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sirowsky-stories · 8 months

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Part 4

Description: Niki finally wakes up, but while that's a relief, Pero still has more than enough to worry about.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x OFC, no reader insert, Pero's pov, conspiracy, cursing, angst, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity, AU fic. Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ONLY Word Count: 5700 Series Masterlist

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Time passes slowly in exile. The following day is tedious and frustrating, filled with strained conversations and constant small arguments between Pero and Gillian. He’s grateful that she’s there, or he’d be locked to Niki’s side, terrified to leave her even for a moment, jumping at every sound, scanning the unfamiliar information from the medical equipment every five seconds. All of which would surely have driven him insane.

But his gratitude is tainted with guilt. That she’s there. That he needs her there, where danger is always present and will be for the foreseeable future. She has so many questions she wants to ask, answers she wants to demand based on what she’s overheard from his conversations on the phone. But she’s also scared to ask them, because she knows in her heart that the answers will frighten her. So, she simmers instead, which leads to discord.

However, the tension eases considerably when Niki finally wakes up for real, on the second morning after her first little stir. And she’s much stronger this time. By then it’s Friday and the nurse has started trying to avoid him whenever she can, which is why it’s Pero who’s at his friend’s side when her eyes suddenly just open. There’s no preamble, nothing to indicate that it’s about to happen. It just does.

“Niki?” he asks while he jumps to his feet, and she turns her head to look at him.

She’s wide awake. Her eyes are clear and sharp, already searching for answers. As if all this time asleep hasn’t just helped her heal but refilled her energy reserves as well.

“Where are we?” she asks through a parched throat.

“Here, take a sip of water first,” he offers, not knowing if perhaps he shouldn’t, but he decides that a little water can’t be that bad.

He raises the head-section of the bed so that she won’t choke on it, and she gratefully takes first one, then another sip. Her throat is so dry that she struggles to swallow, but it does seem to ease some of her discomfort.

“We’re at my safehouse,” he explains while he puts the glass down. “It’s in the middle of nowhere, the nearest populated area is a three-hour drive from here.”

She thinks on that for a minute, and he can see her mind working. He knows that she’s trying to go through what she can recall, piece it together and make sense of everything. He can’t actually see her do that, but he knows that she is because that’s what anyone would do. And it’s certainly what someone as sharp as her would do.

“They ran right into me… there wasn’t time to do anything…”

“I know,” he soothes, seeing her get riled up by the images inside her eyes. “Niki… I know who’s after you and why.”

Oddly enough, she doesn’t seem surprised to hear that. Which unsettles him.

“It’s about Amazon, isn’t it?” she correctly deduces, and he nods, but then her brain connects the dots. “How can you know about that?”

Strangely relieved that she’s questioning him and conceding that it’s a valid question which deserves a truthful answer, he still ducks out of it. He doesn’t want to tell her about his past. Not yet. She needs to focus her energy on healing. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. And if you really want to know, I’ll tell you everything… but not now. What you need to know right now is that you’re safe,” he replies, hoping that she’ll accept that for the time being, and disappointed in himself for not being able to tell her that she has nothing to worry about.

He knows her well enough to know that she will demand those answers later, but for now, she seems preoccupied with something else. Something clawing at her mind and filling her with fear.

“No…” she says, shaking her head slowly. “I’ll never be safe anymore.”

“Hey, don’t say that. I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.”

He can see that she wants to believe him, but also that she doesn’t. She knows what she was a part of, how dangerous everything around that project was, how closely guarded it still is. She’s too smart not to know that her chances are grim.

“I’m so sorry that I ran you out of my house,” he whispers, changing the subject, relieved to finally be able to tell her that.

Her features soften then, the fear loosening its grip on her soul and allowing her to breathe a little easier.

“I knew you wouldn’t take it well. I was arguing with myself in the car on my way to see you, trying to decide if I should even tell you, or just… buy a pill and get it over with.”

He still doesn’t know how he feels about it, but he is certain that he wants the baby to be alive. For her sake, if nothing else. Whether she had wanted a child before all this, losing it under these circumstances would simply be too cruel. He doesn’t say that, though.

“You were right to tell me. You’re an honest person, that’s why I trust you,” he offers instead, and her expression warms.

Still, there’s something unreadable underneath the surface of her features. Something that isn’t a question or a concern, and yet it seems to grip her and hold her hostage.

“But you don’t love me.”

She says it like it’s already an established truth. As though they’ve talked about it before and agreed on it. But they haven’t. And to his own surprise, he isn’t sure that he agrees at all. It’s a snakelike sensation, slithering through him with powerful strokes, but also slipping from his hands as he tries to catch it and examine it further. And he feels like if he gets too close to it, it’ll wrap around his heart and squeeze it until it stops beating.

“I stole you from the hospital and all but kidnapped a nurse before driving you six hours away from the world to my most precious and closely guarded secret. If I don’t love you… then what was the point?”

The question is aimed as much at himself as it is at her, and although he can’t answer it yet, what he knows with absolute certainty, is that Nikita Morse means more to him than anyone ever has. She smiles just a little at him then, but she’s getting tired, and he wants to get Gillian in there while she’s still awake. So, he steps away from the bed and sticks his head out into the hall where she’ll hear him even if he doesn’t scream.

She comes down from the library right away, and she looks happy for the first time since he’d assaulted the Mark Wahlberg wannabe back at the ICU.

“Hi, Nikita. My name is Gillian, I’m your nurse,” she greets, to which Niki side-eyes Pero.

“The one you kidnapped?” she asks, and he just shrugs.

“It wasn’t quite like that,” the nurse counters. “I volunteered to help get you out of the hospital, but then things got… dangerous. And it became impossible for me to walk away.”

“They came after me at the hospital?”

“It looks that way, yeah. If your friend here hadn’t been there… we don’t know what might’ve happened.”

Niki’s eyes turn back to Pero, who is suddenly unable to meet her gaze. He’s not entirely sure why. Maybe because he doesn’t want any gratitude from her, when she probably wouldn’t have been in this situation if he’d just allowed her to stay that night. Or maybe because he’s scared that she won’t be grateful at all. Which really is a ridiculous thought, but it seems like fear is suddenly coating every feeling and thought he has.

Why? There seems to be no reason or logic to it. He’s never had to fight his own mind like this before, at least not that he can recall, and it’s starting to freak him out.

“But now, tell me how you’re feeling?” Gillian continues, bringing Niki’s attention back to her, at which point, he looks up again, eager to hear her answer in the hope that everything is healing as it should.

“Um, very sore along my left side. That’s where the car hit me, so that’s where the biggest damage is, right?”

“Yeah. But the side-airbags are what saved you. You were pushed into the center console rather than crushed by the driver-side door.”

“Thank goodness for modern inventions…”

“You were still lucky, though. Your lung, heart, spleen and stomach were damaged, so you were on the operating table for over five hours. The surgeon was able to repair everything, and it doesn’t seem like our less than ideal transfer of you has caused any post-op complications, which is nothing less than a miracle. How’s your pain?”

“Not terrible, unless I try to move.”

“Okay, and what about your head? Any pain, aching or throbbing?”

“Just a dull ache, mostly on the left side. Like right after you bump your head against something.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Gillian nods. “Well, as far as I can tell, you’re doing alright, but I’d like to get some food into you and see that you get to keep it, before I’m willing to say that definitively. How do you feel about mashed potatoes?”

“Sounds heavenly,” Niki replies, and she really does look pleased at the prospect.

“Great. We’re gonna have to take it slow and stick to easily digestible things at first, because of the damage to your stomach. So, I’ll go and prepare that for you while Pero gives you some more water.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

She nods and heads off to the kitchen, and Tovar takes a seat beside Niki again, once more lifting the glass and bringing it to her lips. But she doesn’t drink right away. She’s thinking hard about something, putting a wrinkle between her brows.

“Why are you fighting for me? Whatever’s happened these past few days, you’re still the same guy I’ve known for five years. You don’t want our relationship to get complicated, you’ve made that very clear,” she wonders, and he remembers the look in her eyes before she’d left his house that night.

He remembers seeing her trust in him break. And while he’s had time to re-evaluate things since then, she hasn’t. She’s still right there, back where they were two and a half days ago when she’d showed up with the unwanted news. No matter what she might want to believe, in truth, she’s probably more likely thinking that the trauma of almost losing her has temporarily made him appreciate her more. A feeling which will probably fade with time, returning him to the uncaring colleague she’s always known.

Pero wishes he could be certain that she’s wrong. But he just doesn’t know. Which is why his answer is stupidly simple and doesn’t explain anything at all.

“That was before I knew that you’re being targeted by our own government, because of something that isn’t your fault.”

“Oh, so you’re a humanitarian now?” she jabs sarcastically.

“Hell, no. I just don’t wanna lose the only person in my life who might give a shit about me,” he counters, and then mentally chides himself when he hears the not so hidden plea for validation within those words.

She studies his face closely for a few beats, before finally taking a few slow sips. He wonders just how ridiculous he must look. The guy who’s always kept her at arm’s length, suddenly begging her to tell him that he matters to her. By rights she should smack him over the head.

“I do give a shit about you. Quite a few shits, actually,” she admits instead of turning to violence, and he can’t help the smile that those words spark in his eyes.

Somehow, despite how confused he is about his own feelings, it tickles him to know that he might be good enough that such an impressive person finds him worthy of her care and interest.

“Thanks,” he says, once again avoiding her eyes and trying to hide the faint blush that creeps up his neck.

It’s a complicated thing, realizing that he’s a lot more dependent upon another person than he’d ever meant or intended to be. So much of what he feels is coated in fear and yet he finds himself unable to ignore any of his emotions. Good or bad. He has spent so many years getting a front-row seat to what people who claim to love each other, do to each other, that he’s long since decided never to put himself at risk of experiencing that kind of betrayal.

Usually, it isn’t even significant things that ends up tearing people apart. Money and lies are most often enough. Or just one wrong word. And it continues to baffle him. Maybe because he’d used to think that something like love would be stronger than such petty arguments. But having witnessed the opposite so many times, he’d eventually been forced to reconcile with a different truth. Which is that people are incapable of real love. That the best one can hope for, is mutually beneficial arrangements.

For the first time in his entire life, that truth is now being tested. And he’s amazed at how good that feels. But it also makes his fears so much stronger, with the notion that he might stand to lose a great deal more than he ever has before. Not just his relationship with Niki, whatever that is, but this new-found hope as well. And given that hope is supposed to be the strongest emotion that humans have, surely losing it must be more painful than anything.

Niki closes her eyes to rest for a minute while she waits for the food, but as soon as she does, he immediately starts to worry that she’s not just resting. He has to remind himself that she’s a lot weaker than this half-hour of conversation makes him want to believe. She seems so strong whenever she meets his gaze. So present and aware. It’s hard to see the frailty within her when she appears unbreakable from the outside.

Still, he puts his right hand in front of her left and gently brushes his fingertips against hers, and when she shifts her digits to brush his in return, he’s reassured that everything is alright. But he takes the liberty of taking her entire hand in his, all the same, and he’s quite surprised at how much it comforts him. Gillian returns with the food some fifteen minutes later, so he steps away to give her more room.

And the moment he isn’t in her presence anymore, his focus immediately shifts onto how to go about protecting her. That’s become his sole function in her life now. He’s thought about it almost nonstop since they got here, but he’s still looking for better options, hoping to think of something less suicidal than what he’s managed to come up with thus far.

Getting rid of the Qwerty brothers would only be a temporary relief, since the government would quickly learn that they were out of play and send someone else. However, if he could convince one or both of them that it would be more lucrative to keep them alive, he might stand a chance at delaying having to deal with any in-house-cleaners for a bit. The mind of an assassin isn’t that hard to read, but he’d still have to surveil them for a few days before he’d be able to assess what it would take to convince them, and that would mean leaving Niki and Gillian alone for as much as a week.

He’s not concerned about whether they’d be okay on their own. The young nurse is resourceful, headstrong and cool under pressure, he’s confident that she could handle any problems that might arise, medical or otherwise. What concerns him is that they’d have no protection if he left. If someone were to find them while he was gone, they’d be largely defenseless.

Before he acts on the brothers, he needs to know more about the outside source that’s also on their tails. Who they are and where they’re from. Since that will help him determine what resources they have and how big of a threat they pose. But despite half a dozen calls, Will hasn’t picked up or gotten back to him at all since that 01 am call the other night.

There’s no reason to think that anything’s happened to him, not yet anyway. He’s done this before, although usually out of spite, which seems unlikely to be the reason this time, since this isn’t really about Pero. Their history might be bad, but Garin is a good person at heart. Or at least good enough to wanna try and redeem himself by doing as much good as he can until he dies. He wouldn’t leave an innocent woman to her fate out of spite towards him.

All of which leaves Tovar at a dead end. He needs more intel before he acts, but he’s not in a position to get it. So, he must wait. But the frustration is getting the better of him. It’s easier to keep it in check when he’s with Niki because she needs him calm and in control, or she’ll try and shoulder the leader-role herself, injuries be damned. But when he’s alone… it eats away at him.

The worst part is not knowing who’s coming or when. Every time that Gillian sits with Niki, he spends every second walking from room to room, looking through every window, scouting all the terrain he can see for incoming threats. The house has a good vantage point even though it’s very effectively concealed among the trees. Even from above, one would need advanced camera equipment to spot it. Not even a thermal lens would be enough, other than in the contrast of the winter cold.

He knows that he’s done everything possible to hide it away from the outside world, but since he doesn’t know who might be looking for them, he can’t help but fear that someone’s already caught their trail and are on their way. More and more, he begins to feel like they’re not gonna make it without help. But who could he ask? He has no friends, his colleagues have already suffered enough, and Will is useless other than behind a screen.

There are moments when he wants to just sit down in a corner and cry. It wouldn’t help anything, and that’s the only thing that stops him. This morning, his aimless walking takes him out onto the veranda. It runs along the south side of the house, ending in a balcony which partially merges with the tallest trees at the front of the house, adding to its camouflage.

He stops there and looks out between the tree-trunks. The sun is still climbing, only just reaching through the canopy to warm his face. The cool morning air is misty and fresh, smelling of moss and bark. And while he stands there, his mind clears. Suddenly he isn’t worried or thinking about anything in particular. It comes on so abruptly that it startles him.

However, moments later, he hears the faint sound of an engine, and the stillness instantly turns into a frenzy. He runs to the back of the house to listen down the driveway. It’s the only road for miles in all directions, and the woods are too wild for anyone to drive anything through it. So, if it is an engine and not some trick of the mountains and the river, it can only be heading this way.

Chances are, it’s just someone who’s really fucking lost, but he doubts it. Not many people would drive for three hours on a narrow dirt-road which according to all the maps, doesn’t exist and doesn’t lead to anything. Not even Google Earth knows that the house is there. The sound is coming closer and it’s definitely an engine. Aside from Pero, only William knows the house exists, so he hopes that that’s who it is, but he prepares for the worst.

There’s a locked weapon’s cache hidden in one of the walls by the front door, requiring a five-digit code to open. He unlocks it and pulls out a shotgun, two loaded pistols already in a shoulder holster, and a set of throwing knives that he straps to his right thigh. Once he’s done, he can hear that the vehicle is still about a minute away, so he opens the front door and calls to Gillian. She comes running through the hall within seconds, having recognized the urgency of his tone.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s coming. I don’t know who, so this might turn into a shootout,” he quickly explains.

“Shit… What do I do?”

“Stay with Niki and close and lock the bedroom door, and if you hear this door open, you press the biggest black button you can see behind my shirts in the closet. It activates a burglar alarm which will send a toxic gas through the entire house, except for that bedroom.”

“Jesus! No, I’m not gonna do that!” she objects, so he steps closer to her and puts his free hand, not holding the shotgun, on her shoulder.

“Listen to me. If these are our enemies, they’ll kill Niki and anyone protecting her, or they’ll kill us and take her to be tortured for information,” he says quickly, pauses to let that sink in, then adds. “Unless you hear me say otherwise, you will hit that button. Do you understand?”

She doesn’t respond, but despite the panic that’s creeping into the frame of her being, she nods and then runs back to the bedroom. He waits until he hears the lock turn, followed by the slight hiss of the hermetic seal being engaged to shield the room from anything toxic. Then he steps back out, locks the coded front door and prepares to greet the unannounced visitor.

As he stands there, trying to prepare for what might be about to happen, Niki’s words from before ring through his ears, somehow louder even than his own footsteps on the gravel.

“But you don’t love me.”

It makes him freeze. He’s always feared emotional pain above all else. Although now, what scares him the most is everything he hasn’t felt. Everything the heart is capable of, but none of which he has ever allowed his to go anywhere near. Now though, he finds himself questioning if he does love her. His response had been so convoluted. So easy, since it hadn’t forced him to commit to anything.

But what if he does love this woman, and everything that she has to offer?

He wants to know the answer before he dies. He needs to know. But how does one know such a thing? What are the criteria? How is it quantified? He’s only ever seen the failures, and that’s not a good measure to start from. So, instead, he tries to think about what he wants. And he quickly determines that he’s out there voluntarily facing this threat alone, prepared to die, because that’s how badly he needs her to live. The problem is figuring out why. If it’s about her being his only friend, or something more than that.

The engine is close now. A large car or pickup. It’ll come into view in just a few seconds.

He thinks about her face, her skin, her body. All so beautiful to him, but nothing more than a surface to be admired by everyone who might want to. He gets to touch it, though. Her surface is known to him, tip to toe, and he adores every inch of it. But more than that, he’s proud to have earned it. Earned. Not taken or scammed his way to but given to him by choice and desire.

That matters a great deal to him. To be trusted with something so private and personal and delicate, as someone else’s pleasure. But he can’t distinguish what’s pride and what’s gratitude and what might be care. Of course, he already cares about her, he wouldn’t have done all this otherwise. He just doesn’t know where the line between care and love is.

And then the car comes into view, and his thoughts are torn away from his own heart, refocusing entirely on the threat before him. He doesn’t recognize the car, a large black SUV of an American brand, either GMC or Cadillac, so he steps forwards and raises the shotgun to chest height so that the driver will undoubtedly see it. Then he slowly angles the double barrels at the car, making his intentions clear.

The car stops abruptly, and within moments, the driver’s door opens, and a pair of empty hands appear above it, quickly followed by a head poking up between the door and the frame of the vehicle. Even seventy yards away he recognizes the short, dirty blond mess of home-cut hair, and lowers the weapon.

“What the fuck’s the matter with you? You couldn’t have sent me a fucking text to let me know it was you?!” he shouts, to which William just ducks back into the car and drives up the final stretch of road.

“No, actually. I couldn’t risk it,” he answers once he’s turned the engine off and stepped out.

That worries Pero. All of this worries him, because Will doesn’t leave his house even to collect a newspaper or make sure that a passing storm hasn’t run off with his roof.

“What happened?” he asks, as his visitor moves to the back of the SUV and opens the trunk.

“Not sure, but I think someone’s noticed that I’m digging around the Amazon project. Maybe some of those computer experts that were hired to ensure the digital safety of the project are still employed. I don’t know. But I do know that someone started a backtrace trying to find me, and even though chances are slim that they will, the breach was subtle enough to indicate that whoever’s looking for me is no soccer-mom. And I’m sure as shit not gonna risk my house and business for these assholes.”

The trunk is filled from top to bottom with computer components and cables, so Will obviously intends on continuing his search from here, which is technically safer, but also adds another variable of danger for Niki.

“So, instead you’re putting all of us at even greater risk,” Tovar coldly determines, and the man stops rifling through the trunk.

“What do you want me to do, huh? I’m not some criminal mastermind, I can’t disappear into a fake identity or afford to build a fucking fortress in some remote and nearly inaccessible area. Not to mention that I wouldn’t be in this steaming pile of shit if you hadn’t asked me for help, so don’t you fucking turn on me now!” Garin growls in return, and he’s not wrong.

“I’m not turning on you. The damage is already done, that would be pointless. I just want you to remember this,” Pero starts, and then takes a step closer, making sure that Will can see the truth of what follows, in his eyes. “If they find us here, the helpless woman in a hospital bed is the only one that I’ll be focusing on saving.”

He leaves the truck and heads back to the front door, to let Gillian know that everything’s alright. But he’s even more anxious now. It might sound like a longshot that anyone would locate them out here, but it’s actually easier than one might think.

The hospital has Pero’s name on file, and not only that, but they also have his name in Niki’s file, as someone she trusts and relies on, or he wouldn’t have been her emergency contact. So, any authority looking into her recent activities will know that he’s likely involved. And after the deaths in the underground garage, not to mention that only Gillian knew what he was really doing, the staff have likely not seen much reason to try and help him. Moreso the opposite, especially if it was one of the nurses that had ended up dead.

He’s separated his criminal identity from his real one as perfectly as can be done, so there’s no reason to think that anyone would figure that out, and since the safehouse can’t even be connected to Mr. Hood, no one’s gonna find it through paper trails. But the truck that brought them here was borrowed from his employer and is likely considered stolen now. It doesn’t have a GPS tracking system because it usually only travels within the perimeter of the warehouse and the other smaller buildings that make up the OffSup company district, but it has the logo on the sides, which makes it recognizable.

And from a satellite, finding and tracking the one truck that would’ve left the hospital garage at that time, wouldn’t be very hard. Of course, that would rely on a satellite having passed overhead at that exact time, but even if none did, there are traffic cameras and other digital means of locating a vehicle. The roads here are free of all electronic surveillance, but a skilled mind could still make an educated guess as to which area might offer sufficient protection for someone trying to hide.

On top of that, Will’s arrival means that there are now two trails leading to this seemingly empty woodland, which doubles the risk of someone making the connection that there might be something worth investigating out here. This place was never meant to shield him from governments, only angry victims of his scams. Perhaps the odd drug lord or mob boss. So, all in all, Pero has reason to not be confident about the strength of his supposed safe haven.

He unlocks and opens the front door again, immediately shouting an all clear to Gillian so that she won’t kill him, and then returns to the trunk to help Garin carry the computers inside.

“I am grateful for your help,” he admits with a tired sigh once he’s back there.

From the corner of his eye, he sees William stop piling bundles of cable into his arms as he listens with mild shock. Tovar has never once been nice to him. Not to the extent that most people would define “nice”. But these are trying times, and his list of allies is painfully short. He can’t afford to alienate anyone right now, and least of all the one person who has a decent chance at helping him get Niki away from the claws of these mindless fortune seekers.

“This is so messed up…” he adds after a few moments, bowing his head in premature defeat and scratching at the back of his neck.

He doesn’t feel defeated. Not really. Just very much like one little wasp trying to walk through an entire ant colony unnoticed. Those thoughts won’t help him, though. He shakes his head slightly and then gets back to work, picking up a large screen to carry inside.

“Hey…” Will calls for his attention, so he stops and turns back. “You know I don’t want these dickheads getting their hands on her any more than you do, right? I’m not here just to hide. I came to make sure that I can keep working and maybe find a way to get her out of this.”

That surprises Pero. Because while the veteran isn’t cruel at heart, he does usually put himself first. But he also never lies. At least, not to his old enemy.

“Why would you give a rat’s ass about her?” he asks, but not confrontationally, just truly baffled at what the reason might be.

Garin thinks on that for a second, seemingly trying to decide something.

“Christine,” is all he offers, but it’s enough for Tovar to know what he means.

His fiancée. She died seven years ago because of his ego. He’s never been able to admit it, at least not aloud, because the guilt never fades or eases. He never lets it. However, he seems to have decided to use that guilt as a motivator for Niki’s cause. Why or how she’s managed to inspire this courage in him, when there have been dozens of people that could’ve done so before today, is anyone’s guess.

Pero nods in understanding and then turns back to the house where Gillian has come out to see what’s going on, but then stops and holds the door for them as she sees the two men carry equipment inside.

“William, this is Gillian. Gillian, meet William,” he introduces in passing.

“Oh. So, you’re the one he growled at in the middle of the night a couple days ago,” she deduces, probably based on Pero’s body language around him.

“Yeah,” Will confirms.

“Do I wanna know what put you on his naughty-list?” she asks while trailing behind them towards the stairs.

“You’ve got that the wrong way around,” Tovar answers her, much to her surprise. “I don’t have a naughty-list because there’d be no point in listing every human being on the planet. What I have is a very short list of people I trust, and that currently includes both of you.”

“Wait… This is how you treat people you don’t hate?” she skeptically inquires, and this time, it’s Will who answers.

“Oh, I’ve seen what it looks like when Pero Tovar hates someone, and trust me, there’s no mistaking it. He can and will turn your entire world into dust and misery, all without even coming near you.”

“Did he do that to you?” she gasps.

“No. If he had, he wouldn’t have allowed me to even know about this place. Also, I would’ve been homeless and without a penny to my name, with no hope of ever getting one. You have no idea how powerful a man you’re currently living with, Gillian.”

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Part 5

Thank you for reading, and remember: I have no taglist anymore. Follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications for updates on my writing :)

#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x original female character #pero tovar x ofc #modern!pero #modern!au #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall modern au #the great wall au #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #sirowsky stories

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rainbownixie · 2 years

Note

omg i'm so sorry for the never ending onslaught of asks

but i'm curious to see if you can convert me into a dustin + will shipper with ur headcanons (i'm sure you can ehe <3)

no please!!! i love your asks so don't ever apologize <33 they make my day!

and oh yes thank you so so much for this. i love this ship so so much??? like i was already thinking about them when s2 came out ngl i always thought "if i didn't ship will with mike, he would be really happy dating dustin" but since there's barely any content i never talk about them! (i think i only told my girlfriend about them like once and that's it).

before the headcanons, i would like to say that i love their dynamic. dustin cares so so much about will and will is always so caring with dustin too?? they're also really sassy and i think they'd be a really really sweet but annoying couple and i love that for them tbh.

anyway, headcanons/my thoughts abt their story etc etc this is probably going to be LONG (i'm sorry):

i don't think they had a crush on each other while growing up. in fact, i think will liked mike and dustin knew because dustin is the smartest person in the world. he was aware of the way will looked at mike, and honestly he didn't really care as long as will was happy and okay.

dustin's always been protective of will and cared for him maybe more than he cared for the other two (in another way, perhaps). he looks after him and often gets frustrated when mike is the one taking care of will instead of him (remember the halloween episode when he tried to help him but mike didn't let him? yeah. like that).

he doesn't know he likes will yet, just that he cares about him in a different way and wants him to be happy. he gets internally angry at mike for showing interest in el in s1 because he wants will to be happy. he knows will loves mike so seeing him with el bothered him. but there was also this relief? i would call it? because he thinks that maybe that way he will spend more time with will.

i think dustin fell first and has always been jealous of mike in a way. he doesn't show it much because he knows he doesn't have a chance with will and just accepts it as long as mike doesn't hurt him.

when they started middle school and had to choose their seats in class, he wanted to seat next to will. ofc, mike was the one who actually got to do it, so he settled on sitting in front of him.

he likes will before even realizing, and he just thinks he feels all dizzy and excited around him because they're really close friends. he's so so happy when will comes back from the upside down and often stares at him just to make sure he's real. that he's okay. that's why he likes to casually touch him (pats on the shoulder, hugs...). he just feels at peace being with will because he's so so genuine and dustin just... enjoys that feeling.

he thinks he likes max and- well- dustin does like her, but not in that way. he has this little crush on her but that's all. however, he does realizes he likes will when he starts talking with steve! in s2? steve tells him about nancy and turns out he feels the same for will, because he's really special too. and maybe he is jealous of mike for being able to be with him during all that time in s2. but it's okay, he doesn't care. because he knows mike is helping him and that's all that matters. but damn, steve's right: he's too young to be heartbroken, because it hurts A LOT already.

then mike starts dating el, and it bothers him so much??? like "man, will loves you like crazy and you don't even realize??? and you date her instead of him????? i hate straight people". btw, seeing will staring at mike while he danced with that girl killed his poor soul. nancy helped, though <3

oh, and i don't think he cares about his sexuality much. he likes both boys and girls? cool. he's not going to announce it to the whole world anyway so.

will notices that dustin goes easy on him when they play video games together, and finds it pretty sweet (actually, dustin is just too weak and gets lost looking at will and that's why he only loses when he goes against him)

will sees how dustin often forgets his jacket so he starts giving him his whenever he's cold (dustin isn't even cold he just loves wearing his clothes)

dustin and will pass each other little notes in the middle of class without the teachers noticing. they also play tic tac toe!

they buy comics together! they both try to save money to do it, and dustin sometimes lies about the actual price so will doesn't have to pay as much as him

okay so in s3 he goes to that camp and he meets suzie!!! he likes suzie. he has a crush on suzie. and they start being really close friends! to the point where he tells her about will, and she just nods and says that she also likes both girls and boys. they start dating, and she doesn't mind that he likes will too! suzie is sure that will is great and just wants his dusty-bun to be happy!! caring is sharing besties, fuck the love triangle!

okay so he comes back! aaaand he's really excited to tell them about suzie, but worried about how they're going to react. about how will's going to react. he knows he won't care because he likes mike, but maybe dustin wants him to care a bit. y'know. but dustin still wants them to meet suzie because he loves her a lot too!

that day, will actually stays with dustin for a little while when lumax goes home. dustin tells him about suzie and he tries to focus, but will is just too pretty under the stars and- he just can't handle it. because will looks so peaceful and calm... and he seems a bit upset too, so dustin asks. will tells him that it's nothing, that he's okay. and somehow dustin knows it's because of mike. then will goes home and dustin hears the russians etc etc etc

okay so here is when will catches feelings! after the rain fight that literally breaks his heart, he's obviously upset and angry at both lucas and mike. and i know dustin is busy with steve and robin, but just imagine that this thing with the russians happens before the rain fight. and dustin is riding back home after that and just happens to be close to castle byers! he hears screaming and crying and, well, castle byers being destroyed. so he ends up seeing the whole thing and asks what happened, but will just... hugs him and breaks down crying. obviously dustin comforts him and will tells him what happened, the "it's not my fault you don't like girls" included because will knows that dustin knows he's gay. and dustin is so so furious at mike??? he wants to yell at him and put him in his place for treating will like that. he's also angry at lucas, but, yeah, mike is the one who angers dustin the most. however, will asks him to not do anything because he doesn't want any drama and he just stays there hugging him.

eventually dustin has to go home and asks will if he wants him to come with him, but he just says he wants to be alone there. then everything is the same, except for the fact that will sees dustin in a different way now.

s3 is all the same except for the ending. because will spends those three months before moving away with dustin. they hang out together alone more. they have sleepovers and movie nights. they both talk with suzie at the same time. etc etc etc. and will doesn't forget about mike, but ends up liking dustin too. a lot, actually. and it's kind of as if they both knew there's something between them, but don't do anything about it. they're comfortable around each other like that. they're happy.

but then dustin confesses to will (steve and robin told him to because otherwise he would regret it) on his last day in hawkins, and will kisses him and tells him that he wished he had said something sooner.

so now dustin has two long distance relationships! he's literally one of us pffft

when the others find out they're happy. except mike... who's pretty much jealous about it but can't tell them why

dustin sends will letters constantly, and he's so cheesy. so so so so cheesy. and will finds it endearing, so he keeps them all in a box he painted himself <3 and will sends him drawings and mixtapes and polaroid pictures!!!

will is still in love with mike, and dustin knows. in fact, will tells him about el having a lot of letters from him and all. dustin is already mad at how mike is acting at school, but the way he treats will???? it makes him so angry. however, he doesn't say any of this to will (steve has to deal with that) and always tries to be there for him and support him with his idea of gifting mike a painting!

s4 happens etc etc they hug and kiss and all when will comes back to hawkins!! actually, because he doesn't have a place to stay, he stays with dustin! and he tells him about meeting suzie!! (they definitely talked about how much they love dustin)

will is there to comfort him about eddie :( <3 dustin often has nightmares and will hugs him and runs his fingers through his hair to make him feel better.

this is long and i don't know if i explained it correctly but i hope it worked!!! if you ever want to know more about my hcs about them (this was actually more their story than hcs tbh) just ask me <33

btw i feel bad for mike so he probably starts dating will too after the microwave break-up!! i can totally see dustin and him fighting for will's love and will reconsidering all of his life choices

#i love them #does this ship even have a name???? is this a thing???? i doubt it #but i really like their dynamic so #dustin x will #will x dustin #whatever dustin x will is called #byler #kind of??? more or less byler too ig #duzie #will byers #dustin henderson

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djinmer4 · 2 years

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Scholomance Random Thoughts

(Wall of text, you have been warned.)

What if the prophecy is much more drastic? Cast down enclaves is the start of it, we don't hear the end. What if the real prophecy is that El ends up destroying magic entirely?

Why would that be a possibility (other than my love of TV Tropes)? Let's say El does manage to break the enclaves' power by destroying mawmouths (going by the theory that mawmouths are connected to enclave creation) and providing everyone with Golden Stone enclaves. She's already managed to trap a significant portion of the world's mals, in an area where they'll be food to either Patitude or Orion, so it doesn't seem that farfetched that she could accomplish her dream. How long will that effect last?

In the book, they say the mals will be back to the same levels in three or four generations. What one idiot has done, can and will be copied in the future. The same will happen with modern enclaves, after all, once a spell exists it never goes away and there will always be people willing to sacrifice others for their own benefits. Maleficars, Todd Quayle, heck it happened already the first time. People had the Golden Stone enclaves and switched to the modern version because those enclaves were bigger (and possibly came with even more perks). Once enough of that happens, how long will it take for people to come up with another Scholomance, and who knows if that one will turn out as benevolent as the one in the book? Most constructs head in the opposite direction, it's almost a miracle that the Scholomance actually did give their children back at all.

What would be El's motivation? Disgust at the current practices, nurtured into her by her mother. The fact she lost bother her father and her lover to the results of those practices. A hero complex almost as big as what other people think Orion's is. And finally, just the sheer interest of safety for the future generations. There are plenty of terrible places in the world, but the world average survival rate for children is almost certainly higher than 5%. Forcing everyone to be mundane (and immune to mals) might actually improve everyone's life expectancy.

Other evidence? If it had just been that El was going to break the power of the enclaves, I think her paternal family could have put up with that. Especially given her great-grandmother's (I think I got the generation right?) penchant for forseeing happy futures. If El breaks the enclaves (probably violently) but creates the Golden Stone enclaves to take their place, I'm pretty sure her vision would have included the last part. They're currently not in an enclave and they're strict mana, I'm sure waiting a little longer to be able to get their own safe space when El grows up would not have been an impossible challenge. And while breaking the enclaves would not be great for others, I think it would come down to net benefit and they could also accept that, maybe even using Deepthi Sharma's vision as a way of getting other enclaves ready and smoothing the transition. If nothing else, they probably would have taken time to try to calm down and come up with a solution because they really, really wanted both Gwen and Galadriel.

But instead, they try and kill Galadriel the very same night. What if the vision ends with something about her destroying all magic forever, permanently? Maybe something that sounds like she ends up killing all magic users perhaps? And there's no silver lining to that one because Deepthi can't see into a time where magic doesn't exist. As far as they would know it's not just a way of life, it would be a complete apocalypse. No idea if any of the wise-gifted ones would even survive without their magic (or if Galadriel kills them all before hand). Wouldn't that be worth breaking their principles and killing her?

#random thoughts #the scholomance

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waterghoulcalamity · 2 years

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i've been reading a lot of mike analysis over the past few days, specially about his internalized homophobia and comphet, and i must say i never thought i'd get to this point, but if mike is gay and struggling after all, then i see myself in him more than i ever thought i could

now, i never had a problem with making peace with the fact i liked girls, in fact it took me maybe 10 seconds to go from "would i ever date a girl?" to "yup, i definitely would, i must be bi 👍", i was around 14 at the time, and i didn't know it right then but this had been building up for a while, it wasn't just a decision i made on the spot because i may or not have had a crush on a friend

i've seen many say that mike associates his feelings for will with being a child and getting to like el romantically/sexually as being an adult. and it didn't make sense for me until it did, until i remembered that i was literally 16 and asking my other queer girl friends how men in porn made them feel, if they made them go "yummy yum ig" (something i could barely wrap my head around about even straight woman feeling, like how there was no way this was true) or it made them feel like "why are you still here :/" (like i did) i remembered thinking to myself that eventually men would grow on me when i got older, i was too young to want men yet, that one day i would meet man that didn't make me feel like throwing up at the mere idea of sucking dick, and meanwhile it was fine that i thought i could probably have a relationship with a guy as long as we didn't have sex, because that also made me want to gag. except i didn't feel like this about women at all, i knew that if ever got in a relationship with a girl i'd want everything there was to offer.

it took me some time to work through that, to realize i was literally just idealizing a platonic relationship with men while i was completely ok laying everything bare with a girl.

but now i was facing something scarier, now i didn't have the "shield" of liking men, now it felt somewhat more real, and i had always prided myself in how confident and unashamed i was in my sexuality, but now i didn't have that anymore. i knew my parents wouldn't be supportive and neither would be my irl friends. without realizing being bi for me had turned into an excuse i could givey mom if i ever came out to her. at least i still like men. i felt raw and scared and young and unconfident in my own sexuality all of sudden and it didn't feel like me, it was rough year for me to go labeling myself from bi to queer / unlabeled to admitting and accepting myself as a lesbian. i remember i read a lot of how to know if you're a lesbian documents lol

compulsive heterosexuality was a pretty big obstacle for me to tackle too, the doubts, the second-guessing myself, as i said i never felt shame or something other than complete confidence in me liking women, now i was questioning if i even liked them, maybe i had been faking it for attention (whose attention tho, we'll never know), maybe i just hadn't met the right man. i did find men attractive, just didn't feel sexually attracted to them. i did like looots of fictional characters though, usually anime, i would usually find more compelling the male characters than the female characters (of course this was due the abismal imbalance of proper character structuralization female characters suffered due to being poorly written by men, but i didn't see this yet so cope with me) could that mean that i still felt something for them? could i ever want them?

after a while i could discern idealization from attraction and around 18 i accepted myself for who i was, knowing this would be perhaps i little more difficult for me and those around me, but i accepted myself at least. the could come second, or even not come at all

i know i started this about mike lmao but really i just wanted to talk about how it resonated with my journey for me if they did go through with his internalized homophobia stuff. maybe reading about me will help you understand him, maybe it will help you understand yourself, who knows

have a lovely day if you read this whole ❤️

#mike wheeler #gay mike wheeler #mike wheeler analysis #mike wheeler is gay #so am i #lesbianism #self accepectance #compulsive heterosexuality

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hawkinsschoolcounselor · 2 years

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THE COMBINE THING ROBIN SAYS. wait. So if we notice right all the numbers have 11s powers but number one can also make people see things just like Kali, and we know the numbers two through 17 are an attempt from Brenner to replicate his powers, it could mean that If El accepted the truth somehow will make her power up? a combination? Something like that? Remember one of the first things we see Kali do is create an illusion of spiders to scare her friend Axel!

I suppose that's something that could happen, but, come on. I'm so over El always managing to get exactly as powerful as she needs to be in order to save the day all the time. It gets to the point where there's no real reason to have other characters, really.

I had hoped that when Dustin's roll of 11 was a fail against the campaign version of Vecna that it was a clue that 11 wouldn't be able to do this, not alone anyway. I'd rather El bring together Kali, and perhaps some other superpowered people (somehow) and use teamwork to beat Vecna. It would allow her to still be one of the main protagonists while also helping to move her past the whole "superhero" thing.

Sigh, you do bring up a good point, though.

#stranger things 4

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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

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thanks again to @dykerory and @willowcrowned for this genius au. this is an incomplete collection of very specific set of headcanons/daydreams i had about a tangential version of your au that made me emotional in the middle of the woods. whenever you feel the time is right, i’m very eager to hear your og version on the ‘but obi-wan, tho!’, because i admittedly pushed this one’s resolution really far chronologically because i wanted batman to be involved.

continuation from here

note: my understanding of dcu is as sporadically informed as my understanding of the gffa.

newly graduated clark kent gets his first journalism job and starts settling more and more into the superman thing. the rest of the justice league has been around but his entrance onto the scene is the one that really inspires the various heroes to actually start coordinating to deal with the weirdness magnet that is dcu Earth. Clark is in his early 20s. Anakin is in his late 30s.

He’s been living on Earth, without the force, for nearly 2/3rds of his life. He has a close knit circle of friends who were kind to him even when they thought he was just a weird and crazy emo cult victim (the gradual increase of public encounters with aliens and superpowers sparks some awkward apologies, Anakin at 38 just waves his friends off, smiling and changing the subject, neither confirming nor denying his high school ramblings of spaceships and magic. it doesn’t really change anything).

He lives an hour’s drive from smallville, and runs a successful auto shop. people travel from pretty far to check out some of his more wild and specialized motorcycle abominations. makes enough money selling them to rich idiots to fund his free auto-class and auto-repair programs for impoverished communities.

It took a while but he eventually came around to the idea of helping people without physical force (ironically, this is happening around the same time Clark is coming to the realization that he can help people with physical force). Generally respected as a pillar of the community. When people start to realize how profoundly weird he is as a person in a number of inexplicable ways, someone will generally pull them aside and quietly whisper that he was in a cult at a child, no one really knows much about it except that it’s what inspired his anti-modern-slavery work, which is a little telling. Not married. Was in a long-term relationship for like 9 years. It didn’t end well but no-one knows the details.

Has several cats.

He’s- wistful but settled. He’s been through a lot of therapy. He meditates every morning and night, clearing his mind and examining his emotions in the way Obi-Wan taught him. He thinks Obi-Wan would be proud of him. He know his Mom would be.

Once he gets used to the idea, he never really stops loving the concept of learning just because. Duel bachelors degree in in african american history and american literature, masters in engineering, masters in astrophysics a phd in theoretical physics, another phd in medieval folklore. He’s worked a lot of jobs.

He was already pretty well versed in astronavigation back at the temple. Over the course of his time on earth, he gets more educated in earth astronomy and physics. With is increased knowledge, his theory for ‘how did i get here’ shifts from slight hyperdrive miscalculation, to big hyperdrive miscalculation, to some sort of hyperlane incident. he realizes that none of the stars he knows are familiar in any NASA database. He must be beyond wildspace, which helps him let go of the last bit of hurt he felt that Obi-Wan never found him.

Then he really learns physics- and- light doesn’t exactly work like that right? He thought it was just primitive Earth understanding but... he gets a phd more or less accidentally, trying and failing to disprove that the speed of life is constant constant.

Get’s another even more accidentally, explaining how alternate universes might form if we assume slightly different universal constants. He publishes his thesis anonymously around the same time metas are becoming a household term, and at least one science journalist speculates on it and how alternate universes might explain the increasing prevalence of wildly different superpowers. He doesn’t claim credit for the honorary diploma awarded to the unknown theorist- he doesn’t want to risk drawing any attention to him and by extension Clark, who’s alien differences are far more of the ‘military experiment interesting’ variety then his.

He stops tinkering with Clark’s ship. He finally gets how it works. Now that he realizes how FTL travel has to work in this universe, tinkering with the mechanical generation and harnessing of the massive quantities of energy necessary to do is startlingly familiar. But it doesn’t matter. No matter how far and fast he travels, he’s never going to be able to get back to the life he used to know.

Perhaps this is what being the chosen one actually means- he’s meant to live a life without the force, so that when he returns to it in death he’ll be able to somehow...educate? the force? maybe?

Ok, he’s not great at the metaphysical spiritual side of things, but he does accept that going back is out of his control, and he’s doing good here, even if it’s not galaxy altering.

Despite all the therapy, he never doubts that his early life was real. He has his saber and deep, deep down he can feel a spark in the kyber. He can’t do anything with it, but it’s there. There’s also pieces of the utter wreck that was his ship in the cellar, next to the sleek unblemished pod that Clark arrived in. Shortly before Clark becomes Superman, he asks for his help in melting down his old ship to make unearthly alloys.

He’s not surprised when Clark tells him he met a ‘real’ ‘magic’ user- it stands to reason that considering how relatively easy it is to convert energy from one form to another in this universe (Clark can fly), at least one kind would bend to sentient willpower in a similar way as the force does.

It’s still a little nervewracking showing his lightsaber to someone new for the first time in a decade. Zantana scrutinizes, bewildered.

“There is some sort of power locked within, but it’s unfamiliar to me,” she admits finally. “I could probably brute force it and force the energy to release itself, but it would likely destroy the container.” Anakin politely refuses.

Later, after the justice league’s formation, Clark mentions to J’onn that he has a friend who might be able to work on his ship. J’onn is extremely doubtful when he’s brought to a bizarre autoshop in the midwest that looks half-like a roadside attraction. Anakin sighs and digs his hands into the guts of the craft, muttering incomprehensibly and yelling at clark to melt down some pieces from the special scrap pile. A few days later he explains the patches he’s done to an impressed J’onn. When he asks how a human came to learn such things, he’s absently informed that,

“I used to work in a junkshop in Tatooine. All sorts of ship parts came through.”

“I’m unfamiliar with this world.”

“Tell you what, if you ever meet anyone who’s heard it of it, send them my way, and I’ll make your next repair free.”

“Oh! I’m afraid I don’t have any earth money...”

“Ugh, of course you don’t. it’s cool, capitalism sucks anyway and everyone’s entitled to free transportation, regardless of the area they happen to live. I do ask that if you can’t pay for the repairs that you spend an equivalent number of hours either attending one of my free auto classes, or volunteer at a community-led charities of your choice, here I’ll get you a pamphlet-”

So the Martian Manhunter becomes a weekly volunteer at a Midwestern Food Waste Reclamation Facility. J’onn J’onzz ends up becoming Anakin Skywalker’s friend well before he becomes comes truly comfortable around Kal-El. For a telepath, 39 year old Anakin’s Jedi orderly mind is a soothing relief.

(again, Anakin has spent far more time meditating on Earth then he ever did at the temple. Before all this, spent five years dutifully memorizing the Jedi way even as he struggled to live up it’s basic practices. For the first few years on earth, religiously practicing every meditation technique Obi-Wan ever taught him, thinking obsessively about the philosophies he never had time to really process, is just a desperate attempt to reconnect with the force, prove himself worthy of it. But even after he gives up on ever touching the force again, he keeps up the practice, he can’t release his emotions exactly, but he does find peace. The tendency to stop mid-rant to earnestly pronounce made up zen bullshit and then sit quietly for an hour before picking up on his tirade again as though there was no interruption is one of the things many things people find profoundly weird about him)

Kal-El doesn’t stop asking new aliens and dimensional travelers if they’ve ever heard of Coruscant, or Hutts, or the Jedi Order. Anakin might have given up, but Superman remembers his older brother scrubbing away his own tears to focus on helping Clark calm down enough to touch the floor again. The more the Kryptonian’s powers developed in alarming ways, the more Anakin set aside talk of missing his home galaxy. Anakin might have claimed it wasn’t like that, but Clark was determined to take every chance his increasingly weird life threw at him, no matter how vanishingly small.

In the middle of his first battle with Braniac, Clark starts insulting his incomplete database. The world collector pauses, demanding a more precise explanation. Clark complies, giving his best technical description of Coruscant’s cityscape, Tatooine’s binary star system, and so on. Braniac is so distracted that Superman recovers completely from his kryptonite poisoning and easily saves the day.

Neither the lantern corp or the denizens of the neutral zone have the answers. Superman doesn’t mention it it Anakin, but he never stops looking and listening.

“How did you even meet that guy?” Flash asks curiously after stopping to say hello on one of their after work laps of the country.

“Aliens among us support group,” Kal-El responds deadpan.

“Oh. Wait, what? He’s an alien? I thought he was from the future or something! You’re messing with me. No way that’s a thing. How many people are in the support group? This is a joke, right?”

“Sorry, most of them aren’t out and I don’t want to violate their privacy- a lot of them have high profile jobs. How do you think I met J’onn?”

“SUPES I’M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW YOU’VE GOTTA STOP”

Anakin is just sort of vaguely known by a solid chunk of the super community as ‘that one midwestern zen space mechanic’ and no one really questions it because everyone’s life has just gotten so goddamn weird. A few of them know he used to be a space wizard of some kind. Space wizards now being a regular hazard of life on earth, no one has reason to doubt this, and it’s as good an explanation as any for Anakin’s general vibe.

well. almost no one doubts this. Batman does not simply accept Anakin’s general bullshittery without carefully investigating and drawing his own conclusions. He does not share these with anyone.

But one day Clark- this is well after Superman became Kal-El to him, and not long after Kal-El tells him to call him Clark- comes up to him and asks for his help finding about an alternate universe. Knowing and dreading where this is going, Batman stalls,

“Shouldn’t you be asking one of the league members who regularly travels between universes?”

“I have, over the years,” Clark admits, awkwardly scuffing a boot on the floor of the cave. “But no one’s familiar with the exact one I’m looking for, and I thought since you’re a detective, and also one of the smartest people I know, you might be able to help me...”

“You’re an investigator yourself, and you can survive the vacuum of space,” Bruce shoots back flatly. “I’ve told you before Gotham is my priority, and this has ‘personal project’ all over it.”

“Come on, B, please,” Superman pleads, trailing Batman around the cave like an overgrown puppy. “In a few months it will have been 30 years! He’s my brother! Just let me see the research you’ve already done!”

“Who says I’ve already done research on your brother?”

Clark shoots him a look. And Bruce concedes the point with a grunt.

“I’ll need need to talk with him first,” Bruce finally concedes. “Bring him by the cave. Take the-”

“Take the tunnel entrance, I know, I know,” Clark agrees with a grin. “This doesn’t mean he’s authorized to know your secret identity. Thanks Bruce, this means a lot. I’ll ask him tomorrow about his schedule.”

Superman flies off and Batman scrubs his face with a gloved hand. After a moment he pulls up Anakin’s file on the main monitor. Bruce honestly respects and likes the man, as much as he respects and likes anyone who’s not family. He admires his sense his style, appreciates his upgrades to the batmobile, and is impressed by both this civil rights work and his additions to the scientific community.

That doesn’t mean he’s not convinced that Anakin’s brother is a bit insane. Again, he’s not judging! He dresses like a bat to scare random henchmen and beat up actual demigods! He wishes his rogues gallery was as capable of directing their ptsd-inspired delusions and staggering intellects towards such productive pursuits!

Bruce was already in quiet awe of the Kent’s ability to raise an outrageously superpowered being without blowing up a chunk of the country; their success in derailing a supervillian origin story just puts him over the edge. He stares at the three most likely profiles he’s pulled together. Christen Jones, from a negligent family, death certificate filled out suspicously sloppily at age 3. Earl Lucas, went missing at age 9, both parents dead in a violent assault. And Jake Hayden, who at age 5 disappeared along with the rest of his family in a seismic accident later linked to Luthercorp.

Anyone of them could have suffered on the streets for years and coped by establishing an elaborate fantasy world, aided by self medication, only to eventually be picked up by the Kent’s and start healing. Certainly Anakin had the intellect to create worlds in his mind. All his rogues were smart enough to create their own little realities in their heads- it doesn’t mean they were actually reachable.

Unfortunately Anakin had a Kryptonian younger brother who was determined to actually find the space wizard knight homeworld, even as the 'Jedi’ in question had slowly moved away his reliance on the delusion as an adult. Batman really didn’t see any way bringing up his conclusions to Anakin or Clark could possibly be helpful, and so many alien allies had a ‘If you find about the Jedi please contact Kal-El of Krypton on Earth’ pamphlet that it would be excruciatingly awkward to try and discretely correct anyone.

Bruce was not looking forward to this conversation.

#star wars #star wars au #dc #crossover #batman #anakin skywalker #corn boy anakin au

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wevegottogetaway · 3 years

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El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone.

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind.

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?"

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins.

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-"

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it.

***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm.

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!"

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before.

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place.

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?"

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me."

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?"

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation."

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order.

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once.

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test.

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in?

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer.

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether.

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides.

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics.

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that.

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence."

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!"

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming.

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go.

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits.

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows.

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place).

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm.

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why.

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes.

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head.

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her.

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building.

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant.

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know.

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be.

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place."

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection.

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’."

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is.

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper.

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n."

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own.

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear.

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink.

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his.

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?"

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words.

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss.

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans.

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right."

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?"

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek.

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead.

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties."

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra. Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach.

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips.

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment.

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways.

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good."

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough."

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths.

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness.

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?"

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering.

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly.

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind.

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell.

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused.

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was."

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference.

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #Harry fic #enemies to lovers #angst #so much angst #smut #I didn't think I could be this filthy lol #uni au #artstudent!harry #art #harry fanfic #harry styles writing #reader insert #harry styles au

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herstarburststories · 3 years

Text

You Have A Home

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: After a call from Y/N, Sam comes back town to help -- and brings Dean with him.

Requests: N°1 heyhey, could you do a Sam x reader where they went to college togehter and later meet again and they realise their feelings for eachother...xx + N°2: can you do a college sam headcanon with medicine student reader

A/N: This was fun! The monster here is mentioned in season 6, when the boys ask Bobby for advice on how to kill it. This is my first Samgirl long imagine, with Dean being the flirty he is. I wrote this almost one year ago, so it's more crude and I'm nervous to be posting it! And my piece for @cajunquandary 's 600 challenge, my prompt was monster of the week. Dividers by @talesmaniac89!

Dean's eyes remained on the road when the bitter statement left his body, tangled with a wry chuckle, “I can't believe you are still in touch with those people.”

“Those people?” Sam arched elbows, slightly skeptical by his brother's tone, “They were my friends, Dean.”

“Sammy, all our friends? Dead. They all die. Or worse.” He glanced at him for a moment, pursing his lips together. It might not be an easy assignment, but was part of the job. Sammy had tried to run away plenty times and always came back, when would he understand? “We don't get to have friends. You should've learned that.”

“They are not our friends, they are my friends. Also, they don't know about the hunting life, they aren't in harm.” Sammy hissed once the other locked his green eyes on the road again. Dean sighed, moving one hand away and up from the steering wheel in a rendition gesture.

“Whatever you say, man. I'm just warning you, this doesn't usually end up good for them.”

Sam scoffed, Dean could get on his nerves sometimes, “We saved many people that got to have a good life.”

“Yeah, but those people didn't know us before that. I told you when you left Stanford--”

“I didn't keep contact, okay!? I just... I just still have a phone that they have the number of. No social media, no calls on birthdays.” Nervously gesticulating, he added, “I know how to keep them safe, Dean.”

“So, old friend?” The eldest Winchester asked after the few minutes of silence that followed Sam's outburst, “Female old friend?”

“Yes. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Dean smirked, and Sam to rolled his eyes at his behavior, “Keep it in your pants.”

He'd let out a malicious laughter before turning on the radio, the first guitar sounds of AC/DC playing in the background.

“I think you'll be the one not keeping it, Sammy.”

“Hello?” The woman in nothing but a towel who had opened the door greeted them with a question, her brown eyes glaring at the two men with clear confusion.

Dean had no shame to check her out, innerly celebrating that she was still wet from her shower. Perhaps visiting Sam's friends wasn't that big mistake. “Hey, you.”

She grimaced at Dean for two seconds before turning her attention to Sam again, sudden recognition written on her face.

“Sam? Sam Winchester?” He nodded, smiling that light-hearted boyish grin at her. Not caring about her dressings, she just threw herself at Sammy, hugging him tightly. “I missed you!” She pulled away only to hit his shoulder. Her short stature didn't match Sam's, but he'd still make a grimace at her attempt of slap. “Why didn't you call? God, your hair grew a lot. Listen, I have some scissors.”

“Tried that, didn't work.” Dean interrupted their reencounter, trying to get in the conversation. An usual lopsided grin on his face, “Dean Winchester, Sam's brother.”

“Layla, Sam's friend.” She gave him a friendly smile in return, opening space for them to pass through the door before closing it, “Come in, I need to change in clothes.”

“I wouldn't even dream of that. Seriously.”

Layla would just wiggle one of her brows at Dean's comments, not impressed by it, “Ele é sempre assim? (Is he always like this?)”

Thankfully, Sam still remembered a bit of his friend's native language. He just chuckled, managing to apologize for Dean's typical Dean behavior, “Unfortunately. Sinto muito. (I'm sorry)”

“(Y/N) is in the kitchen. I'll be right back.” Her accent was thicking stronger duo the comfortability around Sam. Excusing herself, the caramel skinned girl leaded upstairs.

“What did she say?” Dean asked, side glancing at the path Layla had just gone on, not even sure of which language she'd just spoken, much less what was said. Sammy didn't bother replying, satisfied to grin at his obvxion brother. “Dude, come on!”

“Sam!” A well-known voice filled the room as the image of (Y/N) appeared in front of them, dressing your loyal cook's avental. You didn't think twice before jumping on Sam. “I missed you, giant!”

He, like always, caught you with a light-hearted laughter, “I missed you too, cupcake.” You two spent a few moments like this, enjoying each other's warm and long lost touch, until Dean cleared his throat. You finally went back to the ground, embarrassed by having a stranger to see that level of intimacy between you and Sam, “This is Dean, my--”

“Handsome brother. Hello, cupcake.” Dean was so going to tease Sam for the rest of his life for it.

“You really live up for Sam's description.” You giggled, heading towards the kitchen “Come in, I'm baking.”

“So, you and Layla still live together?”

“Most of the time, yes. You know how she is, comes and goes. Never wanted to stay in a place for too long and got a job that supported that.” The boys followed you, Dean examining the kitchen and trying to discover what you were cooking through the smell, while Sam couldn't take his eyes on you, “Apparently, just like you.”

Even though your back was facing them as you checked the food, the bite didn't pass unnoticed, “I had to leave, (Y/N)”

“I understand that, Sam. But you never called or texted. It was like I--” You quickly corrected yourself, “We never existed for you.”

“It's not like that.” Sam sighed, how could he justify? He knew you wouldn't buy a simple excuse. You were smart, and knew him too well to swallow a 'I went on a trip with my brother and just decided that college wasn't my deal' and leave it for that.

“I'm here!” Layla declared, arriving into the room with an excited smile, it was good to have the gang back together. Although, the tangible tension almost made her go back to the shower, “Am I interrupting something?”

“A sitcom DR.” Dean answered with sarcasm, spreading his figure on the chair when you turned around with an apple pie in your hands “What about we talk about the ca-- Is this pie?”

“We heard a scream followed by a loud roar and (Y/N) stayed near the camping part because there was still a signal and I went looking for who it was. When I got there, the thing ran away. Jorge's body... No human did that. His chest was cracked open irregularly, as if it was done by an animal and his heart looked weird. Like it was squeezed and drawn on up somehow?”

“We got a Samia.” Dean stated, relaxing on his spot. Some sault, rosemary and fire would do the job just fine, “Let me guess, it left a clawn near the body or inside it?”

Layla nodded, “Right in the chest or what lasted of it.”

“Are you okay? Finding the body in that state.” A comprehensive manner englobed Sam's question, whom noticed the normality with his friend described finding a shattered body.

“Just some guts.” She shrugged, a grimace was all the reaction they'd get. Crying wouldn't help, neither being terrorized as they expected her too. “I've seen Grey's Anatomy enough not to care about it.”

“Well, I'm literally a medicine student and I am still not okay with that. Especially after you made me go and check the body.” You argued, glaring at your best friend who'd only roll her eyes in response.

“I needed a professional to say if he was dead or not!”

“You need a therapist.”

Dean got up, looking straight at Layla. Time to play the hero in shining armor, “Don't worry with that, we will take care of it.”

Frowning, you were the one to respond, “Do you work for the police now or?”

“Are implying that we investigate it by ourselves?” Your best friend added.

Dean couldn't believe his brother. How the fuck did he let them get inside without saying they didn't know about the hunting business? It was a luck shot that they didn't think much when he said Samia.

“Nope. Not you two. We will do it.” The blonde one said, pointing at them with a smirk.

“I agree, we will do it.” Layla replied, matching his taunt smile.

“Sam, I'm not letting you and your brother do it by yourself. Jorge was my professor, I knew him. Besides, we found the body.” You got on your feet and crossed your arms, waiting for a response. Sam always had a sort of hero complex, ready to help no matter what, but there was no way you'd be letting him go into danger with his brother. Getting in your dormitory to kill a cockroach back then or facing an idiot during a bar fight to protect one of your friends was something, but this? They were talking about looking for an assassin. What if something happened to him? You were the one who called. All on you. The thought of Sam getting hurt for any reason was unbearable, but because of you? You weren't willing to do that.

“You would be in danger, (Y/N). You both.” He tried to explain, internally hoping you'd accept his reasoning and let it go. Sam didn't want you to become one of the friends who knew about this life, you deserve more. He already lost one woman he loved in this city, he couldn't lose another.

You huffed in frustration, “Just like you will!”

“It's different.” As he was terrified of, you insisted. Arms crossed still and eyes locked with his, determined to get something from him. Sam was smart enough to know that you would keep it going. Perhaps he could give you a short explanation, “Me and my brother, we are used to this. We hunt things like that.”

Layla tilted her head to the side. The way Sam talked remembered her of animal hunting, although she highly doubted that was the case, “Little more explanation?'”

“Monsters are real. Vampires, werewolves, spirits. The list goes on. Call us crazy. Roll the credits.” Sarcasm saltered every word of Dean's as he gestured up and down with a cocky smile. Everyone glared at him, a special furious look from his brother, “What? I thought they knew what we did and that's why she called.”

“Sam?” Your voice was fragile when you said his name, a demonstration that you would believe him through the fear of the truth, but that he had to say it.

Sam laid his hazel eyes on you. God, how he wished he didn't have to confirm anything, to break your vision of world so abruptly, “Dean is right. Supernatural things are real. I know it sounds--”

“Unbelievable? Problematic? Scary?”

“Yeah, all of them.” Sam offered you a humorless smile, then holding your hand the way he used to when you were nervous about an exam, “But I wouldn't lie to you, cupcake.”

The silence was broken by Layla opening a bottle of Whiskey, pouring them for the three people in the room besides herself. You rolled your eyes at your best friend, while Sam wore a tiny smile and Dean was astonished.

Noticing the eyes glued, the latina just shrugged “What? If you are gonna tell me that Dracula is real and you are a sort of Buffy's apprentice, then we will need some alcohol.”

“Why did you call?” Sammy asked, his brows knotted together, mouth slight open as he waited for your response. “You didn't know what I did. And he wasn't my professor at Stanford. Then why did you call, (Y/N)?”

You could make up a hundred excuses. Lie and say he was the one friend besides Layla that you had somehow a way to get to. Appeal to the excuse of 'I felt something weird about the death and you said I should call if I ever had a problem of any kind'. But for as much as you felt horrible for using a death as a pretext for calling him, that was partially the truth. You already had put yourself into a mess of monsters and a drained heart, it couldn't be scarier than being honest to Sam and to yourself.

At least, you hoped so. But your heart was rushing like when you saw Jorge's body. Jesus, when did love become so morbid?

You took a deep breath, oxygen barely achieving your lungs, and then started to talk.

“I wanted to call you the minute that you left, Sam. I almost did a million times.” You answered, looking down at the bottle of a sort of plant that he was putting in a dark green bag. “I thought about what you could be doing, what was so important that you couldn't send me a message. But you just didn't want to call, I guess.”

“I wanted to call, of course I did.” You scoffed at his statement, looking up to match his eyes, “(Y/N), I'm serious.”

“You didn't even come to Jess' funeral, Sam. Layla said that maybe you needed to leave to clear your mind, that was too much to deal with. But I was so worried, and sad and confused and I wanted to talk to you because you would understand, you always did. About anything. And I wanted to give you some sort of comfort, but--” You lifted your hands and shrugged your shoulder, a broken chuckle leaving your body. “But you weren't here.”

“You stopped leaving messages after two weeks. Calling was gone when it made a moth.” You sniffed. Sam's lips curved into a pure, cautelous grin. God, he was always so sweet. “The emails took two months.”

“You were never good with dates. I gave you a calendar in your freshman week.” Your teeth met your lower lip. He didn't answer, only nodding at your affirmation, omitting the fact that he still had the calendar between latin books and pieces of newspapers, “Yet, you remember all of it.”

Sam leaned forward, holding your hand with all the delicacy you would expect from a sculptor. It had been too long since he hugged you, and his touch made all your skin tickle with warmth. “I missed you too, (Y/N). I thought about you all those years.”

“So, Cupcake?”

"Let's focus on the case, Dean."

“Then you can go back and eat your cupcake?” He remarked with a grin. His brother just huffed, pointing the flashlight through the trees, “So, Layla…”

Sam rolled his eyes, like he usually did when Dean started being too Dean for his liking, “Dean. The case.”

Before he could make another teaseful comment, a roar invaded their audition. The hunters gave each other a quick glance before heading towards the direction of the noise.

Shaking the salt and rosemary mixture in his hands, Dean smirked, “That's it. Time to shine, cupcake.”

“I have to admit. Being patched up by a doctor is better than by Dean.”

A surprised, half relieved laughter came out your body as you finished another stitch on Sam's arm. That boy was unbelievable; openly talking and making jokes about his brother, who was also being patched up by your best friend in company of a bottle of whiskey, while he spoke about Layla's name being a rock song. You were working on a large wound on his shoulder-- which you were sure that was full of dirt from the forest.

Medicine student, but I'll take that complement.” You winked at him, gaining a soft grin from Sammy, “I was expecting more blo-- Why are you smiling? I'm touching a recent wound. It doesn't look dangerous, but I'm sure it is supposed to hurt. A lot.”

Sam's answer came out easily, the bare, vulnerable truth: “I'm happy you are here.”

You looked at him, his hair longer than before, but the soft simper remained on his face. You bit your lip to hold a giggle; her heart dared to hope. What he expected when he said things like this? A quiet contentment spread through his expression while he watched your reaction.

“You should have come home sooner.”

His mouth formed a line, “I don't have a home, (Y/N). It's just Dean, me and the road now.”

“No, Sam.” Shaking your head lightly, you intertwined your fingers with his. His life was dangerous, you couldn't afford the luxury of waiting even more to share what you had finally admitted to yourself in the moment he walked through the door. It didn't seem like the easiest, simpler situation. But the only hard thing you couldn’t go through was to be away from Sam Winchester. He lingered on you for years, you were done letting him run away. It was time to hold his hand and walk together. “You should've come home sooner. To me.”

Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡ Tags in reblog!

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ainchase · 3 years

Text

Noah Ebalon - 2nd Line

Second Selection

Age 15, Male, Sickle

A second life given to Noah.

Setting aside the confusion after his return to the Temple, Noah finds a sliver of hope in one difference he’s made this time -- saving Yuria and meeting Clamor.

Clamor is in a similar situation as him and calls himself Noah’s friend. Not only that, he’s been attentive and caring to Noah’s feelings and condition. Noah’s been ignoring it, but he’s always secretly been yearning for the concern and care of another. All of this allowed him to slowly trust Clamor more and more.

As the peaceful days passed on, a seed of anxiety grew in the corner of his heart. It has significantly reduced from before, but he still gets nightmares from time to time. He torments himself with guilt over being the only one to enjoy happiness. He contemplates if he has to throw himself into the mire again to finish his revenge, and the only thing that stops him is the friendship he has with Clamor.

“There’s no need for you to suffer or take responsibility for anything when you were nothing but a victim. It’s okay for you to choose the path you want,” says Clamor. Noah now sees that he has another path laid out before him besides getting revenge.

A new encounter in a different present… If the life he has right now was given to him because he had completed his revenge, then perhaps… this life can be used to pursue happiness.

He doesn’t know what kind of future this decision will bring him, but having someone by his side gives him courage. As a part of making a new decision for himself, he learns magical knowledge from Clamor.

Stellar Caster

Age 17, Male, Sickle

As his knowledge of magic increases, Noah grows confident that his unexpected return to the place where he started has to do with the mutated power within him, and that if he doesn’t take control of it, then he might return to the beginning again at any time.

Not wanting all the time he spent to be in vain, he reaches the Rosso Clan’s laboratory while hunting down information related to the El’s elemental power. He finds Clamor’s inventions in the horrific experiments conducted by the Rosso Clan. He almost begins to doubt Clamor, but the man he knows would never create something for such a dark purpose. Before he can find the truth, he is struck unconscious when someone attacks him out of nowhere, returning him to the starting point once again against his will.

When he opens his eyes in the Temple, the seal on Clamor is once again unbroken. Noah despairs, but soon realizes the relic in the heart of the Temple may hold the clue to both his mutated power and Clamor’s past. Even though he was sent back in time, his memories of days spent with Clamor remain with him as part of his own past. Perhaps he will be able to alter the future of this path to be what he wants.

After entering Seven Tower in the past through the relic, he finds out his power of the moon mutated because of the power of the sun. He then uses the knowledge he’s learned to figure out a way to stay longer in Clamor’s memory.

In Seven Tower, a repository of knowledge lost forever, and a space that’s completely cut off from the real world, Noah concentrates on studying the great flow of the sun, moon, and the celestial bodies, as well as the power of time within himself.

Celestia

Age 18, Male, Sickle

“Aren’t you curious which future awaits us at the edge of the cosmos?”

An observer of the constellations who travels between the memories of the cosmos and the present, forging a new future for himself. A class that developed his mutated power in his own way by utilizing Clamor’s artificial spirit magic.

The two years spent in the past with Clamor have a profound influence on him. He can now not only stop himself from being returned to the start against his will, but also stay in a specific time period and use his unstable mutated power to his benefit by utilizing Clamor’s artificial spirit magic. Though his partner can’t remember the time they spent together when Noah was in the relic, he knows the time and the memories will stay with him. Who he is now is the result of his hard work in the past.

“I hope you can join me in the future I will forge with my choice.”

Noah wants to give freedom of movement to his friend who’s been his strength this entire time. He adds artificial spirit magic to his power to successfully turn Clamor into a spirit. No one was able to turn a soul imprisoned in a magical item into a spirit before, but it was possible because Clamor was a part elf who had a natural affinity to spirits, and Noah had maximized his own potential.

Being able to turn Clamor into a spirit gives Noah pause. He had magically repressed the time he’d spent in the relic, considering it a lost time that no one can remember, but he realizes that the result he’s achieved now wouldn’t be possible without it. He’s been treating that precious time of learning as completely worthless, and yet without that, he couldn’t have helped Clamor. The time he spent in the relic matters even if he’s the only one to remember it.

After some deliberation, he accepts the importance of that time and releases the seal he cast on himself to repress it. In that moment, the bound time affects Noah’s body all at once. The two years catch up with him instantly and his body ages accordingly, but he feels much more comfortable knowing this appearance suits him.

“Let’s follow the starlight you and I both wish for. No matter what lies at the end, I can accept it if it’s the consequence of my choice.”

Noah, his body and mind now matching in age, starts his path as an observer of the constellations who forges his own future. His precious partner walks by his side, liberated with the aid of Noah’s new power.

=========================

Thank you to @lilyanne-mare and @blazingsnark for editing!

We added more info that’s not explicitly written in the Korean source text just to help it make more sense which we couldn’t do with 1st line because we didn’t know Noah’s story at all. But now we do.

#noah #noah ebalon #noah 2nd line #class description #job description #celestia #second selection #stellar caster #elsword translation #translation #elsword

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awhitehead17 · 3 years

Text

Guardian Angel In Disguise

Alternate Universe, Guardian Angel AU, TimKon, Angel Kon, Developing Relationship, Slow Burn.

Summary: With the threats of being removed as Tim’s Guardian Angel, Kon has one final chance to redeem himself worthy of being Tim’s protector.

Taking things to the next level, Kon becomes human to physically be by Tim’s side in hopes he can protect him more so than before. However because Tim is a vigilante Kon’s job is more difficult as Tim constantly puts himself at risk, he’s always running headfirst into danger and is always willing to sacrifice his life for others.

A/N: This story is follow up to "It's my job to protect you." A lot of people showed interest in wanting to see that story developed further so this is the result of that!

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

Once a human vessel had been created for him, Kon accepted it graciously. After adjusting to being in a physical form for the first time, Kal sent him down to Earth to start his self-proclaimed mission of looking after his human.

Kal sent him to an apartment, stating that’s where he’ll be based for the duration of the mission, it’s also where he’ll keep in contact with the superiors by keeping them updated with regular check-ins. Kal also mentioned that there will be a briefing document waiting for him in the apartment once he arrives, Kon is to read the said document so he can gain further understanding of the details of his mission and to get an idea of what capabilities his vessel has.

As crazy as it sounds Kon needs to learn how to be “human”. Having a human vessel is only a minor part of the job, it simply allows him to look like one. It’ll be down to him to act and blend in with the human population.

Kon already has an idea on how to act human, he’s been around them long enough to pick up their various of mannerisms, how some of them speak and how they act towards one another. He’s been around them enough to know what most agree with and what they don’t, what they class as right and wrong. He’s got the general idea and now it’s about putting that knowledge into practice.

As a Guardian Angel (GA) it’s Kon’s job to protect his assigned human to the best of his abilities. He has to make sure his human is getting through their life as safe as possible and is making the most of it.

Most of the human population are assigned a Guardian Angel, not everyone gets one but most do. A Guardian Angel is assigned to a human from their 10th birthday and the angel stays with them until they reach early adulthood of the age of 25. Only with special circumstances does the angel stay with their human after they turn 25.

Depending on the rank of the Guardian Angel depends on how many humans they are assigned to at a time. Lower rank GA’s get assigned one human at the time while higher ranked GA’s are assigned multiple at a time.

Humans do not know Guardian Angels exist. Some believe in them of course, where human religion comes into play and where they may prey and give offerings to the angels, but the angels never give physical evidence to the fact that they do exist in the world. They let the humans believe what they want. On the other hand some humans are just completely oblivious to their presence altogether.

Kon’s mission starts from the very moment he arrives at the apartment set up for him. He’s stationed in the city of San Francisco as that’s where his human happens to be frequenting the most recently. It’s a reasonable sized apartment with many different rooms for various of functions, it’s clean and tidy, rather bare as it has no personal touches to it and it’s hidden away in the city, providing perfect privacy as its easily blended in with all the other apartments around the block.

He takes a moment to get familiar with his surroundings, learning what room is where and where certain things can be found. Of course everything inside the apartment is to accommodate a human, Kon won’t need a majority of this stuff because of what he is. Unlike humans, Kon doesn’t need to eat or sleep or go to the bathroom. Everything here is just for show.

When he enters the living room he finds the briefing document lying there on the coffee table unopened and waiting to be read. Next to the document is a human device, Kon believes it’s called a mobile phone. He recognises it of course, he always sees the humans carry one around with them, each one if different and comes in different colours. His own human has one himself, though he often changes it every couple of months.

Settling down on the sofa, Kon picks up the document. He doesn’t necessarily want to read it but he knows he has too, it’s too important to ignore. The document contains information about his mission and details about his vessel.

Kon is in a peculiar situation. Normally GA’s don’t have human vessels, they are free spirits with no physical ties to Earth and its only in rare and special occasions where they may take up a human vessel and have a presence on Earth.

The reason Kon has a vessel is because he’s on a thin line with his superiors as he’s been failing his job of protecting his assigned human. His human has been hurt multiple times in the last few months and with how frequent his injuries have been Kon’s superiors have taken notice. In result of that his main superior, Kal-El, had threatened to remove Kon as his assigned human’s GA. Not agreeing with the idea, Kon retaliated, exclaiming that he would have better chance of keeping his human safe if he were physically with him, but because of the rules that isn’t allowed. Kal considered the situation and in the end made a deal with Kon.

Kon is to spend 12 weeks on Earth to keep his human from being drastically injured or killed. If Kon manages to keep his human safe in that time then he will be kept as his Guardian Angel, however if something happens in that time then Kon fails and he loses his position as his human’s GA.

So all in all, his mission for the next 12 weeks is to keep his human safe from harm.

One would think that’s relatively easy right? Well wrong. Because Kon isn’t assigned an ordinary human, no, he’s assigned a human who works as something called a vigilante. His human, Timothy – Tim – Drake is known as the vigilante Robin. As much as he admires his human it frustrates him to no ends. Without meaning too this asshole makes Kon’s job so much harder than it needs to be because he constantly puts himself in danger. He’s always running headfirst into danger and is always willing to sacrifice his life for others.

Kon knows he can’t stop Tim from doing his job. At the end of the day Kon has seen him grow into the role he has now, he’s seen how hard his human has worked for it and despite the injures he receives Tim is brilliant at what he does and Kon doesn’t particularly want to stop him from doing it. He just wants to make sure Tim is as safe as he can be while doing it.

Kon’s best bet is to join his human on his crusade, to get close to him and offer physical protection and watch his back that way. What he needs to work out now is how he’s going to get close to Tim.

As a vigilante Tim is naturally more suspicious, he’s very paranoid of things, is well guarded and cautious. His life outside of vigilantism is just as hardcore, he’s the adopted son of the famous Bruce Wayne, that alone makes Tim a target for more reasons than one. The Wayne family is very close and very private.

If Kon has any hope in getting close to Tim he feels like trying to reach out to Tim as Robin would be the best approach. Perhaps he could form a working relationship with his human and make connections with his team, the Teen Titans.

As Kon thinks through his tactics he continues reading through the document seeing what else it says. It makes it very clear that Kon cannot give away what he is and the real reason why he’s there. If Kon fails to hide this then he also fails the mission and will be removed as Tim's GA. This rule certainly makes his mission harder but Kon understands it.

Kon reaches the section about his vessel in the document. He studies the section with a keen interest. It’s important he understands his vessel early on, he’s never had a physical form before so there are things he needs to learn and be mindful of.

Thankfully when Kal made this vessel he allowed Kon to keep some of his powers and according to the document he even has some additional ones. Kon has the power of flight, telekinesis, he’s got super strength, super speed and super hearing, he’s got x-ray vision, heat vision and apparently he’s invulnerable.

That all sounds great, it makes him sound almost unstoppable, but the document states he does have a weakness. If he's ever exposed to something called kryptonite, then Kon will become weak, he’ll get nauseous if he’s near it and if he’s exposed to it for too long then he could even pass out from pain. Kon’s never heard of kryptonite but he really hopes he never crosses paths with it.

As well as kryptonite, Kon can exhaust his vessel if he uses too much power. He needs to rest regularly, not necessarily sleep, but rest and recuperate when he can. That being said the document brings up that he won’t need to eat, sleep or go to the bathroom, these being his GA abilities that’s transferred over to the vessel. Kon already knew this but it is good to see it confirmed. On the other hand, it also mentions that he will have to pretend to do these things to keep up the façade of being a human. Apparently if he does end up eating anything it won’t actually hurt him in anyway.

Kon reaches the end of the document and chucks it back down onto the coffee table. He sighs and leans back into the sofa thinking about what he needs to do.

He has 12 weeks to make sure Tim stays safe. At the moment he knows his human is currently laid up on an infirmary bed suffering from a few injuries from a recent mission that went sideways. After all that’s what’s gotten Kon into this situation to begin with. Tim won’t be leaving the medical bay in that Tower for another couple of days and he won’t be going out on any missions for a good three weeks, that at least gives Kon some time to plan and come up with something for when Tim does go back out into the field. Realistically Tim shouldn’t be doing any vigilante work for a good six to eight weeks but Kon knows how stubborn Tim can be.

Kon needs to come up with a way for how he's going to get close to Tim. His human will be suspicious of him at first and Kon needs to show him that he's a friendly face with no ulterior motives, even though that’s exactly what he is.

Kon sighs and runs his hands over his face. This is so frustrating! He really didn’t think this through fully when Kal presented the opportunity of having a vessel, now he's stuck here with no clue on how to proceed with his mission and it’s only just started!

A high pitched noise gets his attention. He pulls his hands away from his face and frowns trying to work out what it was. Was he hearing things or did that sound actually happen? When it happens a second time Kon jumps off his sofa and starts searching the apartment for the source of the noise, at least that is until movement outside the window gets his attention.

Kon moves over to the living room window and looks out of it. At first all he sees is the busy streets of the city and the sunshine of the day. Just as he’s about to shake it off as his imagination a blur passes his window. Kon blinks and looks down the street trying to focus on what it had been. It’s too fast for the human eye to notice it but when he focuses his attention on it, using his abilities, he finds that it’s a girl flying through the air heading downtown. Kon blinks again when he sees another blur race through the streets on the ground, this time it being someone running at high speeds.

It takes a moment but he soon realises that they are members of the Titan’s. He recognises them as part of Tim’s team!

Now his attention is on the city he finally notices how there seems to be some sort of battle happening. Some kind of creatures were coming out of magical swirls that appear randomly down on the streets below. The high pitched noises he had heard were coming from humans on the street who were running away from the strange creatures that kept appearing. Kon’s never seen anything like that before and sure enough he’s seen some weird things in his time and especially recently since he’s been Tim’s GA.

Downtown he sees the Titan’s tackling the creatures as they jump out of the glowing portals, they knock them down before they could make it further into the city but they kept coming, seeming to never stop.

Kon takes a deep breath. Well when the opportunity presents itself, he has to go after it right? This could be his way into getting close to Tim. He could fight alongside the Titan’s, gain their trust, introduce himself as someone new and go from there? He’s got the powers to do it so he may as well go for it.

With that in mind Kon rushes to the front door of his apartment and starts making his way downtown to join the battle. He’ll just have to work out everything else along the way and hope for the best.

#Guardian Angel AU #alternate universe #timkon #Tim Drake #Kon-El #angel kon #developing relationship #slow burn #Sequel #do people want this published on tumblr as well as archive?#I may only upload to archive for this one #let me know what you think!#fanfiction

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strangertheory · 3 years

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What’s all this confusing jargon?

Heteronorma-what? Comp het? Projection?

This past week I've seen a few different conversations here on Tumblr in which fans clearly demonstrated that they do not understand certain struggles that the queer community deals with, and many fans have been misunderstanding theories involving compulsory heterosexuality and emotional projection as making a character a "bad person."

Because I've seen this crop up multiple times this week, I wanted to create this post and address misunderstandings while also defining some terms and concepts that some fans might not be familiar with.

For the purposes of this post I'm going to be referencing the Stranger Things fan-theory that Mike is gay, that Mike is participating in compulsory heterosexuality, and that Mike is projecting his feelings for Will onto El. (This theory is one that I've seen garner the most criticism, but I'm sure that there are other queer-coded characters in Stranger Things that fans have argued over as well.)

The majority of this post is dedicated to defining terminology so that fans can better understand queer-coding and queer theory as it applies not only to the Stranger Things fandom but also to any other fandom’s discussions, but I’ll also offer an explanation and summary of one tiny part of the much larger theory that Mike is gay in order to contextualize this discussion a bit.

When fans theorize that Mike is "projecting his feelings" for Will onto El, or suggest that Mike is "pretending" to have feelings for El, some fans get upset and angry. I know and respect very much that these fans are not necessarily angry because they are bothered by the idea that a character in Stranger Things could be gay. Not all rejection of certain theories and popular ships stems from homophobia (although they very often do, and the fandom needs to be more aware of this.) But I understand that because some fans see the idea of a gay character choosing to have a heterosexual relationship as being dishonest and selfish and manipulative, they do not want to see a character that they love and respect (Mike) as knowingly “using” and “lying” to another character that they love and respect (El.)

Let me reassure you that is not at all what this theory represents, and that is not at all the angle that is taken by fans that interpret Mike as participating in comp het.

In this blogpost I’m going to do my best to explain some terminology that is often used in theories about queer-coded characters and narratives. I’m also going to discuss why queer people that are dealing with comp het, internalized homophobia, and projecting their feelings (knowingly or unknowingly) onto straight relationships are not bad or maliciously dishonest, and they are most often motivated by a desire to do what they believe is best for not only themselves but for everyone in their lives that they care about due to their mistaken beliefs about their feelings.

Internalized homophobia is when an lgbtqa+ person has within their mind negative ideas about homosexuality which impact their judgement and perception of themselves. Internalized homophobia often heavily influences their self-esteem, their decision-making, and it might encourage them to participate in compulsory heterosexuality in order to fit into a prejudiced community. The way in which internalized homophobia affects everyone will be different and it’s a very complex issue. Even lgbtqa+ people who have been “out” for years and that outwardly might seem as though they don’t have any insecurities might still suffer from internalized homophobia caused by the biases and toxic ideas that they’ve been exposed to over the course of their lives.

Compulsory heterosexuality (frequently shortened to the phrase "comp het”)

com·pul·so·ry /kəmˈpəlsərē/ adjective required by law or a rule; obligatory.

When fans of queer-coded pairings discuss that they believe that certain characters are participating in "comp het" they mean that they are behaving in a way that is strongly influenced by their culture's strong focus on heterosexuality, their community's biases against homosexuality, as well as perhaps their own internalized homophobia. Compulsory heterosexuality does not necessarily require that a person is even aware that they are not heterosexual yet: oftentimes, a person might grow up in a household that has never given them any examples of happy queer community. A person may not even know that being lgbtqa+ is an option. As a young person grows older and tries to do what everyone expects of them (ex. dating) they might only then start to realize that they aren't like all of their peers, and their compulsory participation in "what is expected of them" is not working out as they anticipated. This can result in a lot of frustration and confusion when all alternative options have been hidden or stigmatized by their family, friends, and neighbors. Many lgbtqa+ people often end up participating in compulsory heterosexuality before they fully realize that they are queer because their community treats being straight as the only way people can be. They haven’t had the opportunity to consider the existence of alternatives.

It's important to understand that compulsory heterosexuality is not done out of malice or intended selfishness. The main focus of most people that are trying to be straight is doing what they believe is the "right thing" or the "acceptable thing" in a heteronormative community. There are places in the world that have laws and punishments, often very severe ones, against the queer community. Not all countries are safe for lgbtqa+ people, and historically the US has not been and is still very often unsafe and intolerant even today. And because of strong biases that exist against homosexuality in many cultures: anyone that is trying to be straight does not recognize this behavior as dishonest or manipulative, they see it as something they believe they are expected to do, that they can figure out how to do, or that they believe they can choose in order to be accepted by others. Sometimes they might feel obligated to return the feelings of someone that expresses interest, and they might feel guilty that they don't feel the same way. Other times they might think "well, maybe I just need more practice with learning how to fall in love and be in love!" This is a very common feeling that young people might have when they first start dating. "Maybe I just haven't found the right person!" or "Maybe I'm overthinking things and this is how I'm supposed to feel, and this is love and it's a lot like friendship but with kissing!" People still trying to figure out their feelings or that believe they have to figure out how to be cishet are not "liars" and they are not manipulative or selfish, they're simply people trying to do what they truly believe they are "supposed to do" according to their community's "rules." Many are still in the process of figuring out that they aren't straight in the first place. Many, especially in time periods without the internet, might think that their experience is unusual and unhealthy and that they're alone in their struggle. And many might believe that being straight and being in a heterosexual relationship is the only allowable option available to them, and their behavior represents that.

Heteronormativity is the belief that romantic, marital, and/or sexual relationships between a cis man and a cis woman are ideal, preferred, or "normal" compared to alternatives. A heteronormative person dismisses and ignores the possibility that anyone they meet in their daily lives could be lgbtqa+ and behaves under the assumption that everyone is cishet when the truth is that humanity is infinitely more diverse than that. Heteronormativity causes parents to raise their children assuming they'll be straight and only teaching them about cis men and cis women falling in love and having families rather than offering them a broader perspective on all human experience. So many people that claim to be "allies" to the lgbtqa+ community will often behave and speak as though they assume that most people they meet are straight because deep down they still hold a very strong bias against accepting that a person being queer is just as "natural" as a person being straight. So many people that claim to be “allies” to the lgbtqa+ community will also judge queer people and queer fictional characters differently than they judge their straight and cisgender friends. The Stranger Things fandom is notoriously littered with a few heteronormative fans that only complain about the idea that two middle schoolers might kiss or have a crush on each other (they’re too young!) when it’s the idea of two boys or two girls kissing. Statements such as “they can’t know that they’re gay yet and they can’t have feelings for another boy or another girl yet because they’re too young” are heteronormative because these statements prioritize the false idea that heterosexuality is “natural” and that homosexual feelings cannot arise equally naturally for a young teen as they grow up and as they start having romantic interest in their peers.

Projection is, in simplest terms, taking feelings and directing them onto a new subject that is not the actual source of those feelings. The reasons that people project their emotions can vary. People often project their feelings when they believe at a subconscious level that their feelings are either inappropriate when directed towards the original source OR they feel powerless to do anything about the source of their original feelings and so they try to find a new target to blame their feelings on instead. Projection is one method by which people seek to manage and express their feelings when they are unable to express them directly. Through projection we often seek to avoid confronting the real source, reasons, and issues behind our feelings.

One simple example of emotional projection is how we treat others when we’re having a bad day! Let's say that I had a bad day at work. My boss yelled at me and reminded me that I'd forgotten to do an important task. I'm upset, but I don't tell my boss how I feel and I bottle up those emotions. The second I return home my spouse politely reminds me of something small that I needed to do. Right now: I'm angry. I was unable to yell at my boss because I recognized, either consciously or subconsciously, that this behavior would be unacceptable and that there would be adverse consequences. Now someone telling me what to do at home reminds me of my boss telling me what to do at work, so I explode and yell at my spouse. I have now projected my feelings towards my abusive boss towards my spouse instead even though I'm not really angry at my spouse at all: I'm angry at my boss. In my mind in this moment I see my spouse as being just like my boss at work! My spouse won't understand why I'm treating them this way: they'll think I'm unkind and unreasonable. I might not know why I reacted that way either, but I might know enough to recognize that I've had a long day and work was hard. The truth is: I wish I could yell at my boss, but I can't, and I've been bottling up my anger all day because I wasn't able to express my feelings. I've found a sudden outlet for those feelings that reminded me of the situation in which the feelings started: my spouse telling me I forgot to do something.

When Stranger Things fans speculate that Mike is projecting his feelings for Will onto El they have multiple canon circumstances that might logically support this interpretation of the story. I’ll summarize a few of them, but please keep in mind these are far from the only examples in which Mike might be projecting his feelings. (Both @kaypeace21 and @hawkinsschoolcounselor and many others have written about this interpretation of Mike’s character before. I highly recommend visiting and following their blogs if this subject interests you further.)

The first time we meet El is while Mike is out looking for Will. El enters Mike's life when Will goes missing and while Mike is upset and feeling as though he's "the only one that cares about Will." Mike’s new friend El says she knows where Will is, and by the end of season 1 she helps Mike find Will again! Then yet again in season 2 we see that El returns to Mike's life right when Mike is terrified that Will is being taken over by the Mindflayer. Yet again, Will is in danger and El arrives and she saves Will. We see Mike tell El "I can't lose you again!" when El returns to help save Will, and she reassures Mike "You won't lose me." But this is precisely during a moment in which Mike is absolutely terrified of losing Will who is unconscious in the other room and has been dealing with the Mindflayer. Mike was upset he lost Will in season 1, and then he was upset that El was gone in season 2, and then yet again at the end of season 2 right when Mike is afraid of losing Will again El shows back up in his life and Mike is relieved. But El is emotionally directly associated with how Mike feels when they "save Will" because that is what she has done two seasons in a row. The girl that has been helping Mike find and rescue and save Will is a repeated subject of Mike's affections, and yet he has only known her for a very short amount of time and is otherwise, in many ways, a mysterious stranger. Both Mike’s kiss with El in season 1 and the "I can't lose you again!" line in season 2 are delivered while Mike is in the middle of being terrified of losing Will. Could Mike be projecting his attachment to Will onto this new person in his life because she's there and she's a source of reassurance and hope? Does El subconsciously represent reassurance that Will is going to be okay because whenever she shows up she saves Will? If El is there, then Mike knows that Will is going to be rescued and that he will be okay. That’s a comforting feeling. A happy feeling! Mike knows he feels happy and safe around El, but he might not know why he feels happy and safe with her. Is Mike finding comfort in the thought that Will is going to be okay every time he sees El, rather than finding comfort in any feelings he might have for her? It is, of course, just a theory. But the way in which Mike experiences (arguably) his strongest romantic impulses towards El while being terrified for Will's safety is fascinating to consider. If you were to ask me whether Mike seemed most romantically affectionate towards El when she showed up to save Will in season 2 or whether he seemed most affectionate towards El while pulling her hands away from his face and breaking away from a kiss in order to sing along to a song that just hit the line "Just a little uncertainty can bring you down" to continue it with a loud voice and yell "And nobody wants to know you now, nobody wants to show you how! So if you're lost and on your own you can never surrender!" then... my vote is that he was the most enchanted when El showed up in season 2 to save Will. But until the show is over and the credits for season 5's final episode have rolled we can, of course, agree to disagree regarding who Mike is "in love with."

The theory that Mike is projecting his feelings for Will onto El is just that: a theory. But it’s not a baseless theory. It is logical to a good number of people and it resonates with many queer fans who have experienced comp het and internalized homophobia while growing up in circumstances similar to Mike’s. Before dismissing this fan-theory I believe it is important that fans recognize the validity of these ideas and the way that they reflect many very real lgbtqa+ experiences even if they disagree or decide that this is not their preferred interpretation of the story. Most dismissals of these kinds of theories that I have read tend to demonstrate a certain level of ignorance towards lgbtqa+ experiences and reinforce heteronormative worldviews.

However. To return to my original point!

Hypothetically, Mike would not be a "bad person" for trying to date El and trying to love El even if he was aware that he's gay. He'd simply be Mike, as he always has been: the paladin that just wants to do the "right thing" and do what he believes his friends want him to do. He would see loving El as what he is supposed to do and what he thinks she wants and deserves.

I hope that my earlier explanations in this blogpost regarding what comp het, heteronormativity, internalized homophobia, and emotional projection are will help fans respect that people and characters that do these things are not bad, selfish people and they are not malicious or dishonest. They are seeking to be what they believe is "good." Homophobia exists. It's a real problem. And it impacts every single decision that lgbtqa+ people make when they're growing up in a conservative, heteronormative community. When fans speculate that certain characters are lgbtqa+ : they understand that queer characters would not see their compulsory heterosexuality as being unfair to their love interests. They would see their behavior and words as what their love interest wants and what they think they need to want for themselves, too. They're trying to do what they believe is right and to make other people happy. There is nothing evil in that intention. There is nothing selfish in that intention. However, it is true that everyone will be happiest when they are able to safely embrace who they are and choose to be honest with their loved ones without any judgement or prejudice. That is one of many reasons why homophobia and transphobia and acephobia are such destructive forces in society.

#gay mike wheeler #stranger things theory #stranger things theories #stranger things #anti mileven #byler

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peppersonironi · 4 years

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Batfam/Avengers Crossover Chapter Four: Growing Suspicions

Tagging (Let me know if you want to be tagged): @the-fair-maiden-of-fandom

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types

Relationships: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Natasha Romanov & Damian Wayne, Clint Barton & Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tim Drake & Duke Thomas, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Dick Grayson/Wally West, Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd,

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Barbara Gordon, Justice League (DCU), Alfred Pennyworth, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, Thor (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Alfred the Cat (DCU), Bat-Cow (DCU), Goliath (DCU), Selina Kyle’s Cat Isis, Kate Kane (DCU), Duke Thomas,

Additional Tags: Batbrothers (DCU), Avengers Meet The Batfam, MCU/Batfam crossover, Crossover, no beta we die like robins, rated T for Jason’s language, I bleeped it out though. Just to be safe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, canon? What’s canon?, Deaf Clint Barton,Deaf Character, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Happy Batfamily (DCU), Birdflash and joyfire are implied/referenced,

Summary: After some questionable comments from Jason regarding murder, some of the Avengers are (understandably) freaked out and untrusting towards the bats. They decide to research their hosts.

Natasha stood to the side as Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown finished sparring. Everyone else was either watching or warming up. Natasha was part of the former.

Their skill was undeniable. She had no doubt that if it came to a real fight, she might not win. They had fought hard for almost five minutes, though Nat could tell it was all in good fun. Their looks of concentration did not hide the easy-going eyes and smiles.

Natasha was honestly unsure of who would win, but then Stephanie pulled out of a flip a split second early and delivered a kick to Tim’s chest. A moment later she had used his off-balance to bring him to the floor. He quickly surrendered when she sat on him with her forearm to his throat.

“That was an interesting kick,” Tim said as Stephanie helped him up. “I wonder who you learned it from.” He glanced over his shoulder to glare at a smirking Damian.

“I’m sorry Drake, is there a problem? Aren’t we all supposed to help each other improve our technique?” Damian was smirking even more at that point.

Tim snorted then walked off to get some water, grumbling as he went.

Stephanie laughed. “Sore loser!” She high fived Damian.

“Could I perhaps have a turn,” Natasha asked when no one seemed to be ready immediately to fight.

Steve stepped forward. “Shall we?”

Natasha groaned inside. Steve was a decent fighter, especially with his shield, but she had been looking forward to a challenge.

Natasha nodded. “Sure, I’d like a warm-up.” This got some chuckles from the teens.

They faced each other and started to circle for a few seconds. When Nat grew bored, she darted forward and struck his shoulder. He twisted and she used it to strike the back of his knee. She delivered a kick to the back of his head and he was on the ground a moment later.

There were several appreciative claps and laughs from the kids. The rest of the Avengers just nodded. They were used to Natasha beating them up.

“Someone needs a better opponent,” Bruce Wayne said. He didn’t smile, but there was a slight upturn on the corner of his mouth. “Damian, why don’t you take a turn. I know you’ve been itching for a fight.”

The boy smiled dangerously, and several of the Avengers laughed. They underestimated him - most likely due to his incredibly short stature - unlike Natasha. There was something strange about him, She had sensed it from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. And she hadn’t forgotten that he was dangerous.

Damian strolled forward and took his position. Natasha followed suit. A moment later Dick gave the mark to start.

Damian was fast . He sprinted forward in an instant and struck Nat’s gut. She barely managed to block, and wasn’t able to dodge the next blow, this time to her shin. She darted out with a counterblow, but he stepped out with his back leg, bringing his arm up to block. A split second later his back leg darted out to land a blow on the back of Natasha’s knee, bringing her down. He smoothly transitioned into bringing a knee up and jumping into a spinning kick landing at Natasha’s head.

Natasha was on the ground for a moment before she rose and resumed her atack. Damian flipped away before advancing once again. He unleashed a sequence of torso blows followed by a front handspring finished with a double kick. Natasha spun to the side and attacked him with multiple strikes across his shoulders and head.

She could tell his style easily. He stuck with torso and leg strikes due to his height, and only used roundabout kicks, which utilized his leg strength. But he was also holding back. Some of his blows were clearly designed to kill, but had been modified to be non life threatening. Perhaps what had been implied earlier was true: the kid had killed.

The fight dragged on, and Natasha couldn’t find an opening. Damian was ruthless in his attacks, and his form impeccable. There were times when Natasha was clearly losing, but she managed to pull back from the brink and keep going. She managed to get a decent combo in before Damian swiped at her head mid flip. She dodged to the side: a pivotal mistake. In the blink of an eye, Damian was at her. He brought her into a headlock, and Nat had no choice but to accept defeat.

They rose together, to the astonished faces of the Avengers. Tony was especially shocked. Apparently, none of them had ever considered that Natasha could be beaten. Let alone by an eleven year old.

“Great Job, both of you.” Dick said. “I haven’t seen anyone stand that long against Damian in a while.”

Damian smiled at her smugly.

Natasha smiled right back. The fight had been invigorating, and she hadn't had to work that hard before. But for the same reason, it was worrying. The kid taught with skill that would have taken years to develop. Damian had clearly been trained from a very young age, which brought a shiver down Natasha's spine. She had flashbacks to the Red Room. The bloody horror that has been her childhood.

No one should have to face that.

*****

They trained for a few more hours, and the mood gradually returned to whatever could be considered normal. The bats - Damian specifically - had declared the Avengers to be woefully under trained when it came to fighting. They did admit that Natasha was good, and Clint decent, however. They had everynight standards.

Everyone - even Banner, much to his dismay - had been roped into a basic hand to hand combat training routine, modified to fit each person's skill level. Natasha had enjoyed her's very much, but after three hard hours, she was grateful for the shower.

They had rejoined in the kitchen after everyone had a chance to bathe and chat for lunch. Natasha had found more clothes placed in her room, this time black ripped jeans and tank top. Nat wondered who they belonged to, they clearly didn't come from Cassandra, Barbara, or Stephanie.

Nat didn’t worry too much about it though. She just wanted food. Pretty much everyone was there, though Tony was behind her in the hallway. Natasha came and sat down on one of the stools, along with Tim and Cass.

Natasha had no doubt.

Wayne was wearing dressy casual slacks and a cashmere sweater, as was Damian. They truly looked identical. Everyone else was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, or some variation thereof.

“I have prepared a meal for you, do tell me if it is unsatisfactory,” Alfred the butler said as he set some food on the table. Everyone thanked the old man, who only smiled.

Natasha ate in peace, not ignoring anyone, but not partaking in conversation either. Then she heard Jason raise his voice.

“Come on Replacement, you know I’m about as dangerous as a butterfly.” He was speaking sarcastically, though Tim didn’t seem to notice.

“Tell that to Black Mask’s henchmen,” he muttered, taking a bite of salad.

Jason snorted. “That was a long time ago, and in my defense, it was his mother’s f***ing fault!”

Damian sat straight upright. “How dare you-”

“You know it's true Dami,” Dick said. “She is malicious, even for an assassin.”

“Can we not talk about Talia over lunch?” Wayne asked, his hands on his temples.

Damian made his t-t sound once again, and continued to eat. Jason shrugged and launched back into a conversation with Tim.

Nat glanced over at Tony and Steve, who were frowning, most likely due to the mention of Damian’s assassin mother. They would be talking about this later, no doubt.

*****

“Did you hear how casually they mentioned it?!” Steve was saying. He had gathered Tony, Nat and Clint with him in one of the libraries, desperate to talk about their hosts.

Tony was nodding while he replied. “This place seems more dangerous than we first thought. I’m not sure if we can trust these … bats .”

Clint frowned. “But they have not actually done anything to harm us. Sure, their methods are questionable, but they are our only way home.”

“The least we can do is gather information,” Tony said. “But be careful. If they really do kill, then they might harm us for questioning them.”

“But what behavior have we seen that would suggest they would do something like that?” Clint insisted. “Sure Jason swears a lot and carries guns, and Damian sharpened his katana quite threateningly, but that is not cause for mistrust!”

“They mentioned assassins! The kid’s mother is an assassin !” Steve said. “That in and of itself is cause for mistrust .”

Natasha chuckled lightly, and Steve’s eyes widened. The three men slowly turned to their resident ex-assassin.

“I’m sorry, Tash,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean you , of course. You’re plenty trustworthy!” Tony couldn’t help but chuckle.

“But that’s exactly what you said,” Cint snapped, growing defensive.

“Steve,” Nat said, sighing. “I understand your worry, I really do. But I’m honestly not worried about us.”

Steve blinked. “Why not?”

“Because when I fought with Damian I could tell his style. He had clearly been trained to kill,” This gained an outraged ‘ahah’ from both Steve and Tony, to which Natahsa shook her head. “He had been trained to kill, yes, but his style was adapted. It was like he was unlearning everything he’d been taught. And I know how that is.”

Clint nodded his head, remembering when he had found Nat, and the months afterward when she had been taken in.

“You’re worried about the kids.” Clint stated.

It wasn’t really a question, but Nat nodded anyway. “He would have had to have been trained for years to be that skilled. And he’s only eleven …” Natasha shook her head. “They mentioned the mother in a way that leads me to believe she isn’t really in his life anymore. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say she’s the one that trained him, not Bruce Wayne.”

“So he probably isn't abusing the kid, that’s great,” Tony said sarcastically, though Natasha could still direct the relief in his voice. “But what about Jason and Cassandra? I wouldn’t put it past Jason to kill us, honestly. But Cassandra, I don’t know.”

“He mentioned something like manipulation while questioning Thor, so maybe he didn’t mean to?” Clint shook his head. “But he still talked about it so flippantly. I’m not sure about him.”

Natasha nodded. “I agree. Jason seems the most volatile. As for Cassandra, I am honestly not sure. I haven’t seen her fight, nor do anything violent. But the way she moves … in some ways I think she’s the most dangerous of them all.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, thinking. Natasha sat back, having done her piece. After a while, Tony spoke.

“I think we should do our own research. With a team this large, surely there will be plenty of information.”

*****

There was not, in fact, plenty of information. Tony had found a free computer on one of the desks in the library that was most likely meant for public use - it had a sticky note with the password (IAmTheNight) on it - and quickly set up a search.

They had started with the basics: Batman, Gotham Vigilantes. But there really hadn’t been much. The most they could gather was that Batman had been an urban legend up until he joined the Justice League. There had been sightings going back almost 15 years, which Meant Bruce had started when he was in his early twenties.

Robin had come in a few years later, and was clearly not Damian Wayne. But beyond that, there wasn’t much. Sometimes Robin wore pants, sometimes not. Sometimes Robin was even a girl. Tony could never find anything defininite. There were countless vigilantes mentioned, some nameless, others not. Some showed up for a few weeks, then disappeared.

Finally they found something.

“Ahah!” Tony said as he clicked on an article about Red Hood. “This should be worth our

time.” Tony pulled up the first paragraph, and began reading.

“It is well known to everyone in Gotham that Crime Alley is one of the most dangerous places in our already dangerous city. What is also well known is its protector: The Red Hood. The Red Hood has had a somewhat rocky past with Gotham, but unlike the other vigilantes that haunt the rooftops, it is relatively easy to follow.

Red Hood first came on the scene a few years ago and quickly made a splash. Hood quickly took over most if not all of Gotham’s crime organizations, and began to make immediate changes.

It is reported that all the drug syndicates halted dealing near schools or children. All human trafficking sceeced. Crime was managed, to a point that not even Batman had achieved.

Red Hood enacted a strict law: he only killed rapists, murderers, abusers, and drug dealers - only those who sell to kids.

But we can’t forget about the dark knight. Batman was seriously against Red Hood in the beginning, and there are several documented fights to prove it. Red Hood became the only major criminal to stay active with the bat’s knowledge, and not be defeated.

After a while, though, Red Hood left Gotham. No one is quite sure why, as he had built himself quite an empire. Later on - no one is sure of the specifics - he returned. Details are foggy around this time, but Red Hood started to appear again, back to patrolling Crime Alley. One thing was different though. This time he wore a red bat on his armor, effectively announcing his allegiance.

According to many Gothamites, Red Hood has not killed anyone since his return, and has given up his crime lord status. Some say he protects Crime Alley, and occasionally teams up with the other vigilantes of Gotham. Many eye witness reports say that Hood has a somewhat amicable relationship with the bats, and is clearly one of them. There are also notes of him using rubber bullets, proving even more that he has sided with the bats. Though this is uncertain, as others report he still uses lead, and has even continued killing.

At this point Hood is considered a hero by most of Gotham, with the minority calling him a plague upon the city. The Police themselves have even stopped actively searching for the red helmeted hero - whether this is due to their inability to catch him, or as a sign of friendship, it is unclear. Police Commissioner Gordan has not commented on the matter beyond a vague statement of Hood appearing with the bats when the bat signal is deployed.”

“Bat signal?” Clint asked.

Tony typed furiously for a moment before retrieving the answer. “Apparently the police have an industrial spotlight on their roof with the silhouette of a bat on it which they shine when in need of the vigilantes.”

Natasha smirked. “Overkill much?”

Tony shrugged. “Hey, apparently it works.”

“That’s beside the point,” Steve interjected. “We found barely anything on Jason. Sure it says he doesn’t kill anymore, but that doesn’t mean they can be trusted.”

Clint groaned again. “Let me guess, you want us to investigate the family personally?”

Steve nodded. “Nat, I want you to start, you are the intelligence expert after all.”

Natasha nodded, though inside she was in turmoil. She wanted to trust these people. She didn’t know why, but she felt connected somehow. Like they were similar in some core way.

Steve nodded right back. “Good. Meet back here in a few hours. See what you can find.”

#Avengers meet batfam #dc/marvel crossover #batfam #avengers #batfamily shenanigans #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #duke thomas #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #steve rogers #tony stark #clint barton #natasha romonova

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thedistantdusk · 4 years

Note

Hi, I’m the nonny! Thank you for such a kind response, it means a lot. I was thinking the year she’s back at school post DH and they’re rebuilding their relationship and dealing with the distance after being together all summer. Thank you again, I hope you’re doing well during this crazy time!

Nonny, I can only hope this provides you a bit of happiness right now and that I addressed the prompt! :D I’m so sorry you’re going through this and that everyone will find peace. HUGE thanks to @floreatcastellumposts for reading this a billion times and Brit-picking and @el-eye-zee-aye for the same, but not the British parts! ;D Also on AO3. Not pure smut, but definitely M! __________ Harry wasn’t here last year.

But he followed her everywhere, anyway.

She spent most of a school year with his memory lingering in the shadows of every corridor. She could almost see his hands in his pockets, his expectant smile stretching as she approached and then faltering as she passed. She was haunted by his graveled moans from the corners of the quidditch pitch, his sharp gasps beneath the tree on the lawn, his low, reverberating pleas in empty cupboards they knew so well. And she didn’t realize it at the time, but that kept her going, really... his silent presence. The revenant of what they’d been before the world fell to shit.

There are a few reasons why Ginny doesn’t think much about Phantom Harry during the summer after the war. First, she knows it’s a bit pathetic that she constructed it — constructed him — out of a relationship that lasted three weeks... although she’d fight anyone to the death who dared describe it as such, themselves.

Second, she’s away from school for months and thus lacks a real trigger. And third, she finds that Real Harry is infinitely more fun — especially when he’s in her arms and in her bed and doing all the things he’d once promised he’d do... even though he hadn’t said he’d do those things, either. They’d been quiet Harry things, the sorts of things he’d said with his eyes while he’d stared at her like he was drinking her in. The sorts of things he’d conveyed with a trail of his fingertips or a low groan. The sorts of things that were no less tangible for remaining silent.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. So after a summer of learning and discovering and rebuilding, there’s no small irony that Ginny and Hermione must return to Hogwarts to learn, discover, and rebuild. They stand on the platform on September the first with their respective boyfriends and share hurried, awkward farewell snogs and promise to send filthy letters — all while pretending the other girl isn’t doing the same. Together, they then make the doleful journey to the school that hasn’t been their proper home in ages, regardless of when they visited last. Together, they start a new-old life that’s both alien and familiar, both dull and soothing.

Ginny and Hermione grow closer too. As the days turn to weeks, Ginny wonders if they’re more compatible as friends now because Hermione’s finally loosened up just as Ginny’s started to take non-quidditch topics a bit more seriously. Living under Death Eater rule was roughly comparable to living with Tom in her head, but it nonetheless taught Ginny a series of valuable lessons about holding onto anger versus letting things go.

This too, perhaps, is why it takes until a Hogsmeade visit in October for Ginny to realize what’s missing — or more aptly, who’s missing.

Harry and Ron greet them just at the entrance of the Hogsmeade gates. Just like when they’d departed at the start of term, they each share awkward, hurried snogs of greeting and pretend they aren’t desperate for activities they can’t do in front of their siblings.

Ron and Hermione, however, seem to take this social norm as a suggestion rather than a rule. Ginny vaguely hears them shuffle off behind a shrub, and Harry takes the cue to lift her against him, duck-walk them across a path, and put her down in the shadow of the apothecary, all without breaking a kiss. He smells warm and fresh, like broom polish and soap and Harry, and she doesn’t mind at all when she feels extra definition in the arms that he uses to caress the small of her back. Ginny’s not sure how long they spend snogging, but when Harry pulls back with a choked moan, his glasses fogged, she’s equally sure she can’t see straight, either.

“I erm. I got you a present,” he manages, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Ginny thinks they’ve both underestimated how badly she wants him, though, because she immediately makes a joke about sex.

“I noticed,” she says dryly, brushing against the hardness pressing into her waist.

Harry chuckles. “That’s... a remarkably low bar to be considered a gift, Ginny. Someone should really talk to your boyfriend about giving you better presents.”

“Oh, so you’ve met my boyfriend!” she says brightly. “Brilliant, I was dreading the awkward introduction.”

Harry pulls back to clear his glasses with a quick Impervius. “Yeah,” he says fairly, examining the lenses in the light. “I mean, I wouldn’t call us friends, but I hear he’s quite talented.”

He slides his glasses back on and takes her hand. She has no idea where he’s taking her, but she doesn’t question his deliberate strides down the street.

“Mm,” she agrees, skipping a bit to keep up. “There are two main talents I can think of.”

“Oh?” Harry takes a distracted look around, like he’s searching for someone.

“First, coming back to life,” she says, giving his hand a grateful squeeze. Harry swallows and shoots her a soft, affectionate look from over his shoulder.

“And the second?” he deadpans, his green eyes darkened with lust. Even while turned on, he has the nerve to know she’s setting him up for a joke. Unbelievable!

As they come to a stop outside Three Broomsticks, Ginny decides to make it a good joke, indeed. So she arches a brow and plainly enunciates, “Of course, the second talent would have to be eating—“

“—HEY!” Ron’s voice booms as Harry chortles into his palm.

Ginny looks up, unperturbed, even as Harry falls to pieces. Ron and Hermione are standing a few meters ahead, each red-faced, each with their clothing askew. Harry rolls his eyes, but she knows exactly what he’s thinking: Just imagine how they’d look if she’d finished that thought. And they’d heard it.

Ron’s demeanor changes when he sees them… and for a split-second, Ginny’s afraid she has finished the thought, and he has heard her. As she and Harry walk closer, Ron loses his confident swagger, his face paling, his shoulders slouched; if Ginny didn’t know better, she’d say that her brother was thinking (very broadly) about the concept of her and Harry. Together. Because Merlin knows she’s seen that expression on his face more times than she can count.

But when the four of them are standing nearly toe-to-toe, Ron sets his jaw in grim determination and peers over at Harry. “Did you tell her?” he mutters, squinting in the dying sunlight.

Blegh.

Now Ginny’s the one feeling queasy. She knows it makes her a bloody hypocrite, but she can’t handle hearing her brother’s voice all deep and scratchy, like he’s been groaning and moaning and—

“Erm, we never got the chance?” Harry says weakly. The corners of his lips twitch. “We were... a bit busy.”

Ron makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat as Ginny turns to Harry with narrowed eyes. “Tell me what?”

Harry shrugs. “Like I said, I got you a present.”

Ginny swats him on the chest. “I told you, I don’t need a present!” But then she drops her voice, leaning in to trail her finger along the seam of Harry’s jacket. “What I could use, though,” she murmurs, meeting his eyes, “is a good—”

“We have rooms at Three Broomsticks!” Harry blurts, loud enough for everyone to hear. Ron explodes with a swear and mutters something about “terrible fucking ideas,” and it’s not until then that the pieces in Ginny’s head slide into place.

Oh! She glances at the pub behind them, which suddenly seems far more warm and welcoming than she’d ever thought.

That’s… oh!

But wait, no, something doesn’t quite—

Ginny rips her head away from to peer over at Ron and Hermione, her eyes narrowed — and ahh, fuck, this whole this has been a sham! They definitely knew! She can read it on their bloody faces, can’t she, as they do that thing where they shuffle in place? For two people allegedly good at strategy, they’re shit at hiding when they’ve been caught bang to rights.

At least Ron has the decency to look a bit green at the gills as he peers in the direction of the pub, like he’s just realized — or perhaps just accepted — that Harry and Ginny are about to do what he and Hermione are about to do. Hermione, though, couldn’t seem more flush-faced and content, like she’s wearing her smugness as a badge of honor. Bloody morons, the pair of them…

Ginny turns back to Harry with a raised pointer finger, her mind filled with questions (How long did Hermione know? Was Ron really involved in this process… really? Should I get used to this during these weekends?) but before she can ask any of them, he cuts her off with a nod towards the pub.

“So erm... shall we?” Harry asks, his voice unexpectedly timid. Then he gives her that familiar sheepish grin as he rubs his hand on the back of his neck.

Ron makes another disgusted sound from behind them — which Hermione quickly soothes with a murmur.

And although Ginny would love to maintain an air of self-righteous indignation, she decides to let her boyfriend try this grand-gesture-chivalry-thing, after all.

________

The second they’re in the room, Harry shoves her against the door.

“Does McGonagall know?” Ginny demands with her last bit of brainpower as Harry’s mouth nibbles on her jaw. “Because I can’t... mmm... I imagine her being ok with—”

Harry replies with a startled laugh, but it seems the reminder of McGonagall has cooled his ardor a bit.

“Not unless you plan to tell her!” he says darkly, taking out his wand. “But fair point, this place could probably be more secure.” Then — with one jacket sleeve dangling from his shoulder, his shirt halfway unbuttoned, and a visible bulge pressing against his trousers — Harry proceeds to very stoically cast a series of charms around the room, his eyes flitting from corner to corner.

Ginny would laugh if she didn’t match his desperation.

“No, no, I’m not really worried about that!” She sinks down to the bed to toe off her trainers. “I was just wondering if you’d got permission for us to stay a bit longer, but you answered my question. Anyway.” She waves her hand dismissively and unbuttons her jeans. “Why are you so paranoid? Everyone and their mum knows we’re shagging, Harry. You can’t expect that to be a secret!”

He gives a humorless chuckle and casts the contraceptive charm. “Yeah, but knowing in theory is a bit different from seeing my pasty white arse on the front page of The Prophet.” He puts his wand on the bedside table and shrugs his shirt off the rest of the way. “Trust me when I say that I’ve seen some shit these past two months, Ginny — and I don’t mean dark shit. I mean like, middle aged women who somehow find me delectable!”

He shudders and he tugs off his jeans; Ginny wonders if he’ll ever accept what a fucking hero he is, but she answers her own question almost immediately: Of course he won’t. He never will. This is the man who saved the bloody world a few months ago, but never even thought to ask for permission to actually shag her overnight.

Ginny bites her lip as he finishes undressing. He’s heartwarming and ridiculous at the same time, isn’t he? Harry. This person who’s carelessly sexy and sloppy and perfect... this person whose idea of a grand gesture involves hatching a plan with her brother.

Then he lies down beside her with a timid smile that doesn’t match the arousal jutting out in front of him, and as he softly brushes the hair away from her face, Ginny will be damned if her heart doesn’t swell to a million times its size.

__________

He fucks her deeply, passionately... the type of shagging she knew she was in for when she first heard about his plan. It’s the type where he stares into her eyes and watches with breathless wonderment as he makes her come — twice. It’s the type where she feels his heartbeat with his pulse as he finally spills himself inside her with a strangled roar. It’s the type of shag that sets her nerve endings on fire and steals her breath and makes her feel a startling sense of connection... to the universe. To her body. To her soul.

But most importantly, to him.

To Harry. Her Harry... the one with the racing, reckless mind and loose grasp on authority and suddenly defined arm muscles that he uses to roll them over until she’s lying on his chest.

He came — and hard. She knows he came so hard that he’s scarcely breathing, so hard that his world is surely an array of pinpricks exploding in the darkness... but he’d never, ever be blind enough to forget about her. And as she lays there, her cheek pressed against his heart (the one that’s miraculously, somehow, still beating), a realization that’s been glinting at the edges of her mind slams into her like a ton of bricks: He hasn’t haunted her this year at all.

Ginny exhales on a shudder and bites her lip, but his warm weight keeps her from slipping. He anchors her to earth, this Real Harry... the one she’d ached for and pined for and craved, but not as a figment of a memory.

Her heart hammers, her pulse races, as she makes sense of it all. As she tries to come to terms with it. As she considers how to explain to her boyfriend that he’d once been everywhere (when he wasn’t happy), and how he’s now nowhere (when he is).

Harry gets there first.

“What’s wrong?” he rumbles, his hand coming up to stroke her hair.

A smile lifts her left cheek, still flush against his chest. What else can she do, really, but smile? “Nothing’s... exactly wrong.”

“Nothing exactly,” Harry agrees, threading a tendril through his fingers. “But seriously, Ginny, I know you a bit better than that by now.” He trails off with a chuckle that makes her head bounce, and she grins even more broadly; she loves the proof of him, the evidence he’s here.

“Erm, you do know we’ve shagged quite a lot, yeah? Enough times for me to know what’s normal with you — and what’s not.” He shifts his thumb to brush her jawline and clears his throat with an air of formal importance. “So. If you’ve got any complaints about my performance, I highly recommend you formally share those with the HR department before—“

“—Last year was fucking horrible,” she breathes, her eyes trained on the far wall.

The silence that follows is more deafening than if she’d shouted. In any other circumstance, she’d feel guilty for throwing at him without context. Now, though, she can’t stop... especially not when she hears his reassuring murmur. Not when she feels his hands grip her closer, wrapping around her middle.

And with that, it’s like he’s uncorked a stopper; every bizarre, mortifying thing she did to keep him alive suddenly spills over. “So I guess I... I guess I pretended I saw you everywhere at Hogwarts — even though I didn’t do it on purpose — because even for me, that would be a bit much,” she babbles, her thoughts only half-formed. “For some reason you were in all the places we used to snog, and also everywhere else, and I don’t know...” She trails off with a huff that ruffles the hair around her face. “It just... I didn’t realize until now that I haven’t done that this year and how fucking pathetic that was while you were gone, and—”

“Hey!” Harry interrupts, his arms gripping her waist more tightly. “Of all the things you are, love?” He kisses the top of her head. “Pathetic doesn’t make the list. Not even close.”

Ginny gives a delirious laugh and shifts until she’s propped on her elbow; she’s seized with the desire to see him, to prove (again) that he’s more than a memory. She’s not disappointed with what she finds. Harry’s put his glasses back on, but they’re lopsided and smudged and unmistakably human. His grin is lazy and warm, the type she couldn’t make up, not even if she tried. His eyes are roving over her chest, his jaw tense, as he attempts to take her seriously even though she’s naked.

“Anyway,” she adds, extending her finger to trail down his chest. “I guess it just hit me all once, that you haven’t, you know, been there. Even though I’ve missed you terribly.”

Harry arches a brow. “How terribly?” His hands start to dance up her side. “Please don’t spare the details, Ginny. A poor, lonely bloke needs something to go on.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know damn well how bloody terribly! How many pairs of knickers have I sent?”

Harry clucks his tongue. “Not enough, I’m afraid,” he laments, brushing the underside of her breast. Then he peers up at her, his face stretched into a grin. “After all, it’s hard to top the red ones.”

Ginny snorts before she can help it. Even though she’s naked — even though they’ve just shagged — she can’t help but feel vaguely abashed. “I still can’t believe I did that,” she mutters, running a hand down her face. “And more than once! For fuck’s sake, if my mother ever found out...”

Harry just laughs, shaking his head, but then something catches his eye behind her.

“Shit,” he swears, his eyes going wide, “is that really the time? We were supposed to be downstairs to meet them five minutes ago.”

He gives her a final, moaning kiss before he leaps to his feet and searches for his clothes. Ginny rolls her eyes again as she begrudgingly flings the blankets off. Even after all the time, he’s still more terrified of her brother than anything else...

“A lot of doors will open the moment you realize you’re Harry fucking Potter, you know,” she says archly, reaching for her bra. “You could even, you know, ask to properly spend the night with your girlfriend!”

Harry laughs from the corner of the room. “I do feel pretty terrible about shagging you and running off. But what can I say? You’re in school, and I’m training. It’s just not a good time.”

“Mmm.” She flips her hair out over her cloak and turns to examine herself in the mirror. She’s a bit pink in the cheeks, a bit bright in the eyes — but if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t necessarily know. At least that’s what she tells herself when she considers facing McGonagall later tonight.

“Will the next Hogsmeade visit be a good time, then?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “Because a girl could get used to this, Harry.”

He shoots her reflection a surprisingly tender look before throwing his cloak on, too. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, darling. Assuming there isn’t too much drama at work.”

“Shouldn’t be,” Ginny says fairly, “so long as we keep those middle-aged witches at bay.” She smirks and turns around to eye the red patches on his neck. “I think I’ve thoroughly marked you, but you never know...”

Harry laughs and uselessly tries to run a hand through his hair. Ginny muses, not for the first time, that his unruly hair serves a purpose in times like these; no one can tell if he’s been shagged or not.

With that in mind, she turns to the door with a skip in her step — but she quickly discovers Harry’s not on the same page. He’s suddenly become a bit contemplative, a bit sullen. His brow draws in a grimace as he kicks the floor with his trainer.

“Erm… but seriously, Ginny,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m sorry you went through that last year.” He winces again, staring at his cuticles, before he turns to her with a shrug. “I’m glad I’m not there anymore, though. You seem… happier.”

“Definitely happier,” she confirms, taking a step forward. “Definitely. With real you.”

A ghost of a smile flits across Harry’s lips as he takes her hand. Ginny just leans into his warmth. Leans into him. Desperate to prove — again — how real he is.

“I’m quite fucking in love with you, actually,” Harry murmurs, eyes still focused on their joined hands. “Even if I can only show it by shagging you in hotel rooms every few months.”

He pulls back with a reluctant sigh, and when he peers at her again, his eyes are filled with so much love and devotion and compassion that she could cry.

If she were the sort who did that, of course. Which she’s not.

Right.

So Ginny pushes down the swell of emotion, the warring forces of pleasure and pain, the feeling of the past meeting the present… and opts to torture him, instead. She rises to her tiptoes, drapes her arms around his neck, and leans in to deliver the final blow.

“You only visit me when I touch myself,” she whispers, nibbling at the shell of his ear.

And in retrospect, Ginny will accept that Harry’s answering groan was 100% worth the snide looks she got from Hermione the rest of the night.

#harry/ginny #hinny fanfic #implied smut #anonymous prompt #harry and ginny

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