#when life hands you a canvas... turn it into a notebook? hmm

[aesadraws]

Fanfic writers for Expedition 33 have the opportunity to do some really meta and cool shit considering there's literally a faction in the game lore called the Writers.

[apompkwrites]

reader impact || first meeting

series masterlist characters: xiao, albedo genre: fluff summary: a game has been released entitled genshin impact, consisting of otherworldly abilities relying on the basic elements of nature. the game follows the story of an interdimensional traveling twin in search of their other half. along this journey, they meet different characters that live in this world. including you. notes: have i read a few genshin impact x game character reader stories and impulsively decided to make one too? maybe. you can't prove anything. i don't know if this will be a series but we'll see :D

xiao's playthrough -

xiao, named as alatus on his streaming platform, has made himself known as a gaming streamer with an awkward personality and blunt words.

he's the type of streamer who wouldn't have a set type of game and would, instead, play whatever his viewers recommended.

valorant? sure, he'll try it out.

hitman? why not?

animal crossing? it's a complete 180 from the other games, but sure.

when one of his viewers recommended genshin impact, he was quick to say yes and search for the game.

once the game finishes downloading, he quickly begins the game.

once the opening cutscene passes, he compliments the overall aesthetic of the game, pointing out the smaller details such as the footprints made by his character and the sound their clothes make when they move.

as always, his expressions are quite monotone to a point where it seems nothing draws his attention towards the game.

one of his mods, however, knows xiao well enough to where he knows which character he would like.

they convince xiao that the game is worth sticking with towards the second half of chapter 1, act 1.

he doesn't understand but he trusts his mods so he promises to continue.

it takes a few hours, especially because of the grinding, but a few streams later he's finally made it.

after fighting a one-sided argument with cloud retainer, he immediately begins his trek to the wangshu inn. and yes, trek, he enjoys walking/gliding through the world of teyvat rather than fast traveling everywhere.

he walks up the stairs to the top floor of the inn, resting his hands in his lap as the cutscene begins.

"to the blind, everything may not be as it appears..."

xiao is normally stoic during games, even ones with scenes made to fluster the player and catch them off guard.

but not this time.

once xiao's character is faced with yours, he just stops. his chat is spamming messages, asking if he's okay and if he's actually emoting for once.

he just stares at your character for a good five minutes.

and trust me, at least half of his viewers clipped that.

"... who are they?"

that was his only question after those minutes of silence. never before had he been attached to a character within the first few minutes of meeting them. his mind is racing and all he can think about is how amazing your character design is and how nice your voice is and how cool your character is and--

oh right, he's streaming right now...

anyway, the more your conversation goes on, the more he loves your character.

you're just so sassy and snappy but he loves you either way.

once you turn away with your back towards the camera, he just stares.

he stares at the intricate tattoo on your exposed arm and the mask hanging off of your belt.

and then you're gone.

his face drops so quickly and his viewers are very quick to point it out. he grimaces once paimon starts talking and he's very tempted to just speed through her dialogue.

he just wants to see you again.

once he hears from verr goldet that you've never smiled (at least around her), he immediately turns to the camera and says, "we better make them smile in this game."

once he finds out about your favorite food, he's already asking his viewers if he's able to get the recipe for it.

the next time he gets to talk to you, his face just lights up once he sees your character standing on the balcony.

however, once his characters tell you about rex lapis's death, his heart sinks when he hears how sad your voice becomes, even if your tone is still as harsh as before.

he gets all sad again when the quest ends and he has to wait to unlock the next archon quest.

he ends the game there and decides to spend the last few minutes talking to his viewers.

"i'll stream genshin again soon."

his viewers all know it's only because he met you.

albedo's playthrough -

albedo often does art streams and the occasional science-y stream.

if he does games, he mainly uses them to admire the art/mechanics of the gameplay.

genshin impact was one of those games he decided to play on his own solely because of the beautiful scenary.

(and the opportunity to draw more characters).

he's definitely the player that cares about elemental reactions above all else. pretty much every character he uses is built for elemental damage instead of physical.

most of his genshin streams are him walking around teyvat and pointing out the scenary.

he was definitely excited for the dragonspine event because that meant a better view of teyvat!

what he wasn't prepared for, however, was the reveal of a new character: you.

he isn't too into looking at the updates for genshin on his own, so he didn't find out about who you were until his stream asked about it.

he decided to react to the newest updates live since his chat seemed excited to hear his input.

once he pulled up the latest update details, he spent a few minutes talking about the new subzero mechanic.

but once he scrolled down to the characters... OH BOY

he's able to keep his composure but he definitely spends longer talking about you.

he almost gasped when he saw you were the chief alchemist of mondstadt.

combine that with the fact that you rely on elemental damage instead of physical...

your honor, he's fallen hard.

he'll put a countdown on stream to when your character and event drops, even on his non-genshin streams.

speaking of those streams, on the week just before your event, his streams will all be based around you and the information he's seen on you.

his art streams will consist of you and how he thinks your attacks will work just based on the description (he purposely avoided all pictures of your attacks for this stream).

his science-y streams would probably be based on your element.

once your event drops, that's the only thing he'll stream until it's over.

your assistant used to be his favorite character to play as but they just never clicked. it's not like he hates your assistant, it's just he didn't immediately fall in love with them.

his party definitely has your assistant in it, though.

he would have normally taken his time to look around dragonspine and admire the new scenery, but he couldn't help but speed through it until he finally gets to see you onscreen.

once the cutscene officially introduces you in front of a canvas, he's internally panicking.

you like art too?! and science?! how perfect can you be?!?!?!

he will genuinely feel bad when he scares the hilichurls because he knows that that's what you were sketching.

"who are you? why did you alarm them?"

NOW HE FEELS EVEN WORSE

even when you tell him you've finished sketching, he wants to make it up to you :((

if he were able to, he would've lured more hilichurls to let you sketch more.

some people in his chat would probably spam him to skip your dialogue because it's so wordy, but that's the exact reason why he listens to it all.

he likes listening to your character ramble on, especially because you have a soothing voice.

anytime your character does their idle animation where you give life to something, he will always let it play. even if your dialogue is finished before the animation, he would not progress until it's completed.

once your character asks for help, he would immediately agree before you finished your sentence.

man just wants to spend more time with you.

he likes staring at the tattoo on your neck whenever the camera is close to you. he just thinks it's really pretty on you.

once your other nonplayable assistant begins talking, he'll skip through the dialogue. he doesn't care if it goes more in depth into this world's alchemy, he just wants to hear it from you.

"hmm, looks like the potion's ready. i'll try a little first."

"please don't..."

he doesn't want you to try it just in case it hurts you :(

anytime he is allowed to walk freely with you around, he'd definitely put his traveler character next to you for a few minutes and just let you two stare at each other.

someone asks him why he spends a few minutes doodling on his desk when you talk.

he shows them the notebook that he had been writing notes in. it's filled with little doodles of you and some more information you give on the world of alchemy.

for future streams the involve you, he'd set up another camera to show the notes and doodles he's making about you.

sometimes he'll spend a few minutes on a single section where the camera is focused on you just to recreate the picture in the notebook.

he absolutely loves whoever planned out the camera angles because of how cute you look in every one of them.

he definitely gets a bad vibe from rosaria when she hints at the fact that you may be using alchemy against him.

he will defend you and alchemy to his grave!

that one scene where you create a flower in front of you is one he will always treasure.

he makes sure someone clipped that moment just so he can draw that, make it a print, and put it on his wall.

since most of his viewers most likely consist of artists, he will encourage them to draw you and send him fanart. he will put them all on a wall and dedicate every picture that goes there to you.

"if i one day lose control... destroy mondstadt... as well as everything around it..."

"huh?"

"will you be there to stop me?"

"wait... no."

if people were only listening to that portion, they would still be able to hear the pout on his face.

he'll end the game there but change his stream into an impromptu art stream.

he will only be drawing you in nice situations to distract himself from the fact that there is something going on with you.

"hm? what do you mean something's wrong with (name)? i have no idea what you're talking about."

poor boy's in denial...

[clarissalance]

Hints of something more

Albedo x fem!reader

Warning: Slight suggestive language at the end. 

Word count: 2k7

Summary: Apparently, visiting Albedo in Dragonspine has somehow opened a new door to your vague, no-label relationship. And Kaeya won’t stop teasing you about it.  

Before leaving for Dragonspine two days ago, Albedo told you to bring him some canvas, a few pencils and a paint set of watercolour. However, he failed to mention which brand and type of watercolour he wants you to bring. Is it a set of 24 colours? 48 colours or the 12 colours set? Furrow your eyebrows, you stared questioningly at the shelves, hesitating to pick one up. Knowing how picky Albedo is if it is not up to his standard. The man would refuse to touch the paint. 

What would he choose usually? You can’t seem to recall his watercolour preference. Funny how it is, he usually encourages you to follow your instinct. Human instinct is the best to study. He would say something like this out of nowhere. Sometimes they make a really questionable decision that I can’t decipher. Definitely one of his catch-on phrase. 

 Drilling holes on the shelves for too long is not the solution, so you finally choose the most expensive set of 48 watercolours in the store. You cross your fingers and hope that he doesn’t question your choice. There it goes for half of my salary. Far away, you can faintly see the outline of the money fairy waving at you, flying toward Celestia. I hope he will like this one. 

 Packing up the last few things inside your backpack, you prepare for the adventure to the Dragonspine to meet with the chalk prince. The bright sun on the blue canvas is almost halfway to the top. The weather would be lovely for a small picnic, too good to waste over climbing to Dragonspine. Dragging your body toward the front gate, you lazily hope to hitch someone carriage. It would be best to start early than arriving at the lab late.  

 The journey takes an hour by feet to walk from the city to the foot of Dragonspine and then takes another 2 hours to walk to Albedo’s lab on the mountain. It would be much faster if you can actually have combat fighting skill to head-on with the cryo mitachurl, but life is much a sadder reality. You don’t have a vision nor a combat skill to solo a whole camp of hilichurl. However, with your brain and your gifted survival (escaping) instinct, dodging a few camps and distracting a few of them isn’t very hard. 

 The weather in Dragonspine is much better than what you anticipated. The sky deep and clear, the veil of fog has thinned enough. The air is crisp, mist rises and slowly dissipates after each exhales. The sheer cold is as brutal and sharp knife-like as usual. You can’t understand how Albedo loves the weather in this place enough to set up a lab in here. A summer person like you refuses to set foot in this area unless for commissions and Albedo’s related purpose. Hnng, you are starting to regret coming here.  

There are a few more camps of hilichurl than usual on your way to the mountain, so you decide to take the longer route. At least meeting with a few Fatui is much more comforting than getting hit by an ice mitachurl shield. 

 By the time you get to the camp, the sun is standing proudly on the top. You get here an hour late, and much to your dismay, Albedo wasn’t in his lab. He is going out to look for more sample again. Heaving exhaustingly, you drop the heavy backpack thud on the ground. Scampering over the fire, you let out a satisfying at the charing fire. A pyro vision would be convenient to have in this weather. 

 With the sound of wood cracking under the desiring heat, the frost bearing breeze slowly finds its way into the camp, cooling the scorching radiation from the glowing fire. Warmth slowly crawls and sinks in on your dry skin, soothing the icy air. Exhausted, your eyelids slowly pull themselves over, threaten to extinguish your consciousness. A nap wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? You let out a long yawn, curl into a fetal position and use the bag as a pillow. Darkness comes within a second. 

 _____________________________________________________________

 You are woken up by the warmth on the hand caressing your cheek, running through your hair. The familiar smooth hand resting on your face doesn’t know you have woken up, the thumb fiddling with your soft skin. Nuzzle lovingly at the palm, you let out sigh contentment. The hand is big enough, gently and carefully tracing your face outline like it’s treasuring a gift. This familiar feeling tickles you like a feather. 

 Groggily, you peel your eyes open and greet with a stunning sight. Albedo is sitting next to you, the fluffy blond hair softly falls on the cheek, some being tucked under his ears. The teal eyes focus intently on the notebook in front of him, glimmering with interest and dedication, his long lashes fluttering like a butterfly wing on a flower petal. The golden diamond on his neck glimmers faintly under the flicker of light, stand out on his creamy white skin. His warm slender fingers still lightly touch your hair soothingly make you feel so relaxing. Letting out a satisfying purr, you press your plump lips on his wrist, successfully gets Albedo attention. 

 “ How long have you been up?” His soothing voice has never failed to calm your nerve. You yearn up a little bit, trying to peek at the notebook on his lap. It’s so far away, you can’t catch a glimpse from here. 

 “ A while.” You hum. “ Long enough to get drunken at your handsome features.” 

 His eyes widen a little bit, not expecting that coming out from your mouth. 

 At the corner of his eyes, he catches your cheeky grin. Beaming widely at him, you internally cringing at your cheesy remark. You don’t even know what gives you the courage to slip the embarrassing words. 

 Albedo smirks at your blatant flirt, his reaction opposite what you look for. He returns his attention back to the notebook. His eyes still remains a hint of amusement. You want to dig a hole and jump in it. 

Slowly rise up, you rub your eyes tiredly, and notice Albedo’s coat on your body. Did he put it on you? You glance at him curiously, trying to seek an explanation, but he remains quiet, focuses on the piece of paper. The sound of pencil rustling on the parchment eases you somehow, like waking up in a small cottage with your loved one. 

 “ What time is it? ” You let out a big yawn, voice thicks with sleep. His light coat somehow is warm. Maybe you should ask him where he got this. 

 “ It’s around 3.” Albedo mindlessly points out. “ You can sleep more. Put my coat on if you're cold.” He reminds.  

 “ I shouldn’t be sleeping longer. Let me help with your work so I can get back to Mondstadt on time.” You scratch your head, your body is numbing over the sheer cold. Throw on Albedo coat, you hope the thin layer can keep you warm a little bit longer. His coat smells like frost and Cecilia. Inside the pocket, you find a heating pack. Maybe this is what kept you warm when you were sleeping.  

  “ M almost finished.” The sound of paper rustling each time he turns a page. “I can accompany you back to the city.” 

 “ But I haven’t done anything?” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, hands folding at your chest, trying to saviour some warmth. “You’re sure you finished?” 

 “ Yes, just a few more retouches, then we can go back.” Albedo nods, his eyes still glued on the piece of paper. Abruptly, he stops and looks up at you, waving his hand, signalling you to get closer. Obediently, you walk toward him. When you are an arm-length from him, the man gestures at the chair put closely next to him. He wants you to sit down?

 You sit down quietly, trying to take a look at the drawing he is working on. Hmm, is that you? Did he draw your sleeping form? On the paper is the portrait of you curl like a fetal, your long hair splaying on the floor. Each stroke of pencil depicts the gentleness you have in your face when you are sleeping. The drawing is mundane somehow, you feel comfortable and relax when looking at the piece. 

 Suddenly, you felt a warm hand slotting in your palm, elbow nudging yours. His slender digits are weaving tightly with your fingers, warmth tingling on the tips of your fingers. . Look up from the drawing, you see a tint of pink on his ears. So he can also get embarrassed. 

 “ You look cold.” He mumbles, eyes avoiding yours, his cheek flush furiously. “Sit closer.” You gladly shift closer, your hand and shoulder touching his. Albedo picks up the pencil and returns to his drawing. This time he turns to a new page, start to draw another specimen. Looking at the sketch, you guess he is trying to sketch the abandoned ruins. The comfortable silence envelopes the two of you. 

 Being so close to him, you can make out the whiff of fresh Cecilia and pine. Engulf by his coat and, now next sitting next to him, you are bathing under his signature scent. It would be nice if I could feel him more. Blushing at the thought, you try to push away those not-so-innocent thoughts. Obviously, he is trying to be a gentleman. You should be grateful, if not because of him, you're going to freeze to death.

 Albedo is much warmer than you, his body radiating heat like a furnace after a while. Silently, you pick up a book you left here last time on the table. Most of his books are either textbooks or ancient language book about the alchemist, which you think you are qualified enough to read. Waiting for him in silence is a form of torture if you don’t do something. Your attention removes from his body and to the novel on your hand. 

 After what feels like two hours, Albedo finally puts down his pencil and stretches. His long limb knocks your hand a few times, your knees bump with his. He let out a tired yawn, cracking his knuckles. 

 “Finished?” Your eyes still glue on the thick book. You hear him let out a hum, his hand remove to clean up the mess on the table. 

 “ What are you having for dinner?” Albedo casually asks, hand dusting the enormous amount of eraser dust on the paper before dumping them in the trash. His voice wavers a little, but you aren't sure why. 

 “Hash brown and cream stew. I have a brownie for dessert.” You notice Albedo never makes small conversation like this. He is the type who would get straight to the point or request. Perc up from the book, you are faced with his back at you. He is arranging the bookshelves.

 “Do… you want to join me for dinner? ” After it felt like a while, you finally break the silence, your voice laces with uncertainty. If you read the atmosphere wrong, it can cost you quite severely.  

 “Sure.” He shrugs nonchalantly, continues sorting the stacks of books on the ground. Somehow you can feel the tension in the air is lifted, and he seems more relaxed than before. 

 “These are some observations and speculations I made in the last few days in here.” The chief alchemist hands you a folder. 

 You flip through the files, they are mostly pictures and drawing of large camps of hilichurl. At the end of the file is a map marked with their locations. The Abyss Order's activity has increased rapidly in this month. Commissions have been sent out continuously, yet many of them haven’t been sorted out properly yet. It seems like the sheer cold of Dragonspine can't prevent their enthusiasm. On your ways here, you have met 4 more camps, hence the reason why you choose to be acquainted with the Fatui instead.

 “I will give this to the Adventurer Guild. Thank you for this.” You exhale, fingers rubbing your eyes tiredly. The next few days are going to be very busy. 

 “If you are done, then pack up. We are going back.” He announces, returns his attention to pile on the ground. Fold the corner of the page, close the book, prepare the pack-up for the leave. You can’t wait to leave this devastating sheer cold and return back to the realm of fog and wind. Shuffling through your backpack, you put the art supplies Albedo asked you to buy on the table neatly. You didn't take anything out, so no need for packing. Basically, you are done. 

 “ Let’s go back.” 

 _____________________________________________________________

On the way back, you both walk in silence. Most of the camps are cleared, barrels and boxes shatter into tiny pieces scatter on the ground. Seem like our dear traveller has their job quite well. The place is almost spotless, even with the Fatui camp. You are impressed with their productivity.  

 It takes less than 2 hours walking back from Dragonspine, now that your bag is lighter. Walking comfortably next to Albedo, your hands grazing past each other a few times. You watch the sunset etches widely on the blushing hues orange sky in Dragonspine can be so romantic. 

 Suddenly feeling so motivated, you gently slip your index into his palm. Albedo freezes but still complies, his fingers caught your hand, slowly interlocking yours. Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, heating creeping up your cheek. Shutting your eyes, you mumble incoherently something about how unfair life is. 

 He let out a breathy snicker, with your fingers interlock, sharing the heat in the harsh weather. Look up the fading orange, slowly disappear behind the layer of thick snow, you blow out warm air, fog gathers and dissipates in the air. Sunset in Dragonspine can be arguably one of the best scenes in Mondstadt. 

    “I’m going back to my office to put this away.” When you arrive at the gate, Albedo decides to head to the HQ of the Knight of Favonius. He motions at the package in his hand. 

 “ See you later at dinner.” Nonchalantly, he plants a kiss on your cheek, hand ruffles your hair a little bit before head off in the opposite direction. 

 You stand there, still trying to comprehend what just happened a few seconds ago. The peck on your cheek is too short, too light, like feather brushes. He can’t do this to you. Your cheek is blazing with fire, and if not careful, a spark can ignite an explosion right here. You turn your head sideways, trying to saviour and recall the feeling of his lips. 

 “ Tch tch.” The sound is coming from the nearby alley, the click-clack of boots coming closer. You whirl your head toward that direction, just to realize the source of the sound is all-mighty Calvary Captain of the Knight of Favonius. 

 “ Love is really in the air.” He comments sarcastic, hand waving around to shoo away those imaginable ‘love’. 

 “ Living this long, I have never thought I would be able to see our Alchemist Chief giving someone a goodbye kiss.” Kaeya smugs at you, his deep blue eyes gleaming with mischief. Oh, you really can't wait to wipe his shit-eating grin off his face. 

 “Stop being a drama queen, Kaeya.” You shot back. “ He gave Klee one too, don’t treat this as such an abnormal supernatural act.” Internally, you have to say that Albedo giving affection is kind of a supernatural incident too. Kaeya eyes at you like you grow another head, shaking his head.  

 “ You know what I meant.” The captain shrugs, his voice ringing with a hint of smugness. 

 The man suddenly walks closer, his gloved hand pats your shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Must have been really cold in Dragonspine for him to give you his coat.” He winks at you, his eyes slowly drag down your figure. You cautiously look down. Shit, you totally forget this. 

 “We have a meeting at 8 tomorrow at the HQ. Please tell him to not stay up too late.” The cryo user whistles teasingly, heading toward Angel Share, his hand waving in the air. Your face flushes furiously, smoke almost come off your burning face. Now you realize why people have been giving your pointed gazes when you first enter the gate. Damn it, Kaeya, it is not what you think it is.  

[sunflowerstache]

the one where you’re Harry’s tailor

@theasstour​ and I have been stewing in this idea for nearly a year and it’s finally come together.. we hope you enjoy x.

Word Count: 25.6k | Warning(s): explicit language, alcohol, sexual content

NORA’S MASTERLIST  |  SARAH’S MASTERLIST

There were few moments in life that would equate to being backstage at a fashion show, simply because it was impossible to string together the specific words needed to describe the feeling. Journalists tried, quickly scribbling down thoughts and plans for their future articles in small notepads, while the professionals around them danced about in unspoken, yet somehow synchronized, movements. How would they be able to accurately depict the feeling of fabrics rubbing together between your fingers, in the most comforting way? The almost deafening sound of sewing pins carelessly being dropped on the table, after fixing a foot sized hole in a pair of trousers moments before showtime. Or how, with the amount of people crammed into the room, mixed with the humid Roman air seeping through the open windows, had sweat continuously dripped from your forehead. Yet, there was still a constant shiver running up your spine with nerves. No matter how valiant of an attempt, unless they were watching their own tailored outfits walk down the runway, their written words would never be exactly right.

Even after four years working for Gucci, perfecting hundreds of articles of clothing, clothing that was held on such a high pedestal in the fashion industry, the nerves never settled. Not when Alessandro immediately hired you at the end of your University placement, or when you were asked to accompany him in the closing walk during last year’s Cruise Show. But all of those monumental achievements paled in comparison to the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you were crouched in front of your current canvas, Gucci’s newest runway model for the 2020 Cruise Fashion Show; Harry Styles.

He was making his runway debut wearing Look 51, something you’d taken notice was not too far away from his new wardrobe when you first opened his folder. The wide legged pants were crafted from fine dots patterned blue wool, a single red pin stripe running from the hip, all the way down to the ankle. They were finished with minor details, ones not many people would take notice to, but ones that made your heart race with excitement; hidden horn buttons, front slash pockets, viscose inner lining, and an interior silk belt, all of which were hidden by his coat. Green, red, and blue stripes defined the knee length coat, appearing to crease where the four pockets sat; two at his groin and two more just at the breasts, the left pocket holding Lyre ‘Pas de Rumeur’ crest patch. Barely visible under the wool coat, peaked out a blazer identically matching the pants, only the buttons and red piping could be seen, but you knew what would be hidden to onlookers; an orange lion embroidered onto the upper left breast pocket, the hand stitched word ‘Gucci’ sitting under it’s paws in black thread, and a baby blue silk inside - a fabric that no doubt felt great against Harry’s white tank top covered torso. The rest of his look consisted of minor accessories that brought the look together; a red barrie that had the signature double G’s embroidered in green thread, a pair of crocheted black fingerless gloves, and maroon quilted leather slide sandals, complete with the interlocking G horsebit. The subtle jewelry on his body was a stark contrast to his usual ring clad fingers, now only having a few delicate necklaces rest against his bare chest. He was a sight to be seen, someone who would surely grab attention as he made his way through the dark museum runway.

“Quit moving, or you’ll end up with a pin in your bum.” you mumbled, on your knees behind Harry and quickly fixing a tear in the rear left pants pocket before he was ushered out onto the runway.

The two of you were in the farthest corner of the back dressing room, away from most of the hustle and bustle of all other models, so that you could grab the emergency sewing kit, filled with all colors of thread, baby scissors, hundreds of pins, and even super glue, from your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, Alessandro could be seen weaving through the room, triple checking that each and every outfit was completed in the exact way he had envisioned. There wasn’t much time before all models were set to step foot on the Musei Capitolini floor, and the last minute nerves were finally setting in.

“Sorry, can’t help it. Never done this before, you know.” his voice was muffled by not only the chatter of the room, but also the constant picking of his lip.

“Still can’t believe you’re actually doing it, if I’m honest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you chuckled, giving the bum pocket a couple tugs to make sure it wouldn’t come undone again, before moving to stand directly in front of him. “You cut yourself the first time we met, ripped your trousers at the first shoot, and fell off a stone wall in the new campaign. You’re not exactly the most graceful lad at times.”

“In my defense, no one told me not to get on that wall.” Harry paused a moment, holding his hand out for you to place the pin cushion while you reorganized your bag,  “Can’t believe we only met a few years ago. Feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Without any hesitation, you nodded in agreement.

You couldn’t really remember the exact date you first met Harry. All you remember is it had been February 2018 and raining - very hard at that - and when you entered the Gucci store on Bond Street in London, your umbrella had been torn to shreds because of the wind, and your hands felt like ice after having been attacked by the raging storm outside. Alessandro had been upstairs in one of the offices, three huge white boards before him with the different campaigns he was planning at the time. Humming along to Malafemmena by Roberto Murolo playing from the speakers on his desk, Alessandro traced a finger over the fabric hanging from the wall beside the boards. You knew those were the fabrics you were going to be using today, your boss having hung them forth so it would be easier for you to work.

“Morning.” You had said, taking your jacket off and placing it on the hanger. “Absolutely horrendous outside.”

“Hmm,” mused Alessandro, tilting his head to take the grey fabric in before he looked over at you making your way over. “Always like that in England.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at the different colours, materials and patterns you were going to use for the new looks. “You’re not wrong.”

Alessandro giggled, looking over his shoulder for a single second.

“Either pouring rain or it’s drizzling.” You said, studying the different designs of each of the suits you would be making over the next few months. “Right annoying when you don’t even want to be here.”

He laughed again, turning around to look at the boards you assumed.

“I’m being serious.” You reached for the fabric your boss had been checking out when you arrived. “Who would choose to live in a country where it constantly rains?”

“Didn’t really have a choice most of my life,” came a voice from behind you and you instantly stopped dead in your tracks. “Can’t really control where we are born, can we?”

Slowly, you turned to see one of Alessandro’s dearest friends: Harry Styles. He was sitting in the brown leather sofa right behind you, a sofa you knew was there from having been in Alessandro’s London office multiple times before, but hadn’t thought to give a second look. You would assume Harry would have someone there with him, like some assistant or manager or… anyone, but Harry was sitting there all alone, looking over at you with this cheeky grin on his face that had your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t a shock for him to be here alone, you thought after a second, as Harry and Alessandro spent loads of time together usually so this was just another normal hang-out for them. You, on the other hand, had never met Harry Styles before. This was your first time being in his company. And so far – you had to be honest with yourself – you weren’t looking very good. Grumpy, soaked through, and with a dash of dishevelled everything, you no doubt looked like a person no one wanted anything to do with. Harry clearly found it very amusing how little you liked being in England. Also most definitely found it funny how startled you were at his sudden utterance. You watched as he got up from the sofa, walking over to you as Alessandro also came to sight again.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro said. “This is Harry.”

You zoned out entirely, the whole situation too surreal. Though you had been born and brought up in England, there was just something about the constant rain that made not only your mood drop, but your skin sticky and hands clammy. So when Harry reached a hand out to shake yours after Alessandro had told Harry your name and introduced you, red lights and a loud alarm started going off in your head. He would have to feel just how bad the effect of the bloody terrible English weather had on you. But not shaking his hand would be weird and impolite. His hand was between the two of you, open and ready for yours. It stood there for a few seconds. And you just looked at it. Quickly realising that not shaking his hand would probably be more awkward than doing so with a sweaty palm, you took his. A breathy giggle left Harry’s lips as your hands met. You let his go, looking over at Alessandro who was giving you a weird look while you heard the slap of Harry’s hand against his thigh in the background.

“Measurements.” Alessandro said, trying to move on from the awkward situation you had just caused. All the blood in your body rushed to the surface of your skin, instantly heating you up. You glanced to the ground, hoping Harry didn’t notice how flustered you just got. Walking to your bag, you took out your notebook and measurement tape. “Glorious, mio caro.”

Getting your pen, you walked over to the board for the Gucci Autumn/Winter Campaign. There were five different suits for this one, a couple of more for the next, and then three for the last one. From the way Alessandro had left some space at the bottom of the last board, it was clear he would be working even more with Harry in the future, they just did not know exactly what or when yet. Someone cleared their throat beside you and you whipped your head to your left to see Alessandro pointing to the different suits on the board.

“These today.” He said, pointing to the specific details he wanted and instructions on where they would be loose and not. “I need to go to a meeting, but you two will be fine on your own. You have a lot in common.”

You frowned, watching as Alessandro walked toward his desk, picking up a huge binder and resting it under his arm. “Have a lot in common?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “You do.”

“Like…?”

Alessandro only gestured with his hands for the two of you to get talking, and then he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him. Dettagli - Detalhes by Ornella Vanoni played lowly as the quiet between the two of you filled the room and made it troublesome to breathe properly. A great stream of anxiety suddenly took over and you suddenly felt very awkward. Obvious from the way Alessandro had left in such a hurry and the way he had left with that grin, you knew there was underlying expectations to this encounter. There were multiple reasons why Alessandro had called you to come help him. You didn’t want to think about that, though, because that only made absolutely everything ten times more embarrassing.

“Lovely,” Harry looked over at you from staring at the door Alessandro had kicked closed, standing confidently in his green and white striped tee shirt over his loose light denim jeans. “Likes a dramatic entrance and exit, that one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking over to the board to look at the details once more. Harry only watched you, a bit unsure of what to do next. The rain fell against the windows, creating a lulling sound to go with the Italian music still swaying through the room. The white walls, tall ceiling, and Victorian look of the room only made it feel like you two were actually in Italy. His phone vibrated from the sofa with an incoming text, only giving it a quick look over his shoulder until you wandered over to your bag again. Whipping your glasses out, you hung them from the collar of your white tee shirt before walking back over to Harry.

Quickly, and maybe a bit too loudly, you cleared your throat. “Are you ticklish?”

Taken a bit off guard, Harry blinked twice. “Only armpits and backs of my knees.”

“Right.” You nodded your head, hooking your measurement tape around your neck. “Stand still, back straight.”

Harry listened to you, biting the side of his lip as you pressed your ring and index finger to your sternum in concentration. Eyes following you as you started walking around his figure, getting a good look at everything before you stood before him again.

“Clothes too loose?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“No, it’s fine.” You said, taking your tape back in your hands again. An instrumental version of ‘O Sole Mio by Jack Jezzro started playing just as the rain outside threw itself more forcefully against the windows, but you tried not to pay notice to anything but what was going on before you. You had no idea why you were nervous. Plenty of times before, you had worked with other celebrities; tailoring their suits, dresses and whatnots. For some reason, however, this felt different. Harry was so close to Alessandro, so the notion that the two of you would get along just as well filled you with anxiety, and a hint of awkwardness. Bringing your tape up you took a step closer to Harry as you lifted it above his head and around his neck. Before doing anything else, you put your glasses on, wanting to actually be able to see what the measurements were. Resting the tape on the tops of his shoulders, you put your finger between the tape and his neck to allow for some room for Harry to breathe in his suits. You felt him swallow against your finger. Her heart skipped a quick beat.

“So…” he said, dragging it out. “Where are you from?”

Instantly, your eyes whipped up in the direction of his, staring at you patiently. You glanced down at the measurements again, whispering them to yourself under your breath and doing so continuously till you wrote his numbers behind the ‘neck’ in your notebook.

“You can tell I’m from England?” you asked, knowing your parents had made it very apparent to you how much of your accent you had lost over the four years you had spent constantly traveling.

“Know a Brit when I hear one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking back to him. “Lift your arms, please.”

He did.

You sneaked the measurement tape from where it hung from his shoulders and wrapped it around the widest point of his chest. “Worcestershire, you?”

“Cheshire,” he answered. “Right outside Manchester.”

“Stand in a relaxed posture if you can,” you ordered. “You can let your arms fall to your sides.” Harry did as you told him to. “Now breathe in.” Breathed in, you noted the numbers in your head. “Breathe out.” You did the same again. Muttering them under your breath, you dragged the tape with you while writing everything down.

“And you?” Harry asked, clearly eager to get to know you better while you were this close to him. He didn’t want any awkward tension between the two of you as this almost felt like an intimate moment; you studying him so closely and touching his entire body on your first meeting. Though he was good at knowing when to be professional and when it was okay not to be - and though he knew this was work - he couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t. You were a good friend of Alessandro, just as he was, and so it felt more like two acquaintances hanging out than anything work related.

“Evesham.” You answered, enclosing the tape around Harry’s waist this time. You leaned into him, nose almost touching his chest. You breathed in through your nose, and as discreetly as possible, breathed out through your mouth. Why were you acting up? What was it with Harry Styles that suddenly made it hard for you to function? This never happened. Bending your index finger, you started feeling around for Harry’s belly button to make sure you were on the right spot.

“Never really been to Worcestershire, if I’m- Oh!” Harry looked down at you as you poked his belly button a little too hard.

“Sorry, just needed to know I was directly on your waist.” You leaned down, asking him to breathe in and out again.

Harry watched you write the numbers down. “How long have you been doing this?”

“What?” you asked, putting one end of the tape at the mid side of his neck, following it all the way down to where you knew Alessandro wanted the shirt to end. Which was a little too close to his crotch. “You mean working for Gucci or tailoring people?” You felt the spot where his abdomen ended and his leg began. No, no, no, don’t go there, be professional, you thought to yourself.

“Both.”

You hunched down, getting the right measurements, writing them down, and then going to stand at his back. “Since I was twenty. Alessandro thought I had some talent, took me under his wing, and I’ve been working for Gucci since, tailoring people.” Placing your finger near his armpit, and tracing a line upward, Harry jerked.

“Absolutely not.” He glanced at you now that you were face to face, protecting his armpit while he continued on, “Want me to elbow you in the throat?”

“Preferably not.”

“Then don’t tickle my armpit.” He was so serious it took everything in you not to laugh.

“Well,” you couldn’t help your smile now. “I kind of have to know where your armpit is to do your shoulders.”

Conflict ran across Harry’s face, as if he was debating everything that could go wrong if he let you do it. Slowly, he turned back around, shoulders incredibly tense this time.

“Try to relax.”

“I know I’m about to have a finger jammed up my armpit, I’m unable to.”

The urge to laugh was so immense, but you bit your lips together and quickly ran your finger from his armpit and directly up his shoulder. Harry only winced a little, sighing under his breath as you took the measurements and then went to write them down.

“Sorry,” Harry said as you turned back around to him. “Didn’t mean to turn into a dickhead, but I just hate when people touch my armpits.”

You smiled. “It’s fine. I’m the same with my neck.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Ever had someone tailor you?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Nope. I’ll do that myself unless I need someone to do my back.”

“Let me know next time you need help and I’ll do your back.” Harry said. “Maybe wiggle my fingers along your neck or summat to that effect.”

You laughed. “You have free time on your hands now? Aren’t you a busy bloke?”

“Count me in after July.”

“Oh?”

“World tour is over; I get to relax.” He informed, watching as you did his arm. “Going to Italy to relax with some mates and family.”

“How nice.” You said, doing his wrist. “I’m going to Italy as well. Always spend March ‘till August in Florence, then September ‘till February in London.”

“Really?” Harry almost looked a little impressed by your lifestyle, as if his own wasn’t just as adventurous. “Travel a lot?”

You couldn’t help a tiny smile, knowing that no matter how many countries you’d travelled to, Harry had probably done double the amount. But regardless of how well-travelled he himself was, in the low yet curious tone of his voice, you could hear the sincerity of his question. “Mostly between Italy and England, but I do tag along on some of Alessandro’s visits to the States, France, and some other countries.”

“Wicked.” Harry smiled as he noticed the corners of your mouth tip a little upward. “What’s been your favourite so far?”

The eye contact was intense. He didn’t look away, focusing entirely and altogether on you. There was a friendliness to his glance that had you relaxing, which was odd considering how anxious you had been earlier. You were sure that, by this point, Harry had completely forgotten the entire reason why he was here or why it was raining outside. And, to be fair, so had you. This felt like catching up with a friend, the easy chatter you had with one of your mates after months apart.

“I feel like I’m somewhat biased, but Italy. I love my little flat in Florence and that city too much for my own good.” You said, finding the way Harry’s head moved slightly with his huff, endearing. “You expected that?”

“What's not to love about Italy?” he asked, head cocked to the side. “I’m going there this summer, remember? Taking my whole family and meeting some mates.”

“Where abouts are you going?”

“Modena.” He put his hands in his jean pockets, nodding his head as he spoke. “Not really anywhere close to a big city or anything, but I just want to rest once I’m there to be fair. I’m teaching myself Italian at the moment, Alessandro is teaching me some as well.”

“Really?” Your smile grew bigger.

Harry’s smile mirrored yours. “Yeah.”

“Would you understand if I spoke some to you?” The four years you had lived in Italy had made you fluent in their first language. It had been a challenge at first, but you now understood the frustrated Florentine drivers shouting out from their open driver side windows, the old couple owning the bakery near you who loved to mumble, and even the slang some of the interns at Gucci used when they talked to one another. Harry seemed to be able to tell that you mastered this language he had just barely started to learn, but he nodded nevertheless.

“Right then.” He said. “Hit me.”

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself, getting the measurement tape from the table behind you, completely having forgotten about the fact that you were here for work.

“Is that Italian for ‘oh no’?” Harry teased, making you both laugh, but you quickly shut up as you saw what was next on the list. Hip and seat. Clearing your throat, you turned back to Harry, biting your lip as you hunched down before him. You could tell that he too was a bit taken aback by the completely new position you two found yourself in. He quickly looked away.

“Is it okay if you…” your eyes met. “If you lift your shirt slightly and lower your jeans a tad? I need to measure directly onto your body.”

“Alright,” Harry took a grip of his jeans, shimmying them along with his boxers a bit down his hip. “Yeah.” Taking his shirt up next, the bare skin of his abdomen was there right in front of you.

“Modena,” you started, leaning in as you brought the measurement tape around him. Harry felt your breath brush against his abdominal hair. “Non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

“What?” he said, eyes glued to the wall right in front of him, hands gripping his shirt hard in concentration. “Didn’t catch that.”

You memorised his number, then said a quick, “You can pull your jeans up and shirt down now.”

Harry did so, watching you stroll back to note his hip. He noticed he was panting slightly, like he had run up a set of stairs. Closing his mouth, he shook his head and willed himself to act normal, to be respectful. It was a little hard, however, when he had been single for so long and a pretty lass stood right in front of his crotch. As you came back and stood in front of him the exact same way as the time before, Harry settled his eyes on the white boards again. This time around, you brought the book with you, wanting the crotch and leg area to be done with as quickly as possible.

“Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.” You said again, measuring around the widest point of his seat.

He didn’t respond.

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

You giggled, writing down the measurements before inhaling hugely. Inseam next. “Did you catch what I was saying?”

“No, I-“ He stopped himself as your hand came up to the inside of his upper thigh, not having seen it coming. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay.” You said quickly, doing his inseam, knuckles softly gracing that spot between his thighs.

“I, uhh, I didn’t understand what you were saying.” He admitted quickly, hands on his hips and gaze faraway.

You wrote down the inseam, and got up, taking the book with you. His eyes instantly fell on you as you stood face to face again; him biting his lips together and your eyes big. Turning around, you placed the book down on the table again, running your finger over all the measurements so far.

“Could you come here, please?” You asked, hearing Harry walk towards you, hands on his back and ready for the next steps. You had been a bit scared to command him earlier, but now that you had talked and been between his legs, you felt it almost got a little easier to be around him. As if the awkwardness had gone away. Now you didn’t have to go far to write his measurements because the table and book and pen were right beside you. You walked over to the white board, mentally jotting down how and where Alessandro wanted the shirt to end and how it was supposed to sit on Harry. Meanwhile, Harry craned his neck to watch you. Still wearing your glasses, he watched your lips move as you mumbled to yourself, the dark blue of the rainstorm from the window beside you, made what Harry looked like seem like a painting. The calmness of you against the raging madness outside. He glanced back at the book, then at the soft fabric hanging beside him, mind wandering to the different places these campaigns would take him. He read over his measurements, about to turn the pages to see some of his other lengths and widths, when he felt a sharp pain in his finger.

He hissed.

You glanced over at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Harry was fast to answer, putting his index finger in his mouth to get some of the blood off his finger.

Walking back over to him, you didn’t pay much attention to how he was quick to put his hand behind his back again where it had been earlier. “Modena isn’t too far from Florence.”

Harry’s brows met above his nose, feeling a little lost at first, but as he slowly started putting two and two together, his grimace evaporated. “Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

You nodded your head twice, giving him a little smile. “Esattamente.”

“Exactly.” Harry translated.

You raised your hand, offering Harry a high five which he happily answered. What he forgot in that second however, was his minor accident just a minute earlier. Right before your hands met, you noticed his finger, and your eyes went immediately to his.

“What happened to your bleeding finger, mate?”

“Oh-” Harry looked at it, looking unsure for a second before he huffed. “Oh that,” he huffed. “That’s nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re bleeding.”

“And you’re a tailor.”

“What…” You shook your head. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“Thought we were stating the obvious.” He shrugged. “Just a papercut. I’ll survive.”

“Of course you’ll survive, just wondered how you were able to start bleeding out of nowhere.”

Harry chuckled. “Not to worry, I’ll be able to use my hand as normal in no time.”

“Knob.” You mumbled automatically, immediately regretting it. That was not at all professional. And you were in a very professional setting. You were at work. You couldn’t call your client a knob right to his face. Oh my god oh my god oh my god, you thought to yourself trying to row yourself back to safe territory. You scrunched your nose up as you inhaled sharply. “Can’t even remember the last time I got a papercut, to be frank.”

“Speaking frankly now, are you?” He joked. You looked up at him again, and a second after your eyes met, you both started laughing. You put your hand to your heart, shaking your head at how silly the two of you were when you were under strict orders from Alessandro to get Harry’s measurements. But the fact that he hadn’t taken you calling him a knob seriously, the fact that he was able to joke about it and take the piss, it made it impossible for you not to laugh with him.

Your eyes met, both teary eyed from laughter.

“What’s knob in Italian, anyway?” Harry asked, making you laugh even harder.

And that launched the two of you into easy conversation. Almost a little too easy for the two of you to just have met. The fact that you were in a work environment didn’t seem to face you at all, which was incredibly refreshing for both. The seriousness of the meetings you had to endure most of the time so unnecessarily boring and dry that this was like a breath of fresh air. Alessandro had been right when he said you had loads in common, which you figured out in between you taking his measurements. There didn’t seem to be a topic untouched at the end of Harry’s session, and though he was done with his measurements and such, he stuck around. You two stood by the table you stood at earlier, you still holding onto the tape like once you stopped, Harry would immediately leave. Neither of you noticed how the door opened slightly. Didn’t notice Alessandro looking through the crack and at the two of you, having heard voices from behind the door when he came back from his meeting. He smiled to himself, seeing Harry laugh at something you said before he closed the door again, leaving you two to it.

You became fast friends. Though you could go a week without texting, or a day without thinking about one another, you still knew that when you next met up, you would pick up where you left off. You had formed an easy friendship like that, one which you both appreciated and knew you could come back to without problem. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you would befriend someone as high profile as Harry Styles when working as a tailor. You hadn’t really thought you would befriend any celebrity when working as a tailor, actually. But here you were, friends with Harry Styles, and not at all thinking of him as someone who made hit singles or who was the new face of Gucci. Someone who made a living off of singing and who had a huge bloody fanbase supporting him. That part of his life felt surreal, but yours and Harry’s friendship was so genuine, so effortless, that you didn’t really care about the other aspects of his life as long as he was a good person.

The second time you met was at the chip shop, The Camp, in St Albans, Hertfordshire, where the photoshoot and commercial would take place. It was cloudy, the skies a dull grey that threatened with rain, but you knew would just fly right by without interrupting the film crew. The wind was annoying however, bitter at the touch, but you knew Harry was a warm blooded person and would have no problems exposing his chest and hands to it. You strolled up to the Camp School parking lot that was littered with cars and a huge white truck where you knew Harry would be, getting ready. Alessandro had other business to attend to and most of the people on set worked for Gucci, but you were there to see that the suits you had made were okay and that they properly fit. For the first fitting some weeks ago, you had been busy with another client, so Alessandro had done that himself. But he still wanted someone on sight in case something happened, because no way in hell were anyone but him or you allowed to repair a pair of torn trousers or a ruined shirt.

You knocked on the door of the truck, heard a “Come in”, and stepped inside. Harry was sitting in a makeup chair, a woman doing his hair and make-up, readying him for his first ever Gucci shoot. He opened his eyes, meeting yours in the mirror before him. Your smiles were identical when you realised who you were looking at.

“Knob.” You said, standing by the wall behind Harry.

“Wanker.” He answered, grinning at you. “You alright?”

It was something the two of you had fallen into the habit of calling one another ever since the ‘knob’ incident of your first meeting. No one really understood why, especially not the people around you. Alessandro, who thought he had been the mastermind behind a match made in heaven, was surprised to see just how good friends the two of you were. Seeing you two hit it off in his office at first, he had immediately thought he had done it, found each his friends a potential partner, but after months of nothing romantic happening, he had given up. It was clear the two of you just looked at each other as friends and nothing more. Very good friends at that.

“Yeah,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing out beyond the door you had just walked through. “Looks like it’s about to rain.”

Harry chuckled. “Worried about that, are you?” He thanked the make-up artist before he got up, gesturing for you to walk out first.

“Yes.” You answered, stepping out of the van. “You’ll look like a maniac if you get wet in that.”

“A maniac?!” Harry sounded appalled. “You might have to elaborate on why.”

“Wet hair, wearing a suit with no shirt, striking orange necklace, and holding a chicken?”

“No, that’s art, babe.”

You laughed. The two of you started strolling towards the chip shop.

“If anything, I’ll look irresistible wearing this and being soaked.” Harry said, saying a quick ‘hi’ to someone walking by. “You won’t be able to resist me.”

You huffed. “If I saw someone walking down the street looking like that, being soaked through, I’d have my pepper spray ready and already dialling 999.”

“Admit it, you’d not be able to keep your hands off me.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me thinking you’re fit?” You laughed. A short silence followed. Your knuckles brushed against one another. Something warm lit up your chest for a single second. Harry just looked at you for a moment, as if seriously contemplating the question. But before you got the chance to look to your left and at your mate, to make sure he was fine, someone interrupted.

“Harry,” one of Glen Luchford’s assistants walked toward the two of you. “We’re ready for you.”

The photographer stood beside the art director – Christopher Simmonds - further down the street, just outside the chip shop, talking amongst themselves about something. A slight breeze blew past you, Harry’s cologne graced you for two lovely seconds as you watched the man himself follow the main photographer’s assistant. You were a couple of steps behind them, standing by yourself and watching the whole commercial unfold. Harry was handed the chicken, who flapped its wings upon being in Harry’s grasp. The look on Harry’s face had you laughing, and Harry immediately looked over at you, giving you a stern look. However, you were laughing, so it was hard for him not to crack a smile as well. Your phone vibrated in your pocket some minutes later, and you walked a distance away as not to be in the way.

“Lallo, hiya.” You greeted, scrunching your nose up as you felt the first droplet of rain hit it.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro greeted, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “How’s the photoshoot?”

“Not really done much yet, but everything’s fine so far.”

He sighed again. “I am glad to hear. Did the suit fit nice like it’s supposed to?”

You glanced at Harry over your shoulder, standing on the pavement further down, ready to film. He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the white sky with big eyes. It was almost as if you could see the peaceful green of his irises. His neck was stretched as he bowed his head back, closing his eyes and letting a few raindrops fall into his face. He looked almost dreamy; peaceful for a few moments as he collected himself. Someone shouted something and Harry blinked his eyes open, looking at the director. Suddenly, his eyes went to you, but they flickered away just as quickly. You looked away.

“It fits.”

“Nothing bad’s happened?”

You kicked at a stone on the ground. “What does that mean?”

“Harry ruining the suit.”

You huffed out a small laugh through your nose. “Do you have that little faith in him?”

“He gets clumsy when he’s nervous.”

You frowned. “Harry isn’t nervous.”

“Are you sure?” Alessandro asked, you could tell he was narrowing his eyes and putting his hand on his hip. He was challenging you. “Really sure?”

“Look,” you started walking towards the make-up van, aware that you most likely had to go get the make-up artist and hairdresser out if it was going to start raining. “Everything’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. If you were worried this was going to be a fail, why didn’t you prioritise this event?”

“Fine, fine. It’s not you I’m worried about, no? It’s that…” Alessandro paused for some seconds. “It’s Harry’s first Gucci shoot and I’m not there. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then I’m there to fix it. Why I’m here, remember?” You spotted the van. “I’m your eyes, ears, and hands today.”

Alessandro laughed. “Il mio amore, what would I do without you?”

“Do not know. I really don’t.”

He laughed again and you two hung up just as you knocked on the door to the make-up van. Informing them that it was drizzling out and that they might have to come do a touch-up if it got worse, you walked in as they got everything they needed. A selection of suits hung on a rack on one end of the van, some twins in case something were to happen, and others were lone ones. Regardless, you always found Alessandro’s ability to make clothes into a form of art so inspiring. It was what made you want to work with him in the first place. An abundance of colours and fabrics, of softness and roughness, of modern and rustic. The things he thought to make you’d never in your wildest dreams think of, which made doing anything for him so fascinating. Always something new, always something spellbinding.

You followed the crew out and in the direction of the shoot. It wasn’t drizzling as much anymore, but this was still England, something that meant it would happen anytime soon. The artists were chatting amongst themselves as you made your way over, you read over an email on your phone. Suddenly though, the heels that had walked right beside you stopped. You glanced up from your phone, over your shoulder at the three ladies you had gotten to help you. They stared straight ahead, and when you averted your eyes, letting them land on what they were seeing, you almost dropped your phone.

The hen Harry had been holding was flapping about, two crew members chasing it while a third one ran over to help. Someone was shouting “Stop recording” and someone else “Get the fucking chicken”. But the worst part of it all – at least for you – was Harry getting up from the asphalt. There was a furrow to his brows as he checked his suits for scratches, stopping when he saw the rip at his knee. Your brain immediately flashed back to what Alessandro had just told you.

Harry’s eyes shot up, hastily scanning the crowd around him, and you quickly realised he was looking for you. Stepping forward, you saw him relax some when his eyes landed on you. He jogged over, groaning through his teeth.

“I-“

“-Get to the bloody van, I need to take a look at the rest of your suit.”

“But there’s only the knee.” Harry said as you two started walking.

“I’m not taking your word for it.”

This seemed to become a theme for Harry’s shoots. His anxiety would get the better of him, though he did get more confident with each one that went by. It wasn’t something he was amazing at at first, but something that grew on him overtime. Just like the seasons changed from winter to spring to summer, Harry slowly got his feet off the slippery ice he seemed to have been on that first shoot in England.

However, a few months later, you were back in Italy, doing another shoot with Gucci. Harry was wearing one of the suits you had tailored for him; a checked one, a blue shirt, a silk bandana around his neck and another one in his hair. Since the last shoot, the two of you had talked over the phone, texted, and sent each other funny memes on Instagram. You hadn’t met up a whole lot, maybe the odd café trip or two with some friends, but nothing beyond that. So, meeting him in Italy, your second home, was incredibly special to you.

You were on the outside of Rome, Villa Lente, and you had spent most of your morning yawning and getting looks from Alessandro when you did so. Harry yawned with you when he caught you doing so, the two of you giggling at how ridiculous you were being. With raised eyebrows, Alessandro watched the two of you, giving you a slight flick to the arm when you distracted Harry.

But it was when Harry was perched on the stone wall, dragging some hair out of his face as he placed himself steadily on it, that was then it happened. The sun hit him just right, making the ruffle of his curls look like a golden halo around his head; green irises switching to the colour of autumn leaves where the light hit them. He looked ethereal. And in the middle of all of this, Harry reached for the lamb he was supposed to be perching on his shoulders. No one thought Harry would actually fall off the wall. No one thought he was that clumsy. But as he was hurtling towards the ground having lost his footing completely, the realisation that he was indeed that clumsy hit you just as Harry hit the stone staircase beneath the wall.

Alessandro exclaimed a few crude words in Italian, running to Harry’s aid. You stood there blinking, getting yourself back from the slight daydream you’d just had about the poor man that laid on the ground with a dozen people around him. One second he had looked like something straight out of a dream; like an angel that had come down to earth. He had looked too good and you simply had not been able to look away from him. You knew Harry was good looking, you weren’t blind, but something about the sun hitting him like that, when he smiled down at you watching him, how carefully he styled his hair when he at up on that stone wall. It did something to you.

But all of that disappeared right away when Harry hit the ground, exclaiming a grunt of pain. Alessandro was by his side in seconds, speaking so fast you had trouble understanding him. Harry held onto his knee, yet again having ripped the suit and once again bleeding, only this time it was his hand. Why was it always his knee and why did he always end up bleeding? It was only so clumsy a person could get, wasn’t it? And yet, Harry Styles seemed to be proving you very wrong. No one was as easily affected by their anxiety as him.

People crowded him, ready to be of help and to get him standing. It wasn’t like he had broken any bones, because he was able to get up onto his feet without trouble, but the fall had definitely hurt regardless. Your eyes locked as Harry’s arm came to rest around Alessandro’s shoulders, the designer helped him over to the van. Once again, Harry had to change trousers.

“How?” you simply asked, unsure what best way to even address the whole situation.

“Don’t,” Harry shook his head, not in the mood to have you take the mick out of him for this. “Hurts like a fucking cunt.”

Alessandro pinched Harry’s side, making him yelp and put more pressure on his knee than he wanted to, ultimately getting him to gasp. Harry glanced at the designer, an annoyed furrow forming between his brows.

“Why’d you do that?”

“You were being rude.”

“Pinching a wounded man is rude.” Harry removed his arm from around Alessandro, limping towards the van. “I’m getting changed.”

You glanced at Alessandro, both of you knowing that no matter what, Harry would be in a bad mood for a bit now. That always happened when something didn’t go according to plan; he’d get grumpy and need some time alone. One of the assistants was about to follow him, clearly having gotten some orders from the photographer, Glen Luchford, or art director, Christopher Simmonds. You put your hand out warning them from following the already irritated and hurting star of the photoshoot. He just needed 10 minutes to cool off, and then you’d be off after him to make sure he was alright.

Once 10 minutes had passed, you knocked on the door of the make-up van, hearing a grumble of sorts before stepping inside. Harry was standing unzipping his trousers and shimmying them down his hip. It reminded you a bit of the tailoring you had done at the beginning of the year, how he had pushed both his trousers and boxers down so you could get his measurements right. He glanced over his shoulder at you before he sat down, now only his boxers covering the top part of his thighs and crotch.

“Don’t stand there looking for too long,” he said, bending over to get the trousers completely off. “I might end up turning you on.”

You stepped inside, closing the door and walking over to the first-aid kit. You felt Harry’s eyes on you as he sat back, placing the ripped trousers on the chair beside him. Getting some cotton, you put a mild soap on it and poured it under water before walking back over to Harry. You sat down in a chair, getting closer to him, and taking his hand. As you turned it over to look at the scratch on his palm, you could tell that it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be, but it still looked like it’d hurt. Carefully, you dabbed the wound, making sure to clean it up. Harry hissed through his teeth, watching as the cotton came out dirty. It hadn’t been the cleanest ground he’d landed on and you didn’t want him to get an infection.

Getting up, you got another piece of cotton and did the same, dragging the chair even closer to Harry now. Taking his hand this time around, your knuckles brushed his thigh, the dark downy hair you hadn’t noticed till now. How his boxers rested tightly around his thighs, and how far up they were, revealing more than you were intended to see. Your cheeks felt hot and you focused on his hand, lifting it from his leg so you didn’t have to feel his warm, bare thigh against your knuckles. There wasn’t really a trace of any dirt on it now, but you wanted to be sure you’d gotten everything before you let him outside again.

You were very aware Harry could rinse his own wound himself. He didn’t need people to do everything for him, he liked doing most things himself, in fact. And though both of you were sat there knowing you didn’t have to, neither stopped it. Slowly, Harry’s eyes came to rest at your face. They stayed there, just watching you tend to him so carefully. When people go out of their way to help you, to make sure you’re okay, those are the kind of people to hold onto for life. The kind of people who will buy you sweets when you need it on a bad day, who will force themselves to be in a cheery mood to better yours, who will kiss your eyelids when you go back to sleep after a nightmare. The kind of people who will rinse your wound when you get hurt when you’re perfectly capable of doing so yourself.

You didn’t know why you looked up, didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was your subconscious that knew if you did, you’d find something you’d been searching for your whole life. Maybe something inside you knew that glancing up, you’d see something you hadn’t before. Your eyes met Harry’s, and though you had stared into them on numerous occasions before, something shifted in that moment. With his hand in your hand, his bare knee resting against yours, eyes glancing intently into yours; it was like something bigger than yourselves took over. You felt it on your heart first, like a warm tingling that spread out to every single one of your limbs and cells. It felt like you were drunk; head hazy and feelings heightened. Everything about Harry before you was greater, brighter; more.

“You need to finish the shoot.” You said, knowing that Alessandro would undoubtedly not appreciate the two of you taking this long.

Harry didn’t answer. He just stared at you, like he was seeing something spectacular for the first time and he couldn’t look away. The look in his eyes softened as he gulped, his Adam’s apple moving with a lump in his throat he clearly had trouble swallowing. For a split second, you could swear you saw his eyes rest to your lips. Following the shape of them, savouring the colour of them. Neither of you realised you were moving in. It wasn’t till the sight of Harry started to blur and the room seem to fill with electricity that you realised just how close you were. You stopped, pulling a bit away till you saw him clearly, but a slight wrinkle to his brows told you he hadn’t appreciated that. Just as you were about to lean in again, to an unknown fate between the two of you, there was a loud knock on the door and a second later it flew open. You pushed away from him, barely even touching his hand as you finished rinsing the wound. Harry blinked, clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder at Alessandro who stood there glancing back at him.

“Well?” Alessandro asked, gesturing behind him at the shoot that had been momentarily stopped.

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes meeting yours before he dragged his hand out of your grip. “Just a sec.”

Harry got up, walking over to the wardrobe to get changed. Instantly, you threw the cotton away and walked outside with Alessandro, ready to forget the whole moment and never think of it again. But it was easier said than done. The rest of that shoot, that day, that week, it was all you could think about.

Unfortunately, after that shoot, you and Harry hadn’t been able to see one another  It was finally that time of year when you had a bit of time off to relax, and this time it happened to fall in the middle of July. It gave you the perfect opportunity to do nothing more than wander the streets of your home, see some old friends, and fully enjoy the beauties that an Italian summer had to offer. But no matter how happy you were for the time off, it was bittersweet because although Harry had just finished his world tour and now had an abundance of free time on his hands, he was fully booked until you’d see him for your next shoot.

You didn’t fault him for how he spent his time off, he did just get home after a long year long world tour, and that did warrant some time alone. But you did have to admit that you missed seeing him. Somewhere in your mind, you recall him saying he was spending some time in Italy up north with his family, but the dates were jumbled and you didn’t want to disturb his peace. Instead, you settled for knowing you’d see him again in a few short months.

You had set out for the day in order to find some new houseplants, seeing as the young girl who kept yours tended to while you were away - Lilliana - always seemed to let them wilt. It was the most perfect day to stroll down to the market and see some of the florists you’d missed while you were away, what with the sun shining it’s brightest and only the tiniest breeze ghosting by your cheeks. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. This was your time to bask in the sunlight before heading back to dreary London for some time.

Sandals clapping against the cobblestone walkway echoed through the quiet street, the sound of faint music playing from a nearby open window was carried by the breeze, filling in any silence that would be there otherwise. This was the life you had dreamt about as a child, the kind of life that you only got to read about in books or watch in films, yet here you were. It was yet another reason you had to be thankful to Alessandro for.

“Mi scusi, signora.”

You often walked down the small side street with your eyes closed briefly, not only knowing it like the back of your hands, but also basking in the warmth of the sun, so it wasn’t anything new to have someone speak up to let you know they were near. But something about that voice was familiar. Like when you walk into your home for the first time in a while and you can smell you. Like you can’t exactly put a finger on it, but you know it’s familiar, so you investigate. Which you did, and it caused you to gasp.

“Harry?”

“In the flesh.” his smile could rival the brightness of the sun that was shining between in the tall buildings as he walked up the slight incline of the street towards you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood and through I’d stop by. See my favorite tailor.” Once he finally reached you, your arms were instantly wrapped around one another, squeezing like you hadn’t just been together weeks ago.

“Wha - how are yo-?”

“Don’t tell me you’re speechless. You? Of all people?” he laughed, pulling away after giving a few rubs to your back.

“I know you didn’t come all the way to Montaione to take the piss, Harry.” you took this time to really look at him after your surprise meet up. He looked remarkable, something that quite annoyed you considering he was dressed so casually. Then again, the man could pull off close to anything. He was wearing a pair of grey trousers; a single pleat running from his waist to ankles down the middle of the leg, a plain white t shirt that perfectly accentuated his dark tattoos, and a royal blue bandana that hung loosely from around his neck. The pair of sunglasses he had worn when walking up to you were now being hung from the bandana so that he could get a better look at you, and if you had to look at his sparkling green eyes for any second longer, you were sure you would combust.

“Despite how easy it is to get under your skin, I, surprisingly, didn’t come here to do anything other than see you for a few hours.”

“A few hours? You traveled down from Modena just to hangout for a few hours?”

“Knew I was in Modena then? Keeping tabs on me while we’re apart, are you?”

Your hand jut out and shoved him hard enough to make him lose a bit of balance while you two started walking down the street, just enough so that he had to take a few steps to the side to stabilize himself.

“Thought you weren’t here to take the piss, knob.”

He laughed, nodding his head and sliding his sunglasses back onto his face. “Alright alright. Truce. But to answer your question, yes I did. That a bad thing?”

“Uh, no it’s not. Just a bit surprising is all. That’s a bit of a journey just for lunch.”

“And I’d make it countless more times for you.”

Over the last two years, you grew to know Harry and when he was being serious or having a laugh, so you could instantly hear the sincerity behind his words. Despite the goofy grin playing at his lips, you knew that he was being truthful, and the thought made butterflies awaken in your belly.

“It’s good to see you, Harry.” the nod you gave was more towards yourself, but when you glanced up at Harry, you saw that he was already watching you, smiling as he took in your relaxed aura.

“You too, doll.”

“How’d you find me, anyway?” just as you did each time you met up, the two of you fell into easy conversation as you made your way towards the village square. Harry was one of those people that you could go months without talking to, yet somehow, the second you met back up again, you were able to pick up right where you left off.

“Alessandro may or may not have given it to me.” his voice was timid, like he didn’t fully want to admit he had asked your boss where you lived.

“Of course he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s obsessed with you, you know?”

“He’s not.”

“Mhm. Says you’re his shining star. ‘M sure the man would create a whole collection surrounding you if you give him enough time.”

“Says the woman who he looks at like his next of kin.”

“Don’t make this into a pissing contest, Harry. You know he adores you.”

“Just him?”

It felt like spending time with a lifelong mate when with Harry, but when he said shit like that, when he made your tummy flutter with his mix of words and longing gazes, it made it hard for you to see him as just a friend.

“Didn’t you say that you only had a bit before having to get back?” you changed the subject quickly, not wanting to answer his question.

“Not get back, ‘m not headed back to Modena.” he shook his head when you sent him a soft, questioning ‘no?’ “Nope. Flying down to Sicily for a few days for Google Camp.”

“Google Camp?” your eyebrows shot up in question when he told you, “A sumit for the rich and famous to talk about climate change while flying in on private jets and yachts. How very unlike you mister Styles.”

“Oi, lay off. Got invited, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to turn it down. Besides,” he shrugged, “‘M flying commercial and carpooling. Being as eco friendly as possible.”

“Course, of course.”

“I have four hours until my flight, so just shut up and come get lunch with me.”

The room had gone totally dim during your trip down memory lane, indicating that it was time for everyone to begin getting in their places so that the show could begin. But even in the low lighting, it wasn’t hard to miss the look of fear and doubt flash through Harry’s eyes. The look was something that appeared before every shoot or campaign you had been present for, only lasting seconds, yet always intriguing to you. The man before you was a superstar, someone who pranced around on stage in front of tens of thousands of people every night, without a care in the world. Yet, as soon as your exquisitely tailored clothes touched his body, his shoulders would tense, and he looked like a scared child. You’d never understood why.

“You’re nervous.” It came out as more of a breathy statement than a question.

“‘M terrified.”

You heard those words regularly from your models, especially the new ones, but hearing it fall from between his lips made your stomach tighten. Harry was such a natural at all of this; the superstardom. It was easy to tell that he felt right at home while on stage, how perfectly natural his body reacted whenever the camera was on for a red carpet, how easy going he was when it came to hair and makeup and outlandish outfits. All of it came so easy to him and it blew you away every time you got to witness it. And while he was so good at adjusting quickly to new environments, his team and fans constantly cheering him on with every new endeavor, he was still just a normal twenty five year old guy. He still FaceTimed his mum to get her opinion on new looks, still went out and enjoyed his free time with mates, and still got anxious when trying something new. He never seemed to want to disappoint you or Alessandro when he was wearing the clothes you’d made for him specifically. That was what got to him, you thought, the prospect of ruining spectacular clothes you’d made from scratch. The moments in time you’d just thought back on was indicator enough.

“It’s gonna be great. We saw you during the runthrough yesterday.” you smiled, reminding him how well he had done during the practice show.

“But that’s different. This time it means somethin-” he was cut off by Alessandro yelling it was time for all models to officially line up for showtime. “What if I go too fast and I step on Mae’s shoe, fuck up her walk? Or too slow and clog up the entire runway? Or the hat fal-”

“Hey!” To stop his incessant worrying, your hands grabbed either side of his face, making him stop for a second and look directly at you. He blinked once. “Stop it. You’re going to do amazing. Alessandro wouldn’t have put you in this show if he didn’t have complete confidence in you. And you should know by now I wouldn’t have wasted my oh so precious time making any of this fit you perfectly if I didn’t believe in you.”

Harry’s breathing began calming down, going from almost hysterical to a gentle, rhythmic, intake, indicating that he was coming out of his panic bubble. His eyes never left your own, quite different from all the times they had openly roamed your figure.

“You can do this.” You whispered, nodding slightly and sending him a loving smile as your hands dropped back down to your sides,

Alessandro’s voice yelled over everyone, demanding everyone be in their place immediately, but Harry made no move to leave your side. He continued staring at you, taking a few deep breaths every few seconds and nodding to himself, seeming to give himself a pep talk in his head. The lights went out in the museum, leaving the audience in complete darkness, and you knew the intense sound of an alarm would soon be echoing through the building to start the show.

But none of that held your attention.

In what could have only been a second, Harry’s lips were pressed against yours. It was so quick that you didn’t have time to register what had happened before he was turning to run and join the other models, but it left you stunned. Like being in the warmth of your home during a snowy day and suddenly opening the door, letting the freezing wind hit you in the face.

And as much as the kiss had taken you off guard, it felt so very right that small second it happened. He hadn’t even given it a second thought, leaning in to kiss you like the two of you had been an item for years and it was part of your normal everyday routine. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the thought alone made your fingertips ache to be on his skin again. Shaking yourself out the haze that had formed around you mind, your focus and priorities flipped like a switch as soon as the siren began playing, looking around the room to make sure everyone and everything was where it needed to be.  

Just as the precession of models began exiting the dressing room, and The Shadows Die Twice by Br1002 ranging throughout the museum, you made your way up to stand beside Alessandro. There was never a time you saw him truly stressed; not when you first started working with him and you accidentally ruined an entire bundle of fabric, not when he was in charge of creating dozens of different looks for the Met Gala, and not even now, watching as his newest collection strutted down the runway, making its worldwide debut. He was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.

“There she goes.” You admired, resting your head on your boss’ shoulder and watching all 217 of the looks he created and you helped bring to life, be released into the world.

The sense of pride that rushed through your veins each and every time you got to see the pieces you put your heart and soul into, was similar to what you could only imagine it was like for a parent to watch their child flourish. You could remember all the moments during the months leading up to the show that you wanted to quit, when you would get so frustrated with Alessandro and his brilliantly creative mind every time he brought you a new look idea, how badly you wanted to scream after pricking your fingers so much they started to bruise. You remembered all of those times when holding such an important job at Gucci felt like something you just weren’t ready for at the age of twenty four. But every hardship was worth it the moment your work came to a culmination. This moment of absolute pride and excitement.

“How are you feeling?”

Alessandro wrapped his right arm around your shoulder, pulling you so close to his body that it was most comfortable for you to wrap one arm around his back and one around his waist, your hands joining together at his hip. “I feel so much love.”

That was the only way to describe what the two of you were feeling as the show progressed through the museum. Even though the room was dark, tall lighting setups hung in every direction, and hundreds of guests were posted up in chairs, the beauty of the location still shined through. Black and white marble covered the floor throughout the entire building, the diamond pattern flowing easily from room to room, and sculptures of ancient men lined each side of the hallway, seemingly growing from the walls because of the similar colors. About halfway down the hallway, models made a left turn and entered the large area known as Palazzo Nuovo. The “New Palace” was constructed over 400 years ago and was an identical replica of the Palazzo dei Conservatori that Michaelangelo created. You had been to the location many times before since spending 6 months at a time in Italy, but you had never seen it as a place to hold a show. Not until Alessandro had brought you one day and explained his vision as you roamed the hallways.

The quick pass of a red beret on one of the monitors, set up for the backstage team to watch the show, caught your attention. He stayed on camera for a bit, and you wished you could watch his fans meltdown over it in real time because he looked exquisite. Despite the darkness of the room, Harry was glowing. The way the strobe lights would hit his face every few steps and accentuate his already angelic features made your stomach clench. You had spent countless hours up close and personal with Harry, while there was very little fabric covering his body; very intimate and unforgettable moments. Many a-second-too-long looks, smiles when the other wasn’t watching, and an intense almost kiss. And an actual kiss. A tiny kiss. A kiss you still felt on your lips. But now, you were getting hot and bothered thinking about his lips while he strutted down the runway in one of the most conservative outfits of the line.

There was something about the lapel rolls of the jacket flapping open slightly with each step, beautifully showcasing his sparrow tattoos and delicate pendant necklace under the dim lights, that excited you. But it was the faintest smile that graced his lips the second before he left frame that made your heart swell.

The overall look he was sporting was extremely similar to that of his first Men’s Tailoring campaign, with the long robe like jacket and exposed chest, but the glint of both happiness and confidence in his eyes reminded you of the moment you put him into the pink and red ensemble of his latest campaign. Something that still made something inside your tummy flutter and the corners of your mouth tip upward.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Harry said. “I will die. 100%.”

“Stop being so dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, holding the pink blazer up and letting him put both his arms through it. “It’s just pigs.”

“That will have my head if I get too close.”

“This is a Gucci shoot, you’re not on I’m a Celeb.”

Harry huffed, looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting the blazer over his shoulders properly. “Watch me go on I’m a Celeb and die when I get attacked by an exotic animal or summat.”

“A pig won’t be the death of you and it���s not an exotic animal, now shut up and sit down.” You wagged the red bandana at him. “I need to put this on you before we can get this started.”

“Alright then.” Harry shoved his wrists out for you. “Go on.”

You tried to give him a disappointed look, but you simply were not able to. Laughing, you shoved Harry into his seat, standing between his legs as you tied the bandana around his head. This time around, the shoot was mostly indoors, so there weren’t many ways Harry could fuck this one up. Alessandro was busying himself and so were other crew members, walking about you two and shouting orders at someone else, but neither of you noticed anyone but the person before you. Since the lunch in Florence, you had been incredibly busy, so you hadn’t really had much time to meet up. Harry, who was currently travelling and making his second album, hadn’t been available much either, but you were both over the moon that you got to spend this time together. You really missed each other the time you were away.

Since last time, Alessandro had gone out of his way to make rings for those he held dearest. Gold Gucci rings with each person’s initials, one for each letter, big and bold. It had taken you off guard, as you hadn’t thought yourself to be as important to Alessandro as he was to you, but he had insisted and showed you his own. He told you “Dear friends match” and that did it for you, you simply had to wear his rings without question. And since then, you had been wearing them every single day. You felt part of his little family. So when Harry showed up to your third shoot together, wearing matching rings to yours, you felt your heart skip a beat and Alessandro’s knowing eyes on both of you. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew how you both felt for one another, and he thought, by giving you these rings, you might realise how special you were to him and then see how special you were to one another as well.

“You’ll just have to forget about your fear of geese and be a professional.”

“I don’t have a bloody fear of geese.”

You shrugged your shoulders, tying the bandana properly.

“I don’t!”

“Alright, mate.”

Harry paused for a second. “Don’t ‘mate’ me.”

You shook your head, choosing to ignore the comment and how it made literally every inch of your body heat up. Taking a step back you studied him, giving him a thumbs up before you walked over to the other suits you had to check up on for the shoot. Harry watched you for a few seconds before he got up from the chair, going to check himself out in the mirror again. Your phone suddenly vibrated against the desk right in front of the mirror, and Harry’s eyes instantly fell to it. A furrow appeared between his brows.

“Who’s Jack?”

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry read the text you just got. “Hey!”

“Who is he?” he asked again, looking over at you as you came rushing over. You took the phone, pressing it to your chest as if it was going to make Harry forget what he’d just read. He tried to add a playful undertone to his voice, a slight smile across his lips.

“None of your business.”

Harry looked away from you, nodding as he busied himself with trying to get some kind of lint off his coat. “You’re right.”

You put the phone back in your jean pocket and walked over to the suits again, hunching down to check the seam on the hem on the trousers. You felt your phone vibrate with another notification or vibrate as a reminder that she’d gotten a text two minutes prior. Getting up and about to reach back to check what Jack had wanted, she felt a breath against her neck.

“You’re seeing him then?”

You jumped, holding your hand to your chest as you turned around to face him. “None of your business!”

“Oh, come on!”

You shoved him out of the way, way too much to do to be distracted by Harry’s nosiness. Strolling over to the desk, you started looking through your calendar when Harry showed up beside you again. Leaning on his elbow on the desk, he looked up at you, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible considering how curious he actually was.

“Is he fit at least?”

“He’s not annoying.” You said, covering his face with your hand. You felt him smile into your palm. “Ever tried that?”

“Tried being annoying?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”

You shoved him away, making him lose his balance some and lean both his elbows on the desk. He watched as you walked back to the suits, looking at which ones Alessandro said were to be used by Harry and which ones were to be used by someone else at another time. Just as Harry was about to ask another question about Jack – who was just a mate from back home you hadn’t ever talked to him about because he’d never come up in conversation -, there was a knock at the wardrobe door. Alessandro stood there, a raise to his eyebrows and a small smile on his lips that was almost hidden by his dark, thick, long beard. He’d stood there watching you two for a little while, you thought to yourself.

“Is Harry ready for the shoot?”

“Yes,” you glanced at Harry and pointed at Alessandro. “Go.”

Harry sighed but got up, walking over to Alessandro who was smiling, encouraging Harry to do the same. As he passed him, a small beam was on Harry’s lips, but as he walked through the door, you couldn’t tell if he was still smiling or if he just did it to Alessandro wouldn’t make him. The creative director looked over at you, crossing his arms but not losing his smile.

“What?”

Alessandro shrugged.

“No, what?”

“You could’ve at least told him who Jack was.” Alessandro chuckled.

You rolled your eyes.

“But I get that you want to watch him suffer. It’s funny seeing someone you like be jealous.”

“Harry isn’t jealous.” You said, closing the calendar and placing it neatly back on the desk. “He’s just nosy.”

Alessandro didn’t say anything in response, instead he just walked on over to the shoot, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You weren’t really sure why you hadn’t just told Harry who Jack was. It wasn’t like anything was going on between you and Jack, you were simply mates and he wanted to check up on you and see how things were going. You had absolutely nothing to hide. Especially nothing to the point of keeping your phone close to your chest so he wouldn’t reread the message you’d just gotten, holding no significance whatsoever.

Maybe Alessandro was right. Maybe you did want to see if he was jealous or not. But he didn’t seem jealous to you, just his nosy self. Sighing, you followed Alessandro, ready to be of service if something should go wrong. They hadn’t even started shooting when you walked into the room, they were still walking around, placing the different statues and other props around the place to get it to look exactly like the producer wanted it to. You stood watching for a bit, knowing that your phone was still in your back pocket, untouched since Harry had seen the innocent text from Jack.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, saw a shadow mingle with yours, and you recognised the messy hair and the bandana you’d wrapped around his head earlier. Smiling, you continued to stare ahead, waiting a minute before Harry felt brave enough to answer.

“Did you answer Jack then?” You felt the breath of his words against your hair.

“He just wanted to know how I was, Harry.”

“I know.”

You bit your lip, not looking back at him.

“Guess he just wanted to talk. To feel close to you in a way.”

You huffed, standing your ground and not looking back at him like you knew he wanted you to. “And the point of this is…?”

“Being close to someone you love can calm you down.” Harry said, voice low so only the two of you could hear him. You felt a shiver run up your spine. “Like shelter in a storm; entering a small house and staying for tea before braving the terrible weather again, a little stronger this time with some motivation from those you… hold closest to your heart.”

Your breath hitched somewhere in your throat, feeling both Harry’s breath and eyes on you. It took everything in you not to look at him, to see his soft expression after uttering those equally soft words. “I’m not in love with Jack, Harry.”

Harry was quiet for a second before he said, with the hint of a smile in his voice, “Okay.”

You smiled yourself, wanting to say something in response but not knowing what would be appropriate. You weren’t even sure why you were feeling this much or why Harry being elated you weren’t seeing someone made you this happy. He stood right behind you, just as close, not wavering, till he had to go do the shoot. Walking backwards, he made sure to catch your eye, give you a small smile, before going to do his job. You hated how your cheeks felt hot, that every single time Harry’s dimples appeared you heard something inside your head scream and the every single one of your cells react to him. Glancing over at Alessandro, you caught the creative director watching you with a grin on his face. As soon as your eyes met, though, he turned away, forcing his smile away and pretending like he hadn’t seen a thing. You rolled your eyes, focusing all your attention on Harry, who didn’t let his anxiety get the better of him this time around.

“He’s doing very well.” Alessandro commented, his left hand resting on his chin in a pondering manner.

“He is.”

“Because you replaced his nerves before the show.” From under his hand, you could see a small smirk playing on his lips, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

“I - what?” Lifting away from his side, you stared at Alessandro’s face. And your wide eyes must have made you look like a deer in the headlights because he started chuckling.

You were positive that no one had seen your moment with Harry, considering how dark the little corner you were stood in was. Backstage at a fashion show was crazy enough, there’s no way anyone had been paying attention to the tailor in the back of the room. But the knowing look in your boss’s eyes told you otherwise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you muttered, folding your arms across your chest.

“Eyes all over my head, il mio amore. I see everything.”

Alessandro had been like this from the moment he introduced you and Harry, almost two years ago at this point. Always motioning from across the room for you to stand just a bit closer to Harry, informing you whenever Harry was remotely near the office, and always leaving the two of you alone each time he was scheduled for a fitting. It was like he was making it his life’s mission to get his two prodigies together.

“Don’t laugh at me. This is your fault, you know?”

Feigning offence and his hand moved from his chin to his chest, Alessandro turned away from the monitor to finally look directly at you, “Mine? Why do you say that?”

“‘You have a lot in common.’ or how about, ‘look at my two loves together!’ or my personal favorite, ‘The two of you together, assolutamente da togliere il fiato!’”your impersonation of him had gotten extremely good over the last few years, bringing a soft smile to his lips. “Any of those ringing any bells?”

“Only encouraging what you both know to be true, cara.”

“You’re absurd.”

At this point, the first model had made his way back to the dressing room, immediately going to line up for the final walk through. It was scheduled to be a quick show, only about thirteen minutes from first walk to last, but you never imagined it would go by this fast. As the models began to line back up, both you and Alessandro separated, going to either side of the line to join the other tailor in making sure each outfit was still in its pristine condition. You you had a few loose threats to snip here, and a broken necklace to dispose of there, but overall, everyone was still looking perfect.

Especially Harry.

His head was craned, watching you as you made your way down the line behind him, and as soon as you stepped in front of him to quickly examine his apparel, he whispered your name.

“Haven’t tripped yet.” he smirked, adjusting the red glasses on his nose.

“I know, I was watching.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. We were talking about you. Turn around.” grabbing hold of his shoulder, you pulled forward, “Making him proud, you know.”

His shoulders relaxed under your palms, like hearing the news of making one of his idols happy set him free and he could now have the utmost fun with the final walk through.

“Alright. Good luck.”

But before you could get to the next model, his hand caught your arm. In any other situation, you’d be annoyed that you were being stopped from completing your job, but the look on Harry’s face made all worries about any other model fade from your mind.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you proud?”

The question took you off guard. Was really that concerned with what you thought of his performance? He was one of the most renowned superstars in the world, who danced his heart out on stage and did what made him happy no matter what others thought. But your opinion was the one who made his hands clam up? And had you ever made him feel like you weren’t proud? You always thought your quick jabs to one another were all in good fun, but maybe you had gone too far and made him doubt himself.

“Always proud of everything you do.”

It was the honest answer. Getting to watch him excel in every aspect of life he threw himself into, make decisions that helped so many people, putting his friends and family first, and making sure he was happy above all else, was inspiring to say the least. There was never a day that went by where you didn’t feel immense pride for even just getting the chance to know Harry. And in that moment, you promised yourself that you would make it more apparent to him from then on.

A large smile spread across his face, and even in the poor lighting, you could see the apples of his cheeks turn a rosey pink. He looked undeniably cute and following your heart as well as Alessandro’s previous encouragements, you decided to take a leap of faith.

“Come find me after the show. Gotta talk.”

The happiness faded from both his face and his eyes, and you instantly regretted the way you phrased your sentence. “Nothing bad, I promise! Just come find me, yeah?”

You had moved on to the next model, giving her a smile and a quick “Hello Mae” and began checking her dress as Harry was still processing your request. His hands were fidgeting with the fingerless gloves and he was undoubtedly about to break skin with how hard he was biting his lip. You felt like a proper idiot for making him nervous again after he was so happy.

“Calm down, would you? You’re starting to stress me out.” you laughed, giving Mae the okay and moving onto the next model. Sending him a wink, you nodded your head, making him well aware of how unserious this conversation was going to be.

A faster paced rendition of The Shadows Die Twice started playing, just as you finished checking over your designated models, indicating that it was time for the final walk through to begin. After these final few minutes, all the garments you had worked tirelessly on for months, would be totally completed. And usually, you would be filled with ease and comfort knowing you would have some time off before your next project. But this time was different.

This time, Alessandro had consulted you on many of the pieces making their way down the runway, showing just how much he valued and trusted your opinion. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be where you are today, but because of the man standing next to you, believing in your talent and putting your passion to use, you were living out a dream that you never knew you had.

“Thank you.” You whispered

“For what?”

“For believing in me enough to hire me four years ago. For not letting me give up when I was confused. For always encouraging me. Just - thank you.”

“Never have to thank me for those things, tesoro. The potential and passion inside you needs to be explored! I’m honored I get to be the one to help you embrace them!” Alessandro pulled you into a tight hug, the two of you swaying as you watched the models capture the attention of each guest one last time.

Lifting to stand on your tiptoes you whispered in Alessandro’s ear, but even though your statement was barely loud enough to be heard over the booming music, apparently it was just loud enough for your boss to hear, because his head snapped back and he grabbed you by the shoulders, holding you at arms length.

“What?!”

“Mhm.”

“Together?”

“Mhm.” It was hard not to continue your giggles at his bewildered expression.

“How come?”

You shrugged, “I guess I just have a bloody persuasive boss.”

Once again, models began entering the dressing room, but this time, instead of staying in strict model mode, they were letting loose. Smiles were spread all over their faces, rushing to give each other hugs and words of encouragement. It was a beautiful sight to watch, the release of pressure the show brought to the models and the absolute joy they were now basking in.

“Il tuo tempo per brillare, rockstar.” your time to shine, rockstar. giving his shoulder a pat, you watched as he sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself to walk the runway and accept the congratulatory applause about to be thrown his way once the last model had arrived backstage.

It was during this part, for some reason, that you always saw a bit of his nerves pop out. Maybe it was because of all the wandering eyes and unknown opinions, but walking out to thank the guests for attending seemed to be the only thing that ever made Alessandro nervous. And you would never admit it to him, but you enjoyed seeing him a bit on edge, reminded you that he wasn’t just some fashion robot, but a man who just wanted to be accepted for his unique and creative mind.

Your position in the back room made it easy to be a part of both atmosphere’s; the juxtaposition between the loud, bustling back room and angelic, calming sound of Bach - St. John Passion BWV 245: Herr echoing off of the marble walls was like a metaphor for your life these last few months. How at times, everything around you was so busy and fast paced that it was sometimes hard to get a handle on what was happening. But then moments like this happened and none of failures or pricked fingers mattered. Because watching your boss, the man you admired with all your heart and were lucky to call a friend, walk down his own runway, accepting love he deserved, on pieces you had helped create, was the most heavenly feeling you could imagine.

You watched as he made his way through the museum quickly, stopping every so often to bow his head in gratitude and send kisses to everyone in the audience.

“I see why you like this so much.”

Harry stood next to you, hands buried deep in his pants pockets, the long overcoat pushed back behind his arms, just enough that you got a good view of the sparrow tattoos and the very tip of the bird cage on his rib peaking out from under the white tank top. He didn’t look at you, instead, his eyes were trained on the monitor, watching the man who gave you each the chance to flourish in a world you never expected.

“Hmm? Why’s that?”

“Fucking exihlerating walking down that runway.” he admitted, the sentance coming out in a breathy laugh like he couldn’t believe how much fun he had. “Can’t imagine what it’s like for the people that created it all.”

“Yeah, quite hard coming down from a high like this, so he usually takes a week or so off before jumping back into things.” you chuckled, thinking back to when you’d received an influx of text messages the last time Alessandro had gone off the grid, depicting how much he loved bees and would be incorporating them into the new collection after staying on a bee farm for a few days.

“Alessandro did a phenomenal job.” he paused, finally taking his eyes away from the screen and turning his entire body so that he was now facing you. “But so did you.”

If he hadn’t been staring directly at you, he would have missed the roll of your eyes. Of course, you were thankful to be a part of something so extraordinary, but this was all Alessandro. It was all his vision and even though you were asked to help finalize a few looks, this masterpiece was all thanks to him, and you wouldn’t take credit for any of it.

But before you could explain all of that to Harry, he said your name softly, moving a tad closer so your elbow was just barely touching his stomach. “‘M serious. These may have been his finalized pieces, but you quite literally put it all together. There would be no final product without your work.”

“Harry -”

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me, wanker, you’re bloody amazing at what you do. But you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone walking around this room is example enough.”

Receiving compliments from Harry wasn’t anything new to you. For as long as you’d known him, he was always looking for the good in people and making sure they knew about it. If you had to guess, that was probably one of the his main qualities that initially drew fans in, because all anyone wanted in life was to feel good; appreciated. And that’s exactly what he had been doing for you since the day he walked through your office doors. It was the little things that made your stomach turn to mush; holding your pin cushion when he knew it would make a session easier for you, bringing you a smoothie when you’d told him you didn’t have time to eat before a shoot, sending you funny memes in the middle of the night, or even just seeing his dimpled smile appear when he finally got to see his immaculately executed wardrobe. No matter what the circumstance was, simply being around Harry made you feel happy, calm, and you didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

“Just look around an-”

“Do you want to go on a date?” when you’d asked him earlier to find you after the show so you could chat, you didn’t exactly expect the conversation to start out so blunt, but he just looked so cute and sincere telling you in his own way how proud of you he was.

“Wh-“

“There’s, um, there’s this really great restaurant not too far from here. Most delicious pasta you’ll ever eat, not to mention the cutest old couple on the planet runs it and they’ll def-“

“I haven’t eaten since this morning, so if you’re going to keep talking, I’ll just go eat this amazing pasta by myself.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right, that was a dumb que-“ it wasn’t his words that made you stop mid sentence, but more the soft smile that spread across his face, his dimple popping out slightly beneath his growing facial hair. There was no hesitation in his acceptance to your dinner date, contrary to what you were expecting, and it made the tips of your ears warm up. “Oh! Um, perfect. Yeah, great. Okay.”

Never had you been so flustered by the man standing before you. This wouldn’t be the first time you grab a bite to eat with him, and definitely wouldn’t be the first time the two of you spent time alone, but the way he was looking at you, like none of what he just did mattered, was definitely a first.

“Okay, um, just get dressed and I’ll meet you outside?”

“‘M serious, hurry up. Might starve to death while you’re busy chatting.” Harry joked, slowly walking away while still facing you, his finger coming out to point right at you, “Then you’ll have to explain to everyone how your desperate need to talk to everyone you come in contact with, was the reason behind the death of the Harry Styles.”

“Oi, fuck off. Says the man who made sure to learn something about every single person setting up the show today. Go get dressed before I slap the Harry Styles.”

The slight shake of his head kept your attention as he weaved his way through the bustling room, back towards the vanity he had claimed as his own. You’d watched the scene in front of you play out many times before; models spread out throughout the room, some having changed immediately into their own comfortable clothes, some tossing their heads back in eased laughter, and some every sitting back with their feet up, enjoying a basket of chips. No matter how each of them decided to unwind after such a monumental show, it never got old. Because just as they did, you had your own post show ritual.

You didn’t divulge in unhealthy foods or put on your most comfortable pair of socks; you organized your kit one last time. From the moment Alessandro sits you down with his new vision until the last model walks off the runway, you know to keep millions of pins, thread of all colors, buttons of every shape and size, and even some super glue on you at all times. They would undoubtedly get used throughout the months of alterations and mishaps, if not by you, then by a member of your team. So, taking a moment to sit and go through everything once the night was officially over was a sort of release for you. A way for you to touch and feel just how much hard work had gone into your work. How the container holding your pins was considerably lighter, the spool of black thread had nearly vanished, and the pile of band aids in the lower pocket was down to three. All signs that you put your heart and soul into this collection.

There was never any guarantee when Alessandro would find inspiration next and when his next project would begin, meaning you never knew when the next time you’d be opening your kit was. But this time, that wasn’t the case. He had planned at least three more shoots before the years end, so you were only allotted a few weeks of laid back free time this time around.

“Packing up so soon?”

“You know how I like to close out a show.” You chuckled, not turning to look at your boss, but seeing his hand reach out and fingertips graze over the very top of your bag.

“How many this time?”

“28 buttons, nearly the entire tin of pins, 64 band aids, and two mini bottles of wine.”

“You should be proud, il mio amore, that’s two less bottles than last time! It’s about progress!”

“Two less because someone yelled at me less this time around.” Finally getting back to your feet, you turned to face him and noticed that he had thrown his hair up to get it away from his sweaty forehead. “No need to drink if you aren’t crying in the fabric closet.”

“Lo faccio solo con amore, Tesoro, lo sai.” I only do it with love honey, you know. His smile was contagious as he took your hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Look at how far you’ve come. Such beautiful art comes from these hands.”

“Do you know what you’ll do until the fragrance shoot?”

“I will be taking Vanni to see my brother. A nice peaceful place to become one again. Where will you go?”

“My flat in Florence has been calling my name for weeks, Lallo.” He smiled fondly at the nickname. “Will probably do some redecorating while I’m there.”

“And some dates, no?”

“I really don’t know why I bother telling you anything. Like my father, you are.”

“Well I am the reason for this, am I not? Seems only right that I know all the details.”

“Details of what?”

“How I’m redecorating my flat in Florence.” Your response was quick, and you sent Alessandro a stern side glare so that he knew not to bring up anything of what you were just speaking of.

“Yes, I told her that I expect pictures.”

“Oh, add me to that list as well then! I’d love to see how you decorate. ‘M always looking for new inspiration.”

“Um, yeah sure. You ready?” if Harry could sense how awkward you felt when he joined you and Alessandro, he made no move to indicate it. Especially now, smiling at your agreement.

“Yup. Ready to enjoy some of Earth’s finest pasta.”

“Oh!” Alessandro brightened at Harry’s words, his back straightened, and eyes widened. “Are you taking him to Chiaro Di Luna?” you nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Magnifico! A wonderful place you will love!”

“Well he won’t love it if we keep standing here so…”

“Have fun my prodigies!”

Both you and Harry laughed quietly as you finally walked away from the man of the hour. You may have known him in different ways, but each of you got the chance to see a side of Alessandro most people didn’t – parental type figure who wanted nothing but love and prosperity for you both.

“He’s like that with you all the time as well?”

“Hmm?”

You took a glance at him when pressing the button for the lift, just to be met with his warm eyes already looking at you. He looked handsome after the show – not that he wasn’t always handsome, but something about seeing him work so hard and then look so comfortable made your chest tingle. He was wearing a pair of dark yellow corduroy pants – the flare at the ankles not nearly as large as some of the flares he owns, but wide nonetheless – paired with a red and blue striped shirt, a tiny Mickey Mouse head embroidered into the upper left breast and a black bomber jacket.  He looked relaxed and everything that spending time in Italy embodied.

“Does he turn into dad mode on you as well?”

Harry laughed, “He means well.”

It was no surprise that Harry had brought along a plethora of fans, all eagerly awaiting his presence back outside after the show, so there was no way the two of you could casually stroll out of the front doors to get to your late dinner date. Instead, you were walking through the basement hallway so that you could make your speedy escape through the lower side exit, directly across from Cafe Capitolino.

“You think you’d do another?”

“You think I’d be asked to do another?”

Your hand found it’s way up to his forehead as the two of you strolled through Piazelle Caffarelli - the quaintest little park directly across from the museum. In the bright moonlight, the beds of flowers and statues almost appeared to glow, directing your path through the garden.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking to see if you have a fever.”

“Huh?”

“You must be sick because I’m not seeing your ego anywhere.”

“Oh piss off.” he laughed, lifting his own arm so that he could slap yours - playfully - away from his face. “‘M serious.”

“So am I. You’re one of the most confident people I’ve ever met. I’ve seen you doing your music thing Harry. You’re good and you know it. Where’s that attitude here?”

He was quiet as the two of you finally made it out of the garden and crossed the main street, focusing on stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and tugging it closer to his torso. His hair had grown quite a lot since the first time you’d met him years ago, and the curls, wild from being kept under a cap for hours, were blowing in the small breeze.

“‘Dunno. I was nervous when I did the film as well. Guess doing something new like this makes me question if I’m given the chance to do it because I’m genuinely good at it, or just because they want my name on it.”

That was a surprise to you. From the moment you met him, you could feel the confidence he emitted. In fact, it rubbed off on most who were working with him. He made the people around him feel confident in themselves and what they were doing, and always encouraged when someone was feeling down.

“You’re very much wanted on this team for what you bring to it, not your name. I’m sorry if you were made to feel anything less.”

“No!” he quickly rebutted, gaining the attention of the few people wandering the street late at night. But he paid no mind to them, only focused on looking at you to make sure you heard what he was saying cearly. “You haven’t, at all. None of you have. Just don’t want to be known as the guy who gets jobs because he was in a band.”

“Can promise you that Lallo wouldn’t have asked you to be a part of so many shoots and such an important show if he didn’t completely and wholeheartedly believe you were perfect for it.”

You watched him nod and mutter a quiet I guess, the moon peeking over the Gran Caffe Roma and highlighting his eyelashes and very tip of his nose so perfectly that he began to look like a statue.

“Lallo?”

“Yeah.” a quick chuckle left your mouth, a hand coming up to rub your cheek while you thought of your response. “After I finished my first collection for him, it was a small one so he could see if I was right for the position, he took me out for drinks to celebrate me getting the job. Long story short, we both had a few too many and I started calling him Lallo and it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.” his hand was wiggling about, trying to escape the confines of the jacket pocket, and when it finally did, it brushed against your own. You both looked down at the close proximity of your hands and you felt the air immediately get thicker. He must have felt the same because when you briefly look up at him over your lashes, he was staring straight ahead; very apparently trying not to make any sudden moves.

But the millisecond the warmth of skin left yours, you wanted it back. Maybe it was the tiny kiss you shared backstage just hours ago, or the built up tension between the two of you that had started during his second campaign shoot, whatever it was, you were done dancing around the obvious. Without giving it a second thought or looking anywhere but straight ahead, you lifted your pointer finger ever so slightly. Just enough so that it gently rubbed against his. You wanted to give him the option of pursuing anything further, so just as quickly as the contact began, it ended; your fingers settling by your side yet again.

However, the breeze working it’s way between your hands didn’t last long, because almost immediately after your little move, you felt his fingers slowly creep around your hand. He didn’t move fast, almost as if he was letting the calm Italian breeze join your hands together. And slower than you would have liked, your entire hand was enclosed by his, feather touches to make sure the other was comfortable with where things had gone.

You wanted to make sure Harry knew just how okay you were with his hand keeping yours warm, so you continued talking as if nothing had happened. “‘M the only one who gets to call him that though, so don’t go parading around saying it.”

“Loud and clear. Your secret's safe with me.” he laughed, his grip on your hand tightening when a strong gust of wind blew through the small alleyway you were walking down and you shivered, “Cold?”

“No, I’m alright.” you lied, the air outside always making you significantly colder after leaving the sauna that was a fashion show back room.

Instead of letting go of the idea of you being cold, Harry lightly tugged on your joined hands, stuffing them into his jacket pocket, which then forced you to move closer to his side. Italy in May wasn’t a time you would consider cold; the sun shone nearly every day, warming your cheeks, and there was no need for anything more than a light jumper, but the warmth radiating from Harry’s side made it feel as if you were strolling around on an August day. But you welcomed it, despite the race of your heart.

“Looking forward to having some time off?”

“Absolutely. I really do need to redecorate my place. ‘M sure Lilliana hasn’t been taking care of the plants as often as I’d like so I’ll have to make a stop and pick up some new ones.”  you were mostly speaking to yourself, so you elaborated when he didn’t respond. “Lilliana is a girl who lives across the street. She’s sixteen, and has been watching my place ever since I started with Gucci. Doesn’t want to get paid or anything, only wants me to get her a meeting with Alessandro when she turns eighteen. Told her I’d see what I can do, but he’s already seen some of her designs. She’s very talented.”

“You’re really wonderful, you know.”

The compliment made the tips of your ears warm, and you were worried that the palms of your hands would start to clam up if you thought about the way you could feel him looking at you, so you quickly changed the subject, your hand clumsily sliding out of his pocket to point at the tiny restaurant in front of you.

“Here we are!”

Nestled at the very end of the alley, was your destination. Only two tables were set up outside, the tiny patio was past picturesque; it was straight out of a movie. A metal fence was surrounding the seating area on two sides - the third wall was created by the muted terracotta building and the fourth was left open for easy access. Wrapped around the very tops of the fence were some fairy lights, not enough to cover the entire thing, but enough to give a bit of lighting on the otherwise dark road, and creating a pathway to the front door, sat a nice variety of potted plants. And with the green doors to the shop left open, the smell of freshly baked bread immediately hit you and Harry in the face.

“This is amazing.” his voice was full of wonder and you appreciated the fact that even he, someone who had been around the world and back many times, never took for granted the small beauties of the world.

“Just wait until you try the food.” you smiled, bringing your hand up to your mouth in a mock chef’s kiss. “Deliziosa!”

The boisterous laugh that fell from between his lips was enough to catch the attention of whoever was working inside. It didn’t take long for them to walk down the front steps, seeing as the inside of the establishment was also small. But the second his face lit up from the wall mounted lights, you smiled.

“Lorenzo! Così bello vederti di nuovo!” Lorenzo! It’s so good to see you again!

“Mio dolce! Mi sei mancato!” My sweet! I’ve missed you! His arms opened wide as he walked down the single step, instantaneously enveloping you in a hug. He smelled of pasta sauce and pizza dough, the evidence of his hard work sprinkled across his withered cheek.

“Mi dispiace! Sai quanto può essere intenso il lavoro! Soprattutto con un capo come il mio!” I’m sorry! You know how intense work can be! Especially with a boss like mine!

You watched Lorenzo’s face light up when he pulled away from you and heard your boss’ name. The two had met ages ago and he was the one who had introduced the two of you. “Ah! Alessandro! Confido che stia bene! E chi hai portato con te questa volta, cara?” Ah! Alessandro! I trust he is doing well! And who have you brought with you this time, dear?

Feeling bad for leaving Harry out of the brief conversation, you angled your body so that you were now facing him, moving your hand between the two men in front of you. “Lorenzo, this is Harry. Harry, Lorenzo.”

True to his nature, Harry immediately stuck his hand out and offered a ‘you alright?’ to the older gentleman, but Lorenzo was having none of that. Completely ignoring the waiting hand, and having to stand a bit on his toes in order to wrap his arms around the younger man’s upper back, he pulled Harry in for a tight hug.

“Any friend of hers is a friend of mine! Benvenuto!”

“Hai un… posto bellissimo qui!” Lorenzo’s smile grew as the two separated and Harry slowly racked his mind for the right words. “Was that right?”

“It was! Thank you, we do love it here!”

“Speaking of..” you cut in, “I know it’s late but do you think we could steal a plate or two?”

“For you, mio caro, anything.” he lifted his calloused hand to gently pat your cheek. “Why don’t the two of you sit down and I will bring you a few dishes. I’ve got some fettuccine alla carbonara if you’d like. I’m sure I can find something else if-”

“That sounds wonderful, Lorenzo, thank you.”

You watched as his frail figure made its way back into the shop, taking an extra second to carefully climb the single step. It was the perfect night to sit outside and enjoy one of your favorite meals, but even more perfect to turn around and see Harry holding a chair out, waiting for you to join him at the table.

“Thank you.” you hoped the smirk you were trying to hide wasn’t visible in the dimly lit back alley and he couldn’t tell how much the small gesture made your heart race.

“So tell me,” he sighed once he finally sat down next to you, his forearms leaning against the small wooden table so that he could look directly at you. “You really like the food here or do you just keep coming back because he adores you?”

“I take offense that you think I’d use my charming personality just to get a free plate of pasta.” the stare shared between you both was one of comedy - his eyebrow raised in question and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I use it for two.”

“I knew it.”

“It really is the best, swear it! Tried to get him to teach me the recipe once but he won’t budge. Says he won’t allow it to leave the family.”

“He always here this late? Seems to be a bit… old… to be here at quarter eleven.” he never broke eye contact while speaking to you, but his fingers began to roam around, slowly inching towards your own empty hands. There was no move to do anything more than brush his fingers against yours, but you longed for him to envelop your smaller ones in his.

“For as long as I’ve known him. Always comes in to prep for the people who come in at five the next morning.”

“Good bloke.” he nodded, craning his neck a bit so he could look around him, “You know, I’ve always wanted to have my own restaurant.”

A deep belly laugh spilled from your lips upon hearing his words, your body’s finally making contact when you lifted your hand and placed it on his forearm to ground yourself.

“What’s so funny about that?” his voice held a certain aura of feigned offence, but you knew not to take it too seriously by the bright smile covering his face. It was a different kind of smile than you were used to seeing him give, but you welcomed it and never wanted to see it end. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle a tad more than normal, mouth open a bit wider, and entire body lean forward.

“Harry, I’ve known you nearly three years. Never once have I heard you mention wanting to have your own restaurant. I’ve been told a lawyer, a florist, even a physiotherapist, but a chef? Can you even cook?”

“Now I'm offended! I’ll have you know that I used to cook for the band all the time!”

“Beans on toast doesn't count as cooking, Harry.”

“Leave off.” somewhere during your mock argument and Harry laughing at you, his hand had fully found its way to yours, wrapping around it carefully as not to disturb the perfect peace the two of you had going. “You’ll just have to come over so I can prove to you just how good I am.”

Obviously he didn’t mean it in any other way than a friend inviting another friend over for a nice meal, but the way his tongue jut out before speaking, leaving his lips shining and nearly begging for attention, made the sentence mean a lot more to you than he led on.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that, mate.”

“Don’t mate me while I’m holding your hand, mate.” you swear it was like Harry was trying to push every single last button you had. Not only was he smirking while giving your hand a squeeze, but with each word, he seemed to be gradually leaning closer to you.

Almost as if he was waiting for the most perfectly inopportune moment, Lorenzo made his presence known with the clink of two wine glasses that echoed through the small alley. The sound made you and Harry separate as quickly as possible and look towards the older man.

“Two dishes of my world famous fettuccine paired with the best bottle of wine you could ask for!”

“But we didn’t ask for wine, Lorenzo.”

“It’s alright because you are new here, but when I give you a bottle of wine, you take it.”

“He says it makes for a better experience.” you shrug, taking the glasses and bottle from the tray so that he would have an easier time setting down your plates.

“Non puoi goderti i frutti del tuo lavoro senza un po ‘di divertimento!”

“Yeah yeah, as you say. Now take this before I stay here all night and give it to Mateo, because you know he’ll take it.” you tried handing him a few folded up fifties, but you weren’t surprised when he didn’t accept, but insead, backed away from your outstretched hand.

“Mio caro, no. I do not want that from you. I just enjoy seeing your beautiful face every now and again.”

“Lorenzo, you know I won’t stop. Please”

“You are too much, ragazza dolce. Please come tell me if you need anything more.”

“What did he say to you just then? I caught fruit and fun but that’s where it stops.” Harry asked as soon as the older man was out of ear shot. He was trying hard to look at you, but the steaming plate of food before you both was enough to pull anyone’s attention away, so you didn’t fault him for being mesmerized.

“Come on, hot shot, have your Italian lessons taught you nothing?”

“Wow you’re really riding me tonight, huh?” if only. “I’m busy alright. Got a lot going on up here.” he used his pointer and middle finger to tap against his temple, “Gets hard to remember things sometimes.”

“You know I’m just taking the piss.” unable to wait any longer, you began to twist your fork in the pasta while giving him an explanation. “Said you can’t enjoy the fruits of your labor without having a little fun.”

“He’s got a point you know.”

“If you try and tell me that I need to be prouder of my work, I will dump all of that food on the ground before you even have the chance to try it.”

“You wouldn’t dare. Not if it’s as good as you say it is.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m serious, love.” Harry had called you many pet names since your first meeting, but love had never been one of them. It sounded so comforting falling his lips, like it was the only word you wanted to hear for the rest of time, and it made your insides instantly warm - and it wasn’t from the wine. “You’re outrageously talented. Everyone on the planet can see it except for you.”

“I’m proud of what I do, Harry. Just don’t feel like it’s right to take any bit of credit for something I only helped put together.” sure, you helped transform the clothing from pieces of mixed matched fabrics into the collections that hit the runways, but they weren’t your ideas or designs, so you felt only fair to give credit where it was rightfully due.

“Alright. Fine then. If you won’t take credit for your work, I’ll do it for you.” he cleared his throat after finishing off his glass of wine, back straightening and his chest puffing out after filling with air. “Hello!” he shouted, followed by introducing your name, “I am the lead tailor for Gucci and I just completed my fourth Cruise Collection!”

“Shh!! Harry!” you really did try to keep it together while tugging on his arm, but you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped as he kept shouting praising about you to the empty Roman streets.

“I’m one of the best in the world and everyone is absolutely dying to work with me!”

“Harry!” you laughed again, this time, cupping your hand over his lips that he couldn’t say anymore. “I get it, my god.”

“Do you? Because I can do it again. Hello -”

“I do, thank you.” your smile was genuine, truly appreciating the fact that he always had such nice things to say about you and your work. “But please just shut up and eat, yeah?”

Finally the two of you were silent, smiling to yourselves so that you could enjoy your awaiting food. Until you weren’t.

A loud moan from next to you quickly made your head snap up in desperate need to see where it had come from. There was no one else it could have come from, but to hear the sound fall from Harry’s mouth wasn’t something you were prepared for. Nor was the sight of carbonara sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck you were right.” he moaned again, this time much smaller, “This is the greatest pasta on the planet.”

“Thought you would’ve learned by now that there are very few times that’d I’m not right.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the man indoors, who when you looked up over Harry’s shoulder, you saw standing in the window smiling and giving you a thumbs up. Of course he was on the same page as Alessandro and would be trying to put both you and Harry in the mood for a romantic night. But to hear the chords of ‘So This Is Love’ play through whatever speaker he had in his kitchen, really did surprise you.

“Lorenzo!” you yelled, not caring about waking whatever kind of neighbors he had

“What?”

“Really?”

“I just turned on my music, mio caro! Please enjoy your meal.”

Snickering from next to you made you roll your eyes,  “Don’t laugh at him, you’re only egging him on, Harry.”

“‘M not, I’m not!” you sent him a pointed look, taking the last gulp of wine from your glass and pouring yet another. “Alright, maybe just a little. But only because I think ya look cute when you’re flustered, is all.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you’re a right bellend.”

“Only to a select few!” the sound of his light laugh was drowned out by the creaking of his chair as he pushed it backwards. In a second, he was at his feet, ignoring your question of ‘what are you doing?’ to stand in front of you. “Signora.” his mouth may not have made any movements to smile, but you could see his eyes holding one back.

He mocked bowed, resting one arm behind his back as the other hand engulfed one of your sitting on top of the table. The pads of his fingers caressed the inside of your hand as he gently picked it up, slowly slotting your two hands together. It felt like an out of body experience, like you were watching the scene happen as an onlooker, instead of being a part of it. Because the second he picked his head up from the bow, his eyes met yours. Hundreds of unidentified thoughts raced through your mind and your breathing stopped when he picked up your hand completely, the distance between it and his lips growing short and shorter every second. With one quick, quiet, exhale falling from your lips, he placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, keeping his eyes set on yours.

It could have been every innocent moment the two of you had spent together over the last two and a half years, or watching him perform his heart out just hours ago in garments that you literally built, or maybe even the way his eyes sparkled in the Italian moonlight, but staring at him as he stood back up straight, his hand still holding yours, you wanted nothing more than to jump his bones.

“Care to dance?”

It wasn’t the spark that radiated through your hands or the wind pulling at your blouse, but the look of endearment in Harry’s eyes that made you stand from your chair, accepting his offer. His free arm wound around your waist while yours rested on his shoulders, your body now flush against his. It wasn’t the perfect setting for be slow dancing; the twinkling lights were barely bright enough for you to see where you were stepping, the cobblestone beneath your trainers made the arches of your feet hurt, and the open space was very limited between the table and building, but the soft instrumental of ‘Bella notte’ playing from inside the shop and the wine flowing through your veins, made it something out of a dream.

The sun shone in through the window and straight into your eyes, making you blink awake with a small wrinkle between your brows. First thing you noticed was that you were sleeping in the cream blouse you had worn the night before, your trousers off and hopefully, you thought to yourself, so was most of your make-up as well. Second thing you noticed was the hand on your hip and the other under your head, the breathing against your skin and the forehead against your neck. Third… was something else entirely…

Memories from the night before came back in bits and pieces, bringing a small smile to your face. How you and Harry had both drunkenly stumbled down the hallway at like one, how you had struggled to get the key to your room in the lock, and how Harry had playfully pushed you out of the way to help you with it. How he helped you indoors, and how you’d asked him to stay. There hadn’t been a sexual intent behind the words, just an infatuated drunk speaking truthfully to another. You remember asking Harry to not look as you took your trousers off, and that you thought it’d be a good idea to take your bra off but sleep in your silk blouse. Harry on the other hand, kept all his clothes on, laying down beside you in bed and told you goodnight before you’d even managed to get yourself properly under the sheets. He must’ve been exhausted. It’d been a long day after all.

You woke up in the spooning position; his arm resting across your hip, breathing onto your skin, forehead against your neck, holding you close. Even before Harry woke up and noticed what was going on, you tried to understand why you felt like something wasn’t as it usually was. You felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath behind you and then him moving his head away from you, lifting the hand that had been placed on your hip, running it over his face. It wasn’t till you were about to turn around to face him that you both realised what was resting between you. You both stopped abruptly, silence filling the room around you.

“Bollocks.” Harry hissed between his teeth, glancing down at where his morning wood pressed against his yellow trousers and your ass and thigh. “So sorry.” He didn’t really know how to move as to not make it worse. Walking away from bed would mean you’d have to see the bulge in his trousers, but staying there would be absolute fucking torture.

You tried your hardest not to giggle, feeling a flush wave through your body.

“I-I… I don’t know what to do now. Sorry.” Harry said, feeling so embarrassed he was unsure what the next right thing to do would be.

Thinking back on everything that had happened, on everything that had transpired between the two of you, you suddenly felt a surge of dominance run through you. The countless times you’d waited for Harry to kiss you, the times he could’ve reached for your hand in the silence of the moment, the hundreds of hours you’d spent smiling at each other. The numerous missed opportunities. All the ‘what if’s. You hated them all, but they’d led you to this moment. It had all came down to this. Here, now. You two, in bed, Harry grunting in frustration into the pillow and you smiling to yourself, not at all sorry for him waking up hard against you. In fact, you didn’t mind it at all. After everything last night, this felt right. After absolutely everything you two had been through, it didn’t feel weird.

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry there with his eyes shut tightly.

“What’re you doing?”

His cheeks were red, obviously incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “Willing my woodie away, what does it bloody look like?”

You couldn’t help your laughter, shaking into Harry who smiled at the sound of your exclamations of joy. Slowly, you moved your arse against him, feeling his erection between your bumcheeks. Harry stilled, watching you with wide eyes as you did it again. Reaching behind you, you took a grip of Harry’s hand that had been on your hip earlier, placing it back there so he could feel you swaying against him. You felt an inhale of breath against you, then Harry’s fingers instantly grip onto you. He watched you as you continued to roll your hips against him, loving the hot feeling it sent to the spot between your legs. You hummed, biting your lip as you glanced down at Harry’s hand on your bare skin, letting him see just how much you liked this.

Instantly, he moved closer to you, wrapping the arm he’d been resting under your neck around you, taking a grip of your shoulder. The other one he slowly slid further down, moving closer and closer to the space between your legs that ached for him. You closed your eyes as he hovered above you, laying his palm flat against your cunt, the breathy and barely audible moan that left your lips driving him insane. Laying some pressure on you, you inhaled sharply, both your hands gripping the arm wrapped around your neck. The heat that had started in the very bottom of your stomach intensified, and got even hotter when he ran his fingers seductively over you. Feather-like touches, soft kisses to your cheek and neck, absolutely nothing mattered but the fire that was being ignited in your core.

Harry pushed your knickers aside, running his ring and middle finger between your folds. While doing so, he pushed your hips to rock against him, causing a friction between the two of you unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. You gasped, opening your eyes and looking at Harry who was watching you more intently than you’d ever seen before. He looked so hot like that, demanding you to please him while he was pleasing you. Wanting to make you feel just as good as you’d made him feel.

You reached down, wiggling your hips as you dragged your knickers down your legs. You threw them somewhere far away before turning back to Harry. This time, you sat up and onto his lap, looking down on him while you rested your hands at the zipper of his yellow trousers. He let out a small breath, heart hammering against his chest as he watched you sit on him like that; look at him like that. He’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to find himself in this position, and yet, here he was. You reached for his zipper, undoing it as Harry did both the buttons. You sat up on your knees helping Harry as he tried to get out of his trousers, but it seemed harder than either of you thought.

“Just get them off.” You said, reaching behind you to push them further down.

“Not so easy when you’re on top of me like that.” Harry answered, sitting up to drag them off. Your faces were suddenly very close.

“Alright, I’ll get off-“

“-No,” he answered abruptly. “Please don’t.”

You stopped, letting Harry take his trousers off and throw them to the ground, not breaking eye contact with you once. You felt him against you, felt how hot he was for you like you were for him; how badly he wanted you. His eyes flickered to your mouth before he glanced back up into your eyes again, lips parting as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know the right words for it. You had taken control so far, so you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. And it was as if he knew your thoughts exactly. He took a grip of the back of your neck, bringing you to him.

The second your lips met, you closed your eyes, melting into the kiss and melting into Harry. You hadn’t really shared a proper kiss till now, only having had that small peck and him kissing your hand. But this was a real kiss. You tasted him, felt him. Surrounding you and everything you knew in those sublime seconds your lips were pressed against one another. Heavenly, carefully, gingerly, Harry slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you welcomed him completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. He pulled you to him, devouring one another unapologetically. Now that you were kissing, dragging out the delicious moment, you weren’t holding back anymore. The kisses were hungry, desperate, wet. Nothing had ever tasted better than Harry, nothing had ever felt better than him either. You wondered why you’d waited so long to kiss one another, what had taken so long. Because now you couldn’t think of not doing just that.

You wanted to kiss him till the end of time. Wanted to feel as his hands roamed your body, how his tongue swirled around yours, how his lips got more and more swollen as you continued on making out. Forever, and maybe even longer than that if you were allowed; you wanted to kiss Harry forever. It felt so good, so right. Like tasting every good thing that had ever happened to you all at once, combined into one thing. Harry.

Moaning your name, you felt him grip your bum, squeezing it hard as he dragged you over him. He wanted some friction as bad as you; wanted you. It felt so good knowing Harry was as desperate as you, that he felt the same way and wasn’t ashamed of admitting that he did. You had no idea where your infatuation had begun, had no idea how you had fallen in love with Harry. You just were and that was how it was supposed to be. It had always supposed to be the two of you. Whenever something feels right, you get a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, like it’s your soul telling you that you’ve reached your final destination; you’ve gotten where you’re supposed to be. And you felt that very feeling right now, in Harry’s arms, kissing him, feeling him hard against you.

You pushed him back down on the bed, bending over him to continue kissing. He instantly gripped your arse again, begging you to rock against him so he could get some small friction. You refused however, and instead buried your hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, Harry thought to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to force you to do anything as he didn’t want this moment to be over. If you wanted to drag this out, then he would not stop you. He was making out with you, you were almost naked on top of him, he got to touch you all over. He wasn’t going to take this for granted.

There didn’t seem to be an end to your kisses, they seemed to be going on and on and on. Not that either of you were complaining, but at one point it was hard to remember how the rest of the morning had gone before you’d started snogging. You suddenly realised just how naked you were, that only your cream blouse was covering your torso, that the rest of you were on display for Harry. But he was way too busy kissing you to pay notice to anything else.

You tugged at the end of his tee shirt and he quickly took it off, letting it fall off the side of the bed before turning his attention back on you again. You ran your hand down his front, wanting to feel his skin under yours unashamedly. Every time you’d touched him before had been under a work setting, but this one was quite different. The hands touching him now were those of a lover, not his tailor. They were the hands of a desperate woman who wanted nothing more than to be with Harry in any way one human could be with another.

Resting your hands at the top of Harry’s boxers, Harry frantically followed your lead, being there to help you get them off. He was ready to do exactly as you told him to, knowing that he was and always would be at your complete and total disposal. As his boxers came off, his cock sprang loose, and you couldn’t help but look down at it. Harry watched you as you took him in, finding you checking him out like this incredibly hot. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through him, so captivated and altogether in love with you that he was sure in that moment and every moment that followed, he would lay down the rest of his life and himself to you wholly.

You took a grip of his cock, looking into his eyes after positioning him right at your hole. He didn’t take his eyes off you, knowing that what was just about to happen would change everything for you and your friendship. Not that all of last night and the rest of this morning hadn’t done that already, but sex complicates things. It’s hard not to form an emotional attachment to those you choose to have sex with, and it’s even harder to forget said person you have sex with if you’re in love with them. But regardless of that, both of you wanted to do this. You wanted to shag; wanted one another.

You guided him into you, holding onto him till he was all the way in. Your lips parted and Harry let out a low moan, your warm walls around him almost being too much to take. Positioning your knees well on either side of his waist, you sat up on his lap again, and started moving your hips over him. Harry gripped your thighs, squeezing them tight and looking up at you with his mouth agape. Your blouse hung loosely off you, unbuttoned to the point of one of your tits showing. It fell off one of your shoulders as you rocked over Harry, revealing even more of you to Harry in the bright morning light.

He moved one of his hands upward, running it up your arm, over your collarbone, to your neck. His thumb ran over your jawline, wanting to feel all of your soft skin under his fingertips. You looked down at him, a moan leaving your lips as your eyes met his. Already the familiar burn of a climax started building up in your core, reminding you of how long it had truly been since you’d found yourself in this position prior to this. Not that it even mattered, because right now you were having sex with Harry and he felt so fucking good inside you and underneath you, you would never get tired of this feeling.

You slid your hands down his front, dragging your nails along this skin till you reached his abdomen, where you let them rest. Harry’s eyes fell to your hands, relishing in the feeling of you touching him everywhere, of you being everywhere. Nothing mattered but you and the magic you were creating between the two of you. The soft skin of the inside of your thighs resting against his hips and ribs, his tattooed arms caressing your entire body. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

He moaned your name, hand sliding down your chest, rubbing his thumb over your exposed nipple. The burn in your core was really starting to build up now, and you knew it would burst any second. Harry sat up, wrapping an arm around your middle. You gasped a little in surprise, but your heart instantly started beating faster at him being so close to you. His grip was tight, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening, it sent a wave of butterflies straight to your tummy. All of them flew directly to your core as Harry started moving his hips more with yours.

“Look so good on me like that, you do.” He whispered against your lips, his voice still having that morning rasp to it that sent a shiver up your spine.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, resting the other one on his shoulder as you continued to rock your hips against him. His eyes were hooded, but there was something in them that was so soft it took your breath away. When you know someone inside and out, you notice every single little change in their behaviour. This wasn’t tiny, though, because there was a type of vulnerability in Harry’s eyes that you hadn’t seen there before. He was laying himself completely bare, both physically and emotionally, wanting to connect and attach himself to you on every level a human possibly could.

Being this close, your movements got shorter and quicker. Bending his knees, Harry brought you flush to his torso, your hips and his moving rhythmically, hard against one another. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. You wanted to melt into him and have you two sitting like this for eternity. Wanted to stare into his eyes, feel his warm breath on your skin, have his arm around your waist and the other hand on her cheek. Having him inside you like this, feeling him grip you hard, whimper against your lips, moan your name, you felt incredibly powerful and so, so good. There was something so magical about this moment, about you two joined like this. Something words lacked the ability to articulate and something your hearts didn’t quite understand yet but wanted to. He reached his hand down to your bum, squeezing you hard.

“Harry.” You moaned, feeling your hips and knees begin to ache from sitting like this. Not that you cared much, because the wild look in Harry’s eyes was enough of a reason for her to endure it a hundred times more.

“Yeah?” he mumbled against you. “You like that?”

Biting your lip, you glanced into his eyes, letting your look speak for itself. Harry moaned, letting his hand fall to the bed and the other to your thigh, pressing you harder around him. You were both close, clinging harder onto one another. The heat in the pit of your stomach grew bigger and bigger, threatening to burst with every grind, every moan, every touch. He thrusts harder into you, entranced as he watched you gasp and moan loudly.

“Fuck me.” You said, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck.

“As much as you want me to, baby.” He kissed your jawline, nails digging into your thigh. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

You gasped, feeling the heat get more intense. Harry felt your movements get more frantic and he moved his hips quicker, meeting yours and creating a friction so heavenly it caused you to lose all control.

“Don’t stop.” You gasped, looking into Harry’s eyes as everything started to blur.

“Fuck.” He hissed, feeling your legs start to shake around him. You came hard. Harry watching you intently, holding back his own release to watch every last second of yours; to make sure you were done before he allowed his own climax. You gasped for breath and moaned ad repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it felt like it was the only word you were able to pronounce.

Harry came right after her, a furrow appearing between his brows and lips parted. His hands tightened around her, holding onto her for dear life as he came in her. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. It was so hot, he sounded so sexy. You watched him till he came down, feeling his cum sliding down the inside of your thigh as he slipped out of you. You breathed together for a few moments before looking at one another, suddenly laughing a little at what you’d just done. He rested his forehead against your chest, feeling you breathe with him.

“That was a thing that just happened.” You said, making Harry laugh.

“That just happened.”

“We just did that.”

You both laughed, holding onto one another still, not willing to let go. For the time being, you two were the only thing that mattered, nothing outside your room existed. But then you laid your eyes on the clock by the nightstand and jumped off Harry. He watched you, wide eyed and confused.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m supposed to be at Alessandro’s hotel room in five minutes to go over yesterday, and some other stuff.” You said while you ran to the bathroom, needing to get washed up and dressed as quickly as possible.

Harry got out of bed, quickly putting his boxers and tee shirt on. “When’re you done?”

“Dunno.”

“Meet me for breakfast.” Harry said as you ran back out, new pair of knickers on and rummaging through your wardrobe. “I’ll text you the location.”

“Harry, I-“

“-Please.”

You looked over at him as you put your trousers on, smiling at his pleading words. “Text me.”

He smiled back before looking around the room. “Where are my trousers?”

“I’ll find them later, just piss off because I need to leave.” You ran towards the door with your laptop in hand and Harry – looking quite mortified – followed. He pulled his room key out as you were closing the door, about to run down the corridor for Alessandro’s room when you felt a hand around your wrist. Harry pulled you back toward him, pressing his lips against yours. You both smiled into the kiss, feeling absolutely elated and still not sure how to process what had just happened.

“Hurry.” Harry mumbled against your lips before kissing you again. “I’ll be waiting with that morning after pill.”

“Good.”

Harry smiled. “Now, be off.”

You giggled, giving him one last peck before running down towards Alessandro.

Everything that happened between you and Harry over the last 30 months had culminated to this point; you rushing out of the room after sharing an unexpected, intimate morning together. Looking back on it, you knew that each longing look you gave him had a hidden meaning behind it. You wanted this. Maybe not right away, but the more you got to know Harry, the more you wanted to be more than just his tailor. There had always been more between the two fo you, you just had not figured it out till now.

The way he watched you with admiration while you worked, gave you praises when you were feeling down - quite literally shouting them from the streets - and spoke to you in a way that had your mind in the clouds, it all slowly built over time.

It built until you couldn’t handle it any longer and needed to show Harry just how deeply you were falling for him.

Knocking on Alessandro’s door you quickly tired to fix your hair, aware that you looked like a right mess. Because of your morning antics and inability to keep track of time, you hadn’t given your appearance a single thought. Once Alessandro opened the door, his eyes widened as he saw you standing there panting and looking distressed, instant regret hit you for not at least brushing through your hair. Alessandro would know something had happened, having known you for so long, he’d see right through you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Alessandro smiled knowingly, nodding his head as he let you in. You just raised your eyebrows, but Alessandro didn’t make another comment. You’d told him enough.

“I stopped by Harry’s room last night, wanted to congratulate him on the show and how well he did, but he wasn’t in. Any idea where he was?”

“Nope. None. Maybe he was having a wee.”

Alessandro nodded again, walking over to sit down by the table in his suite along with his event manager, head stylist, and fabric coordinator. Tons of sketches of new outfits and plans for upcoming events laid out on the table, ready to be discussed. You sat down with them, ready to take notes. You had already been a little late, so you didn’t want to do anything else wrong today. Full on concentrating, you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop for almost 30 minutes, and when you did, it was to check your phone. You’d gotten two text messages, both from Harry.

Harry Don’t forget my yellow trousers. They’re my favourite pair. x

Harry Had an amazing time this morning, by the way. Can’t wait to see you later. x

You couldn’t help the smile that spread out over your face at the messages, and you didn’t realise just how wide your smile was till Alessandro cleared his throat beside you. You looked up, turning your phone around and looking right back at your laptop as if nothing had happened.

“What’s got you smiling?” Alessandro questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“Hmm? Nothing.” You answered, trying to refocus on the document before you.

Alessandro looked down at your phone, smiled, and went on with the meeting. There would be no hiding what happened between you and Harry. Somehow, someway, the man sitting before you would hear how his ‘two prodigies’ had finally gotten together, and when that day happened, you’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he constantly reminded you that without him, the two of you would have likely never met so it was his doing that you had a best friend in Harry.

So what was he to say when he found out you and Harry were now more than friends?

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Helllooo May i request a fic where the reader is an art student in the university of oxenfurt and Jaskier come in as a model one day. She falls in love with him immidiatally and just cant stop painting pictures about him. Later Jask visits her in her studio and see all the stuff about himself. Then love confession( maybe he's been writing songs about her) and some soft kissing😇

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 2,099Rating: TTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan a/n: This was a lovely prompt, I hope you like what I did with i!

“Hmm… I don’t think you’ve quite captured me.”

You shook your head and a little smile turned up the corner of your mouth but you kept your eyes focused on your canvas.

“You are supposed to be a model and models don’t speak,” you murmured quietly.

“I’m so bored though.”

You glanced up at the man who posed in front of you. Jaskier was hunched over, chin resting on his fist. He looked more pouting than pensive as he was supposed to be but the moment your eyes met, he perked up a bit.

There was no one else in the art studio since it was after hours, class having ended long ago. You’d been sick one day and Jaskier had graciously volunteered to come by and help you catch up on what you’d missed. You were in week three of the “month long strip tease” as he called it, taking a layer off each time. This week he was down to a loosely untucked chemise, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and pants whose laces were undone but still rested just at the hip. Boots were long gone, leaving him barefoot. Indeed, if anyone who walked by the doors saw him in his attire and you, a bit sweaty with disheveled hair, tired after a long day of classes made longer by this extra work, they would have assumed something unsavory was happening. They would have been tragically mistaken.

“You didn’t have to agree to this. Hell, it was your idea,” you reminded him, extending the handle of your paintbrush to gently position his chin back to where it was supposed to be. He playfully nipped at the brush but then moved back into position dutifully.

“Hmm, yes, and why do you suppose I did that?” he asked. It was the same flirtatious tone he used with everyone and you knew that, but still you felt a little shiver of excitement at the tone. Perhaps one day someone would use that with you and mean it but it wouldn’t be Jaskier, the traveling bard with a thousand muses around the globe. He had no need for a simple art student with barely enough life experiences to count on one hand. That would change when you graduated, though. You were determined. Though as the day came closer you grew more anxious about those barely conceived plans.

“You are a patron of the arts of course,” you replied, mixing the shades of blue together. You’d known the first day he walked into the classroom that those eyes would torment you as you tried to create the right shade to capture them. You knew you’d never feel you truly got it right and so far you’d been correct. You’d made far more paintings than the three you’d done for class. In your personal studio you had what appeared to be a shrine to the bard. You just couldn’t get him out of your head and your fingers itched constantly to paint him again, to try and capture his likeness better, more accurately.

“I suppose that must be it,” Jaskier said in somewhat plaintive tone. Yet when you looked back at him again he gave you a little wink and you stopped worrying, rolling your eyes again and setting to get the portrait done.

You were finished before another hour passed and though he tried to catch a glimpse you successfully hid it from him.

“I offered you a deal,” you said, “You show me the song you’ve been working on and I’ll show you the painting that I’m working on. A fair trade of artistic sampling.”

“Perhaps another time,” he said, “May I walk you home?”

Since meeting in that first class nearly a month ago the pair of you had struck up an easy friendship. In truth you felt much more than that for him but you were happy just for the chance to talk with him, much less anything else. He was brilliant and funny and endlessly encouraging. When you told him of your dreams of traveling he’d insisted that you do it and even offered to introduce you to some nobles who had a keen eye for artists they wanted to support. In all of that time, though, you’d never seen each other away from the sprawling campus of Oxenfurt University.

“Alright,” you said a little reluctantly, nervous but also unwilling to pass up a single opportunity to spend more time with him. He gallantly offered you his arm and the pair of you walked through the streets. It was twilight and lamplighters were roving about to light the lanterns that would keep you safe as you walked, the skies bathed in a soft golden and pink watercolor.

“Are you excited to be finishing classes soon?” Jaskier asked.

“I should be,” you said. He laughed, but not unkindly. It was a laugh of understanding.

“I felt much the same when I approached graduation,” he said, “Sometimes I think that’s why I come back so often to lecture and just visit. I felt safe here.”

“Do you not feel safe out there?” you asked.

“No. But that’s part of the fun of it, right? The uncertainty, the potential for danger which makes it exciting,” he mused.

“I suppose so… But I do wish there was a way to both have adventures and be safe or at least feel safer,” you replied.

“Travelling with a witcher has helped a bit. You’re much harder to kill with one around,” he said.

“You’re also the target of more attacks though,” you countered. You’d heard him tell stories about his adventures to breathless students but you hadn’t joined in on their glee. Instead you’d grown more and more worried about the bard’s safety and whether you’d ever see him again once he’d left the school to join Geralt on his next hunt.

“Well there’s always a tradeoff,” Jaskier said glibly. You walked in silence for a time and when you reached your home you realized that at some point during the walk your hooked elbows had slid down to clasped hands. You both noticed at the same time and laughed a little nervously.

“Would you like some tea?” you offered instinctively, not wanting the moment to end. Jaskier eagerly agreed and followed you into your house. It was a humble place but he praised it as though it were a mansion, and he’d likely seen many in his time. Hell, as a viscount, perhaps he had even been raised in one.

“Make yourself at home,” you called as you walked to the little kitchen to get the fire going. Jaskier didn’t need telling twice, already walking around the room, looking at book titles and little drawings. He smiled at what appeared to be an early art piece of yours that had been lovingly framed by a family member, a drawing scrawled by a child that seemed to be… a dog? An elephant? Some animal. He continued to walk through the little house, glancing into the open door of your bedroom. There was a closed door and though he knew you probably would rather he didn’t, he couldn’t fight back his curiosity and opened the door.

—–

“Jaskier? Tea is ready! Jaskier?” you walked back into the little living area and saw no sign of him. You poked your head down the hall and almost walked back away, thinking he may have left suddenly, and then you saw a sliver of light coming from the door you knew had been closed. Your heart leapt to your throat and you ran towards it as though you could outpace what had already occurred.

There stood Jaskier, staring at a portrait you’d most recently completed, surrounded by sketches. Not all were of his entire face or body but you knew that he knew exactly whose disembodied hands and eyes and mouth and other randomly positioned angles of body they were.

“Fuck, ok, I can explain,” you began, heart beating a mile a minute. Jaskier turned to look at you but you didn’t see fear or disgust, just a soft look of surprise.

“Y/N?” he said.

He was giving you the chance to explain like you said you would but no words came to mind. You just stared at him blankly, panicking, feeling the walls close in around you.

“I think… I may be able to help,” he said. He walked past you and you waited to hear the front door open and close as he left, possibly to get the guards but most likely just to escape you. But then you heard him walk back, holding the leather notebook he drew in often but never showed you. He opened it to a page and handed the book to you, a nervous, expectant look in his pale, blue eyes. You took it with trembling fingers and at first you weren’t sure why he was showing it. Perhaps he thought that he should offer some exchange of art since he’d seen yours. Maybe he somehow didn’t recognize the man in the pictures as himself. Maybe this could all blow over and be nothing.

And then you saw your name.

“Jaskier what is this?” you asked, flipping the pages and finding more descriptions, not with your name specifically, but of a woman who sounded unmistakably like yourself.

“This is the bardic version of what this room shows, I believe,” he said, his voice soft, “They’re pieces dedicated to someone I have fallen very much in love with over the last few weeks.”

Your wide eyes tore away from the journal to meet Jaskier’s. Now he was the one who looked uncertain and scared, waiting for you to run from him.

“You don’t think it’s weird then?” you asked, gesturing to the room as you placed the journal on a shelf nearby, hands trembling too much to keep a secure hold of it.

“Oh no, it’s very weird. But love makes you do weird things. Like fill a journal full of half-formed songs about someone or stay late to pose for paintings or snoop in rooms you know you shouldn’t because you just can’t resist getting every little bit of them you can,” he replied, moving a bit closer and gently brushing his fingers against your cheek. Though he’d thrown on his doublet again the chemise was still unbuttoned and you rested your hands against his chest, fingers twining in the dark hair.

“Whoever said anything about love?” you teased, “I could just be incredibly enamored or perhaps a very artistic murderer.”

“Well I was speaking for myself mostly,” he answered, “But you’re right. I should be concerned. Shall I call Geralt to defend me against you and your wicked brush?”

“Ooh watch out, Jaskier, don’t sass me! You may find yourself having a brush with death,” you said, emphasizing the pun unnecessarily. Jaskier groaned and shook his head.

“Shut up and kiss me before I change my mind.”

You opened your mouth to make some other, terrible joke but he stopped you with a kiss, mouth brushing against yours with the barest touch but you recaptured his lips with yours and felt him card his hand through your hair as yours tightened against his chest. His kisses were soft and tender and nothing like what you’d expected the renowned rogue to offer but then the people who spread those rumors hadn’t known him like you did.

“Come with me,” Jaskier whispered against your lips.

“What?” you breathed back. His eyes found yours and you were struck again by the puzzling color. Was it blue? Or was it grey? Was it even the same thing all the time or did they change on you? You would spend the rest of your life trying to figure it out but oh what a happy quest.

“When you graduate you said you want to travel the world. You’re graduating soon. Come with me when you do. I’ll take you everywhere. I’ll show you the world. I can’t promise to keep you safe, there is always a tradeoff, but I will do everything I can and I promise you it won’t be boring,” he replied, words spoken in a hushed tone like someone offering a fervent prayer. You considered his words, thinking about the risks but more than that, thinking about the things that are worth taking risks for. And the people.

“Ok,” you breathed in response, “Yes. Take me with you. Show me everything.”

“Oh love,” he said, licking his lips which quirked into a wicked grin, “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

[halfblood-fiend]

Every Single Star - Dragon Age: Origins, Cousland x Alistair

Written for Blu’s Discord Secret Santa, here is the first half of my gift for @mothmanaintshit. Thanks for your patience while I do it this way because it totally got away from me but I’m thinking that it’ll be super worth the wait because I am very proud of this whole thing! :D

So here’s my first coffee shop AND college AU, just for Axel with their Warden Cousland, Delilah, and the best ball of awkward, Alistair. <3

Words: 8,257 (big yikes)

Rating: General Audiences

Warning(s): light cursing

Read it on AO3

Ferelden’s capital, Denerim, seemed to always be awake and bustling, which was why the silver and blue light-up sign emblazoned with a griffon and announcing their space as The Grey Warden Coffee Roasters never turned off. Must’ve been a rule here, to appear to never need sleep. The line out the door most mornings implied this rule applied to people as well. They all crammed themselves into the cozy shop, certainly following the smell of brewing coffee more than the desire to bask in “the glory” of the fraying Warden memorabilia hanging on the dark walls. Duncan was proud of “his brand” though, so it stayed, no matter how many sneezing fits Alistair had from the dust.

The commuters rush and the first pinkish lights of dawn had just about died down in favor of a full grey sunrise before the next wave of morning-time ghouls lumbered their way into the café. Instead of the existential dread of a long, slow life in the office, these ones carried with them the crisp air of the first day of autumn. This rush was all new notebooks and shuffling papers and the strangely satisfying sound of polyester backpack straps being anxiously shifted on shoulders as folks rooted around in the bottom of them for Sovereigns.

Alistair and Duncan helped all these idiots get their mornings in some semblance of order before their first classes of the term at the University of Ferelden: Denerim, conveniently just down the street.

The glass doors banged open, the silver bell overhead ringing like mad, a sharp gust of biting wind swirling leaves across the floor. Alistair paused from frantically writing on a black insulated paper cup in a squeaky silver pen and saw her.

A small woman with blonde hair, a thick blue scarf the shade of denim and a cream-colored sweater stood there wrestling the door closed. Her scarf slipped from her flushed, wind-bitten cheeks as she yanked on the handle, the tousled top of her short-cropped hair whipping around her head. She panted and pushed, her pointed face straining until the door closed with a snap and she turned, murmuring a short apology to the onlooking line of patrons. Alistair hardly realized he was staring with a slacked jaw until the elf in front of him cleared their throat and asked how much for the Caramel Griffon Steamer in a voice that told him that this wasn’t the first time they’d asked.

“Sorry, I—? What size will that be?”

They looked at him doubtfully but replied, “Small. The Genlock. It’s literally the one in your hand you were just writing on.”

Alistair flushed hard and coughed. “Oh! Right!” As he pressed the buttons on the register, his gaze wandered towards the back of the line where the woman fell in with the rest, but now that the door had been righted and the wind calmed down, she’d disappeared into the jumble of people. He tamped down the strange disappointment that swelled in his chest as he took the elf’s money and dumped it into the register’s drawer.

The line moved steadily enough, but impatience started coloring his voice with each new customer that wasn’t the Door-Wrestling-Woman. Every once in a while, he would catch a glimpse of her. A cream-sweater-clad elbow, a flash of that scarf or the peeking toe of her shoes. She wore tan boots with a flat heel, skinny jeans neatly tucked into the knitted tops. Alistair amused himself by deciding that meant she was practical, maybe even economical, as though he was some sort of detective from a bad mystery novel. He knew that in reality, those random details meant very little, but it just felt so important to know something—anything—about her. And why that was, was beyond him.

He was internally interpreting the symbolic meaning of wearing a denim-colored scarf and blue denim jeans at the same time when the next person in line stepped forward and made him do a double take.

He had to be the nastiest, most sour-looking man Alistair had ever seen—and he had seen so many people in his time working here. He recalled to his mind every negative interaction to date; every upset PTA parent complaining about the consistency of their latte’s foam and every harried businessman with neckties so tight their purple faces looked like they would pop clean off after Alistair told them they were out of pumpkin spice syrup. He put them all together as one person and this man still managed to look nastier. Something about his long black hair or his piercing blue eyes or the vicious glower that settled just beneath his stern features made Alistair’s guts wilt and curl into themselves like paper in a fire. He looked to be the physical manifestation of every bad thing that ever happened in Alistair’s life thus far, and when his thin lips attempted a brief but grim mockery of a smile, Alistair gripped the counter behind the register to keep from jumping backwards.

Thank the Maker that the expression slid from the man’s face almost as soon as it appeared, as though it pained him to make the muscles in his mouth do that for even an instant.

Alistair adopted the most chipper tone he could manage in light of his desire to dart into the back room away from this man. “Er-Hello, ser. What can I- erm- get started for you today?”

The man’s eyes flicked upwards to the menu as though he hadn’t just spent the last 20 or so minutes waiting with nothing else to do but read the carefully written chalk letters. He frowned. “Do you have just plain coffee in this Maker-damned place?”

Movement from behind him caught Alistair’s eye and the flash of blonde hair and cream sweater grabbed his attention. The Door-Wrestling-Woman’s head snapped up from her phone at the man’s gruff voice and recognition sparked in her eyes. Then horror. She turned away from him in order to pull her green canvas messenger bag in front of her, hold the flap up between their line of sight and begin rummaging around in the bottom of it. Alistair’s brows furrowed at her. The man started to turn to look when Alistair realized that was probably the last thing she wanted and cleared his throat to get his attention back.

“Uhm, yes. We have several signature blends and I’d be happy to recommend some to you. Wha-what are you looking for to satisfy that palate of yours, hmm? Any favorite tastes or flaaaa-vors I should know about?”

Scowling, the man replied, “No. I just need the caffeine and this silly little place happened to be on the way to the university.”

“Ah, so, on your way to school, I see—”

“No small talk. I’m not interested.”

“Oooohkay,” Alistair’s mouth snapped shut. The Door-Wrestling-Woman lowered the flap of her bag a few inches and his eyes found hers. He was delighted to note the scrunched-up touch of amusement in the corners of her eyes.

When the man spoke, she disappeared behind the bag again. “Give me whichever one has the most caffeine and be done with it.”

“Ah. That’d be our Darkspawn Roast! Excellent blend, ser, you are truly a man of impeccable taste. I guarantee you will find it absolutely de-blight­-ful and sure to make your eyes wide as a—” The deep scowl was enough to make Alistair abandon all hope of making the Door-Wrestling-Woman laugh and he cleared his throat instead. “Er- what size?”

“Large.”

“Oh, er, sorry about that,” Alistair began. He really didn’t want to have to break any sort of bad news to this man, but at this point he was contractually obligated to. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last thing he did with his short life. “I aaactually can’t do that. See, there is too much caffeine in the Darkspawn Blend and it is actually quite illegal for me to sell that much to you. I’m afraid I can only give it to you in a Hurlock size, not an Ogre.”

The man did indeed appear as agitated as Alistair worried he would, the curl of a sneer appearing at the corners of his mouth. “Illegal?”

“Mmm, yes. Illegal.”

“Why?”

“Caffeine is a drug, technically, as I am sure you are aware, ser. You’re only supposed to have so much a day. We could be shut down if I sell you Darkspawn Blend in an Ogre because it would be too much caffeine.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Ah, yes, well, still a no, ser, I’m afraid. I…I’m sorry. I can still give you the Hurlock size…?” His hand edged for the middle-sized insulated cup and Alistair almost wished that he could just sell him the big one and be done, if for no other reason than to get this man away from him. But Duncan was always watching, even as he busied himself making drinks as Alistair took orders. The last time Alistair had sold an Ogre-sized Darkspawn Blend to someone, Duncan had refused to sell Alistair any of his favorite Mabari Cake Pops for a month.

Frowning, the man squinted up at the menu and then asked, “I can add espresso shots to any drink, can’t I?”

Alistair gulped. Ah, the Shrieks. Not the Shrieks and the Darkspawn Blend? At his age, this man would have a heart attack before he left the parking lot. “…yes?”

“Is there a limit to them? Because of that silly caffeine thing?”

“Yes. Five.”

“And I can add them to this drink, too, if I wanted?”

Alistair’s eyes widened and darted to the left where Duncan was busy at the steamer and shaking up other drinks in the line. He really should ask, he thought to himself, though he knew the answer was, technically, ‘yes.’ Sod it, if the man died, he died and it was his own fault, wasn’t it? Alistair had warned him. “Yes,” he said finally, and the man nodded.

“Good. Then give me that blasted medium size and put five shots in it.”

With a shaking hand, Alistair wrote what he was told and repeated the order back while in a vague state of shock. “Darkspawn Blend, Hurlock, five…Shrieks… Uh. Room for cream?”

“No. And no sugar, either. Black, if you please.”

Alistair nodded, but didn’t understand as he wrote the last bit of order. “Name?”

“Loghain.”

Alistair proceeded to make the most terrifying coffee order he’d ever taken in his life. He couldn’t help but hold his breath when he handed over the drink that probably tasted just like the Blight itself and Loghain walked out of the café. Please don’t die in our parking lot, he thought, I’d have to clean it up. As the door closed behind this Loghain man, he breathed out an audible sigh of relief.

“Awful, isn’t he?”

Blinking a little to clear the haze of horror that had settled over him, Alistair realized with a start that the Door-Wrestling-Woman was now standing right in front of him, unobstructed by either customers nor her own messenger bag.

When faced with her up close, whether she was economical or practical or whatever fanciful things he had made up about her before this moment, he realized only one thing was abundantly obvious: that she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She beamed at him, in all her tiny glory, the wool scarf around her neck the same light blue of her eyes, making them pop and dance. Her hair reflected the light with golden strands. Her slim jaw accentuated the pink feminine curve of her mouth. Her brows, somewhat raised with amusement, furrowed the purple tattoo around her left eye. His greedy gaze took in as much of her as he could, and for the first time in what Duncan might have called ‘forever’, Alistair was stunned into silence.

She misinterpreted that silence, her smile slipping slightly and added, “Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything. He’s like that with everyone.”

Duncan crossed behind him and placed a carrying tray of drinks on the pic-up counter. “Tabris!” he shouted into the room in his deep voice.

And with that, the spell was broken, and Alistair shook himself slightly and returned an uncertain smile. “Oh. You…you know him, do you?”

“Sadly. He’s my Modern Military History professor,” she said with a grimace.

Wrinkling his nose, Alistair echoed, “Modern Milita—what kind of a class is that? What would it even be for? It sounds horribly boring!”

He gulped as the woman’s face hardened at his words. “It’s actually quite fascinating,” she replied cooly, “It’s a part of the Military Series for a Political Science degree.”

Alistair saw his opportunity to fix this interaction with humor and he took it. “Riiight. Political Science. That’s every child’s dream, isn’t it? To grow up and be a corrupt politician. Is there anything better in the world?”

To his horror, she didn’t crack a smile.

“It was my childhood dream to be a politician. Like my parents are now.”

Oh. Well…shit.

“Mmmm,” Alistair hummed and picked up his silver pen to fidget with it. “And, on that note, what can I get for you today? I hear the foot-in-mouth breakfast sandwich is very good this morning. I can make it as an Alistair-special. As you can see, I’m really good at putting them together.”

Blessedly, she did laugh this time and shook her head. The tension in his stomach disappeared immediately and Alistair secretly decided there wasn’t a better sound in the world.

“I mean, you’re kinda right. It’s not a normal thing to want, and you didn’t know…and Professor Mac Tir is the worst…”

“It is quite unfortunate that you have him as your teacher, yes. You have my condolences for that.”

She smiled up at him again and said, “Thanks. He’s brilliant though, even if he is mean.”

Duncan appeared at the register beside them and typed on the keys quickly to log in. He threw a look at Alistair as he called the next customer in line forward that told him that he was bristling not just because he was beardy. You’re supposed to take their orders, Alistair, not chit-chat with them, he practically heard his friend say in his mind. But Alistair pretended not to notice.

She continued, “He just recently published a paper, you know.”

“Oh?”

“And also made it required reading for the class.”

“Oh. So, a total douche, then?”

“A bit. It’s called Philosophical and Theoretical Perspectives on Wartime Justice: The Question of War and Ethics. In case…I dunno, you ever wanna look it up for yourself. It’s good, I’ll admit, but I’ve been staring at it for the last couple of hours because I forgot it was due before our first class. And honestly, I’m getting so sick of thinking about it, so how about some coffee?”

“Coffee! Yes. I do have that, if you would like to buy some!”

Giggling, her eyes briefly roved up to the menu and Alistair took the moment to be relieved that he had successfully navigated out of the hole he’d dug himself into. Good job, Alistair.

“Oh man… there’s a lot of drinks… What would you recommend?”

Wide blue eyes blinked at him, waiting, and he struggled not to get lost in them so he could answer. “Me? I would recommend…hm. The Calling Latte and the Conscrip-uccino are both popular and they’re pretty good. But my personal favorite is probably the Brewed Mother. It’s a pour-over blend of several of our roasts so it’s got all the taste of coffee but is also very sweet and thick and foamy because we use druffalo milk instead of a cow’s.”

“Sure. I’ll try that then!”

“Excellent choice!” Alistair said, double underlining and starring either side of ‘Brewed Mother’ on the cup. “And if you don’t like it, I can give you your money back!” Duncan threw him a dirty look.

But she laughed. “I doubt that’ll be necessary.”

Alistair grabbed the size she wanted (Hurlock), took down her name (Delilah—has there ever been a more beautiful name in all of ever??) and sent her on her way. Once she moved on, Duncan signed off of his register and elbowed him gently in the ribs.

“We’re too busy to make fools of ourselves in front of pretty girls right now. How about staying on task, hmm?”

Alistair rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he assented to the warm and firm grip of Duncan’s hand on his shoulder. He should have known there would have been no hiding anything from Duncan, even busy as they were right now. Knowing the old man, he probably heard everything, too, and was going to grill him about it as soon as the rush died down. Yet even replaying the embarrassing things he just said to Delilah couldn’t dim the warm glow of happiness that breathed life into his chest and spread all the way to his toes with each fluttering beat of his heart.

His gaze kept flickering to her as he took more orders, but her own was glued to her phone. Each time he looked, she would be squinting at the screen or typing furiously with flying thumbs.

That was just as well, probably. A little voice inside urged him to ask her for her number, but how weird would that be? Hey, I know that I just met you and I insulted your life’s goals but I’d love to keep doing so over texts if you give me your number. Worrying his lip between his teeth, Alistair told himself that would never fly. Rom-Com romances didn’t happen in real life in busy coffee shops near universities. Total strangers didn’t have instant connections, no matter how much he believed it to be true. The only connection Delilah had to him was that she was about to drink his favorite coffee, and once it was gone, that was it. No more Alistair the Grey Roaster in her life.

But he wanted so badly to ask her anyway.

So maybe he just should.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair saw Duncan fit a Hurlock-sized cup with a lid, and as he spun it to make sure the lid was fully closed, Alistair spied the silver stars peeking over the cup sleeve. As he turned to take Delilah’s cup to the counter, Alistair wheeled away from the register and plucked it from Duncan’s hand.

“Hey—”

“Switch you!” And without waiting for a response, Alistair marched her cup to the counter and called Delilah’s name.

She looked up and when she saw him, she beamed. And when she beamed at him, a strange shiver of delight rippled through his body and made him grin in return. Like the most wonderful domino effect.

“Your coffee, Future Arl of Denerim.”

Delilah giggled as she took the offered cup. “I’d have my work cut out for me if I pursued that. I’ve got my eyes on a smaller but no less noble prize. Highever will do just fine for me. Though it’ll take just as much work to get there.” She took a sip from her cup and her eyes lit up. “Ooh, this is good! Thanks for the rec. Gotta get to class now. Wish me luck!”

“Me luck,” Alistair said, somewhat breathlessly, earning him a final smile over her shoulder before Delilah disappeared out the door.

As he watched it close behind her, he realized he hadn’t asked for her number after all.

“Alistair! Register!”

Good luck out there, Delilah, he thought, a soft regret constricting his throat. He rapped the counter with his knuckles then returned to the morning mayhem.

Alistair had been wrong. Duncan wasn’t going to tease him later that day. And not that night or the next day or the next. He was beginning to think he was in the clear and Duncan would be cool and never mention Delilah at all… until after the morning rush on Thursday.

Duncan leaned against the counter with the steamer machine and mopped his brow with a handkerchief he produced from the pocket of his grey and blue apron. A few people still milled about at the array of black tables with their headphones on, but at least there was no more line of people and no more orders to fill. It was enough time for them to breathe, for certain, but not enough to relax if the teetering pile of coffee-stained shakers, glass blender jars and measuring cups in the shining metal sink had anything to say about it.

“So,” Duncan began in his baritone, causing Alistair to freeze with his hand inside the baked treats display.

“Soooo….?”

Duncan’s dark eyes bored into his and twinkled with mischief. “Still no sign of the Cousland girl, eh?”

“What?” Alistair’s back snapped straight so quickly that he forgot the sliding glass door he was holding onto and it closed on his wrist. “Ouch!”

Duncan chortled to himself and switched out his handkerchief for a dish towel. He picked up the first dirty serving glass with worn, careful fingers and got to washing. “Why don’t you pick up your jaw and make yourself useful, Alistair. Wipe down the machines while we still can.”

“How…How did you find out her last name?” Alistair asked him. He bent to pick out a clean microfiber towel and Duncan’s favorite all-natural cleaner from a lower cabinet. “And how did you know I was looking for her? I wasn’t, by the way!”

His friend smiled and Alistair heard the low rumble of quiet laughter over the spritz of his spray bottle. Just like Duncan to decide not to answer. But after some washing, he said, “It was easy enough. Her name was Delilah; she said she was a political science major and has wanted to be a politician all her life, like her family is. And she mentioned she wanted to be Arl of Highever. One internet search was all it took to find Delilah Cousland, only daughter of the current Arl of Highever. Even filled in my search bar for me.”

“You searched for a customer?” Alistair gasped, offended for her. Duncan did some socially questionable things sometimes (like take a penniless orphan in and give him a job and a place to stay, for one) but this was low, even for him. “I just can’t believe you would do such a heinous thing. I don’t think I can even look at you!” Alistair moved on to spray the cappuccino machine and made a mental note to search for ‘Delilah Cousland’ on his own computer later. He knew just enough about the current state of the Houses of Nobles, Arls and Teryns to know the Couslands were somebody, but he couldn’t quite recall what they had been known for.

“Oh, good morning, Delilah, welcome back,” Duncan rumbled.

Alistair spun around towards the register and dropped the spray bottle, his hand flying to his hair instead—

—but there was no one there.

The room shook with Duncan’s great, booming laughter.

“Oh, har har, Old Man,” Alistair scolded, flushing as he snatched up his spray bottle from the floor. “What a wonderfully cruel trick to play on your poor employee. Feel good now, do you?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “You were looking for her then. You’ve been sullen and sulking after every morning rush for the last couple of days.”

“No,” Alistair insisted. No way was he letting Duncan get the best of him. Not again. “I do not ‘sulk.’ And I’m not looking for her. I don’t even remember what her name is anymore.”

“Oh, so, I can unbookmark her MyPhylactery page and not tell you her current relationship status.”

“Wait, wait, wait! You found her MyPhylactery page?”

Duncan gave him a satisfied side eye, his bushy black beard betraying the wide toothy smile beneath and nodded.

“And…it wasn’t set to private?”

He shook his head. “It was. I invited her to Bond to our company page.”

“But our company page is just your Phylactery!”

He nodded.

“So now you can see all her information!”

Duncan’s eyes twinkled.

“That was a skeevy thing you did, you know.”

“So, you don’t want to see her Phylactery?” Duncan asked again even though it was clear he already knew the answer. Alistair cursed himself for being so blighted easy to read.

“No, no. I’ll look. But I won’t be happy about it, and I will deny any involvement if she ever finds out. I’ll throw you under the cart-wheels in an instant, Old Man, mark my words.”

His threat was only met with snickers.

Alistair didn’t have to wait long at all before he saw Delilah again. After all the waiting and all the eager searching of faces each morning, he figured it was just his luck that she would reappear now, at the end of his break. The break that he had just spent pouring over the link to MyPhylactery that Duncan had sent him and scrolling over every picture and every life update she had posted in the last five years.

As soon as he saw her wander in, he blushed. He shouldn’t be blushing. It…It was perfectly normal to look someone up after you’d met them! Even though…she’d never actually given him her last name. Nor had she really consented to letting Duncan see her private profile. Because how was she supposed to know that he was bad with tech like some strange youngish-Old Person and didn’t even know how to make a business account on MyPhylactery? Alistair felt that he really shouldn’t know that she had broken up with her boyfriend of four years before moving to Denerim to go to school, and that he was still commenting on every single post that she made. Clearly, he couldn’t let her go. It had to be annoying for her. But Alistair shouldn’t have known that, it was weird.

So he blushed scarlet when Delilah waved at him, and his stomach twisted in guilty knots when she bounced forward to order at the counter. Her bright smile, while still dazzling, didn’t quite melt the ice pounding in his veins. He was sure she could read the guilt in his eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, shifting her bag’s strap from her right shoulder to her left. Her head tilted quizzically. There was genuine worry in her eyes. Alistair might’ve felt touched if he wasn’t too busy feeling ashamed. “You look flushed. Are you sick?”

Alistair tried to speak, failed, cleared his throat and tried again. “’S’just warm back here…is all.”

Every impulse in him screamed to tell her, but what would that even do? It wasn’t a big deal! Was it? If anything, he would look like more of a stalker if he just announced to her that he’d looked her up and found out that her brother, Fergus Cousland, had gotten hired to work as a campaign manager for the incumbent Arl of Amaranthine Rendon Howe, and was slated to become the next Arl once Howe gained the Teyrnship, and then she, Delilah, was promised an internship on the committee (which she was very, very excited and grateful for, a sentiment that earned her 106 likes from all her various Phylactery Bonds).

Oh, Maker, no, he should tell her. He should fess up and beg forgiveness before he accidentally let on that he knows more than he should and loses the possibility of a friendship with this beautiful, wonderful, intelligent—

“Did you hear me?”

He started. “Sorry. What was that?”

Delilah smiled and shook her head at him. “Are you sure you’re not sick? You should go and sit down because you seem really out of it.”

“I’m okay, really,” he replied shakily, lifting a hand to rub out a kink that started forming in the back of his neck from the stress of his own personal disaster.

“Well, if you’re sure… I said that I really liked what you recommended to me last time. So I think I’ll just have another Brewed Mother. But I’ll take it in an Ogre this time.” She patted her bag and sighed, “I’ve got a lotta work to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alistair asked somewhat automatically, picking up the large cup and scribbling away. He wrote her name without asking for it and added a star at the end.

Tell her, you idiot. Say something!

“I should—”

“I also said—”

They both spoke at the same time, then they both paused to chuckle awkwardly.

“You can—”

“What were you—”

They shared more uncomfortable titters and Alistair stared at the register keys, willing them to spell out what to do next or to come to life and attack him, or anything really to abate his discomfort. Sweet Maker…

“I-I was just going to say that I had also asked—before, I mean—well, that I didn’t get to catch your name last time. Is all.” Delilah fiddled with the grey and tawny feathers taped to the tip jar. Duncan swore they were real griffon feathers and would encourage people to be more generous with their tips. Alistair was sure they were eagle feathers, which didn’t seem to inspire anyone to give more silvers than they usually would.

Strange thing to ask for, his name, Alistair thought as he glanced down at his apron to double check that his blue nametag was indeed still attached to his chest. It’s right there, after all. But before his brain decided if he should point his badge out to her or not, his mouth was moving, and his name was falling out of it. His whole name.

“It’s Alistair Theirin,” he said, the sounds coming out like a rush of water with no hope of damming it up. His mouth clamped shut so hard that his teeth snapped together and rattled his brain, but he knew the damage was done. Delilah’s face had whipped back up to his and she searched his soul as though she could confirm he was telling the truth if she stared hard enough.

“Theirin?” she echoed in astonishment. “Like the Theirin? Like King Cailan and Maric and—”

Alistair leaned over the register and shushed her more violently than he intended, eyes frantically darting around the coffee house. The only patron now was one dwarf in the corner, and he had on a headset nearly as big as his whole head.

Delilah lowered her voice, but her eyes were still wide. “I-I can’t believe… A Theirin? But then, why are you here?”

Grimacing, Alistair replied, “It’s a long story… One I’d really rather not talk about it, to be honest.”

He expected her to press—the handful of people he’d told over the course of his life often did—but, to her credit, she only nodded. “I’m a Cousland so…so I get it. Kinda. In a not-as-big way, of course, but, yeah… There’s just a lot of expectations to be something, am I right?”

“Right.” Not that you knew the half of it, Alistair thought darkly. Not that being the daughter of a prestigious man repeatedly voted into the House of Arls was really anything when compared to being the bastard son of the late King. But sure. Sure, Delilah “gets it.”

He supposed that he should be grateful. Since she now knew his best kept secret, he felt exactly zero amounts of guilt for knowing what she ate for dinner three nights ago (Antivan Spicy Noodles that looked delicious, 38 likes). No need to fess up about stalking her now. There was no doubt in his mind that she would go home and scour the internet for him now.

“An Ogre-sized Brewed Mother will be five silvers and eleven bits, by the way,” he mumbled.

“Oh! Yeah.”

By the time the coins clinked into the till, Alistair regretted being short and the bitter things he had thought about her. Delilah wandered away more towards the pick-up counter, her phone in her hand, but Alistair found himself speaking anyways.

“It’s not really so bad. The whole…you know, thing. My parents, or whatever.” He rambled while he made her drink and didn’t bother looking up to check if she was even listening. Alistair decided he didn’t really want to know. “I kinda stopped paying attention to it, really. Some people have cared a lot about my parentage, but none of them were my, you know, actual parents, so, what’s the point? I try not to let it bother me.” Why was he saying this to someone he’d only met once before? Just because he was guilty about stalking her social media? Or because there was a slight chance that he could finally get these things that nagged him in the dead of night off his chest? “I figure if they don’t care about me, I shouldn’t care about them. I’m happy to just be…me, you know? I’m just Alistair. That idiot Grey Roaster who talks too much and… aaaaand spills secrets to total strangers. That’s who I am. That’s what I’m here for. Saving the world one Brewed Mother at a time.” He snapped the plastic lid on over the lip of the cup and tried to pick it up by the top to make sure it was on properly. When he was sure, he spun around to slide her drink over the counter and found himself face to face with Delilah.

She had been listening, and if he didn’t know any better, she looked…sad. Not pitying, not disdainful, not any of the kinds of emotions he had come to expect from people when they learned of his very own Tragic Backstory, just…a little moved. A little mournful. Her cool fingers brushed against his own as she took the coffee from him without breaking their locked gaze.

“I understand,” Delilah murmured after a moment. “And… and I’m happy that you’re you too, Alistair.”

He blinked. His mind wiped blank. He had no idea what to say to that. She was…happy for him? No one had ever been happy that he had abandoned his old life before. Even Duncan tried to push him to do something more with himself every now and again. Delilah’s support, even if she didn’t know it, meant more than any words he could think of to describe it. So, he didn’t say anything.

After what felt like several Ages smushed together all at once, Delilah bit her lip and turned away. He watched her disappear out the door again in stunned silence.

She started coming in a lot more often after that. So often, in fact, that Alistair was starting to piece together her schedule. Totally on accident of course, because he had refused to look at her MyPhylactery again until she wanted to send him a Bond. If she ever even wanted to. If they even got to that point.

Delilah came in most Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, and some Thursday afternoons. She greeted him each time with a “Hey, Just-Alistair!”, chatted amicably until her drink was ready, and then she was off to class. She tried a few different things off the menu, but more often than not, she ordered a Brewed Mother; a fact that made a tiny flame of happiness light up in Alistair every time. She never mentioned his heritage again.

On a dull autumn Thursday when the grey clouds that always hung low over Ferelden seemed particularly thick and heavy, the bell over the door tinkled and Alistair looked up from his sweeping to find Delilah easing her way in with an armful of large books with faded leather covers.

“Do you need help?” Alistair asked, moving to lean his broom against the counter but Delilah answered faster.

“Nope! I’m good!” She lugged them to a table near the register and dropped them rather unceremoniously with a loud bang that echoed off the glass windows. “Oops, sorry.” She glanced around apologetically and when she realized there was no one else in the shop, she shrugged.

Alistair shook his head and laughed at her. She must have been much stronger than her height let on, he realized. He respected a woman that could bench press her weight in books. “The usual?” he asked, already reaching for a Hurlock cup and writing her name on it with a flourish. And a star. Always a star.

She appeared to consider for a second as she divided up her books into piles over the entire surface of the table and then answered, “Yes. Get me that Brewed Mother. I have a midterm paper to write!”

“Midterms?” Alistair asked in shock. He did the math quickly in his head. There was no way it was that far along in the semester already. “Isn’t it still too early for that?”

“It is,” she agreed, pulling her laptop case and several notebooks from her bag. “Dr. Mac Tir is notoriously picky about papers. He’s got a strict grading scale so he hands out prompts in the first week so that we can start our papers as soon as possible. He’s already given us our final too! Can you believe that??”

Shrugging, Alistair filled her cup with milk from the carton marked ‘druffalo’, set it back in the mini fridge and kicked the door closed. Even only meeting the dreaded Loghain once, Delilah’s story checked out in his mind. “Wish I could say no, but just that five-minute conversation I had with him took 10 years off my life.”

Delilah sniggered as he moved on to the steamer. “You sure all the coffee you drink while working here isn’t what’s responsible for that?”

Alistair allowed himself a smile for a brief moment before swallowing it and turning around to find the plastic lids. He worked hard to keep his face neutral and controlled. “Oh, I don’t like coffee.”

As predicted, Delilah was taken aback, her blue eyes bugging a little. Alistair bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “You…work at a coffee house. At The Grey Warden Coffee Roasters! It’s only the most famous international chain of cafés!”

Alistair let his own eyes go wide and pretended to be just as shocked. If he didn’t have to clean the mess up himself, he might have dropped her coffee. For comedic effect, of course. “What? I do??”

Her eyes narrowed at him and he suspected she was catching on, but Duncan appeared from the back room carrying a large box and spoke before either of them could.

“You won’t for long, Alistair, if you don’t charge her and help the other customers in line,” he growled as he passed by.

“Yes’ser, Café Commander Duncan, ser!”

His friend rolled his eyes and pulled a box cutter from his apron instead of replying.

Dancing back towards the register, Alistair checked that the lid was tight and handed it over. His heart skipped a beat when her fingers grazed his. He grinned. “One Brewed Mother for one brood…y…mother, you know, that made a lot more sense in my head until I said it.”

Delilah held out her handful of coins in her palm, but he waved her away.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. What’s one on the house for my favorite customer?” he told her with a wide dreamy smile, leaning on the counter to cup his chin in his hand.

“Alistair…”

“Did I ever mention to you how astute Duncan’s hearing is? I think it’s something to do with being Riviani. You know, on second thought, I will take those silvers, if it’s all the same to you…”

Handing them over and laughing, Delilah shook her head at him and warned, “Keep going on like this and you’ll get fired. Then what will you do?”

“Pft! Me? Fired?” Alistair shook his head and shot her what he hoped was a cocky grin. “Nah, Duncan needs me. I don’t think he’d know how to run the shop by himself, at this point. He makes me do all the work, you know.”

Duncan kicked at Alistair’s heels as he walked back to the store room with the empty box.

All customers taken care of, Alistair was free to bother his favorite patron, still bent as she was over her books, occasionally pausing to type something on her laptop. He grabbed the broom and unlatched the hook holding the counter between the registers in place in order to pretend to sweep around Delilah’s table.

“You solve that great mystery of wartime ethics yet?”

Delilah barked a short laugh and leaned back in her chair to look up at him. She put her arms over her head and stretched. Alistair realized too late that it gave him a clear angle down her shirt. Blushing, he averted his eyes and worked very intently on an invisible speck of dust on the floor that refused to be swept up. “No, have you?” he heard her reply.

“Oh, er, that old thing? Yeah. I solved that ages ago. I’m on to the secret of eternal youth now.”

When she laughed and her eyes met his, Alistair all but melted. He blushed again, but this time for a different reason. For a somersaulting stomach filled with butterflies sort of reason.

“Great! So you don’t mind writing my midterm paper for me, right?”

“Well, isn’t that plagiarism, dear Delilah?”

She shrugged and replied seriously, “At this point? Not if anybody knew about it.”

Alistair chewed his lip. He saw his moment, plain as day right there in front of him. I would think about writing that paper for you if you gave me your number. No, no. That came off too predatory. Maybe we can work out the details of the midterm exchange over dinner? No, too serious. Damn. The opportunity was there, he could sense it, but for the life of him, his brain wouldn’t make that last connection towards the perfect way to ask. And if he dawdled too long, the knowledge that he’d lose his chance looked over him like a dark cloud.

Sod it, man, speak.

“I-uhmmm.”

Light blue eyes turned up to his and Alistair lost track of what he was doing. He had a vague thought that maybe he would faint.

“I-I-I could, er, write it for you. Er, try to. Aaaaand we-we could, um. We could, um…”

Delilah waited patiently, expectantly, her face open. A small smile settled on her lips, and Alistair willed himself not to glance at them. Don’t you dare imagine kissing them. Don’t think about how soft they would be or how pleasant of a thing kissing Delilah would be. Don’t… no, don’t think about it.

You thought about it.

Alistair tried to clear his throat and made an awful noise that sounded more like a bleating ram than anything human. Delilah politely pretended not to notice.

“W-we could- er, I could bring it to you if we were somewhere else. If we met somewhere else, I mean. Like for coffee, or…”

Sweet Maker, you absolute dunce, why coffee, of all things—you work in a coffee shop, for crying out loud!

A touch of color began rising in her cheeks. “You mean… you would write my paper for me if we went on a date?”

Alistair started to nod but then her words washed over him. “N-no! I mean, the paper was…more of an excuse, really, I-I don’t—”

“Oh, so… just a date then?”

Alistair’s knees buckled and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded.

The smile spread across her face and her eyes lit up and danced the same way they had when she had first tried his favorite drink. These were good signs, weren’t they? No one glowed like that and then shot a man down. Not that he’d had enough experience to know but… but, Maker, he hoped. What he did know was that someone like him didn’t deserve to bask in her radiating warmth. Alistair drunk from her anyway, letting all the lovely facets of her fill him and make him light. Her kindness, the way she laughed, the brightness of her, it was everything to him. And fumbling and awkward as he was, Delilah was going to say ‘yes’ to him. They were going to make plans and go on a date and maybe she was going to choose to be with him. Him, of all people. Just-Alistair and Delilah Cousland.

The door to the café banged open and both Alistair and Delilah leapt out of their skins. Her wide eyes fixed on the door before he could turn and she uttered a quick squeak of alarm, scrambling to get back to work on her laptop. Alistair’s brain was sluggish in making connections, but the voice that spoke nailed him to the floor.

“Ah. If it isn’t the youngest Cousland,” Loghain drawled, his footsteps drawing nearer to the table. Like flipping a switch, Alistair’s mood changed as ice shot through his veins. If he didn’t know any better, he would say the temperature in the shop just dropped several degrees, even after the door closed to the chilly outside.

He didn’t want to turn and face the last person he wanted to see during a conversation he’d been working up to for weeks, so Alistair closed his eyes and shouted every curse in every language he knew in his head.

Loghain swooped in on Delilah like a hawk on its prey, his shrewd eyes roving over the books on the table. Even his head turned like a bird’s to better read each gilded title. “I take it you’re in need of subpar coffee in order to finalize your midterm paper. I needn’t remind you that you have little over two weeks to turn it in.”

Scoffing, Alistair echoed, “Subpar coffee?” as though he’d never been privy to a more grievous insult to his person before.

The other man looked up at him as though noticing Alistair’s existence for the first time. “Don’t you have something else you should be doing besides eavesdropping, boy? Sweeping, perhaps. Or, better yet, making my coffee. Same as last time: darkest roast with as many espresso shots as you can give me, black, no sugar.”

There wasn’t really anything else for it. Alistair knocked the bristles of the broom against his boots for a second, debating saying something else, but Loghain wasn’t paying him any mind anymore. He’d make Loghain’s coffee. And if Duncan wasn’t looking, maybe he’d spit in it too. Wouldn’t that be nice?

As he stalked away, Alistair heard Delilah stammer a response he couldn’t understand over his heartbeat in his ears, but he did catch Loghain’s reply.

The dark-haired man grunted. “I hope so. If it’s anything like your brother’s papers, I highly doubt it shall be anywhere near “ready to go” without more serious work. But given your source material, I’m willing to be open to the possibility of being surprised. We shall see.”

“Ser,” Alistair barked, drawing Loghain’s raptor gaze from Delilah. “Six silvers and fourty-eight bits. For your subpar coffee.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up and Loghain reached into his pocket to pull out the coins. He crossed to the register. “So, you’re always mouthy, I see—” his eyes flicked to the nametag and then back to his face, “—Alistair. You really shouldn’t speak to your clientele that way. It discourages them from returning.”

Alistair’s face hardened. He didn’t know what it was but something about this man made his whole body shake with anger. He hadn’t felt this much hatred since he was dumped at the doorstep of a Chantry boarding school by a family that didn’t want him. He was aware his voice would shake if he wasn’t careful, and Alistair wanted to be sure nothing was open to Loghain’s interpretation. Whether Duncan would approve or not, Alistair decided right then and there that this man was unwelcome in his store. “That is the idea. The only clientele I want, are the ones who appreciate my work. If you think it’s so subpar, I suggest you don’t come back. Ser.”

“I might just heed your suggestion. But then…perhaps this swill will grow on me, and I’ll come by more often.”

“Pray it doesn’t. The doors are locked, as far as you’re concerned.”

Loghain gave Alistair something impossibly close to a wry smile and handed over his coins. With one hand, Alistair dumped them into the till without counting and with the other he passed Loghain his disgusting coffee.

“Good lad,” Loghain said softly. His eyes bored into Alistair’s, but Alistair refused to look away. He didn’t even dare blink. He believed with all his soul that blinking would mean weakness. “You remind me of someone I used to know. From a long time ago.” He smirked and raised the cup to his lips. Alistair watched the steam curl from the small opening in his peripherals. He knew good and well that was fresh coffee from the pot and he had dumped it into Loghain’s cup scalding, but the man drank it anyway. A long drag of it. “Wonder why that could be,” he murmured.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

With a little shrug, Loghain turned away and Alistair all but sagged onto the counter.

“Good day, Delilah, and good luck,” Loghain said to her as he passed her table and headed out the door.

 Merry Christmas, Axel!!    ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ヽ(´ ▽ ` )ﾉ  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

I’ll have part 2 ASAP!!!

[pondernce]

Behind Closed Doors: Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry this is delayed! I am currently still stranded in Las Vegas... which is not as fun as it sounds. Anyway, I’ll be back on schedule next week!! Happy reading:) 

When she was a little girl, roving the misleading bleak landscape of the Syrian desert, Claire Beauchamp had dreamed of travelling the world forever. At seven she knew scraps of a dozen languages, spoke fluent French alongside her posh English, and delighted in exploring. She thought, at the time, that surely she would follow in the footsteps of her beloved uncles and be an archaeologist.

 But fate had other plans. Fate led a slightly older Claire to local apothecaries in Egypt, Sudan, and Ethiopia, who taught her the magic and science of healing. Fate landed Uncle Lamb’s longtime partner Charles in the hospital, where Claire spent her days an accidental shadow of the doctors there. And when they moved to Paris for the Frenchman’s health, she found solace in sciences. Without a formal education, and years ahead of her peers, Claire was something of an outcast all those years. The time other fifteen year olds spent with their friends, or kissing boys in the gardens, or sneaking out to drink in the streets of Pigalle, she spent at a small herbalists shop, playing doctor and witch and finding that her hands were made to heal, not to excavate.

 She imagined then that someday she would be a doctor. She would bring together medicine and biology with the plants, herbs, and rituals she had grown so fond of in her youth. And so, at 16, Claire returned to England a student of alternative medicine and biology at Cambridge. She’d always been young and bright and brilliant, and strange, so it was no surprise she was not particularly social at Cambridge. The little bookworm who set the curve and kept to herself (and her plants), it wasn’t until she was eighteen that life, and fate, grew more complicated.

 They met in the bookstore, incidentally. Starting her final year of bachelor’s, Claire was picking up her textbooks when Frank Randall entered her life. He was decidedly comfortable, even if he’d never-- now that she thought back on those years--captured her interest completely. He was a graduate student, as she was soon to be, studying history. It hadn’t mattered at the time that he was ten years her senior and ready to complete his phD. She was young, and alone, and her security soon became a man who seemed willing to offer all the guidance and support she’d lacked since leaving Lamb.

 For Frank, she fought with fate. She chose a phD in Alternative Medicine over an MD. Dream-Claire exchanged the white coat for leather-elbowed jumpers, the stethoscope for a microscope.

 Those had been ugly years. Years that ended with her abrupt flight to Lebanon to see her uncles, a visit that stretched over a month, and then a year.

 And a holiday in Cyprus she would never forget.

 ---

 Claire had never truly wanted to be a professor. Her skill had never been in teaching, but in healing. And yet there she was, rushing to her first lecture of her life, 5 minutes late and 5 steps behind her intended schedule. Slightly frantic, she tossed her coat aside carelessly and set down her things, running through the checklist under her breath. “...introduce the course, set up my slides, take attendance…” Speaking on autopilot, it wasn’t until halfway through her introduction that she saw him.

 Russet curls against white sheets, wild with sweat and exertion and salt from the Mediterranean sea. Long, toned limbs with which she found herself entangled, engulfed really. The heat of his body in sharp contrast with the night air, the heat of his mouth even hotter. But nothing compared to the fire he stoked in her…

 “...and what we’ll truly focus on is the important of cul-culture, excuse me,” Claire faltered, lost for a moment in eyes the color of a storming sea. Her face likely gave away every thought in her head. She could feel her cheeks flush slightly, the jumper suddenly much too hot. Christ. He’d have to have found his way here, to her lecture of but a dozen students half a world away from that room. “The importance of culture in treating what we, in the western world, view as disease and injury…” she kept speaking, carrying on with the words she’d practiced in front of Geillis for hours over the weekend, but her mind traversed time and memory.

 His hands in hers, guiding her along the shore at night, boasting about keeping her safe. His hands on her, caressing her skin or spreading her thighs, gentle and demanding by turns. His hands, white knuckled on the khaki canvas handle of a duffle as he left.

 Prior to seeing him, Claire had intended to handout the syllabi and have the class introduce themselves. She wanted to find a way to make ethics personal, and engaging, and perhaps get a handle on her students experiences. You’re a twenty-nine year old professor, not a blushing schoolgirl, she scolded herself, grabbing the stack of print-outs from her back with perhaps a bit too much gusto, pull yourself together, dammit.

 “I’m not going to waste all of our time asking you to read this now. Take a look at it, as I’m sure most of your questions will be answered here.” she smiled at the small class, pointedly glancing over the redhead’s head. “What we’re going to do instead is explore our own sense of ethics and cultural perspective. I want to remind you all that this is entirely voluntary- I’m not going to ask you to disclose anything, particularly proprietary medical information,” she smirked a little, “that would hardly be ethical, would it?”

 She relaxed a little at the smattering of soft chuckles, her steps and tone a little more fluid, easy.

 “So you would tell me your names, your degree, and any experience you have with culture in medicine-- whether that be having been treating by a foreign doctor, having international experience, working in medicine, or even  being from another country,” she paused, stepping back to the front of the room. Claire took a seat on the desk and crossed her legs, long-fingered hands resting over her knees. “Like myself, in fact, although you may be fooled by the accent.”

 She made the mistake of glancing at him then, while he was grinning at her, that strangely roguish half smile that had caught her attention once before. Her eyes locked on his, lost for a moment in stormy blue, and then she blushed. Like a schoolgirl. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, get a hold of yourself!

 With a slight cough, she refocused, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she sat. Why did the room have to be so bloody small? She smiled, nodding to the first student. “Why don’t you start us off, hmm?”

 She listened intently, at least as best she could. Claire was never one to pride herself on her listening skills. It had burdened her in the past, particularly with Frank. The one who wanted her only to listen, to remain as blindly enraptured as she had been at eighteen, her eyes wide and yet covered by the wool of youth. But Claire’s mind always drifted. Presently, she listened to her student’s names and experiences while her thoughts drifted. It was only when he spoke that Claire was able to draw her full attention to the moment.

 “James Fraser,” that Scottish burr slid from his lips and over her skin, a caress. It seeped in and pooled in her belly, the phantom reminder of want and need lost to the years. “I suppose I’ve had more than my share of… cultural experiences with medicine.” He shifted, a slight sign of discomfort, his eyes focused on the old oak of his desk. “I was in the army for the last 5 years, and I’ve been treated by doctors from all over. Did a long stint in recovery in Cyprus…” his voice drifted off and Claire found herself staring back at him, the heat rising in her cheeks again.

 Hot under her jumper, she managed a smile and a nod before moving her focus to the next student.

 Although the class was short that day, as she had no intention of launching right into the full weight of material, Claire felt each minute stretch out. The clock in the back of the room never seemed to move. As she she played the 15 minute video on a particularly dire case of cultural miscommunication in an American hospital (a case she could describe back to front, thankfully), she found herself studying the strong profile of James Fraser in the strange half light of the projector.

 It was incredibly unfortunate, having him before her again. That night had been something she pushed from her mind long ago. A blissful memory that brought questions, confusion, shame even. It wasn’t something Claire talked about.

 She’d never shared so much of herself before, or since. James- Jamie- had opened firmly closed doors in her heart, doors where the wood had swelled to jam them shut. Such a forceful opening had been painful, far worse than ripping the plaster off a wound. In his own way he’d helped her heal.

 But he walked out, closed to the door to her rented room and her heart. Those chambers remained silent and barricaded, unused rooms collecting dust and keeping her safe.

 Claire wasn’t the type to open up to strangers. She’d barely opened up to Frank (That was part of the problem though, wasn’t it? You cold, frigid thing). Nor was she the type to have a one night stand, and yet that night she’d been so drawn to him.

 As the video wrapped up, Claire closed the website and stepped forward out of the shadow. “So I’ll keep today’s class short and sweet, and see you all on Wednesday. Read the case before we meet, and have a good day.” She smiled, turning to erase her name from the board. It wasn’t a move to appear too busy to talk to her students, one in particular at least, or at least she hoped not an obvious one.

 Dusting off her hands and disconnecting her laptop, Claire seriously watched the room empty out. Of course he lingered too, taking far too long to gather up his simple notebook and ballpoint pen. Stacking her things, she watched his Blundstone clad feet step closer to the small podium, and then the slight tap of his left foot, off beat. No rhythm to it, it almost distracted her from hearing his words.

 “This is about the last place I expected to see ye’..” His voice was too low to be overheard, a murmur thick with memory.

 Claire didn’t want to remember.

 She looked up, meeting his eyes finally. Christ, he was tall. Had she really forgotten that. “I could say the same…” Claire smiled without wishing to, that blush still creeping over her fair skin. “I recall you not being terribly fond of London.” It was almost too much to hold his gaze then. Claire stepped back just slightly, enough to run into the podium and jostle the papers she’d stacked upon it. A ream of syllabi fell with an echoing thump, and of course James Fraser had to stoop to get it, just as she did. It brought them face to face, his hand brushing hers.

 “I…” she pulled back before he could speak, folding a bit awkwardly onto her heels, trying to make space between herself and her student. That’s what he was now, after all, her student.

 He stacked the papers, pressed them back into her hands as if he couldn’t sense her discomfort. She waited a moment too long after he rose to stand again.

 “I got accepted here, figured it was better for my plans now, ye ken? I only did one more year after…” he sighed, pushing his hand through his hair. “After. Wasn’t for me, anymore. So I’m studying law and counter terrorism.”

 She nodded, the papers clutched to her chest like a soft of shield. “I see. Well… that would suit you, I think.” As if she knew him at all.

 But she did, didn’t she? They hadn’t shared their full names but their full lives that night, and he had been as vulnerable as she. Jamie had unlocked her heart and Claire had thought she managed to take off the armor he always seemed to wear, even now. He confided in her. And yet here they were, where the proximity felt both thrilling and threatening. A part of her wanted it, craved that feeling of being chased by him, the power that radiated off him. The potential that if that door were closed, he might offer her the touches the heat in his eyes promised. To press her up against the podium, claim her mouth as he had then…

 Get a grip, Beauchamp!

 “James I need to go. There’s another class here shortly…” and she couldn’t be caught flushed, standing too close to her far too attractive student. Claire grabbed for the rest of her things, tossing her coat over her arm before she picked up the pile. “It’s good to see you—“

 He was watching her, and it brought her to a halt. The way he looked at her felt liquid, too hot in her veins. “It is. I hope you’re doing well, Sorcha. I’ll see you Wednesday.” He nodded his head, leaving the room and taking what was left of the oxygen with him. Starved, the flame of need in Claire’s belly died down. She struggled to get her breathing and her blush under control, just in time for the next professor to come through the open door.

 Shocking measured steps carried her out of the maze-like building, her heartbeat outpacing her feet. When Claire made it outside, she leant against the damp stone and gulped in the cool air. James Fraser. His name felt heavy on her tongue, and in her heart, although not entirely unpleasant. And that was just the problem. Despite everything, seeing him again was pleasant. It left her wanting, confused, and reeling.

[twohearts-hs]

‘Mustard Yellow Scarf’ - Painter!Harry Imagine

Words: 720

Pairing: Harry Styles & (Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Warnings: Nothing

Painter!Harry

She stood in their barren living room with the canvas sheet on the ground. It was his idea, he wanted to practice her. Their living room was the same as the tiny flat they shared, barren, white, minimalistic. But, you look at the other side of that room and you’ll see colour on canvas, paint splattered everywhere, and brushes on the ground. You’ll get the idea that a painter lives in this home, but it isn’t her; it was him.

“Harry?” she called lightly, she felt exposed. YN was naked except for a mustard yellow knitted scarf that was around her mid back to her arms. She heard a small mumble of “coming” till she was in view of her boyfriend, and his armful of paints.

He came over to her, looking at what to change with her position, and just stared. She felt uncomfortable with the breeze in every crevasse, but she reminded herself that Harry is an artist, and it was only him in the room. He took his hands and guided them down her cheeks to her chin, pulling her into a kiss. YN still held onto the scarf and tried to cover herself as much as she can. Yes, she is comfortable with her body, but standing there with prying eyes from her boyfriend. She loves him, indeed, they’ve seen each other naked, but you can’t blame her for being out of her comfort zone.

“Ok, you’re gorgeous, and I love you.” she nodded, as he kissed her on the forehead.

His hands went to her shoulders and guided them down, “I can’t believe I agreed with this.” he chuckled. His ringed fingers went slowly down, as he pushed away her arms, to expose a little more skin. Then he pulled away the scarf a little more to expose her breasts. Her nipples hardened from the exposure of the air hitting them, and he just guided his hands more down her breasts to her stomach, and around her hips, holding her.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said, she placed her hand on his cheek and smiled.

“Anything for you, hun.” he smiled, kissing her lips a hundred times; quick pecks. She pushed his long hair back behind his ear, as he pulled away.

“Ok, love just go back to the position I placed you in, and stay as still as possible,” he said, she nodded, staring off the side as her fully naked body was on display.

Her mind wandered off to their life. Her job at the tea shop, while his job is an artist. Their rent just barely paid each month, but they had each other. They met when she was working at a bookstore and he came in, asking for all this painting related things that she now forgets. They just hit it off, and four years later she is getting painted by him...naked.

It wasn't her first time being painted by him. Harry has drawn and painted her several times. In university, she was usually the base of many of his works, but never like this. Usually, his drawings consist of her face, her eyes or lips, her hands and feet. Or just her...fully clothed. This is new.

She has caught him drawing her after making love, her naked body exposed, but she was in the comforts of her bed. YN has opened his notebook of her breasts, but she never minded, he never opens that book for anyone, and besides, all boobs look the same.

“Are you alright, bub?” her trance was cut off, “Don’t turn your head,” he added, quickly.

“Yeah,” she said, still standing, “How’s it coming along? I’m getting cold.” he chuckled.

“Gorgeous as always, love, but don’t rush me or else I won’t do it to my standard.” she smiled.

YN learnt that he just had to do the basic before she can leave, the posture and all. She wasn’t going to stand there for five hours, it’ll be torturous for her.

“After this, I promise you we’ll go out or something. Do something you want to do, hmm,” he said, she turned her head a little to eye him, and she saw him in one of the most beautiful states she has ever seen. He was biting his lip, while his hand did little flicks here and there with the brush.

“Take a picture, love, it’ll last longer.” she blushed, laughing a bit.

“You’re just beautiful,” she commented, he looked over, raising his eyebrows.

“You’re the only one beautiful here, now look that way again.” she rolled her eyes, doing as she was told.  

[3rdgymbros]

no hell had ever burned so sweet

A/N: This was inspired by @hanihana's wonderful comic on tumblr, and I hope I've done her art justice! If you haven't already seen the villain! katsudeku AU, you totally should. That being said, this is my first time writing katsudeku (let alone in an AU setting), and I hope I haven't made them too OOC! Please scream at me in the tags or in the inbox!! (There’s slight NSFW, so it’s been put under a read-more~)

Kendou finds him in the morning, poring thoughtfully over his collection of notebooks. He’s spread them out on his desk; there are only a few blank pages left in his latest one, and he’s managed to add an entry or two about some upcoming heroes who have managed to catch his eye. Soon, the book itself will need to be changed, and maybe he’ll write more in it, when all he sees is his own writing.

“I’ve got news, boss.” She says by way of greeting, waving a sheath of newspapers about in the air.

Izuku lets out a noncommittal hum, studying the auburn haired girl as she strides into the room. Exhaustion from pulling an all-nighter drags at him like wet winter clothes after a swim. The king-sized bed had felt empty, wrong, without Kacchan in it beside him, and he hadn’t felt like crawling into a bed that was far too big for him and attempting the farce of sleeping.

Not that they’ve been doing much sleeping as of late.

Even in the bedroom, Kacchan had an improper tongue. Hearing those sweet, filthy words pouring out of his mouth was always a turn-on, and he’d come right on the spot, with only Kacchan’s hot mouth wrapped around his dick. Surprisingly receptive, Kacchan had mercilessly exploited his weakness; taunting him with all the things he planned to do to Izuku once they were alone, unravelling Izuku with both his words and body whenever they kissed and touched and fucked – though not always in bed.

“Boss.”

How persistent. But Kendou’s voice is enough to clear the lust fogging up his mind.

The mantle of responsibility falls hard back onto his shoulders. Izuku takes Kendo in with tired, lidded eyes, his expression giving nothing away. He might be running on fumes, but his mind is as alert as ever, going full speed with his observations.

She’s wearing makeup and perfume. Subtle, smells like vanilla and marigolds. The jacket’s new, she bought it last week. Her boots are a little too tight; they’re pinching her toes on the left foot. The dress is low-cut and flashy; she’s planning to go out for some fun. Her mouth is turned down at the corners, her eyebrows are drawn together.

“Bad news, hm~?”

There’s a statement behind the honey-laced question, and Kendou knows it. Tension pinches her freckled cheeks and rapidly drives the colour from her complexion. Izuku studies her all the while, a specimen under the microscope.

He waits.

Her expression closes and darkens. “It’s Bakugou. He’s . . .”

The very name chases wishes of sleep from his head and battles the exhaustion back to the periphery of his mind.

“What about Kacchan?”

Rage eats at his calm. His anger burns brightly. He knows that Kacchan’s more than capable of looking after himself, but his childhood friend has been the only constant in his life, and Izuku knows, without a shadow of a doubt that he’d kill anyone who dared to lay a finger on his Kacchan.

“It’s Bakugou,” Kendou says again, almost ruthlessly calm and unperturbed by the dark anger colouring his voice. She’s one of the few people who aren’t put off by his volatile mood swings, and talks to him freely, without fear of any repercussions. She can lift twice Izuku’s body weight and works harder than anyone to make sure the underlings aren’t causing any unnecessary trouble and drawing too much attention. Izuku’s grateful to have her around. “The pro-heroes caught him. He’s under heavy guard now, but our intel says he’ll be transferred to a maximum-security prison in approximately three hours.”

“Ah.” As if a switch has been thrown, Izuku relaxes and grins at Kendou. “Well, that’s fine then. You should have said something sooner, Kendou-chan!” He arranges his notebooks in a neat pile upon his desk, changing the subject with ease. “Do you want to grab some breakfast? I need some caffeine in my system.”

“I don’t mind, but – Wait. Boss. We have more important things to worry about – How is everything fine?”

His smile grows. “All we have to do is get Kacchan out before they transfer him, right? Problem solved.” Izuku hums thoughtfully. “On second thought, maybe we should postpone breakfast, hmm? I should probably get going.”

“Alone?”

“Well, seeing as how you’re busy going on dates with that boyfriend of yours –”

She flushes a bright shade of red that clashes horribly with her auburn hair. “It is not a date, I’m just –”

It’s always so easy to push her buttons. Izuku takes in her embarrassment with cold and detached amusement before waving a dismissive hand in her direction. “That’s fine. Have fun on your nondate with your nonboyfriend Monoma. No objections here.” His voice sharpens. “I’ll go and get Kacchan alone.”

His hands are sticky, stained red with blood. He wishes he’d worn his gloves today.

They’ve put Bakugou in a lightless place, stagnant and airless. Filth and despair seems to clog his every pore. He’s grown used to spending a life in the darkness, but it doesn’t suit his Kacchan, a force larger than life, a typhoon that hates to be contained.

The corridor is about thirty yards long, with cells on both sides. Some are padded cells with an observation window, long and narrow like an archery slit; in the centre of the door. Others are standard prison cells, with a wall of bars opening on the corridor. Izuku is aware of figures moving in the cells, but he spares them nothing, not even a glance.

He could care less if they rot to death in here.

His objective is one person only.

Bakugou’s cell is well beyond the others, facing only a closet across the corridor. It’s the only one fortified with heavy double doors of iron and steel. They’ve spared no expense in keeping him locked up, it seems. Izuku presses the button beside the doors, waiting for them to hiss apart and announce his arrival.

The cell is spotlessly white and brightly lit. Izuku walks in, his footfalls the only sound in the otherwise silent room, and takes it all in with a contemplative hum. Heavy canvas webbing keeps Bakugou bound tightly to a thick slab of concrete bolted to the floor. Barbed wire rings his neck, his chest, his arms. Beneath the webbing he wears a straitjacket and leg restraints.

Up close, Bakugou looks fine. His hair still sticks up in messy, unkempt spikes; his face is pale, the stark absence of colour emphasizing his brilliantly red irises. His lips are chapped and his nose is pink. He raises his head and grins as Izuku approaches. His eyes run up and down Izuku lazily, like the stroking paws of a cat.

Izuku’s answering smile is as sharp as the edge of a blade.

Bakugou’s straightforward desire is enjoyable. No seduction, no pretence. His want is simple, and he does nothing to hide it or dress it under honeyed words.

“What took you so fucking long, Deku?”

Even chained up and bound with all manners of tracking devices, Bakugou is still as cocky as ever. A mocking edge to his question, made all the more pronounced by the rasp in his voice makes Izuku’s stomach flutter. It brings sex to mind. Extraordinary sex.

The thought of his Kacchan tied and bound up with a length of rope, spread out prettily on their bed, writhing and moaning Izuku’s name over and over again, coming undone while Izuku pounds into him makes for a pretty picture, and sends a white-hot desire trammelling through Izuku’s veins.

His lips are dry, so Izuku licks them before answering, “Sorry, Kacchan. It took me a while to bypass their security system.”

“Heh?” Bakugou asks, teasing and mischievous, “The heroes gave you a hard time to save me, huh?”

Izuku’s eyes darken with desire. Bakugou licks his own lips, mirroring his gesture from several minutes before, as though he knows what Izuku’s thinking. Kacchan’s there. Right there. All perfect and gorgeous and smelling of soap and sweat. If they weren’t hard-pressed for time, Izuku would be fucking Bakugou senseless here and now, hearing him scream and beg as his nails rake their way down Izuku’s back –

“No, no, don’t worry about that.” Izuku smiles angelically, in a way that completely dismisses the other’s concerns. “Getting through their defenses was actually fun.”

Izuku bubbles out a laugh that’s tinged with mania. He’s lost count of the number of heroes he’s killed, the wake of bodies he’s left in his rampage; the only evidence he has is staining his hands, dripping and splattering onto the linoleum tiles in a soft crimson rain. “But Kacchan, saving people is what heroes do. And I’m not a hero. Neither are you. We abandoned that title a long time ago, remember?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right.” Bakugou hums in approval, the sound as warm as bathwater.

It manages to bring a genuine smile to Izuku’s face. Few things these days have the ability to make Izuku happy – and even now, Kacchan can still make him smile. It’s something that hasn’t changed from when they were kids, bright-eyed and young and naïve, playing at being heroes with sticks and capes made of blankets.

Izuku isn’t connected to these dreams on a personal level. Not anymore.

“I’m not here to save you.” Izuku purrs, leaning forwards to nuzzle his nose along the sensitive spot behind Bakugou’s neck, so that his words vibrate into skin and bones. He can’t make Kacchan scream his name yet; but hearing his sudden, sharp intake of breath is enough to satiate him. For now. “I’m here to pick you up.”

It elicits a growl from Bakugou. “Quit teasing and just fucking kiss me already, Deku.”

Izuku bites back his amusement, running his fingers through the sweat-damp roots of ash blond hair. “Why, since you asked so politely, Kacchan!”

Izuku knows he’ll pay for it later, that he’ll be reduced to a quivering, panting mess on the bed, begging to feel Kacchan’s dick inside of him. But when Bakugou’s pupils darken, Izuku takes a single sip of his arousal and finds it exquisite. That’s enough teasing for today.

Chuckling lightly, Izuku leans forwards, mindful not to snag himself on the barbed wire. With another growl, Bakugou surges forward and kisses Izuku hard, bruising his lips. Izuku’s hands twine themselves in ash blond hair, fisting it roughly, holding him in place so he can’t turn away. He bites the tongue that Bakugou thrusts aggressively into his mouth, then his lower lip, tasting blood. Izuku sighs. A slow, hot trickle of arousal gathers deep in his bones.

“Let’s go home, Kacchan,” Izuku breathes against Bakugou’s mouth.

“Yeah, but before that –” The cutting rasp to Bakugou’s voice becomes more pronounced, and Izuku feels his stomach clench in anticipation.

“Hm?” Izuku hums lightly, feeling a dark grin spread across Bakugou’s lips.

“Release me and let me burn this place to the fucking ground.”

It’s incredibly easy to get Bakugou riled up, and each and every time, Izuku relishes the sight of it. A feral smile is stretched taut across his face. The sparks in his eyes fly into his darkness like fireflies down a cave.

God, how Izuku wants him. The craving hasn’t gone away, not even for a minute.

“Oh, Kacchan,” Izuku coos, his fingers already making quick work of the wires and straps, “Stop being so charming, will you?”

[sterekhobo-blog]

Self-Conclusion

Hey everyone! So I’m (clearly) a new Sterek blog though I’m very much not new to the ship or the Teen Wolf fandom. I just finally got the nerve to make a blog and 100% delve into this hell hole that is this fandom and ship 😅 So I hope you enjoy this little thing that I wrote (this is the first fic I’ve ever written so hopefully it’s not TOO bad aha) and if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or just wanna chat, feel free to message or drop an ask! I promise I won’t rip anyones throats out with my teeth…for now 😜 ——————————————————————- Trigger Warning: Depression. Talk of Suicide/Suicide Discussion ———————––——————————————-

“Stiles?” “Hmm?” Stiles eyes refocus on the faces around him. Pack night. Right. “It’s your turn to pick the movie, unless you’d rather have Lydia pick. Again.” Derek said as his eyebrows slowly climbing up his face. Stiles’ mouth forms a small oh as his clouded mind clears up again. “Ah, right! No, I was totally just thinking of what movie to put on. Uh…” Derek notices the uptick in the teens heart at the small lie but finds it best to leave it alone. Stiles’ mind is probably just on the chemistry test he has tomorrow. Still, something seems off. “You know what Lyds, why don’t you pick the movie after all.” Derek’s eyebrows fly up his forehead as Lydia smoothly puts The Notebook (which they’ve all watched 9, now 10 times together) into the DVD player. Malia drops her head on the back of the couch exasperated, Scott and Kira simply snuggle closer together on the love seat. Derek watches Stiles closely as the movie begins. His eyes slowly cloud over and Derek can smell the sadness rolling off of Stiles in waves. A scent that clearly goes unnoticed by Scott who has probably gotten used to the smell on his best friend since the incident with the Nogitsune, but the smell never sat well with Derek. As the movie continues on, the smell only grows stronger. Whether it was due to the movie or Stiles own feelings Derek couldn’t tell, but he did know that it has never been this strong before. Halfway through the movie, Stiles stands abruptly, startling the other members of the pack. Derek raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m uh, gonna call it quits for the night guys. Getting kinda tired and we got that chem test tomorrow so…” Derek stares at Stiles, taking in the bags under his eyes, how much sharper his cheek bones seem to look, and how loose his hoodie now looks on him. The Nogistune has been gone for two months now, but the effects still linger on the teen and Derek’s heart aches for him. For all of them. Sometimes he forgets that they really are just teenagers. He wishes they could have a normal high school experience. They deserve it… “Are you sure Stiles? I mean, it’s only 9.” Scott says with a quizzical look. “Yeah buddy, I’m sure. Haven’t really studied much the last couple days anyway so.” Stiles says as he slips on his shoes,grabbing his keys and wallet from the table on the way out. “Alright well. Let me know when you get home okay?” “Yeah, yeah for sure.” Stiles says has his hand hovers over the doorknob. Derek stares at Stiles back quizzically. “Goodbye guys.” And with that Stiles yanks the door open and disappears. The rest of the pack return their attention to the movie but Derek can’t help feeling like something terrible is about to happen. Something about Stiles’ goodbye felt too final. Derek raises from the couch with the excuse of needing to buy more snacks, and takes off after Stiles. He follows the Jeeps tracks not to Stiles’ house, but instead to the far edge of the preserve where you can look over the whole town. As Derek approaches from out of the trees, he sees Stiles’ standing at the edge of the cliff, looking up at the moon. Derek can smell the salt of the tears far before he sees them. “Stiles…what are you doing?” He says hesitantly, as if he were talking to a spooked animal. “You would be the one to find me, huh sourwolf…” Stiles says with a humorless chuckle while wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Stiles, why don’t you take a step back. You’re pretty close to the edge and we all know how clumsy you can be…” Derek says, attempting to be light hearted. He can smell a spike of frustration in Stiles’ emotions. “Damn it. Damn it. DAMN IT DEREK.” Stiles sobs, covering his face with his forearm, body shaking. “D-damn it…” “Stiles?” “I had plans to die tonight Derek. I can’t take the festering guilt, the looks of pity. Not only did I hurt all of the people closest to me… I killed one of them Derek… I KILLED her! Allison! Allison is dead because of me!” Stiles teeters on the age and nearly falls off before Derek can grab his hood and pull him back. They fall onto the forest floor, Stiles’ back landing on Derek’s chest. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault, and I can’t. I can’t take it anymore…” “Stiles I-” “No!” Stiles shouts, heaving himself off of Derek. “Don’t you tell me this isn’t right, or that it’s not my fault! It was my body, my hands. I felt everything and I could do nothing to stop it!” “Stiles, do you even know who you’re talking to?! You think I don’t know what you’re going through?! Because I do! I know exactly what you’re going through! I know that you lay awake at night replaying every scenario in your mind. Thinking why you. Why them? Why her? Thinking about what you could have done differently. Thinking of how you could have stopped it. Thinking back to try and see if you missed a sign or two. If you missed a warning. Trying to think of how you could have prevented it all. But you want to know the truth? The truth is that it happened and there’s no changing it! The truth is that it was beyond your control and there was nothing you could have done to prevent it or stop it! The truth is that the world is fucked up, and that it was NOT your fault! And you know who taught me that!? You. YOU taught me that Stiles.” Derek is panting as he stares at the man in front of him. The man who always put everyone’s needs and well being above his own. The man who always figured it out. The man who, despite being the most fragile of them all, was the strongest. “You taught me that. After everything I’ve done and went through in my life, you showed me that. And you showed me that it’s okay to let myself be happy. I know how you’re feeling. And I know your legs are pleading to leap off that edge. But… as your friend, let me offer you a choice. Instead of dying, live with me. Stay alive with me, and I’ll stay alive with you.” Stiles’ eyes were wide, tears still flowing down his face as he stared at Derek. “Stay alive …with you?” “Yes,” Derek said stepping into Stiles’ space, “with me.” And with that, Derek wrapped his arms around him, allowing Stiles to crumble into his embrace and stain his shirt with silent tears. “…okay sourwolf,” Stiles said, “with you.” ••• ~We all flirt with the tiniest notion of self conclusion in one simplified motion. You see the trick is that you’re never supposed to act on it, no matter how unbearable this misery gets.~ ——————————————————————- And there it is! I’d love to know your thoughts on it if you made it this far. This fic was based off of a song called Self-Conclusion by The Spill Canvas and it’s a beautiful song that is 100% worth the listen haha. So thanks for reading! Always feel free to come chat, give a prompt, and give feedback. It’s always appreciated ☺️

(Side note: I apologize if the formatting and what not is off! My computer recently crashed and I haven’t gotten it fixed yet so this is all being done on an iPad and iPhone 😅)

[bottledcake]

(Untitled yet)

The Disguiser stuffs Why I make things long Can I finish it Lol

PART I

CHPT 1

Ah Cheng solemnly opened the gate. A notice was plastered over the door to his room, his rent was over three months due. He sighed, putting in his key.

Ah Cheng threw himself on the bed. He should be ready to be out from this place. Almost every day the landlord came to him reminding to pay his rent. 

He picked up his backpack and few boxes he could carry. His possession not really that many after all. Maybe he could crash to his friend’s place for few days until he could manage to get a new place.

He wondered if he could get an overlap scholarship. After all his multiple side jobs couldn’t cover much at all. The debt collector kept coming every week to him, taking anything left in his pocket.

‘Fill your information here, and do you bring your ID card copy?’

‘Yes,’ Ah Cheng nodded, taking out his copy of student card. ‘You sure already know about this scholarship, right? You have to join some projects and seminars. I hope you can spare your time for it.’ The lady smiled, waiting for Ah Cheng finished filling the paper.

Ah Cheng scribbled his name. His brain started to calculate how many free time left for him to take more side jobs. But this one was a good deal. If he could have more excuse to spend a night in college, he didn’t bother at all. At least until he could find a new place, any cheap place.

‘We will review your academic report and within a week the result will be sent via email. But I’m sure you will go through easily.’  She made a reassured smile, receiving the papers from Ah Cheng.

‘Thanks,’ he smiled briefly.

Ah Cheng put his boxes in his booth. There wasn’t any reviewing schedule today, so the studio was nearly empty. Only few seniors were staying in their booth doing their own business. He counted how many days he could sleep in the studio until the employee who’s in charge with the keys would shoo him away. Maybe he could sleep near library or student center. Too bad he didn’t join any club activity – if so he could sleep in the club room.

He rubbed his nose bridge in frustration. Quitting college was one in his options.

‘Ah Cheng ge,’ A face popped from behind his canvas, giving a wide grin. Ming Tai, the second year student, known with his easy going attitude and popular in clubs – also blessed with good fortune. With his charming personality, he was close with almost everyone, including Ah Cheng.

‘Hey,’ Ah Cheng straightened up.

‘What’s that?’ Ming Tai pointed the boxes in Ah Cheng’s booth.

Ah Cheng looked down at the boxes, answered merely. ‘Supplies...’

‘Have you eaten, Ah Cheng ge?’ Ming Tai leaned on the canvas, making Ah Cheng squinting at him. ‘No.’ He gave a warning look to Ming Tai, made the younger guy took a step backward and vanished behind the canvas.

‘Let’s eat then. Senior Wang didn’t want to eat with me. I’m sad.’ Ming Tai stepped into Ah Cheng’s booth, took Ah Cheng’s hand and tugged.

Ah Cheng scowled but then made no objection. He didn’t have his breakfast this morning after all. ‘Ok.’

‘Ah Cheng ge is the best,’ grinned Ming Tai, vibrating with excitement. It was easy to please this brat, Ah Cheng’s lip curled.

  ‘Ah Cheng ge is so thin. Ah Cheng ge should eat more.’ Ming Tai put his pork cutlets into Ah Cheng’s bowl.

‘What are you, my mother?’ said Ah Cheng indulgently, half-laughing. ‘What do you want?’ Ah Cheng looked up to the younger guy who was shoving a big heap of rice into his mouth. ‘I’m sure Wang Manchun refused to accompany you to lunch because you have something in mind.’

Ming Tai’s mouth turned into a pout. He looked up from his meal and gulped his ice tea. ‘You see, Ah Cheng ge, I’m failing in Art History.’ He put down his chopsticks. ‘and other theory related subjects.’

Ah Cheng cocked his head. ‘So?’

‘Could you help me please? Lend me your old notes? Tutor me? You’re one of the straight A students,’ Ming Tai clasped his hands. ‘At least make my E to C. I don’t want another butt slap from my Da Jie.’

Ah Cheng snorted then wiped his mouth with tissue. ‘Well sure, I don’t mind. I have all my notes today. You’re lucky.’

Ming Tai squealed in delight – making an ugly fake cry.

 Ah Cheng collected his notes from one of boxes. Ming Tai peered from his senior’s shoulders but said nothing.

‘Here.’ Ah Cheng dropped some note books to Ming Tai’s hand. ‘You can read these for your references.’ Some more books weighed in. ‘I recommend you to get more references from library. I can write the titles for you. A sec.’ Ah Cheng hunched to his backpack, taking out his mini notebook.

‘I wonder how you can manage.’ Ming Tai dragged a chair with his foot and sat beside Ah Cheng.

Ah Cheng looked up briefly to Ming Tai then back to his notebook. Most of his friends knew he took many part time jobs – though Ah Cheng so far could hide his family matters in dark.

‘Get these books and copy the chapters I wrote here.’ He tore the note paper, placed it on top the books in Ming Tai’s hands. ‘I’m sure you’ll get better in your grades if you take notes properly in class.’

The young man made his signature pout. ‘You sounds like my brother,’ muttered Ming Tai.

‘Well, I'm not in the mood for sugar coating things at all,’ Ah Cheng retorted, ‘Just remember to bring them back to me when you’re done.’

Ah Cheng turned to his boxes, arranged the contents back in. Ming Tai stared at his senior then grinned, his eyes glittering. ‘Ah Cheng ge?’

‘Hmm?’ Ah Cheng replied. He didn’t turn around, still busy with his goods.

‘I’m bad at reading stuffs. I’ll sleep in no time with these.�� Ming Tai lowered his gaze to the books in his hands. ‘Maybe… you can read them for me, pointing out the important stuffs.’

Ah Cheng shot Ming Tai an impatient glance then sighed. ‘I don’t have time for that. You can do group study with your friends. It’s more effective.’

‘I’ll pay you,’ Ming Tai blurted out but immediately regretted it noticing Ah Cheng’s face went darker. ‘If you’re interested….’ He added carefully.

Ah Cheng was almost too tired to reply. He still had things to do, finding new place to live at least with his remaining money in hand. Money, yes, he needed money. Ah Cheng met Ming Tai’s eyes, which quickly looked away in embarrassment. This spoiled little brat though he did things as he please, Ah Cheng thought getting this offer wasn’t that bad at all.

‘I have time after my evening shift.’ Ah Cheng closed his box. ‘I can tutor you until around 9 PM because I have to get back here immediately.’

Ming Tai’s eyes flickered. ‘Sure, I’ll get you. Where you work today?’

This brat was really serious. Ah Cheng eyed Ming Tai who was sitting at the mini market dining area, slurping his instant noodles. He thought everything was all talk and Ming Tai would go having drink party with his friends like he used to do almost every day.

His shift was almost done. Ah Cheng tucked in some food he already paid to his backpack. He would ask the studio employee to let him spend the night there though he would still lock the door and open it again on 6 AM next day. Ah Cheng was fine with it, he had done it once before and some seniors who was stuck with final thesis did it too several times.

‘Ah Cheng, sorry, I’m not late, right?’ The girl who worked for the next shift walked in, catching her breath. Her cheeks flushed in red.

Ah Cheng eyed his watch. ‘Nah, you come right in time. Good night, Jinyun,‘ Ah Cheng walked out from cashier booth.

‘Good night,’ she nodded.

Ah Cheng approached Ming Tai who already finished his noodle. ‘Oh you’re done,’ Ming Tai fling the empty cup into the trash bin. ‘You have bike, right?’ Ah Cheng nodded curtly. ‘Then it’s good,’ Ming Tai continued.

Ah Cheng followed Ming Tai’s bike into resident area which made Ah Cheng sure his entire life time bank account would never afford any houses, even bought a square meter of land there. Ming Tai stopped at one massive gate. Ah Cheng blinked and frowned. He knew from the gossips that Ming Tai was rich – at least his family was - but he didn’t expect a massive garden and a mansion within.

‘It seems Da Jie is still in her business trip…’ Ming Tai muttered while leaning his bike in the garage. ‘I’m saved,’ He grinned to Ah Cheng who was locking his bike. ‘What are you doing? No one will steal your bike here.’

Ming Tai poked Ah Cheng’s arm. ‘Come on.’

Ah Cheng awkwardly sat on one of the sofas in living room while Ming Tai was gone to wherever Ah Cheng didn’t really care to know. He glanced at the shelves with family photos, showing three persons at most. Ah Cheng noticed Ming Tai, and the woman who seemed older could be his Da Jie or maybe his mother. There was a man he didn’t recognized too, maybe it was his brother whom Ming Tai sometimes brought up in conversation.

‘But young master, Da Jie will scold you if you bring your dinner to your room.’

Ah Cheng heard a soft voice from the back.

‘Da Jie isn’t here. Also I’m going to study with my friend, I’m sure Da Jie will let this one time go,‘ Ming Tai sulked.

‘But…’

‘Aahh. Ok, I’ll have dinner downstairs.’

Ming Tai peeked from one of door. ‘Ah Cheng ge, let’s have dinner first.’

Ah Cheng peered at his watch. ‘You sure?’

‘Ah Xiang always makes superb dinner; you shouldn’t miss it.’

Ah Cheng opened his mouth to refuse, and then reconsidered. He could talk how often Ming Tai would ask to tutor him and the payment over dinner. ‘Very well.’

It’s been long since Ah Cheng had a proper dinner. He remembered the last time he had a nice dinner was when he celebrated his birthday at orphanage. The offer to tutor Ming Tai wasn’t that bad at all. Ah Cheng really appreciated it. The younger man said it was ok to come twice a week until Ming Tai’s finals week, he would get dinner, and payment would be transferred to his bank account after every session. Ah Cheng felt relieved, after few sessions he would collect enough money to make deposit to rent a new place. 

It was almost 9 PM when they finished dinner.

‘Thank you for the dinner, Ming Tai. I have to go or I will get locked out.’

Ming Tai crossed his hands. ‘But I haven’t learned anything today.’

‘We can start tomorrow,’ said Ah Cheng.

‘Then how about stay a night here?’

-----