ideas, and you always seem so annoyed with me. I thought, for sure, that you were just going to argue against me again . . ."

"Do you really think so lowly of me?" Indonesia frowned. "I wouldn't have been with you all day if I hated you."

That seemed to perk Philippines back up. He could practically see the sparkles in the other nation's eyes as he faced him and gleefully said, "Ha! You've admitted it! So if you don't hate me, does that mean that you actually like me, Indonesia?"

He couldn't hold back a smirk. "Don't get too ahead of yourself."

Philippines just laughed, cheery and bright.

When they stepped down from the bus, Indonesia was surprised to be faced with a block full of old apartment buildings rather than a fancy hotel. Evidently, the other nation was familiar to the residents; one old lady had grasped him firmly by the hand with a gummy smile as she engaged them in small talk. Philippines then took him to the second building on the right and led him through a few flights of stairs to a dark, wooden door.

The apartment was small but clean. Two bedrooms and a bathroom, then some communal space with a worn sofa and a dated television. There was a kitchen with a countertop, rice cooker unplugged, and more than a few succulents sitting by the window. The other nation's usual travel bag was still on the floor, a duffel bag easily recognizable by the numerous flag patches stitched by the sides as a memento for all the countries he had visited. A small corner was developed into a personal home altar, figures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary surrounded by flowers and golden crosses. Even though it was emptier than Philippines' own home back in Manila, it was still undeniably his in its coziness and warmth. All in all, it was modest and good; certainly more than what Indonesia expected for an apartment that the other nation probably only visited a few times a year.

"It's cute. It fits you," he said politely.

"Aw, you think I'm cute," Philippines teased. He was hanging his overcoat on the coat rack, which was a bit too tall for him — a sliver of skin showed only for a moment before being covered again by his turtleneck top. Indonesia pretended he didn't see. "Please go ahead and sit down, make yourself comfortable. Oh, won’t you take off your suit and place it somewhere? The good thing about Europe is that it’s a lot cooler here, so you can still wear it tomorrow without worrying about sweat and stuff."

“I knew that, at least.” He placed his suit on a nearby chair and sat down on the sofa. Philippines set a saucer full of biscuits at the table and gave him a glass of water, which he gratefully drank. As the other nation sat down beside him, Indonesia couldn’t help but ask, “Is this place really yours?”

“My government didn’t buy it for me like all our other properties, if that’s what you’re asking,” Philippines said, reaching out for the biscuits. There was an audible crunch as he bit into one of them. “One of the Filipinos living here bought it for her son, but he decided to move in with his girlfriend. She thought it would be a waste of money to abandon it, so she gave it to me. When I’m not here, it gets rented as an Airbnb. We share the profits. It’s actually pretty good passive income, you know.”

Indonesia gave him a wry smile. “You always find an opportunity to make money, somehow. I’d say it’s America’s influence, but I know for a fact you’ve been this way since we were kids.”

"My skill is all mine, thank you very much," the other nation boasted, leaning back into the sofa with a self-assured smirk. “I don't suppose there's anything else you remember about me from those days? I assure you, if you thought I inherited my charm from Spain, you'd be dead wrong.”

Your hair used to be so long, he immediately thought. He had taken care of it meticulously, washing it with several oils so it was always smooth and wonderfully scented. Gold adorned almost every inch of his body, painstakingly crafted with the tiniest details, contrasting beautifully with the vibrant textiles used for his clothes. Even as a child, Philippines was already used to traveling often — Tondo and Seludong would take him up north, Butuan and Sulu down south, Sugbu and Panay at the center, and a dozen more kingdoms in between. He loved his boats the most, and Majapahit would patiently humor him by letting the younger nation talk his ear off about the latest developments his different kingdoms had with their boatmaking.

Not that he had ever tried to listen in, or attempted to make prolonged conversation with the other nation. At the time, Indonesia was too busy trying to handle Malaysia and Singapore’s chaos to pay much attention to anyone else. He hadn’t gotten to know Philippines all that well until they met again centuries later; older and more jaded, irrevocably shaped by the circumstances their colonizers had placed them in.

Sometimes he wondered what life would have been like if things had turned out differently. But he didn’t have the energy to waste his time despairing over it all again, not when Philippines was still looking at him so expectantly.

“Your eyes haven’t changed,” Indonesia decided to say. “And as for everything else I remember, there’s nothing I haven’t already told you about before.”

Philippines smiled at him fondly, “You’re as terribly succinct as ever.”

Indonesia smiled back, “And as always, you’re just as annoyingly persistent.”

For a long moment, they just sat there on the sofa in silence — easy and comfortable and bathed in the apartment’s warm, golden light. The windows were open, and guitar music from the neighbors was softly permeating the room with its slow, relaxed melody. It was during these kinds of moments that Indonesia's heart felt full; that all he's been through in the past few centuries were worth it, if it meant he could enjoy more days like this. The mood was right and he felt good; perhaps if he was braver, he would have had the confidence to make the most out of it.

Eventually, the moment passed, and the other nation stood. "It's so late already! I should probably get to preparing our dinner. You can freshen up before we eat, if you want."

"Right," Indonesia said, hastily standing up as well. "Ah, may I borrow your phone? I just need to check on something."

Philippines didn't really answer, but he heartily belted out the lyrics to some old love song as he brought out a pot and a chopping board from the kitchen cabinets, so he took it as a yes. Ignoring how the photo for the lock screen looked suspiciously like the sunrise at Bali, he put in the PIN code — 8862, how sentimental of him — and was immediately bombarded by the number of notifications he got. There were messages from everywhere: SMS, Facebook Messenger, WhatsApp, Instagram, Twitter, Telegram . . . it's really no wonder that Philippines was named both the texting and social media capital of the world. Indonesia had no interest in intruding on the other nation's privacy though. As he ducked into the bathroom to wash his face, hands, and feet, he did a quick Google search for sholat times rome.

If he was home, he wouldn't have needed to Google such a thing; the mosques would have already blared adzan through the loudspeakers, reminding everyone in close vicinity that it was time for prayer. His overseas workers would sometimes complain to him about how difficult it could be to pray once they were abroad, that strangers would sometimes gawk at them in public or their employers wouldn't give them the time or space to do it properly in the office. Indonesia often had nothing to offer them but his sympathies. Tonight, he decided, he would pray for them.

"Are you going to pray?" Philippines called out. He was placing a tray in the oven. "Head to the back, go in the room on the right. It should be peaceful there."

"Thank you," he said, and when he opened the door, he was greeted with a welcome surprise.

Though the room was otherwise plain, a vibrantly orange prayer mat stood out — Malaysia's picking, no doubt. Indonesia raised his hands facing kiblat, slow and reverent, and made the mental note to thank his brother later. Thanks to this, he felt significantly less alone.

-----

Philippines made a quick sign of the cross as he sat down on the table. He grinned, "Let's eat!"

It was a modest meal: baked fish with lemons, Filipino-style chop suey, white rice, and a bowl of what was unmistakably Indomie Mi Goreng. While Philippines had poured out a glass of white wine for himself, Indonesia had a glass of orange juice. The other nation was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal, though Indonesia chalked that up to hunger; Philippines ate quickly and ravenously, shoving spoonfuls of rice and noodles into his mouth without pausing for so much as a single breath. Indonesia felt tired just watching him.

Once they were finished, Philippines patted his stomach with a satisfied sigh. "Ah, that's the good stuff."

"My compliments to the chef," Indonesia said, which made the other nation giggle. "Though I have to say, I would have cooked it differently."

"I know, but then it'd take longer and I was already so hungry — I'd even go as far to say that I was absolutely famished." Philippines groaned, slumping in his seat. "I mean, I know we could've just eaten at some trattoria down the road, but I needed rice. And I wasn't going to settle for some dumb risotto, no matter how delicious it would be. You get me, don't you?"

"It isn't a full meal without rice," Indonesia agreed.

The other nation nodded seriously. "I always felt like something was missing while I was growing up. It wasn't until I was allowed to go back to Manila that I figured out that it was rice. I haven't looked back since."

Indonesia had always known that Philippines had lived in Europe during the centuries that he was a Spanish colony, but hadn't thought any deeper about the smaller implications that had on him. Some things were obvious — his devout Catholicism for one, and the conspicuously Hispanic human name he used in his daily life — but little things like this caught him off-guard. He said, "I'm sincerely very sorry to hear that."

Philippines did nothing but take a long sip of his wine. "No need to pity me so much, it's in the past now. I don't really think about it."

"I'm not pitying you," he muttered, though he wasn't able to look Philippines in the eyes as he said it. Then, louder: "I'm just realizing that there's still so much I don't know about you. I'm your neighbor, and I don't even know what your childhood was like."

Philippines smiled at him, but it was strained. His face was saying I don't want to talk about it even as he softly confessed, "I don't know all about your history either, Indonesia. Not enough. The sentiment goes both ways. And as for my time with Spain . . . well, what is there to say, really? He said he would take care of me, and he didn't. Not in the same way he took care of the others. Whether that's a blessing or a curse, I don't think I'll ever really know. I just know that it's over now, and I'm grateful.

"I bet your experience was different though." The gaze the other nation leveled on him was nothing less than dangerously curious. His purple eyes were filled with strong contempt, but contempt for what, Indonesia didn't know. "Like I said, I don't know the specifics. But I've been told your relationship with Netherlands was something else entirely."

"He and I weren't—" he stammered, more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything else.

But the way Philippines was looking at him made him stop. He took a deep breath and calmed himself; the other nation deserved something more honest than that.

He still remembered how tightly Netherlands had gripped at his arm, decades and decades ago, his scarf flapping helplessly in the wind. Despite all the things that had gone unsaid between them and the years that they spent together, the blond was still unbearably silent. He used to admire that stoic demeanor; tried to emulate it when he was feeling overwhelmed, always so determined not to embarrass himself or the empire. Back when Netherlands had declared him the emerald of the equator, the crown jewel of his power as a nation . . . it had taken all he had to choke back his pride. It had taken all he had to keep his secret, that budding idea that he was meant to be more than just somebody else's precious colony.

Indië, Netherlands had pleaded, and suddenly the great Dutch Empire had seemed so small.

"It was different," he finally said. "But I don't think it was any better, in the end."

With a bittersweet smile, Philippines simply raised a toast. "To tomorrow."

In answer, Indonesia downed the rest of his orange juice in one go. This time, Philippines' laugh was more genuine, and he couldn't help but stare.

He had noticed this before, of course, but now — with the other nation elegantly sitting across him, his purple eyes glittering bright, and the wine glass so tantalizingly close to his lips — Indonesia was stricken by how right at home the other nation looked. Even Singapore, who probably had the most business with the Western countries out of them all, was more guarded whenever he stepped foot on European soil. Yet Philippines wasn't out of place here in the same way that Indonesia felt, and had instead carried the same easygoing attitude he had during their own ASEAN meetings. As much as the other nation's energy and eccentricities irked him sometimes, he also found himself in awe of him as well.

The others were right. If Philippines hadn't come, he would've spent all his free time wallowing around in his hotel room just feeling sorry for himself. But instead, he was enjoying himself more than he thought he would. Hesitant as he was to admit it, he almost found himself wanting to stay in Rome a little bit longer, if it meant the both of them could spend more time together.

"You're not leaving for Munich anytime soon, are you?" Indonesia said, daring to be hopeful.

Philippines rested his cheek on his hand. "If I remember right, the tickets Prussia bought for us were for tomorrow morning? He gets way too excited about Oktoberfest, you know."

Why do I even try to be happy, Indonesia thought darkly.

"Ah, don't look so glum! You have me all to yourself for the rest of the night," Philippines winked. "But I have to warn you, Pien is having his precious beauty sleep in my bedroom, so if you have any special requests we're going to have to be very quiet about it."

"Nothing like that," Indonesia quickly said, his face hot. "I just thought, I might as well treat you to somewhere nice. As a thank you for, uh, taking care of me today. But my flight back home is tomorrow night, and you're catching the morning train with Germany, and now I'm starting to think that we don't exactly have the time . . ."

The other nation waved it off. "We're nations, mahal. We have all the time in the world. Besides, we'll be meeting again for the APEC conference coming up in November, right? I don't mind waiting until then."

"But I do," he grumbled. "And again, don't call me mahal."

Philippines finished his drink and set his glass delicately on the table. "You can promise me that you'll let me sing half the songs when we go karaoke with the others. Or that you'll pay for my food the next time we have a group dinner. Oh! When Thailand makes a mean comment to me in the next meeting, you have to defend me. Say something like Filipino BL series are better than Thai BL series, that'll really get him going."

He was suddenly reminded of how frivolous the other nation could be sometimes. Either that, or worryingly low-maintenance. Indonesia built up the courage and forced out, "I'd rather make it up to you when the two of us are alone."

This time, it was Philippines who was staring. Flustered, Indonesia rambled on. "I just mean—you know, you spent all this time with me even though you didn't have to. So it's only right that I spend more time with you too, just the both of us. It's not good enough if the others are there too."

Philippines offered, "We could watch a movie before we sleep?"

"I'll probably just pass out in the middle."

"Maybe you can make breakfast for us tomorrow?"

"You gave me snacks, dinner, and a place to sleep, there's no way just a breakfast is fair."

"Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to spend a night over at your place?"

"It's not about you, not really. It's just, I want to do something for you. Something you want."

"I've been telling you what I want, but you keep saying it's not good enough, I don't understand—"

"It needs to be special, okay? Is it so bad that I want to do something nice for you—"

"It's not bad, I just don't get why you're being so picky about it. Like, isn't doing me a favor enough for you? Isn't this just about paying me back? What is it that you want to do with me exactly?"

"No," Indonesia stressed, feeling like he was about to lose his mind. "I want—"

He paused.

What did he want, exactly?

Philippines just smiled at him, patient and knowing and just the slightest bit sad, and stood. He was carrying his plate, and as he passed by Indonesia he gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. When Indonesia looked up to face him, the other nation's eyes were soft. "I know I've said this to you before, but I'll say it again. I can't know things if you don't actually say it. Alright?"

Then he walked away to the kitchen sink, absentmindedly humming to himself, leaving Indonesia all alone at the table. The words I think I want you died on his lips.

-----

Later, after reflecting during his night bath, Indonesia found himself in a panic.

He wasn't a complete idiot. He's known for a while that Philippines was the only one who could fluster him like no other, but he often chalked that up to the other nation's cheeky character rather than anything else. His attraction to Philippines wasn't surprising either; it was no secret that he liked looking pretty, and to be honest, Indonesia has had worse crushes. But he was also steadily coming to the conclusion that his feelings went deeper than mere infatuation, and he couldn't help but wonder: why fall for the other nation in particular?

Philippines was an ally, someone he had founded and managed ASEAN with in a show of regional strength. Philippines was a friend, someone he had spent countless days with over the years along with all the other people he treasured in his life. Philippines was a stranger, someone who still felt so foreign to him despite everything. He could trace out the curve of his smile in an instant, and at the same time, he didn't have the faintest idea what the other nation was doing in the 1920s. He knew that watching a cheesy romcom was the surest way of brightening up his day, but not the exact nature of what Spain had done to him as a colony. And, for the life of him, he still didn’t understand the slightest bit of how verb conjugation in Tagalog worked — which felt especially embarrassing the day he found out that Philippines had been putting in the effort to learn both Bahasa Indonesia and Bahasa Melayu so he could communicate with the rest of the maritime nations better. He'd understand his own heart easier if he fell for Malaysia or even Netherlands — people who he had shared a deep and culturally signifcant history with in his extremely long life as a nation — but Philippines was, to put it sadly, not like that to him.

And yet, as Indonesia stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, all he could think about was how much happier he looked now compared to his bleak and boring morning.

He changed into the clothes that Philippines had laid out for him on the bed and had a brief thought of just going to sleep for the night. Pramoedya, if he were still alive, would chide him for such cowardice. Indonesia ended up at the other nation's door, nervously trying to build up the courage to knock. But Philippines must have heard his footsteps, as he called out: "I know you're out there! Just come in!"

Just like him, Philippines had already bathed and changed to more casual sleepwear; he was wearing a loose sweater and shorts that showed off his legs. He was sitting upright on his bed, looking amused at whatever he was staring at on his phone screen, and his face broke out into a warm smile when he saw Indonesia hesitantly trudge inside his bedroom. Pien was already sound asleep in a little makeshift bed on the desk.

"Sit here," said Philippines, while he scooted over to give him space. Indonesia gave him a look. "I'm being serious. Just move your arms a bit and—yeah, that's it. Aren't we cozy?"

Now they were both sitting on the bed, with Philippines between his legs and his arms around Philippines' waist. Cozy was certainly a word for it.

"Now you're just teasing me," Indonesia grumbled, but he didn't move away either.

"Me? Tease you?" Philippines fluttered his eyelashes at him. "Why, I'm just a poor tropical nation made to suffer through the unbearably cold Autumn months in the Northern Hemisphere! I'm severely in need of some aid and assistance, but I'm sure you and all your hundred active volcanoes can keep me warm for tonight."

"You're horrible, you know that?" he said, though he was unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. Philippines laughed with him, giddy and gleeful. "You don't know how anxious I was before this. It's not fair that you can just make all that go away so easily."

Philippines leaned back on his chest, smug as a cat. "Call it a gift. By the way, our neighbors want to know how you're doing. Anything you want to say?"

Now that he was right behind the other nation, he could see that his phone was opened to the ASEAN group chat. It seemed like everyone was spamming the chat with pictures of their pets again. Indonesia rested his chin on Philippines' shoulder and said, "I'm doing just fine. Tell them I mean it this time."

If the other nation was flustered, he betrayed no signs of it. He had now moved on to chatting with the other ex-Spanish colonies; they were all talking in Spanish and Indonesia couldn't understand a thing. "I'll tell them when I'm sure it won't get buried by everything else. But, you know, that's really good to hear. My influence, I hope."

Indonesia buried his face in Philippines' neck as an answer.

"So needy," Philippines murmured, who had put his phone down to pat his head. "Perhaps you really were lonely?"

"Not as lonely as you used to be, I think." At this, Philippines stilled. Indonesia tightened his hold on the other nation's slim waist even further, almost afraid that he would drift away. "About that question you asked, earlier at the cafe . . . I don't feel burdened by how great my old empires were. I've felt the pressure to make them proud, but I've never felt like it was a burden. Their legacy is my life and my connections to all of you, you know? I've certainly never felt like it made me lonely.

"And then there's you, and I know it's not the same for you, because you can't even remember — and that's fine, Singapore doesn't really remember much either. But Malaysia remembers enough for the both of them, and then there's me, and I remember the most, but then there's you, and you don't have that."

Here, Indonesia exhales a shaky breath. "Spain took you, and America took you, and Japan took you, and that's four centuries of you just being gone from me. We're neighbors yet we're so different, to the point where we don't share the same language, the same religion, the same food, the same history . . . and you have friends all over the world and you seem so happy all the time, but I don't think I've ever realized how lonely you must feel."

All Philippines did was sigh. "I told you not to pity me."

"I'm not pitying you," said Indonesia. "I'm just sorry."

All this time, he had been so in awe of how Philippines found it so easy to adjust to Westerners and Western culture when he himself found it so difficult. But now, with the realization that the same ability to connect with others may have also translated to an inability to connect with him and the rest of ASEAN, that same awe felt so bitter. How many times had Philippines stood awkwardly to the side when he spoke to Malaysia and Brunei in his native language? Kept worryingly quiet when they were wistfully reminiscing their pre-colonial pasts? Tried to tell a joke to lighten up the mood during a meeting, but because of differences in culture and history, it just fell flat?

Indonesia was startled out of his thoughts with a painful pinch of his cheek.

"Of course you're going to be sorry if you make me sound so depressing," Philippines pouted at him, annoyed.

He sputtered, "What? I mean, I just thought—"

"Do you take me for an idiot, Indonesia?" He pinched Indonesia harder, which made him yelp. "Don't you think I'd be well aware by now of where I stand with all of you? That after sixty years together, I would've realized that I wasn't as involved in your history as everyone else is in maritime, or everyone else with each other in the mainland?"

With a huff, Philippines let him go. Indonesia tried to soothe the sting of it by putting his hand on his cheek. He almost didn't hear the other nation murmur, "Do I seem that pitiful to you?"

"Not pitiful at all," Indonesia scrambled to reassure. Philippines leaned back on his chest, still looking a bit miffed. "I don't know. I just had this sudden thought that maybe we're just a bad reminder of how much Spain and America took away from you. Maybe you're actually uncomfortable with us."

Maybe you're actually uncomfortable with me, he thought, though he kept that to himself.

Philippines simply stared up at him, eyes bright, and said, "Well, if you only realized it today, then maybe you should've considered that it isn't actually a problem."

"You could just be very good at acting like nothing's wrong," Indonesia pointed out.

"Or you can think about this: maybe there really is nothing wrong in the first place," Philippines said, a wry smile growing on his face. "I founded the association with you, you know. Maybe the rest of you were there because of old ties or whatever, but I joined precisely because I wanted to build new ones. I don't really care if I feel awkward sometimes. I'd certainly find it boring if all of you were exactly like me anyway."

The other nation was so carefree about it, but Indonesia still felt conflicted. He admitted, "Maybe the problem is just that I feel awkward. I have no idea how to approach you as a nation."

"So don't approach me as a nation. Approach me as a friend," Philippines said, not unkindly. To get the point across, he put his hands over Indonesia's in a show of comfort. "You're allowed to act outside the interests of who you represent, you know. We're people too."

Indonesia kept quiet. There had been times when he privately felt like Philippines was his exact opposite — a lively, energetic person that focused more on his human side rather than the nation side, and someone whose duties were considerably more worldly than his own: having to regularly travel to dozens of countries to check on the millions of Filipino citizens that were working abroad. Meanwhile, as such a large and diverse country, Indonesia tried his best to ensure that every single one of the people that lived within his borders felt heard. It was difficult sometimes, but it always felt meaningful to him — his people were his essence, and he couldn't let politics force him to forsake them again. Acting for his personal interests felt as foreign to him as leaving his house sometimes. Not that he never took time for himself; he tried, but a lot of the time he had to be convinced to do so. Sometimes Singapore would invite him for another tour around his house, or Malaysia would drag him into some new restaurant where they would inevitably fight over the food. But more often than not, it would be Philippines pushing him and the other Southeast Asian nations out of their shells and setting up parties, taking them to his fiestas, and prodding and annoying all of them until they would finally agree to ASEAN hang-outs like the one at Bali. Indonesia could admit harboring a deep suspicion for the other nation before, thinking that he was more in line with American interests rather than his own, but over the decades that suspicion had faded. Despite all his efforts to the contrary, he had grown on him, and now Indonesia couldn't imagine his life without him anymore.

He didn't know much about the Philippines as a nation, not much more than he needed to be aware of for the sake of diplomacy and the association. Yet as the years went by and he got to know more and become friends with Philippines the person, he discovered someone who was equal parts obnoxious and endearing, foolhardy and clever, petty and proud and unbelievably kind. And as he looked at him now, there was something in the curve of his smile and the light in his eyes that told him that things would be alright if he took things a step further — something that told him that the other nation had been anticipating this for a long, long time. Heart over head and heart over country, it emboldened him to take the leap.

"I don't want to approach you as a friend either," Indonesia murmured, and because he couldn't help himself, he leaned down and kissed him.

Philippines sighed happily into his mouth as he kissed back, warm and blooming under his touch. Their kiss was relatively chaste — Indonesia had seen the other nation make out with others for a drunk dare with more passion than this — yet he couldn't complain. It was sweet and soft and lasted only for a moment, and more than anything, it was a promise: that they can take things slow, and that they had all the time in the world to get to know each other better.

Their foreheads touched, quiet and tender, and Philippines laughed softly. "It's so ridiculous," he said, his eyes filled with mirth, "that I've been waiting for so long for you to realize your feelings, and when the time finally comes that you do, you managed to confess without really confessing at all. Only you, Indonesia."

"I'm shy," he said dryly, and the other nation burst into laughter. "If you wanted a real confession, you probably could've done so yourself."

"Ah, but there's no fun in that! I like the thrill of being chased, you know," Philippines preened, wagging his finger in mock admonishment. Then, more shyly, he admitted, "Besides, if I made a move on you before you were ready, you might've just pushed me away or feel forced to return my feelings even if you didn't. If I waited, at least I could be sure you wanted me too."

"So all those jokes you made before were supposed to be you holding back? How subtle," Indonesia teased, his eyes crinkling. He held the other nation closer, smothering him with small kisses all over until what little sadness on his face disappeared and was replaced with giggles and brightness. He turned Philippines' head to face him properly and said, "I'm scared that I won't know how to balance my duties and my personal life as well as you do, and I'm scared that we'll be too dissimilar to really work out. But until the day that our differences force us apart, I'd be happy to spend my time with you."

Philippines pulled away from him slightly, an oddly vulnerable look in his eyes. "You're sure you really want something with me? That this isn't too far out of your comfort zone?"

"Oh, it's very out of my comfort zone," Indonesia said. "But recently, I've been learning that maybe it isn't so bad, you know. As long as I'm with you."

"As long as I'm with you," Philippines repeated, with a growing smile. "I like the sound of that."

They continued talking well past midnight, at some points laughing so hard and arguing so loud that poor Pien was startled awake by all the noise. And as the other nation reached out and pulled him under the covers so they could hold each other until the morning, he found himself reaching back. They kissed until their lips were red and they got so tangled up in each other until they couldn't distinguish between their own bodies anymore; despite how differently the day turned out from how his usual trips to Europe went, Indonesia swore that the unfamiliar city never felt so much like coming home until that night.

-----

"Where the hell is my sweater," Philippines groused.

"You threw it on the floor last night, it should be under your bedside drawer." Indonesia kissed his forehead and, keenly aware that he was not a morning person, gave him a cup of his precious coffee. He could tell his efforts were appreciated when Philippines greedily gulped down the scalding liquid. "Selamat pagi, sayang."

The other nation only pouted at him. "Don't call me sayang."

"After all the stupid things you've called me through the years? I'll call you however I like, thank you very much," he shrugged. "Besides, I'm not the one who has to leave in a few hours."

Philippines groaned as he pulled his clothes over himself. "This is so stupid. We finally get together and now we have to be separated like this? I mean, I'm really glad and I like you a lot and all, but I really wish you had a better sense of timing right now."

"I think you'll live." Indonesia hid his smile behind his cup. "I mean, you were the one that said you don't mind waiting until November to see me again."

"You just keep making fun of me," Philippines whined, cuddling up to him. Pien had even jumped up to nuzzle his neck, evidently just as clingy as his owner. "Where's the romance, Indonesia? The sweet nothings in my ear? The poems and songs you surely must've written while you pined for my presence? Am I to despair forever, having only been loved by a phantom version of yourself that will never return?"

"You've been watching too many telenovelas," Indonesia said, quickly setting both of their cups somewhere else before they had any accidents. At this, the other nation gasped dramatically and collapsed across his lap. Despite himself, he started chuckling at how ridiculous Philippines was being — really, how could he not find him so endearing?

Then Philippines suddenly turned serious. He stared up at him, his gaze piercing. "If you don't want me to go, I can just make up dumb some excuse again, you know. Just say the word."

Indonesia humored him. "And why wouldn't I want you to go?"

"Because I can't be there for you if you feel alone again," he muttered, expression tense and his mouth downturned in an angry frown. "I just feel bad that I'm leaving you so soon."

Yesterday, he would've been right to be worried. Indonesia probably would've found some roundabout way to say that he'd much rather for Philippines to stay just until he could see him off at the airport later that evening, if only to stave off that achingly empty feeling of waiting to go home and resenting time for moving so slowly. Philippines would have laughed and teased and inevitably posted about the day's events on his Instagram, to which Indonesia would look increasingly more exhausted with each new update, but he nevertheless would have allowed Indonesia to get away with delaying his plans to make him more comfortable.

But as it was, now Indonesia only remembered the way the other nation's eyes had twinkled in excitement when he mentioned Munich, so it was little trouble for him to simply smooth back Philippines' bangs and lightly say, "Actually, I was planning of sightseeing on my own today."

"Oh?" Philippines looked surprised — and pleased. "You are?"

Indonesia couldn't stop himself from flushing in embarrassment. Really, it had only been a passing thought he had after finishing his morning prayers, but . . . "All of you are always going on about how I can't enjoy myself abroad, so. I figured it was time I gave it a try."

Though Philippines probably knew he was still rather uncertain about it, he smiled anyway. "Well, as long as bring your phone this time, alright? I'm always just a text away if you need it."

"And here I thought you'd say some cheesy line about me never truly being alone since you'll always in my heart," Indonesia said, and Philippines was startled into laughter as he sat back up. "Don't worry. I've survived a long, long time without you by my side. I can take a little longer."

Philippines pecked him on the cheek, sweet and domestic. "Not too long, I hope. I can't wait to see the look on Thailand's face when we walk into November's meeting hand in hand. Maybe I should make a vlog about everyone else's surprised reactions."

"Whatever you like, sayang." Indonesia smiled as he stood, his hand reaching out. He pulled Philippines into a kiss — a deep one this time, slow and sensuous and full of all the things he felt too strongly to properly express in words — that left them both breathing heavily by the time they pulled away. Feeling uncharacteristically suave, he whispered, "Though I would prefer it if, in the short time that you're still here, you keep all your focus on me."

"Always, mahal." Philippines smiled back, eyes as bright as ever. "Always."

-----

Notes:

Title comes from the lyrics of How Deep Is Your Love, but specifically, it's a reference to the Christian Bautista cover. Bautista is a Filipino singer, and his cover was very popular in Indonesia a few years ago.

There are a lot of things I've had to simplify and outright ignore for the sake of story, most egregious being the fact that Indonesia actually wouldn't be the sole Southeast Asian nation in a G20 meeting. The chair of ASEAN is a permanent guest invitee, and since the current chair is the Sultan of Brunei, Brunei would probably in the meeting as well. Alas, Brunei isn't canon yet as of this writing. Sorry, Brunei!

Mahal and sayang are both terms of endearment in Tagalog and Bahasa Indonesia respectively, but with a catch! Mahal is a word that also exists in Bahasa Indonesia, but the meaning is "expensive" rather than "love" — in Tagalog you can use the word both ways. Sayang is a word that also exists in Tagalog, but the meaning is "What a waste" or "What a pity" rather than "love" — in Bahasa Indonesia, you can use the word both ways. So essentially, you have Philippines and Indonesia trying to be sweet to each other, but the other interprets it as a weird insult instead. It's really funny and really cute.

More detailed notes and references on my previous Tumblr post here!

[missskzbiased]

Eggy First Date

Summary: You can’t seem to catch a break this week. You’ve run out of eggs, visibly stained your living room carpet with grape juice, and worst of all: your laundry machine has broken down. Such an event has resulted in you awkwardly shuffling your dirty clothes to the nearest laundromat, but hey, at least the boy using the machine next to you is cute!

WC: 2,3 K

Requested: By Stayndays <3 Thank you, Buddy!

Genre: Slice of Life, Fluff, Humor (?)

AUs: College, (Implied) Classmates to Lovers, Crushes, Kinda Friends to Lovers

Pairing: Yang Jeongin X GN! Reader

Rebloggable Masterlist   //   Main Masterlist

Warnings: Mentions of food, Language (Crap/Shit)

                                                   ////

   Yep… Turns out it’s impossible to fix one’s life in a few hours.

      You should have known better than letting everything pile up like that, but now it was a little bit too late to be sorry. As your phone insisted on reminding you ─ alarm shouting for anyone to hear ─, your parents should arrive at your apartment in about two hours. It didn’t sound too bad when you put it like this, but when you think in perspective, it’s kinda easy to see why you’re screwed up…

      The first problem: You have no eggs.

     It may not sound that alarming, but you promised your mom to flex your culinary skills and bake her favorite cake as soon as she came to visit you. Funnily enough, when you tried to fix some scrambled eggs on Tuesday ─ a hopeful attempt to eat anything other than cup noodles ─ you had to drop half of them to your recently cleaned floor. In other words, not only you had to clean your floor again but you also had only four eggs to make your lunch and survive the week… Which meant you ran out of eggs by Wednesday.

      Now, you didn’t have to be a genius to know that having no eggs meant no favorite cake for your mom… And as much as having no cake didn’t sound like the end of the world, it was only the beginning. No cake meant questions, and questions meant answers, and answers meant you would have to either tell them the truth or lie to them… Unfortunately, you couldn’t tell them the truth or else you would expose your Thursday’s mistake, but we’ll get to that later.

      That being said, you were left with two options: Lie to them ─ and risk being caught ─ or buy fresh eggs to bake her a cake. It was needless to say that you went with the last one. However, by Wednesday night ─ when, despite having no eggs, you had finals to worry about ─, buying your groceries after your exams, on Friday, sounded like the perfect plan. And it kinda was… At least for the next 24H that followed it, before you managed to screw everything up on Thursday.

      The second problem: Grape juice.

      You were stressed out, alright?! You had only one more day to go with your exams and it may or may not have gotten to your head. So drinking grape juice on the couch ─ since you had no actual food to eat and have been feeding on liquids ─ while watching a 20 minutes episode of Brooklyn 99 was a good way to relax. Perhaps, you should act more like the nonfunctional college student that you were. This way, you would be studying in your room instead of missing the coffee table as you laughed; spilling your juice on the carpet.

      Of course, it couldn’t be a normal carpet that was totally replaceable… No, it had to be the very own carpet your grandma gifted to your father when he moved out… It happened to be the same one her mother gave to her when she moved out as well! Of course, it had to be this one and not the stupid carpet on your bathroom that meant absolutely nothing. It had to be the carpet your father gifted to you while saying that this new journey full of responsibilities ─ also called miserable college life ─ would be blessed by your previous generations or whatever!

     Basically, you just drowned your whole family in cheap juice that tasted like purple! Because of a joke! A joke that wasn’t even that good! It definitely wasn’t worth it.

     Whatever was the necessary skill to remove a stain from a carpet, you didn’t have it. And you didn’t have the time to learn it either. So, as a desperate student, you did the best you could: Blot the liquid with a wet cloth, pour about half of the ocean over the spot, mix the most random stuff you had, soak the carpet overnight, and go off to sleep so you wouldn’t botch your finals.

      The third problem: The Rise of the Machines. 

      When you got home after your exams ─ no eggs, ‘cause your mind was too focused on saving the carpet ─, you were still hopeful that everything was going to be okay. The Internet blessed you with the ultimate knowledge to remove any stains from a sacred carpet and you followed each step as if your life depended on it. Because it did. You did such an amazing job that the spotless area turned into a clean spot on the dirty carpet… And that, dearest friends, was the real problem.

      It was exactly 10:27 PM when you decided to shove your carpet into the washing machine and go downstairs to buy a burger on your friend’s stand. It was about 11:13 PM when you got back to your place, happily fed and unworried about your life. It took you less than a minute to have all of your happiness fading away as you saw that the foam spilled over the floor, bringing you a sad realization: Your washing machine had failed you.

     In other words, you had a damp, dirty carpet to save, a dozen eggs to buy, a cake to bake, and a lie to keep in the next… Twelve hours or something. And you needed to sleep for at least half of that time. But that was okay! Everything was fine… You had six hours to fix your entire life tomorrow, right? Yeah… Except that not really, no. Because obviously ─ how didn’t you see that coming? ─, your phone had decided to not wake you up the next morning.

     The fourth problem: Your parents.

     The two hours ahead of you could mean twenty minutes or even a second… Knowing your parents, they could be standing right in front of your door, ringing your bell and asking themselves why you weren’t home. The answer would be because you were at the laundromat next to your building, which wasn’t the cheapest one but it was the closest thing you had to a miracle right now. Well, it would be, if the washing machine actually gave a shit about your struggles.

      As the water slowly spilled over your carpet ─ instead of being gushed to soak the damn thing ─, you let your shoulders drop and a sigh escape from your lips. You didn’t know if you felt more relieved for finally having things working out or defeated for having to go through all of this. The exhausted eyes you met in your reflection were a good hint, though, and you got closer to the glass door to rest your forehead on the cold surface and take a small break. At least ─ as long as your parents didn’t arrive before the drying cycle ─, they would never know about the truth and everything should be just fine… You wouldn’t need to worry about being kicked out from the family.

      “Crap” You grumbled, mindlessly knocking your head on the door on repeat.

      “Tough day, huh?” The soft voice was familiar, but the warm hand preventing you from hitting the glass again wasn’t. You frowned before turning to check if you weren’t going crazy. To your misfortune, the cute boy smiling sympathetically at you was exactly who you thought it was “That’s bad for you” He pointed out, chuckling as he watched you snapping your head away from his hand.

      “Hey!” You blurted; face burning to the thought of him seeing you like this. Why everything had to go so wrong in your life?! Why did Jeongin have to see you wearing the most sloppy outfit you could ever wear? Your hands flew to your hair to try and fix the nest on top of your head “What’s up?” You huffed playfully; hitting his shoulder lightly in the most unnatural way that you could.

     Way to go, Y/N! Humiliate yourself in front of your crush!

     “Just washing some stuff” He shrugged, pointing to the machine next to yours, “You don’t usually come here, though… Well, at least, I never saw you here before” He mused, arching his brow “Are you following me around now?” He whispered teasingly, cupping his hand around his mouth as he smirked at you.

      “What?! No!” You panicked, widening your eyes and floundering your hands in the air “I’m not, I swear!” You insisted as he stared at you mockingly, “If anything you’re the one following me! I live nearby! Where do you live?! Is it even close?!” You defended yourself vehemently; poking his chest as you visibly lost your mind.

      “I’m joking, jeez!” He chortled, rubbing his torso “Calm down, Y/N… It’s your neighborhood, I know” He reassured you, squeezing your shoulder and chuckling as you relaxed under his touch “I was just trying to make you feel better” He explained; hand sliding to pat your back “What’s up? Did you mess up on your exams?” Jeongin asked; tone wandering around curiosity and worry.

      “No… I did just fine” You sighed; getting him to tilt his head in confusion ─ he’s so cute scrunching his nose like this! ─ while you smiled at him, getting back to your senses.

      It was just Jeongin, for Lord’s sake… He was your classmate! He had seen you look way worse than this before, if you were being honest. Which wasn’t that reassuring now that you think about it… But anyway! He had seen you drooling all over your desk, and snoring, and looking like a zombie! There was nothing to worry about… Even if he kinda is really cute and you kinda have a crush on him.

      “Wanna talk about it?” He offered friendly. Did he really have to be this kind and bubbly while smiling at you? Couldn’t he be a little bit less cute? Or just look like a normal human being while doing his laundry? Like having messy hair… Or messy clothes… Or dark circles under his eyes… Or just not look this fresh and perfect and… “Y/N?” He called unsurely, waving his hand in front of your eyes.

      “Sorry” You rushed to say, ducking your head between your shoulders “I... I mean, there’s a lot going on in my mind now” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth. You were just thinking about him, but he didn’t need to know that, “Mom and Dad are going to come and visit me today… I promised to bake her a cake, but I ran out of eggs” Now you were just spilling whatever was on your mind, hm? It probably didn’t even make sense for him.

      “And you thought doing your laundry could get you some?” He joked confusedly, laughing as you pouted at him.

      “No…” You whined, kicking him lightly “I knocked my grape juice on the family’s sacred carpet… So I’m trying to make it look okay or else my dad is going to kill me” You explained further, pinching the bridge of your nose “But they’re coming and I still have to buy those damn eggs, and bake this damn cake, and wash this damn—”

     “Hey, hey” He shushed you, holding both of your shoulders to prompt you to look into his eyes. They held a thousand million stars… But that wasn’t really the point “Everything’s good, okay? Why don’t we go to buy some eggs, then you go and bake your cake?” He suggested calmly, massaging your skin as he smiled reassuringly “I can take care of your laundry… Mine is here anyway” He chuckled, seeing the way your eyes lit up to his plan “I can get it to your house before they get there… They’ll never know” He promised.

      “No way” You chirped; hands jolting to his face and grabbing his cheeks firmly “Jeongin” You said seriously; eyes unwavering as you stared right into his “You’re my hero” You stated matter-of-factly, enticing a wide grin from him “I owe you my life, I mean it” You concluded, quickly letting go of his face.

     What were you doing?!     

     “Ask me on a date and we’re even” He joked.

      “Don’t be silly” You rolled your eyes, pretending not to be affected by his friendly banter.

      “Fair enough… So go out with me on a date and we’re even” He smirked; eyes glinting amusedly as you let your mouth fall agape to his request. You took a while to react properly, and the growing silence seemed to get into Jeongin’s head, “I mean… I’d like to if that’s okay with you…” He shrugged, gulping down nervously “I’ve been wanting to… I was going to ask… I was just waiting for…” He floundered, clearing his throat to make it less obvious.

      “Well, if it makes us even…” You fought back your smile, watching as his anxiety dissolved into relief before he beamed at you “I guess I’d love to go on a date with you...” He laughed wholeheartedly, taking your hands in his “What about next week?” You suggested coyly, enjoying the warmth of his touch.

      “What about now?” He grinned like a fox.

      “Have you listened to what I said before?” You chortled “I have to buy some eggs and –” You began to enumerate on your fingers, but he giggled playfully, interrupting you.

      “You know what’s funny?” He smirked “My dream was to buy some eggs with you as a first date… I don’t think we’ll ever get this chance again” The corner of his lips twitched; dimples showing as he looked fondly at you “Shall we?” He asked in mocking politeness, extending his arm for you to take.

      “I must say you have such a weird taste…” You hummed, studying his extended arm amusedly “But you’re cute, so it’s all forgiven” You shrugged, chuckling as he locked his arm with yours and took the lead to find a grocery store nearby.

[blossom-hwa]

You Look So Lovely, Darling (I’ll Love You for Lifetimes) - |BaL|

Kinda feels weird to be writing the proposal scene so early, but like? This drabble series is all out of order so whatever lmao :) enjoy some sweet nervous channie who just wants his proposal to be perfect <3

(and again, thanks to @deathbykpopboys​ for helping me work out this scene!! I LITERALLY owe you the world if you ever have ANY requests I'll be willing to write them :D)

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, slice of life, single parent!au

Triggers: cursing

Word Count: 2.9k

Chan just wants to give you a picture perfect proposal - why is that so hard?

SKZ Masterlist | Breathe, and Live | Touching Stars (TBZ teacher!au)

Proposing, Chan comes to learn, is no easy task.

It looks so simple in movies. One of the couple pulls a ring out of their pocket, kneels down in front of their significant other, and pops the question. There might be tears, but it always ends in pure joy.

Movies make it seem like a formula, a simple algorithm that Chan just has to follow in order to get this proposal right. In real life, though, Chan thinks he’s about to lose his mind.

Because movies don’t demonstrate how to act in front of an older brother very protective of his sister. They don’t show him how to talk to his children or hers, how best to ask them if they’re all right with gaining new siblings and a new parent. They don’t give him insight on how to pick the perfect god damn ring, something maybe reminiscent of the promise rings you both wear on chains around your necks, but also not too similar because what if you think he isn’t being creative?

And the worst thing is, they don’t tell him how to pick the perfect moment. They don’t tell him where to go, what ambience is right, whether or not little kids in the room will ruin the timing.

At this point, just thinking about proposing turns Chan into a stammering mess. Even though you’ve discussed marriage before, you haven’t made any large moves beyond that. Jisung and Felix have been calling you Mama for a bit, but Hyunjin has only just started calling him Papa, and mostly on accident (though each time he does, Chan’s heart fills with this overwhelming happiness that brings tears to his eyes). What if you decide now isn’t the right time? What if you decide you want to wait a little longer?

What if you decide Chan isn’t the right person for you?

That’s a question that plagues Chan every time his mind even brushes on the topic of marriage.

He loves you, though, he loves you so much. And he knows you’re the right partner for him, even if in the end you might decide he isn’t the right partner for you.

Patience, he tells himself, taking a deep breath. He really should be working on this new track, but instead, he’s staring into his hands, trying to map out the perfect proposal. Not too fast, Chan. Take it in steps.

The only problem is, step one scares him out of his wits.

. . . . .

Chan is a full year older than Minho, and then some. By all rights, he’s the elder, and he shouldn’t be as terrified of the younger man as he is.

Minho’s a scary person, though. He’s driven, concentrated, focused – it’s how he’s gotten so far as both a dancer and a father. Chan knows he’s hardworking, but Minho is just as much, if not more, than he is.

And he’s very protective of you.

(When Minho found out you two were dating, he told Chan, verbatim, “I won’t hesitate to take you to international waters, chop up your body, and toss the parts overboard if you hurt my sister.” Just thinking about the blank expression Minho had on when he spoke those words is almost enough to make Chan lose his nerve.)

But here he is, standing just outside of Minho’s studio, ready to knock. He’s sweating, not because it’s hot or anything (it’s actually pretty cold because Minho is weird like that), but just out of sheer nervousness. His heart feels like it’s pounding a mile a minute.

Oh, God. Chan raises his hand again to rap on the door. Stop thinking. Just do it.

He knocks.

A few seconds later, the dancer opens the door in all his sweaty glory. “Chan?”

“Yeah.” Chan tries to smile, but he’s pretty sure it just looks like a grimace. “Can I ask you something?”

A glint comes into Minho’s eyes. “Of course, come on in.” He opens the door widely, smiling in a distinctly cat-like fashion that is literally scrambling Chan’s brain.

Why does he look like he knows what Chan’s about to ask?

The door swings shut with a soft but audible click, and with the noise goes Chan’s last chance to run away.

“So?” Minho looks over once Chan’s inside the room. He’s enjoying this way too much.

There’s no way he doesn’t know what I want to ask.

“I… um, so I’ve been dating your sister for a few years,” Chan starts.

Minho actually snorts. “Yes, I’m aware.”

Chan can feel the tips of his ears turning bright red. “Right. Um, I just wanted your approval for – I’m planning to – well, with your permission, of course –”

The smirk on Minho’s face only grows with each stuttering word that comes out of Chan’s mouth. And in all honesty, he actually has no idea what he’s saying. All of the sentences he rehearsed in his head before coming here seem to have completely flown out of his brain, and from Minho’s expression, he just sounds like an idiot.

He keeps going anyway, because nervous Chan doesn’t always make the best decisions to make himself look good.

“Well – um, look, I just really love her a lot.” Chan looks down with the admission, knowing he’s definitely rambled too much already, but he needs to get on with it and ask the stupid question. “I… wantedtoaskifyouwouldbeokaywithmeaskingtomarryher.”

Minho leans forward, eyes innocently wide. “Sorry, I didn’t get that, can you repeat what you said again?”

Lee Minho, you are a grade-A asshole.

Face burning, Chan clears his throat. “I wanted to ask if you would be okay with me asking to marry her. Your sister, I mean.”

Silence. Minho leaves him in silence for five whole seconds which feel more like five millennia. Chan thinks he’s going to crumble into dust on the floor out of terror and embarrassment.

“Do you have a ring?” Minho finally asks.

Chan’s cheeks burn redder. “Not… not yet.”

“So you’ll need help picking one, then?” The dancer raises one perfect eyebrow.

“… Yes?”

“Beautiful. I’ll be there whenever you need me.” Minho smiles. “Anything else you wanted to ask?”

Chan just stands there, dumbfounded. “So… is your answer yes?”

The smile immediately drops off of Minho’s face, replaced by an eye roll and a sigh. “Yes, Bang Chan, you idiot.” He punches Chan’s shoulder. “No one’s ever going to fully deserve Y/N, but you’re the closest I think anyone’s going to get. You really thought I’d say no?”

Rubbing his arm, Chan smiles sheepishly. “You can’t blame me for being nervous.”

“What? Nervous, around me?” Minho laughs, sharp and loud. Even though Chan knows he’s teasing, it’s still a bit frightening. “Never would’ve thought that.”

“You’re just proving my point,” Chan says.

“No, I’m not.” Minho smiles, close-lipped and slit-eyed. It’s terrifying. “Now, off you go. And don’t come back unless you need help picking a ring!”

It takes Chan five minutes of sitting in the hallway, garnering strange looks from several people passing by, before his legs are stable enough to take him back to his own studio. Heart still pounding, he mentally crosses a line through step one.

Next comes step two. Chan purses his lips. Step two is a bit less scary than step one (mostly because it involves children and not Lee Minho), but no less challenging.

Well, he got through Minho. Chan sighs. He just has to hope that the kids will be as receptive to the idea of a new parent as Minho was to a brother-in-law.

. . . . .

The kids know that you and Chan are at least, in some shape or form, together. They might not understand the nuances, like how you’re technically dating but don’t always refer to yourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend (because it just feels so much deeper than that, somehow), but they understand that you two “like” each other (Jisung pretends to vomit every time he hears the word “love,” so Chan just uses the word “like” to avoid that) and thus live together.

They love it, most of the time. Hyunjin was a little put out when he found out he would have to share a room with two other boys, but after Minho moved out and Hyunjin realized he would get his uncle’s old (and slightly bigger) room, he happily accepted the new plan. Jisung and Felix were mostly just happy to live with their best friend.

(Children, Chan just thinks. They’re so easy and so hard to please.)

Of course, there are difficulties. Jisung’s sensitive and has more than once broken down when he thinks Chan isn’t giving him enough attention with a new boy in the household. Felix’s tantrums are rarer, but they exist, and Hyunjin is still getting used to sharing his mom with someone else.

They’re a family, though, a messy, mostly happy family that can pull together at the end of the day and whisper “I love yous” to each other before bedtime. And that’s something Chan values more than anything in the world.

Which is why obtaining his kids’ approval for officially tying the knot is something so important to him.

He gathers them together one day in the apartment with the promise of watching a cartoon show after he asks them something. Three pairs of big eyes stare up at him from the couch, and Chan feels his heart melting with love and racing with anxiety.

Chan takes a breath. “Do you know what marriage is?”

“Yeah!” Jisung pipes up. “It’s when a girl and a boy get together and kiss!”

The laughter spills out of Chan’s mouth before he can even think. “Well, not quite, Jisung,” he chokes out, trying to stifle his remaining giggles. “It’s when two people who love each other very much get together officially. Marriage can be between a woman and a man, a man and a man, or a woman and a woman. Any two people can get married.”

Three small heads bob their heads in understanding.

“I wanted to ask you three if you would be okay with me marrying Y/N.” Chan looks each of the boys in the eye. “Is it?”

Felix nods quickly. “Yes!”

Jisung furrows his eyebrows. “Are we still going to live together?”

Chan smiles. “Yes, Sungie.”

The other twin nods. “Okay!”

Hyunjin’s mouth pouts slightly. “Will I have to call you Papa?”

A little piece of Chan’s heart breaks, but he tries not to show it. “No, of course not, Hyunjin.” He smiles as brightly as he can. “You can keep calling me Channie or Uncle Channie or whatever you want. You don’t have to call me Papa if you don’t want to.”

Hyunjin’s round, dark eyes gaze into his with a solemnity Chan honestly didn’t know toddlers could have. “Do you want me to call you Papa?”

Oh, fuck.

What the hell does Chan say to that?

With a sigh, he decides to be honest. “I would love it if you did, Hyunjin, but like I said, you don’t have to. I’ll never force you to do something you really don’t want to.”

There are a few seconds of silence, then Hyunjin nods. “Okay. You can marry my Mama.”

A weight lifts itself off of Chan’s chest and he smiles, freer this time. “Thank you, kids. One more thing – don’t tell Y/N about this!” He looks into each of their eyes, trying to convey how serious he is but in a fun way. “It’s a secret, okay?”

“Like a spy mission?” Jisung bounces in excitement.

The smile on his face widens. “Yes, Sungie. Like a spy mission.” He looks at the other two boys. “Do you promise? Pinky promise?” He holds out his pinkie.

The three resulting shouts of “YES!” make Chan hope their neighbors won’t come knocking. But even if they did, Chan thinks, he wouldn’t care.

He’d go to the ends of the earth to defend these three kids, after all.

. . . . .

Step three goes by in a flash. Out of sheer anxiety, Chan actually takes a full day off from work and calls Minho for help in finding the perfect ring.

Miraculously, he finds something within his budget range – a silver band with a small diamond set in the center. It’s simple but elegant, and the diamond glints beautifully in the sunlight. Really, the ring matches the way Chan often finds himself summing up your existence.

So only the last step remains: the actual proposal.

Looking back, Chan has no idea why he thought each of the other steps was so stressful. This is pure stress, he thinks, waiting for the perfect time to pop the question. Should he plan something extravagant? Or should he just go with the flow? When is the perfect time, anyway? What constitutes “perfect” in your mind? In his?

Minho just tells him to wait for the moment he thinks is “right.” But what the hell does “right” even mean?

“You’ll figure it out.” The dancer gives Chan a bright grin, patting his shoulder. “And if you don’t, I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

Chan just puts his face in his hands and screams.

. . . . .

When Chan proposes, the sky is dark. The kids are already tucked in bed, and you’re sitting on the couch, leaning into his shoulder as you mindlessly scroll through your phone.

Absently strumming his guitar, Chan smiles down at your face, illuminated by your phone’s glow. As if sensing him staring, you look up as well. “Sing me something?” you murmur.

“Of course, love.” He leans down to kiss the top of your head. “What song?”

“Anything you choose,” you reply. “Anything.”

Chan thinks for a moment, then starts strumming the instrument.

Softly, with mood, tightly hug her

Use it once a day, every day…

When your eyes meet hers, smile.

The characteristic chords of one of your favorite songs make you relax even further into Chan’s body, a smile blooming across your face. He badly wants to stop playing and just kiss you good and full, but he keeps his fingers strumming the guitar.

Let her breathe under a different sky, a different wind,

Sometimes, kiss her without a plan…

Chan almost stops playing.

Without a plan.

He doesn’t have a plan. He doesn’t have any proper plan on how he’s going to pull the little box out of his pocket and ask the question. But now…

Maybe he’s got an idea.

The final chords die away, and Chan finally gets his long-awaited kiss when you sit up lethargically, pressing your lips to his softly. “Are you awake enough for one more?” he whispers when you pull away.

“Mm, one more.” You nod happily, snuggling back into his side. “Then sleep.”

Chan takes a breath. One chance, Chan. This is your chance.

His fingers start strumming a song very familiar by now to him and the boys. From the way your eyes light up, you recognize it too.

It doesn’t have words. It’s just a collection of guitar chords, hastily arranged in a sweet, rough melody. In the track version, it would have piano, but because Chan only has two hands, he has to make do with just the strings of the guitar.

It’s the first song he ever wrote for his twins, the song he created that day so many years ago when they weren’t even born, when they were still kicking in their mother’s stomach. They think of it as their family song, the song he plays when the twins are sad, when they can’t get to sleep, or when they just want to hear something nice.

The last strains of the song fade away and Chan looks at you to see a tear glittering on your cheek. “You play that when the boys are sad,” is all you say. “It’s your family song.”

Chan smiles softly. “But you’re part of the family too.”

When he pulls out the box, your eyes widen. “Chan –”

“Shh.” He presses a finger gently to your lips. “Y/N, the past few years you’ve been with me have been some of the best of my life, and I can’t ever thank you enough for staying with me all this time.” There’s a tear welling up in Chan’s eye, but he blinks it away. “I would love to spend the rest of my life with you, if you would marry me.”

There’s a moment of silence that nearly gives Chan a heart attack. What if you say no?

“You – you stupid romantic sap.” The tears are really sliding down your cheeks now, but your mouth is smiling wide. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Chan. I’ll marry you.”

Chan can’t speak as he slides the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. Throat choked, he can only pull you close, burying his face in your shoulder as your tears soak his shirt. “I love you so much,” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough for to see your eyes sparkling with love, so much love. Your touch intoxicates him, with your fingers pressing gently against his skin as you press your lips to his in a sweet, sweet kiss.

Yes, he thinks. You’re the right partner for him.

The perfect partner for him.

Teary-eyed, he smiles. “I love you too.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 congratulations for the newly engaged couple!!!)

[tundrainafrica]

Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her

Title: Unwritten

Summary:

“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?" 

Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.

Link: AO3

Note: I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.

This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.

Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.

So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!

If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?

The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.

So he reached out.

Then he was chasing after her again.

Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?

With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.

“Good morning!"  Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.

Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.

Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.

“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.

“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.

Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”

Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.

As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.

“She always exaggerates it.”

“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”

Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.

A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”

The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.

Maybe I can take a longer break?

His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.

Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.

“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.

“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.

Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.

His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.

Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.

After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.

He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.

It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”

Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.

For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.

“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.

He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”

“Before that.”

Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.

Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.

Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”

In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.

“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.

Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”

Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.

Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.

Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.

“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.

“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”

“But was it necessary to transfer me?”

Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”

“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”

Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.

With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.

“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.

At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.

At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.

Underground City. Military Police.

Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.

He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.

The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”

“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.

Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.

“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”

Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.

Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.

But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.

Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.

To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.

What a magnificent fucking lie.

“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.

Then he brushed off that mental image completely.

That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.

A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.

“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.

“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.

It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.

The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.

In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.

Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.

Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.

The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.

Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.

The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.

Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.

Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?

“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.

“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.

Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.

Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.

Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?

Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?

Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.

The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”

According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.

Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.

That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.

So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.

At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.

Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.

He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.

“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.

Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.

He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.

“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.

Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”

Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.

It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.

Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.

A very boring half.

Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.

He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.

Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.

“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.

One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.

A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.

Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.

When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.

Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.

He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.

The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and  man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?

By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.

The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?

Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.

There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.

And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.

The soap opera effect.

Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.

And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.

Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.

“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.

“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”

“Spoil me,” Levi said.

Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”

“This is a job. ”

Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”

“Hanako?”

“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.

And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”

“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.

“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”

Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”

Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.

“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”

Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.

Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”

Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.

“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now.  Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.

"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.

That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”

Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”

“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”

Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"

Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.

“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.

“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.

Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”

Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.

“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”

Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.

“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”

Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”

“Retirement?” Levi suggested.

“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.

“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.

Speak of the devil.

But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all,  Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.

A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.

The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.

If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..

“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.

Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”

“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.

Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.

Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.

Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”

In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”

“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.

“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.

“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.

"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.

Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."

Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.

“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"

“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .

“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"I never said they weren’t good movies."

"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.

The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’

His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."

"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.

Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.

He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.

Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.

The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.

And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.

There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.

But structure was an illusion.

The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups

"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ‘Feedback of the higher ups.”

There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.

When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.

In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.

That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.

All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.

“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”

Petra jumped on her seat.

Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.

Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Deadlines,” Levi answered.

“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”

“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.

There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.

And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.

Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.

Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.

“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.

Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.

It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.

And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..

A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.

For just a second. A painfully awkward second.

A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.

He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.

“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.

‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.

Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’

“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”

“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”

Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.

He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.

Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.

Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?

Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.

Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.

“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.

“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”

Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.

“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”

“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.

Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.

A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”

That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..

“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.

The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.

He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.

The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.

Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.

That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

Baby, You’re Perfect

Pairing: BNHA Boys x reader

Warnings: Weight insecurity, negative body image/icky thoughts, body shaming from relatives, talks about skipping a meal once, general stuff like that. Kirishima’s reader is actively trying to lose weight. Cursing/language throughout (but mostly in Bakugou’s)

Characters: Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari

Author’s Note:

And here we have yet another request that is super old. I’m talking this has been chillin in my inbox for three good months. My sincere apologies, anon. And again, I’m sorry that that had to happen to you. Your grandma has no right to speak to you in that way. You’re making great progress and that’s amazing! Keep going strong, I believe in you. Anyhow, I had a lot of fun doing this request! We all need more chubby y/n on this website.

Yes, it says Hawks but I contacted the anon and we switched it to Denki bc I don’t write for Keigo (and we had a lovely conversation. they’re very nice :D). 

Also the first two insults are things that have actually been said/done to me irl (hehe tasty self projection) and the last one in Denki’s is from an episode from Tuca and Birdie (it’s a good show).

Anyway, be nice to people. Respect others and speak to them as equals. We’re all human beings here, trying to get by. We’re also like a month away from 2021, I shouldn’t have to say that >:(

Happy Thanksgiving!

-Sugar

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Bakugou:

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were tired of their faces, tired of their words. You were headed home early, and you would not be sorry.

You didn’t hate your family. They could just be a little . . . difficult sometimes.

At first, it had gone well. You’d arrived at your aunt’s house yesterday for a family gathering and met up with everyone. They’d hugged you and asked you how you were doing. They’d even asked after your pro hero boyfriend, who you had chosen not to bring along for the purpose of spending some quality alone time with your family.

But then it happened; the thing you’d been dreading, the type of comment you’d hoped against all things you wouldn’t hear this time. But there it was.

You were nearly done preparing for lunch, helping to place dishes of food out in the backyard for your family meal. Your aunt was starting to serve people food, and you happened to glance up to see one of your cousins making herself a plate.

“Do you want any more?” your aunt asked your cousin, ready with her ladle.

“No, thank you, I’ve got enough.” Your cousin flipped her long perfect hair over a perfectly narrow shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to get fat like—” her gaze wandered over to you, meeting your eyes pointedly, “—some people.”

You faltered. Had she really just said that? About you? Well, it wasn’t impossible that it would come from her, but seriously? Today?

You swallowed a lump that had started forming in your throat, setting down the new stack of paper plates. Your aunt shot you a pitying glance. Was she even going to say something? Would she call your cousin out on her words?

No. She just moved on. Moved on like you should have. But something about it stuck with you. Your cousin’s words and implications rang through your mind, making you feel sick to your stomach. You shouldn’t let it bother you this much. You were doing better, both with your habits and your confidence. So why did it hurt so bad?

The darker thoughts you’d kept at bay began to come back; you were worthless, you were ugly, you were undeserving. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why was your stomach churning and your hand shaking? Before you knew it, hints of tears began to prick at your eyes.

No.

You weren’t going to give her the satisfaction of seeing you this way. But you were no longer interested in staying, any sense of hunger leaving you for sick dread.

Next thing you knew, you had said an early goodbye and put your things in the car, headed back home. Maybe driving wasn’t the best idea, since now you were alone with your thoughts. But crying wasn’t worth it. It was a bad idea, especially since now was the time to focus on the road ahead.

You couldn’t have gotten home sooner, a sense of relief washing over you once you pulled into the driveway. You unlocked your front door, pulling your bags in behind you. You heard movement coming from the kitchen as you set everything down; the sound of the faucet turning off signaling to you that Katsuki had heard you come in.

Heaving a sigh, you tried to chase the negative thoughts from your head. They shouldn’t be there, and it wasn’t something to dwell on. You were home again, and you wouldn’t have to deal with your family for another few months at least.

Bakugou’s head peeked out from around the doorframe, double checking that it was you who had walked in. “What are you doing here?” he called, ducking back to whatever he’d been doing in the kitchen.

“Hello to you too.” You tried to keep the tartness out of your voice, but some of it must have crept back in. The sounds from the other room stopped again, and the house went eerily quiet. Huffing, you dragged your luggage into your shared bedroom.

You felt drained, that was the only way to describe it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hang your clothes in the closet. Giving up, you laid down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. You couldn’t help but hear your cousin’s words ringing over and over in your head, reminding you of the countless years of both internal and external torment you’d gone through regarding your weight.

The sound of footsteps in the doorway made you glance down, registering a spiky blond head of hair approaching you on the bed. You said nothing as the mattress dipped next to you, indicating that Bakugou had come up on your side.

The two of you were silent together for a long moment, and a stolen glance told you that Katsuki was mirroring you with his head resting on his arms as he stared at the blank ceiling.

“Are you going to tell me what’s got you in this mood?” he finally asked.

You sighed. “My cousin can just be a pain sometimes.”

“She the one you were telling me about or is it someone else?”

“Same girl.”

“Hmm.” Bakugou continued to keep his eyes trained solely up above. “What did she do this time?”

“Called me fat.” You tried to keep your voice even. You were simply stating a fact. It shouldn’t bother you like this, right? Even so, the tears you’d been forcing back once again rushed to your eyes, causing your tone to pitch. You swallowed them down again, blinking rapidly. This wasn’t something to spend time crying over.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Katsuki said, a little unhelpfully. “I don’t want to see you hating yourself.”

You frowned at this. “I don’t hate myself,” you said, thinking about your words for a moment before you spoke them. “I don’t hate my body. It’s just that . . . sometimes I wish it looked a little better, a little different. Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m enough as I am.”

“Don’t tell me you think you’d be happier looking like everyone else.” Bakugou’s gaze had shifted from a blank one to a glare.

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging. “It’s just . . . hard sometimes. Being like this.”

Finally Bakugou rolled to face you, taking one of your hands in his. “I know you . . . struggle with your self-image or whatever, but you can’t let it take over your life, got it? You can’t just waste it worrying about what everyone thinks of you. You’re never going to be able to please everyone, but if they’ve got a problem with you, then they can go fuck themselves. You want to know the one person’s opinion who matters most? Yours. You have to be the one who’s taking care of yourself.” Katsuki paused for a moment, absentmindedly fiddling with your fingers as he considered his words.

“You want to know who’s opinion is the second most important?” he continued, his voice starting to get a little more mumbly. “Mine. I picked you because I love you. I love everything about you, from your shitty, annoying personality to your gorgeous body. You are so much more than just ‘enough’ for me, so don’t go worrying about that. You’re everything to me, and you know that, right? I love you no matter what, so don’t let this ruin your whole day.” He kissed your knuckles, signaling that he had said his peace.

You smiled at him, a tear or two finally sneaking past your defenses. “How—how do you do that?”

“What?”

“Sometimes you say something horribly stupid and I swear I hate you, and then next thing I know, you’re telling me everything I need to hear.”

“Tch, I can be eloquent whenever I want. It’s a choice.”

“Alright.” You rolled over so you could properly face him. “Can I have a hug?”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but nevertheless held open his arms. You happily snuggled into the hard, built muscle enveloping you, offering a beautiful contrast to your own soft body.

“Do you need me to talk to your cousin?” Bakugou asked. “I’ll do it.”

“Nah, let her go.” You nuzzled your nose into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

______________

Kirishima:

You honestly expected your family to last longer when it came to keeping from upsetting you. Nevertheless, maybe you were being a little too optimistic. But come on, did they have to ruin everything the literal second you walked through the door?

Even after the scathing comment, followed by a half-hearted, hasty brushing off, you forced yourself to spend time with them. It wasn’t often that you got to see this half of your family, so you decided to ignore it with the rest of them.

But as you sat on the couch sipping tea, you were unable to focus on the light conversation buzzing around you. The event that happened mere minutes before played over again in your mind, causing you to wince.

You’d walked into the house, prepared to greet everyone and have a nice time, when your aunt looked up from her position on her arm chair. “Hello, (Y/N),” she’d begun. “Ah, look, you’re still fat.”

Your heart had almost literally stopped beating in your chest as you froze in the threshold. Had she just said what you thought you heard? You must have been mistaken, right?

Any positive anticipation you’d had of seeing your relatives had plummeted to your feet, and you strongly considered turning around in place and leaving without another word.

But you couldn’t do that, of course not. Then your aunt had begun to babble something about how it made you look cute like a baby, but her words had already done their damage.

You tolerated the rest of your afternoon with them, but it was a great relief to you when you were finally able to leave and go home. As soon as you pulled into your driveway, you exhaled a sigh of relief. It was over with, and it hadn’t been that bad.

Eijirou wasn’t home, but you knew he wouldn’t be long after you. You went about making dinner, knowing he’d appreciate it once he got home. He was always so tired these days.

Even so, as you stirred broth in a pot, your aunt’s words rang in your head. You vaguely remembered telling her about your weight loss a month ago. You figured you’d been making considerable progress, and you knew that no one was more proud of you than Eijirou himself. But had it really made a difference?

After a moment of fretting, you turned off the stove. You walked into your shared bedroom, flicking on the light. Your eyes caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. You frowned, going up to it. Turning your body this way and that, you tried to see if you recognized a change in your appearance. You lifted your shirt, only to wince at yourself and tug it back down. You pinched at your arms, your thighs, and your cheeks, growing almost angry at the way your fingers sunk into the flesh.

Maybe you hadn’t been making as much progress as you’d thought. Or the progress you had made wasn’t enough. Without you even realizing it, your mind began to toy with ways to speed things up. Guiltily, you found yourself wondering if Eijirou would notice if you just skipped dinner that night.

You shook your head to clear away the intrusive idea. No, that wouldn’t solve anything. Eijirou had told you that he’d help you lose weight the right way, so you’d stay healthy and be able to keep it off. It would be best to listen to him.

Still, you found your eyes glued to your reflection. You wouldn’t consider yourself vain, but there was something in the way that your eyes traced over your curves, wondering just how they might look on you if only you were a little smaller . . . .

Movement behind you in the mirror caught your eye, and you were quick to recognize a head of spiky red hair. You must not have heard Kirishima come in through the front door.

“Hello,” you said with less cheer than usual.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted you, coming up from behind to give you a hug.

You leaned back into his chest as you both stared at each other’s reflections.

“Checking out my perfect girlfriend?” he teased, referring to how your eyes continued to trace down your body. “That’s my job, you know.”

You snorted, gently rubbing at his forearm.

“So how was your family?”

“Okay,” you shrugged.

“I saw you left something on the stove. Are you doing okay?”

Oh, Kirishima. How did he do it?

You shrugged. “I guess I didn’t really have a good time there. Got a little upset is all.”

Eijirou frowned. “What happened?”

You took one of his hands in yours and began to play with his fingers, now determined to keep your eyes from catching another glimpse of yourself. “My aunt told me I was fat.”

You missed the flash of genuine anger that shot through Kirishima’s eyes. He knew this was something you’d struggled with for a long time. Your aunt had no business making comments like that about your body, especially now.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, deciding to keep himself calm for your sake.

You continued to fiddle with his large hands. “I just worry sometimes that I’m not doing enough,” you mumbled. “What if it doesn’t work? What if I’m just meant to look like this?” You sniffled, hating the sudden tears that were beginning to fill your eyes.

“Honey . . .” Eijirou spun you around and held you to his chest, running a hand down the back of your head as you finally let the tears slide down your face. You nuzzled into his shirt, appreciating the warm, familiar feeling of it. “Even if you weren’t able to lose more weight, you know I’d still love you, right?” he said in a tender voice. “I’d think you’re beautiful either way.”

He tilted your chin up so he could look into your eyes, giving you one of the most loving gazes you’d ever seen. “And besides, we’re not together because of how you look. I love you for you. I love your personality, and how you always say and do the cutest things.” He bent down for a quick kiss, caressing your cheek as he pulled away. “I love your laugh, and I love looking into your beautiful eyes . . . .” He kissed you again, beginning to gently guide your bodies to the bed at the other wall.

Eijirou laid you down in the center of the mattress, hovering over you as he went in for another kiss. “I love your body too. This body, just the way it is. I love how it feels to hold you at night—” he kissed your neck. “—I love your chest, your butt, your arms, your thighs—” he nuzzled his nose against your face and neck. “—your cute tummy.” He pushed himself up and gazed down at it with such a genuine expression of love, you almost started tearing up again. “The cutest tummy in the world. And I love it because it’s yours.”

With that, he bent down again and lifted up your shirt just enough to give it a little kiss. You couldn’t help but let a giggle slip from your lips, which only made his ruby red eyes dart up to meet yours mischievously.

“You like that? What if I did it . . . again!” He placed a second kiss in a different spot, going for another and then another. You broke out into laughter, the sensation of his lips and nose brushing over your sensitive skin making you squirm in his hold.

Soon, he was laughing himself. He nuzzled into your skin one last time and blew a raspberry against your skin.

“Eiji—!” you began to protest through a laugh.

“What?” He smirked at you, moving up and settling his chin in the valley of your chest.

You smiled right back at him, bringing up your hand to brush the backs of your fingers against his cheek. “I love you.”

Kirishima took hold of your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the backs of your knuckles as he looked into your eyes. “I love you too, baby.” He held your hand in his, getting lost for a moment simply looking at your face.

Eventually he sat up, laying down next to you and pulling you into his chest. “I’m proud of you too,” he told you, tucking your head under his chin. “I know you’re actively making a change for the better, and you’re doing really well. Results won’t happen immediately, you just have to stick with it sometimes.”

You sighed through your nose, taking his hand in yours again. “I know. I just get discouraged sometimes is all.”

“And I’ll just be here to put you back on track. You’ve got this, you know.” He hugged you tight against him, rubbing your back. “Are you hungry?” he finally asked. “I’ll help you make dinner.”

“Sure,” you said, chuckling lightly.

“What? We both have to eat, and you know me. I’m a hungry shark.”

You laughed again, leaning up to kiss his jaw.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Well, there’s always more where that came from.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m here for you, okay?”

______________

Kaminari:

If there was one thing Denki hated more than anything, it was seeing you upset. 

He could tell something was off the moment you came through the front door. You were too quiet, and that bothered him. When you finally made it up to your shared room, Kaminari was already watching the doorway for you.

He noticed immediately that your eyes were puffy and a little red. Even your posture looked defeated and slumped over.

“Hey, Denks,” you said once you noticed him stretched out on the bed. His heart broke even further when he saw you try for a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Kaminari got up, clearing the space between you so he could put his hands on your shoulders.

“I—I just,” you began to stammer out, feeling the flimsy dam you’d placed behind your eyes begin to falter. “I . . . don’t know if I want to talk about it right now.” You covered your burning face with your palms. “It’s stupid anyway. I shouldn’t let things like that get to me.”

Kaminari frowned, trying to figure out what might have made you so upset. But he wasn’t one to pry when it came to situations like these, and he knew you’d tell him on your own time.

Even so, he led you to where he’d once taken position on the bed, pulling you up with him. He knew that sometimes you simply wanted to be distracted from things, so he decided to do just that. Allowing you to settle in next to him, he picked his controller up from the covers again where he’d set it down.

You noticed he’d been playing Minecraft. You let yourself take a mild interest in his mining session that you caught him in the middle of. You watched him wander through a cave system; placing torches, killing the occasional zombie, and mining out various ores he happened upon.

What you didn’t see was how often he shot you glances, studying your face for any signs of you getting upset again. He saw when you finally took your eyes off his screen, frowning distantly as you twisted the material of the blanket underneath you.

Before he could ask you again what was going on, you opened your mouth to speak. “Do you think this outfit is too much?”

Denki faltered, confused. “No? What do you mean by that? I think you look really pretty.”

You pursed your lips. Clearly that wasn’t the answer you’d wanted. “I just—I don’t know.” You frowned and went back to avoiding his eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what happened today?” Denki asked. A sudden idea struck him. Before you could answer him again, he stood up on the bed and walked over to a shelf you kept just above it. He pulled down a large stuffed Pikachu he’d gotten you a few years ago, and went back to sitting next to you. “Would it be easier to tell him?”

Denki positioned the toy in his lap, grabbing hold of its little arms and letting it go through various motions, starting with a little wave at you.

You couldn’t help but snort at Kaminari’s antics, looking from the plushie to the curious but concerned expression on your boyfriend’s face.

“Your Pikachus are worried about you.” Denki lifted it up higher on his chest, continuing to fidget and wave the arms back and forth in a little dance. “You saw your family today, right? How did that go?”

Your face fell again and you shrugged. “It went well I guess. My grandma just said something dumb and it made me upset.”

Denki frowned, lifting the arms of the Pikachu so its hands were on its pink cheeks. “What did she say?”

You shrugged again. “I was messing around with my cousins and I said I looked like a snacc. And then she said that snacks were probably what made me so fat in the first place.”

Denki’s frown deepened. “That’s not very nice.”

“I don’t think she knew what I was talking about, to be fair. And maybe it’s a little funny. I mean, she’s not wrong.” You rested your chin in your hands, sighing. “It just caught me off guard. It’s a dumb thing to be upset over, like I said—”

“Hey.” Denki met your eyes. “It’s not dumb. You have every right to be upset.” He held his arms open to you. “Come here.”

You sat up, letting him embrace you.

“Do you need me to remind you how beautiful you are and how much I love you?” he asked from next to your ear. “Because I’ll do it.”

He took your shy smile as a yes, letting you settle back as he proceeded to lift up the stuffed yellow toy.

“Are you hearing this, bro?” he addressed it, throwing a serious look on his face. “The most gorgeous person on the planet is sad. We have to do something about it.”

Denki put the Pikachu’s paw on its chin, tapping it for a second before removing it again. “What’s that?” he asked it. “You have an idea?”

He lifted the toy to his ear, pretending to listen to it for a moment as he nodded along. Once he was satisfied, Denki scooched himself even closer to you. He brought Pikachu’s nose up to your cheek and made a kiss sound with his lips. Setting the toy down beside you on the bed, he motioned for you to come sit in his lap.

You obeyed, settling yourself in between his thighs and wrapping your legs around his hips.

“There you go,” he muttered, slotting his nose beside yours as he touched foreheads with you. “I love you and you’re the most important person in my life. You know that, right?” He waited for you to nod before continuing. “And I know that you can feel a little insecure sometimes with how you look. You’ve got bad days, and you have good days. It’s my job to be there for you on these bad days, and you can be there for me when I have mine. I want you to know that you’re so beautiful and I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

He connected your lips to his for a long moment, trying to convey all his feelings for you into it. “And don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re less-than. They’re not the kind of person you should be listening to. Trust me when I say that you’re perfect just being you.” Denki wiped a tear trail off your cheek with his thumb, leaning in to kiss the skin there. 

“Thanks, Denki,” you said, your voice just above a whisper.

He gave you a soft, caring smile; his fingers still lingering on your cheek. “Is there anything you want to do together to make you feel better? We could watch a movie, we could snuggle, whatever you want.”

You leaned in and hugged him tight. “I love you.”

He hugged you back. “I love you too. You’re my sunshine nugget, and it would take a heck of a lot to ever change that.”

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