a little!reader finds safety in an unexpected pair of heroes ⭐️🧸
a story in many parts!
chapter 2
chapter 3
It starts, like many wonderful things, with a risk taken.
You’d moved to New York on fourteen years worth of birthday money and a dream. You’d scrambled at first, sure, but wasn’t that part of the glamour? Most new New Yorkers (say that ten times fast…) have to deliver pizza or bus tables or play guitar on the streets while they chase their dreams. Whether it be Broadway or Wall Street, few folks get off easy their first year or two in the job market.
Which is why it feels miraculous when you get an interview with Stark Industries. It’s entry-level, but they pay fantastic, even for New York, and you’d rather bring coffee to billionaires and scientists all day than wait tables in a loud restaurant where no one cares if you’re having a bad day. At least Stark Industries offers health insurance.
“It’s a great stepping stone in the industry,” the hiring manager tells you as he’s shaking your hand. The welcome packet tucked under your arm is thicker than some of your textbooks had been. “Plenty of opportunities for professional development. HR will be in touch within the week to set up your employee benefits package.”
Most of it flies over your head, like a lot of information seems to do lately. The position pays enough to comfortably cover your rent, and the 10am start time doesn’t hurt. Plus, you can’t help but be a little excited at the prospect of working under some of the greatest heroes the universe has to offer.
The first few weeks are uneventful. You keep your head down, follow the training seminars as close as you can, try not to leave your water bottle behind in the conference room. It’s a pretty typical admin job, though undoubtedly the most interesting you’ve ever had. It’s hard not to think about the fact that you could run into one of the Avengers in the hallway one of these days. Hopefully you won’t do anything too embarrassing. You’re one of the younger people in the office, after all, and you can hear your mom’s voice in the back of your head reminding you to keep it together, don’t let them think you’re weak.
A few of your own rules join the mix: don’t let anyone get too close. don’t seem too eager, too friendly, too weird. don’t try to fit in because there’s no point.
At night, you walk home to your (thankfully close by) apartment. You’d been able to find a studio at a decent price, though the neighborhood doesn’t feel the friendliest. You speed-walk down the street most evenings, but the sun is usually sinking by the time you’re crossing your doorstep. Then there are the upstairs neighbors who think 2am is the right time to rearrange the living room. Not to mention your own lack of furniture, partially because it’s expensive, but also because bringing real furniture to the third floor is difficult even with an elevator. Besides, you have what you need, even if it’s mostly the bare minimum. Stark Industries has a rampant internal promotion system, according to your welcome packet.
Your box of comfort items stays tucked at the back of your closet, but you can’t help but mentally inventory it from your bed some nights: soft blanket, softer plushie, a few coloring books and crayons, and a couple pieces of gear that bring warmth to your cheeks if you think about it too hard. All items that tempt a corner of your mind that you’ve been too afraid to explore since moving here alone. You’re a professional now, after all. You keep the box put away and try to let your imagination be enough.
It’s been about a month when the inevitable happens. When thinking about your first Avengers encounter, you’d imagined being seated at some quarterly meeting or teambuilding session while Tony Stark or Bruce Banner delivers a speech behind a podium.
You certainly don’t expect to run into Captain America.
You especially don’t expect to literally run into him.
“Woah, ‘scuse me—“ comes the voice over your head as you round the corner, but it’s too late. Your feet are carrying you as quick as they can, because it’s the last ten minutes of your lunch break and you’d gotten so lost in the book you’d been reading that you’d forgotten to actually eat. Your only thought is your lunch box in the staff fridge, not whoever could be rounding the corner.
It’s unfortunate for you that it’s Steve Rogers, and it’s unfortunate for both of you that he’s carrying an open thermos of (thankfully lukewarm) coffee. That fact doesn’t help your feelings much as your book clatters to the floor and the coffee splashes all over your front. It’s thanks to a steadying hand on your elbow that you don’t fall from the impact.
“I’m so sorry,” you sputter before he can say anything else, daring a glance up at his face. You’re expecting annoyance, maybe even amusement at your clumsiness, but the first thing you notice is his brow creased in concern. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t see you, I know I should’ve been paying better attention —“
“Hey, easy, it’s alright,” he assures, seemingly expecting the flurry of repeated apologies about to leap off your tongue. He leans down and grabs your book off the floor, dusting it off before handing it to you. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I should’ve had a lid on this mug. Is your shirt…?”
You tug the offending fabric away from your skin, wincing at the dampness soaking through. He shares your frown, though he almost looks like he feels guiltier. “It’s okay,” you say quickly, scrambling to tug your shirt down despite the awful stickiness against your chest and belly. “I can, um, grab my coat from my locker, it’s no big deal.”
“No, hey, wait a second,” he cuts in, a hand hovering over your shoulder like he wants to keep you from bolting. “I have some old Young Avengers Initiative sweatshirts in my office, just gathering dust from the last storage clean out. Let me get you something dry to wear.”
“I-I don’t—“ you start, shaking your head, but the way he beckons you with one hand makes your feet follow him anyways.
“I’m Steve, by the way,” he says as you walk, like he’s your next-door neighbor and not a national hero working in the same building. “What’s your name?”
You mumble it quiet enough that you’re not sure he’ll catch it, but he smiles and nods like he has no trouble hearing. “Which department do you work for?”
The question makes your eyes widen as you remember what you’d been doing in the first place, and your head twists around to look for a clock. “Wait, my break is almost over,” you say, almost panicked as you scramble for your phone to check the time. “I’ll get written up.”
“Don’t worry,” Steve says immediately, and even though you’d usually huff at that advice, something in his tone soothes the anxiety rising in your chest. “I’ll walk with you and let your supervisor know what happened. Let me get you a dry shirt, though, yeah? Good thing I hadn’t refilled my cup since this morning, or else I’d be walking you down to the medbay for burns.”
You crack a smile despite yourself, your nerves fizzling down to something manageable. You follow Steve to his office, which you hadn’t even realized was on this floor, nodding and humming in response to his questions. Despite the obvious warmth in his whole demeanor, shyness still keeps you from finding much to say, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Here, try this one.” He hands you a red and blue sweatshirt with Stark Industries Youth Outreach printed on the front, thick enough to protect against your chilly walk home later in the evening. He ushers you into a small adjacent bathroom to change, ignoring your protests that you can just dig something out of your locker (you don’t actually have anything, but that’s beside the point). You emerge with your old shirt in a plastic bag he’d given you, feeling very much like an elementary school kid after falling in a puddle on the playground. At least this donated sweatshirt is new and only one size too big.
“Comfy?” he smiles when you walk out, looking genuinely pleased when you nod. “C’mon, I’ll walk you back.”
True to his word, he walks right up to your supervisor (who looks ready to start scolding until he sees who’s behind you) and explains what happened, leaving out the part where you’d been rushing around a corner like an overexcited kid. Your cheeks are still warm, but the smile Steve gives you is genuine.
“I’ll see you,” he says kindly, and it sounds like a promise in a way that makes your chest feel full. The sweatshirt sleeves hang over your fingertips, and as your supervisor strolls by your desk, you almost expect to get a dress code reminder anyways. But he just nods as he passes, seemingly softened by Steve Rogers’ lingering energy.
When it’s time to pack up for the night, you can’t help but wonder if he’d felt as much like a strong adult figure as you’d felt like a silly little kid in that moment. If he had, it hadn’t seemed to bother him, or even inconvenienced his certainly packed schedule. You rub the fabric of the sweatshirt sleeve between your fingers as you take the elevator downstairs, mind already starting to wander towards the stress of figuring out what to have for dinner.
And between you and yourself, you hope it isn’t long at all before you see Steve again.
Sephiroth has traveled between dimensions to find you, as you are destined to marry him according to his mother. Though frightened at first, you decide not to object and slowly begin to bond with him.
He stares at you, his typically thin-slitted pupils having grown wider. The look in his eyes reminds you of the scene where he finds Jenova at the Nibelheim reactor. Lovesickness.
You can’t move. You’re petrified in place, unable to even blink as you stare back at Sephiroth. You feel shivers down your whole body, heart pounding as you can’t wrap your mind around the situation. How can he be here? A rational person would explain it away as a stalker who’s doing a really good cosplay to impress you in some sick way, but no, you know for certain that this is the real Sephiroth, who shouldn’t be real.
Sephiroth’s perfectly sculpted lips curl into a smile, but his gaze holds no ill intent. He’s happy. What for, you do not know.
“Finally I’ve found you, my love,” he says, taking a step further into your apartment.
When you hear his voice, it’s like the final nail in the coffin. It’s a perfect match, and there’s no way this is a random person who looks exactly like him and sounds exactly like him too. The odds of that are impossible.
You still can’t find the will to speak, staring at him in a mixture of shock and fear. Your body screams at you to run, yet you can’t so much as lift a finger.
Wait- did he just call me his love?
“It was near impossible for me to reach you,” he added, getting closer, slowly. “But mother helped me. She guided me to you, and now here I am.”
“You- you can’t be real,” you suddenly gasp, pressing your back into the counter. You’re unable to get any further away. You’re trapped.
“I know it’s shocking,” Sephiroth’s voice is smoother and oddly comforting as he draws nearer, reaching a hand out to you. “But this is what mother wants for you. For us. She told me you were destined to be my wife, the perfect candidate. For no one is as dedicated to me as you are.”
Right. Your decades-long obsession with him. That must be what he’s referring to.
He’s so close he could touch you now, and just as he reaches for your face, you wince.
He pauses, sharp breaths leaving his rosy lips. “You repulse me- or… is it fear?”
“No, I- I don’t know,” you whimper, the emotions of your situation beginning to get the better of you as your eyes sting. Don’t you dare cry.
“Perhaps you’re just in shock, my love,” he says, lowering his hand. “You should go sit down.”
You only nod, obeying him despite how terrified you are. Not of him, but the idea of him existing in the same room as you. Sephiroth moves back, giving you space to walk over to your couch.
He follows you over, but doesn’t sit with you. Instead, he stands in front of your crappy little television, looking at you with an expression you can’t quite read. Still that lovesick look, but… he seems concerned?
“You… you are really Sephiroth, and not a stalker or something?” You ask, unsure of what to do.
“Yes,” he confirms. “Is there some way I can prove it to you?”
You could ask him to summon Masamune, but would having a nine-foot long weapon in your tiny apartment be a good idea? Likely not, you decide.
“Cast cure on me,” you say, figuring that couldn’t possibly harm you.
And Sephiroth does exactly that. The same sound from the games echoes around you, green swirls appearing from thin air. You even feel a little more energized. Now you believe him, one-hundred percent.
“…how did you get here?”
“Dimension travel, with the help of my mother,” he explains. “She intends to have me bring you back to Gaia, where we will be married.”
“Married…?” You echo, unsure if you really want to marry him so suddenly. You’d always fantasized about it, but not in this context. “Would you at least allow me to get to know you first?” You ask.
“But you do know me,” he tilts his head in that teasing way he always does. “I’ve observed you,” he says, followed by your name. You can’t help but to shiver as you hear it fall from his lips. It’s enchanting, almost.
“Yeah, but… like, I prefer to get to know the real you. And I’ve… never had anyone interested in marrying me before, so… I think I’d need to date you, first.”
You cannot believe the words that are coming from your mouth right now. You’re rejecting a marriage proposal from him, yet asking Sephiroth to date you in the same breath. What has your life come to?
“Nobody else has been interested?” He echoes, getting a little closer. “How could that be? You’re so… ethereal. Perfect, just as mother promised.”
You find yourself blushing at the comment. You were so used to men in the real world saying that you were ‘too weird’ or ‘too into video games’ for them. And now here you are, being told by your favorite fictional character that you are perfection.
“Real men… suck,” you say with a shrug.
“From what I’ve observed, I have to agree,” Sephiroth lamented. “Just before I arrived here, I had to… deal with one. He was following you. I did not want any harm to come to my beloved, so I took care of it.”
“Wh-what?” Your blood ran cold at this information. You were being followed home? And… Sephiroth had killed them? “You… murdered someone?” You look up at him, fear returning to you in full force.
“You act so surprised, yet you know that isn’t unlike me,” he shakes his head.
“Sephiroth… we’ll be caught, and then-“
“Shh,” he crouched in front of you, bringing up a gloved hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Nobody will know. His body was sent elsewhere. You and I are safe.”
Him being so close, and touching you had you freezing up again.
“Let’s make an agreement,” he began to propose. “We shall stay here a few more days so that you can come to terms with leaving this place behind, and get to know the ‘real me’ a bit more.”
“I have no problem with leaving this shitty place behind,” you’re quick to say, but then you register the ladder half of his words. “But I would like that… you can stay here, with me.”
He smiles, leaning his head forward like he’s going to kiss you. But he doesn’t- you’re not even sure he knows how to kiss you, considering he’s never had a canon love interest.
With his head so close, your eyes flick to his lips, taking notice of the freckle that sits just above the top corner of his lips. Yeah, it’s definitely him.
He licks his lips, face so close to you that you can feel his breath on your own lips. “Hmm. I’d share a kiss with you, but I wish to respect your boundaries,” he instead runs a thumb over your cheek, feeling your soft skin beneath his leather gloves. “In due time, though… you’ll be mine, entirely.”
You tremble under his touch, swooning at his words. You can feel the implications of what’s hidden in his tone, and you almost want to throw yourself at him here and now. But you refrain from doing such a thing, knowing you need to build more trust with him first. Normally, you wouldn’t be so willing to give yourself away to a man you’d technically just met, but this was different. It felt as though you’d known him for years, which, you supposed you did, you just weren’t meeting until now. You wonder how quickly you’ll fall, considering you already have a huge crush on him. Would a few days truly be enough time?
Sephiroth stands up, beginning to remove his armor. The silver pauldrons go first, and he sets them by one of the old side tables beside the couch. “I would assume you are not ready to share a bed just yet, so I will take the couch.”
You nod, getting up and going to pull some extra blankets and pillows out for him.
“I don’t really own any pajamas for um.. such large men,” you say, taking in his full height. “Sorry.”
“Do not apologize,” Sephiroth sits on the couch, now just wearing his pants and socks. You try incredibly hard to not stare at his exposed arms and abdomen. “I’ve slept in far worse conditions.”
Did he mean during his time in SOLDIER? You weren’t sure he could even remember those days, considering he’d discarded most of his memories, so maybe he meant the crystal in the Northern Crater? Which then made you wonder what exactly you’d be facing once he took you to Gaia. Was this some timeline where he won? You sighed, figuring you could find this information out tomorrow. You desperately needed to get your makeup off and shower, and finally truly sleep. That nap on the couch didn’t do you any favors.
“Well, um… goodnight, Sephiroth,” you say, going to your bedroom.
“Goodnight, my love.”
—
Streaks of morning sun peek through your curtains, casting small slivers of rays onto your face. You awaken, immediately squinting as the light blinds you.
You sit up in bed, yawning, stretching and thinking about what you should do today. You should probably take things slow after the amount of shopping you did after dining out last night. You didn’t need to hurt your wallet any further, that was for sure.
Slipping out from the covers, you go to leave your room, and that’s when you remember.
Sephiroth is on the other side of this door.
All the air is stolen from your lungs, a chill running down your spine as you recall the full events of the previous night. Him suddenly appearing, and how he’d treated you, touched you, wished to kiss you… and how he’d stolen someone’s life away in the name of protecting you. It felt so unreal, yet it was undoubtedly your reality.
The urge to make yourself look more presentable before leaving your room rises, so you go to brush your hair. But then midway through that you realize, if he wishes to marry you, would he not be seeing you like this, anyway? So you decide not to change and remain in your pajama pants and tank top. You leave the room, wondering what he’ll be doing when you finally see him again.
To your complete surprise, he’s still sitting on your couch, but the TV is on now. The local news plays, and you hold your breath as you listen, praying they don’t report anything about the man Sephiroth had killed.
Sephiroth turns to look at you, that handsome smile on his face again. You want to melt, having his gaze locked onto you, but you feel awkward, like you don’t know what to do.
“Good morning, my love,” he says, eyeing your clothing. “I’ve been using your television to find out more about this world. It… is far worse than Gaia, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I know,” you roll your eyes, suddenly finding your voice. “The severity of what they’re doing to this planet is… awful. Just another reason on the list of why I hate living here.”
He hums. “It seems far beyond saving. But Gaia… you and I can save it, together. It shall be ours.”
You move around the couch, hesitantly sitting beside him. This is so weird… “but how will I survive the meteor you intend to summon…?” you pause, not wanting to sound as though you oppose his plans in fear he will retaliate. “-Since I’m not a god, like you are.”
“So you already know of my plans? You truly are dedicated to me… but don’t worry, my love. I’ll keep you safe in the crater. Meteor shall not reach you there. And once the planet has been restored, that is when we will emerge, together, ruling it just as mother prophesied.”
You nod, as if that makes any sort of sense. But it doesn’t. If the planet is wiped by meteor, everything will be destroyed. There won’t be anywhere for you to live. Your mind trails back to your fix-it fanfiction, and you begin to wonder… could you perhaps save him, along with the planet? You have more knowledge than any of the characters, so in theory, you should be able to find a solution that doesn’t end in the destruction of the planet, right?
“I think I want to go with you,” you then say. “I have no purpose in this world. But in yours, I’ll have you… to serve as your goddess.”
A larger smile quirks up on his lips. “My goddess? Yes… that sounds lovely,” he angles his upper body to face you, and you can tell he’s itching to touch you. “I’m so elated that mother brought us together… to think I finally have someone who is devoted to me, and will cherish my love.”
You find that your face is burning under that lovesick gaze of his again, and you flutter your eyelashes as you look down at the space between you and him. Your body yearns to give in, close the space between you and him and connect your lips- but you refrain from doing anything. It’s still too soon. Instead, you return his smile, and nod. “Yes… admittedly, I’ve never been in a successful relationship like this. So I’m really happy to have you now.”
He reaches a hand out again, placing it over your own and rubbing circles over your skin with his thumb. “Oh… how I wish to have you,” he mutters under his breath. “Perhaps I shall court you first, would you like that?”
“Mhm,” you nod again, stomach fluttering with a warmth blooming in your chest. “We could go on a date, before we leave?”
A satisfied smile grows on his lips. “That sounds excellent. How does this evening sound?”
“Sure,” you agree, but then look over his clothing. “But, um… we’ll have to get you something else to wear.”
“I suppose you’re correct.”
You pull away from him, standing up. “I probably have at least a tee-shirt or hoodie that you can wear. Your pants and boots shouldn’t stand out too much, anyway.”
And so you head into your bedroom’s closet, finding a black hoodie that seems large enough for him. You take it off the hanger and bring it back to him, holding it out.
“Hopefully this works…”
Without a word or any hesitation, Sephiroth removes his armor, coat and crossed suspenders, and yet again, you have to fight with yourself to not bask in the sight of his bare chest. He takes the hoodie from you and slides it on. A warm, content smile forms on his face.
“I like this… it’s soft, and smells of you,” he remarks. “I cannot recall the last time I wore something so nice.”
Your heart flutters. “Aw, I’m glad you like it… um… do you want anything for breakfast?”
Sephiroth pauses, and then sighs. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t eaten since Nibelheim, five years ago.”
“Really?” You quirk an eyebrow up, intrigued yet a little concerned. “How…?”
“My body was only just made complete again,” he clarifies, “and I came here to find you right away. Though I have not felt hunger yet.”
“Hmm. Do you wanna try to eat, then?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
You head over to the kitchen and begin with something simple yet sweet, pancakes. It doesn’t take too long to make the batter and cook them, and so just a short while later, you find yourself sitting at your small kitchen table, sharing a meal with Sephiroth.
He takes small, careful bites as you two eat. He’d commented that they tasted lovely, but he still seemed hesitant to eat more than half of one. You don’t blame him, though. However; you can see a softness slip into his gaze. Like he’s shocked yet appreciative to have someone cook a meal for him. You wonder, if regardless of his memories being gone, he still has the urge to feel the love of someone taking care of him. It wouldn’t surprise you if he did still crave such a thing.
You finish the meal in silence, with Sephiroth merely watching you, observing everything you did as you ate; the way you’d cut apart the pancakes, how much butter or syrup you liked, down to the way you chewed. It’s like he wanted to know every habit and mannerism of yours, no matter how minuscule it may be. Perhaps his idea of being a good husband included memorizing every tiny bit about you.
You certainly didn’t mind.
—
Over the last few hours, you had spent time preparing Sephiroth to actually go out into your world, explaining things to him that he wouldn’t be familiar with. Thankfully, most things from the real world and Gaia aren’t too vastly different, and there’s a lot of overlapping similarities. Although you do put quite a bit of emphasis on the fact that he is to not summon masamune or use magic while you and him are out on your date.
Now, you both walk over to a park, a lunch bag with takeout in it.
Sephiroth is intrigued by the cars that pass by the two of you as you continue along the sidewalk. Almost every personal vehicle from his world are visually older in model, you recall. It must be odd to see such modern, almost futuristic cars by Gaia’s standards. Although, considering he’s seen plenty of Shinra technology in his life, Sephiroth doesn’t question it very much. Instead, he comments on how ‘strange’ they look, and is only confused by the giant tablets on the dashboards. You laugh, but realize he’s entirely right. It is a bit strange.
The sun is already beginning to set, as the winter months approach. Currently, it isn’t too cold out just yet, and so it’s the perfect weather for a fall picnic. Especially with the leaves changing in color. Sephiroth seems very fond of the amount of nature, even within the city you reside in. It’s a shame that integrating plant life into Midgar was never considered.
You approach the park’s entrance, and glance over at him to see how he reacts to it. Despite his human memories being gone, you can see it on his face; how mesmerized and glad he is by the idea of being able to simply walk into nature from a city. You wonder how he would’ve reacted if he’d seen such a thing before the Nibelheim incident.
“Fascinating… how the people of your world decided to leave designated areas for nature within cities,” he comments, taking in his new surroundings.
You shrug, “that’s just normal here, I guess. But don’t get too excited, there’s still plenty of pollution and deforestation happening,” you then lament.
“Right. I suppose it affects your world differently, considering how much more of a population there is.”
You nod. “Yeah. Not to mention how hopeless it is here… there’s no stopping multiple governments, all much bigger of an enemy than Shinra is.”
Sephiroth vaguely shakes his head, silver hair swaying behind him. “Truly a shame. But luckily for you, my love, we’ll be leaving it all behind soon enough.”
“Mhm. Um… should we go find a spot to eat?”
“Yes. You lead the way.”
He follows you closely as you walk, and within a few short minutes, you find a table in a deserted section of the park. Nobody should come around, anyway. Not during a weekday, when the sun is already setting. And so you find no issue in allowing Sephiroth to speak about Gaia and his plans. Then again… anyone who overheard your conversation would likely have no idea what to think of it.
“So… where will I live once we go to Gaia?” You ask, sipping from the drink you’d brought along.
“Wherever you’d like, so long as it isn’t Midgar. There’s far too big of a risk to have you there.”
You nod in agreement. “Somewhere rural, maybe?” You then remember your plan. Do you dare suggest Nibelheim? It’s certainly close enough you should be able to find Lucrecia’s cave, but you’re not sure of how he’ll react to hearing about that town again.
“Yes, that should work… Do you have any objections to the Nibel region?”
Well, never mind then. “Nope, sounds good to me.”
“Good. It’s close enough to the crater in case I need to bring you there early, but seems to be similar in climate to this city.”
“I see,” you say, wondering how this will all work out. You likely can’t live within the town, considering Shinra runs it, but a cottage or something similar nearby should do… “But how do you intend on getting a home for me? I certainly wouldn’t like living in the wilderness…”
“Do not worry,” he smoothly replies, “don’t forget I can take on the form of others, now… I’ll have it all ready before you arrive.”
Ah, right. The shapeshifting. Something he can do due to Jenova.
“And… what about money?”
“You don’t need to worry about these things,” he shakes his head, saying your name. “I’ll have everything taken care of. That’s the life my goddess deserves to live, no?”
You can’t disagree. Never having to do things like pay bills or work until you’re nearly dead to afford food for the week? It sounds heavenly. But… you can’t help but wonder, what are you meant to do for the rest of time? You suppose you’ll be pretty busy trying to come up with a plan to save everyone, but at the same time, you can’t bear to simply sit around at home all day. You need something, a hobby.
“Though of course, if mother wishes for us to produce an heir, we’ll be quite busy with that, don’t you think?” He asks, almost as though he can read your mind.
You shiver at the idea of Jenova demanding for you and Sephiroth to have a child. And then you remember the nightmare you had, suddenly deciding you’d rather not have children with him. At the very least, not until you can find a way to resolve things. Because the last thing you want is Jenova’s predatory, malicious will overpowering your own. And something tells you having Sephiroth’s cells within you may lead to exactly that.
“I guess,” you reply, “but I don’t know if I’m ready to have kids,” you then meekly confess.
“You will be in due time,” he replies. “Don’t fear it… my love.”
The desire to shift the conversation away from this arises, quickly like rushing waves in a riptide. You need to get that nightmare off of your mind. “Um… anyway, how about we focus on getting more comfortable with each other for now?”
“Yes. Though I’ve been observing you for weeks now, I still do not know much of your life. So tell me about yourself.”
—
The sun has long set by the time you and Sephiroth wrap up your ever spiraling conversation. As you’d been explaining your life to him, you seemed to catch glimpses of the humanity surely still buried within him; a longing glance when you’d mentioned friends you hadn’t seen in years, a sorrowful look when you had spoken of being free to travel to the most beautiful places on earth before you’d had a falling out with your parents. It was almost like the feelings were still there, but he had no recollection of the actual memories. Maybe there really was a chance to save him and restore his sanity after all. You thought about Tifa helping Cloud regain his memories in the original game, and you wondered… if you could find a way into the lifestream without dying, could you do the same?
The moon hung directly above you and him now, illuminating that pale milky skin of his wonderfully. You basked in the sight of him, looking like an angel beneath the moonlight. Although he sort of was an angel, in a sense.
You could not help but to stare at him, feeling a yearning so strong you were beginning to be unable to resist. You noticed it from Sephiroth’s end too- he watched you with heavy eyes, drunken with love as he clearly wished to be much closer than you were now. From across the table, you blushed under his gaze. You wanted to be closer, too. Perhaps if you could hold his hand as you walked back to your apartment, then you could steal a small kiss-?
“It’s getting really late,” you say, sliding out from the bench and gathering your things. “Let’s head back, alright?”
“As you wish.” Sephiroth takes the bag from you, and you begin to walk back home, side-by-side.
“It’s quite peaceful here,” he comments looking around the empty streets. “Nothing like Midgar.”
“Yeah, definitely not. People barely go out at night here. Aside from that guy that, um, you know…”
“The one I took care of for you?”
“…mhm.”
“Don’t fret about that, my love. It had to happen- otherwise he would’ve harmed you.” He cooes, trying to comfort you. But you struggle to feel soothed, his tone not entirely sweet and with knowing what happened.
Silence falls between the two of you, but you don’t mind. It gives you time to ease your mind from what he’d done the previous night, and you think about that kiss again. Without another thought, you slip your hand into his, intertwining your fingers.
Sephiroth hums, very clearly pleased with how close you’re wishing to be with him. You can barely make it out through his bangs, but his lips are curled into a satisfied grin.
And another moment later, you decide you can’t take it any longer. Your heart pounds, so loud you wonder if he can hear it, and you abruptly stop walking, moving quickly as you stand on your tip-toes and press your lips against his cheek, albeit through some of his hair.
“Thank you for protecting me,” you quietly say, sweetly and directly into his ear.
You can sense he’s melting, but also resisting those animalistic urges to lovingly pounce on you and claim you as his own right then and there. The way his ears turn red makes you certain he’s thinking about pinning you against a nearby tree, desperate to kiss you fully.
But nothing more happens. You instead continue to walk home hand-in-hand, a far less awkward, yet somehow more tense silence filling the air between you.
Story tags: written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!
Chapter warnings/labels: it's time for a time skip montage! Mostly fluff, but hard emotional stuff being dealt with
wc: 4.4k
A/N: I know I've been gone a while again, but hear me out; I return with a long chapter! 😅 Lots of soup, please enjoy!
Chapter Selection
Spring gradually gave way to the sticky heat of summer. And with the heat came a slow, almost stagnant season in our lives. Damian spent the summer fighting tooth and nail to regain some semblance of normalcy in his life. He, Titus, and Jon were almost inseparable, whether they were at our house, the manor, Jon's, or visiting the Kent farm. It quickly started to feel like we were co-parenting with Bruce, and Clark and Lois. A very weird feeling, when I thought about it too much. But every day, Damian seemed a little less insecure, a little happier, and a little more free. On the rare occasion that Jon needed to leave, Damian practically wilted until they could be reunited. So Jon was most certainly a welcome addition to our home, even Jason said so.
Jay continued to struggle with his nightmares and attended his weekly therapy sessions. He periodically brought home new instructions Dinah wanted us to try out to manage the symptoms, and we recorded any changes we noticed. Meanwhile I took my classes, patched up the occasional minor injury, and went to weekly training sessions with the Bats.
I was dropping the kids off at the manor one day when Alfred asked me to come in and speak with Bruce. I followed him to the office, not entirely sure what to expect. Bruce shook my hand a bit stiffly as I entered the room, leading me to the armchairs by the fireplace.
"… I know about Jason's appointments with Dinah." Bruce spoke in a calm, measured tone.
"… Ok?" I frowned a bit, not sure why he was telling me this. "Did … did she tell you?"
"No, no of course not. But when one of my sons is spending a few hours every week in a facility I fund, I notice." I nodded; if Tim had noticed, it made sense Bruce would too. "… I want to ask him about it, but … I suspect he wouldn't be receptive to that."
"You're probably right. So … what are you asking me for here, Bruce?"
Bruce picked up a sealed envelope, slowly turning it around in his hands. "I was thinking I could write to him. Maybe it would be easier for us to talk if we weren't face to face … would you give him the letter? Tell him I don't expect him to respond, but … I'm open, if he wants to."
I blinked a bit, grinning. "Of course! I … I think that's a great idea, Bruce. It can be easier to say what we mean when we have time to look at the words and think about them before sending them off. I think it'll help you both a lot."
Bruce's face softened ever so slightly as he hesitantly held out the envelope. I slid it into my bag, making sure it wouldn't get bent or crumpled. "… I don't expect you to tell me anything, but … whatever they're doing up there, it's going well?"
I considered him for a moment. "… Yeah, Dinah is great. She's been a big help."
"Good." He sighed softly, relief spreading across his face. "You'll tell me if he needs anything?"
"… No. But I'll encourage him to." I smiled softly, standing to go. "See ya next week, B."
Jason read the letter a dozen times before responding. Their first letters were awkward, stilted conversations, with no real substance; just overly formal small talk. But slowly, they found their way to real conversations. In one letter Jason mentioned a book he'd read recently, and by the time Bruce sent his next letter he had read it as well. They spent a month sending letters back and forth arguing about whether it was a romance or a psychological horror. Jason seemed quietly excited every time he sat down to read one of Bruce's letters, and he wrote lengthy responses. But no matter how often we saw the family, those conversations never left the page, and their in person interactions stayed about the same as always: awkwardly familiar, and a bit uncomfortable, though perhaps a bit less aggressive.
Dick and Tim decided summer was the perfect time to start up a monthly movie night at the manor. Jason took less coaxing than usual to agree to go; he said it was easier, being around them all, when the activity of the day was sitting silently and ignoring each other. Plus the manor's theater room was incredible; like a real move theater, but with recliners and couches instead of those uncomfortable little chairs. There were plenty of cozy blankets, and everyone's favorite movie snacks were always plentiful.
Life slowly developed a routine again. Summer greens gave way to autumnal reds and oranges, and the fall semester started for me, Damian, and Jason. More nights than not, the three of us would do homework at the dining table together. Jason took to his math and science lessons like a duck to water; he really did just need that little reminder before taking the GED test. We would look over each other's work and do flashcards for each other to prepare for tests. Damian was surprisingly well-versed in many of the topics I was studying, and made an excellent study partner.
When the letter asking for volunteers came around, I rejoined the PTA at the high school, despite Mrs. Webster's scowling. Some of the parents seemed glad to see me at least, and I enjoyed helping with club activities and events. Damian joined the after school program at the Arabic Cultural Center, finding tremendous comfort in the community there. He started to make friends in the teen program, and I continued to practice my Arabic with the grandmothers and parents. Many of them were eager to share their recipes with us, and my repertoire of Arabic meals and treats grew tenfold. Damian was always quietly pleased to see the familiar dishes, but ma'amoul remained his favorite.
Jason aced his finals, and took the GED test right before the winter break. The three of us stood in the kitchen together when the results came in. His trembling fingers ripped at the thick envelope, anxiety radiating off of him. He almost dropped the paper as he unfolded it, eyes filling with tears as he read off his results. Passed, with flying colors, as we knew he would. Damian and I hugged him tight as he collapsed into us, just whispering over and over; "I did it. I graduated …"
Walking into the manor for training that week had me buzzing with excitement. Jason cleared his throat as we entered the room, and the others all turned to face us as he pulled out the letter.
"So, … I got my GED. Th-" he didn't get a chance to finish; Dick, Tim, and Steph all started screaming and swarming us to hug him. Duke clapped him on the back, grinning, and Cass ruffled his hair affectionately. Finally, Bruce approached. He delicately took the letter from Jason's hands, reading it quickly. Tears filled his eyes as he looked at Jason.
He pulled him into a hug and I heard him whisper; "I'm so proud of you, Jaylad."
Jason cleared his throat, hiding his face against Bruce's shoulder; "th- thanks dad … there's a graduation ceremony in May, if-"
"We'll be there!" Dick grinned.
Tim nodded. "Yes, of course we will! What's this 'if'?"
"I know it can be hard to get everyone's schedules to line up, you don't all have to come…" Jay mumbled.
Bruce held him by the shoulders; "we will make it. No matter what, ok?"
Jason sniffled softly. "… Ok."
Autumn's crisp breezes blew the last of the leaves to the ground, and winter's fluttering snowflakes began to make their appearance. Jason's therapy was going well, and Dinah was finally able to confidently put a name to the disorder; complex post traumatic stress. Surprising no one, the burden of childhood poverty is not wiped from one's mind when they're adopted into wealth. Jason had been prepared for it to be C-PTSD, Dinah had been gently leading him toward the conclusion for months, but he was hesitant to accept that it had started so early.
Death was traumatic, his especially, he knew that would be part of it. And he could even accept that Bruce training him to fight crime as a teen, and the things he'd seen as Robin, had probably not helped him in this matter. But as hard as his early childhood was, he wasn't an unhappy kid. He remembered his mom cooking with him, before the drugs, and playing catch with his dad in the alley behind their apartment. He remembered kind smiles, and gentle hands, and warm hearts. They tried, he insisted, tried so hard to keep him safe and warm and fed. They were good, they didn't hit him or hate him, or let other people hurt him. They weren't all good, of course, they were still human, and there were plenty of bad days, especially near the end. But he insisted they weren't that bad, they were his parents. They loved him. Other kids had it much, much worse. So he couldn't fathom how Dinah could suggest that the C-PTSD had started so early.
It broke my heart, watching him come to terms with the fact that trauma had made a home of his mind, not after his family was ripped apart by poverty and crime, but from the very beginning. Dinah was almost painfully gentle as she explained how going to bed hungry and cold changes your brain chemistry. How the mind is affected by watching one parent fall victim to drugs while the other is bringing home the stress of working for a mob boss.
It took almost a month for Jason to accept it. In that time, he pulled further away from his family. His responses to Bruce's letters slowed, and he even skipped patrol without a word some nights. On those nights I had to text the Bats on the Oracle app to avoid a panic. Tim took to visiting on Wednesdays, using the excuse of dropping Damian off after school, to check in on his big brother. Jason still wasn't ready to tell him about his Tuesday appointments with Canary, but seeing the younger man every week did seem to help his mood. The three of them sat in the living room, mostly talking about their weekend patrol plans and playing video games.
Slowly, Jason started inviting the others around as well. I came home from class one day to see him and Dick sitting in the living room with a pizza. Another time he was playing uno with Duke. And once, he was sitting in comfortable silence with Cass on the other side of the room, each reading their own books. Everyone seemed to realize something bigger was going on, but nobody brought it up. I suspected Tim had made some recommendations to the others, given how they all seemed to intentionally keep the conversation on light topics. I did my part by making sure there were always fresh, home made treats in the kitchen, just in case someone showed up.
Winter started to melt away, and one day I found a composition notebook on the dining table. The cover had a sticky note with my name in Damian's angular handwriting, so I picked it up. I assumed it was homework of some kind; something he wanted help with, or a study guide for me maybe. I sat at the table, cracking it open.
Ukhti,
Father and Todd's relationship seems less strained as of late, presumably due to their letters. I also have things I wish to say, but struggle to express in person. If you are amenable, I propose we also attempt this form of communication.
I quickly drafted a response and took the sticky note off, leaving the notebook on his bedside table.
Yours,
Damian
Of course we can, Sweetheart! If you think it will help, I'm happy to try! First can I ask, have I done or said something to upset you?
♥️
Ukhti,
You have done nothing wrong. I apologize, I should not have left room for you to doubt yourself like that. I am simply struggling to find the words for these emotions. Written word seems easier. More private.
This will stay between us?
Damian
Of course! How would you like this to go? Would you like me here as a sounding board, to help you put a name to the feelings, or something else?
Yes to all. I would like to use this notebook to ask for advice, and to name the feelings, and I suppose to have somewhere to put them. Does that make sense?
It does! So, what would you like to start with?
I am struggling more than I anticipated, in cutting off Mother. I of course knew it would be hard, and the family has endeavored to make it bearable. And it has become more bearable, as Todd said it would. I suppose I'm experiencing one of those "bad knee flare ups" he spoke of. I do not miss the way things were with her, but I want … something? Something I cannot name.
When do you notice the "bad knee" most? Is there a situation or a person that it's happening around? Or maybe a feeling or sensation that you do recognize that comes with it?
It seems to occur randomly. The first one I recognized was at school. A classmate's mother brought in their diorama for them. And a moment later, I was furious at nothing. It took me days of reflection to realize that I was angry because Mother would never have done that for me. It's a simple task, to bring the project for the last class period. But the request would not have been taken well, perhaps even seen as weakness. I would have been expected to make my own solution, and would most likely end up carrying the item around, or have to find a safe place to store it until the appropriate class.
Other students have such simple relationships with their parents. It feels unfair. But then I remember just how much family I have, and how much you all have been willing to do for me, and I feel quite selfish for that. Most people in this country only have a mother and father, maybe a sibling or two, to assist them. I have so much more than them, but I still feel so empty sometimes.
Other people's family structures have no bearing on ours - you are entitled to your feelings about your family, the good and the bad, no matter how much you seem to have. One secure relationship is worth more than a dozen unstable ones, and as much as the Wayne family loves each other, there's a lot of pain and trauma on all sides. It's very difficult to love someone without also hurting them when you're running from monsters only you see, you know?
The parent/child relationship is particularly difficult to break, so when it does break it leaves a noticeable wound. It makes perfect sense that you would be hit, seemingly out of the blue at times, with revelations like the one you had about that class period. Anger at the situation makes perfect sense; you have had an incredibly unfair childhood. And most importantly, you are allowed to feel your emotions, even the hard, ugly ones. If you don't take the time to feel them, you won't ever know how to handle them.
Thank you for saying so, Ukhti. The part that is confusing me right now is that Mother does love me, I know she does. And she has done things for me none of my classmates' mothers would be capable of. She has killed for me, she has taken tremendous steps to ensure my well-being, she has even sent me away for my own safety, something most of my classmates mothers would not have the mental fortitude to do, and she allowed me to stay with Father when I initially requested to do so, even though it saddened her. So why should such a little thing, a hypothetical at that, stick in my heart as it has?
Life is built on the little things, Damian. You can't feasibly do a big gesture every day, or even every week. They're supposed to be rare events, to mark special occasions, or to promise that a mistake made won't happen again. A relationship is not built on big gestures, it's built on the little daily things. I think when little things matter more than they seemingly should, it's because they're being neglected, and through that neglect the relationship as a whole is hurting.
I don't like that there's nothing I can do about this. It hurts, and I cannot change it. The only person who might be able to is Mother. Though I do doubt that she could, and I'm uncertain at this time if she would even try.
All there is to do is to experience it, habibi. It sucks, but you can't run from these feelings. If you do, they will build until they completely overwhelm you. It hurts, and that is a fact. But you do not have to face it alone, and that is also a fact.
We wrote back and forth for months. Damian divulged more and more stories from his childhood, mostly processing events that he had thought were normal but that were decidedly not. Until one day, I opened the notebook to see a shakily written message;
Sometimes I regret how I responded to Todd's jokes calling you 'mommy'.
It still feels wrong, and I'm happy with our relationship as it is. But every once in a while my friends will talk about their parents and I get this feeling in my chest, like … that's you. You, and Todd, and Grayson.
In the League, Todd's behavior towards me existed in a limbo state between a big brother, a father, and a pet. He needed me, and I needed him. And since coming to Gotham, he has continued to be somewhere between a big brother and a dad.
When Father was gone, Grayson took care of me. And by the time he returned, Grayson was firmly placed in that category as well; not quite a dad, not quite a brother. And now I have you. Not quite a sister, not quite a mother. But somehow, maybe both…
And all of that is so much more complicated than what the rest of my friends have. I don't want to chime in with "my sister" or "my brother's paramour", I want to be able to say "my mama", like they do. But I never do, and I don't know if it's because I'm afraid of how mother would react if she ever heard I had replaced her in that role, or if it's something else.
I'm not even entirely sure why I'm telling you this. I suppose I just needed you to know.
I'm glad you told me, sweetheart. I don't know if there's anything I can do or say to help you through this, but I want you to know that it wouldn't bother me if you wanted to change how you refer to me. Whatever title feels right to you, whether it's fluid from one situation to another or remains the same all the time, we will always be family, and I will always love you.
And as for how your mother might react, we can address that situation if and when it comes up. I once had to assure Bruce that I wasn't trying to steal you and Jay from him; if you two reconnect some day I can do the same with Talia. Until then, it's not her business how we address one another.
♥️
The notebook remained with Damian for quite a while after that. One night around midnight my phone started flashing green; Oracle was calling. I opened the app and was immediately directed to my messages;
Oracle: Robin enroute to the Nest. Suspected sprained wrist. ETA: 5 minutes.
Me: Copy 5. Any other injured birds forthcoming?
Oracle: Negative. Batman and Red Robin have subdued Hatter, just waiting for the officers to take custody.
Oracle: B wants a report when Robin enters the Nest.
Me: 👍
I made my way down to the clinic. The first time I would be using it for someone other than Jay had me a bit anxious. Jason brought me bullet wounds, cuts and scrapes, that sort of thing. A sprained wrist was very different. I double checked my supplies and prepared a splint before pulling out some pain killers. As I was filling a glass of water, the door to the garage opened. Robin stormed inside, muttering quietly. I texted Oracle that he'd arrived before setting my phone aside.
"Hey kiddo…" Robin sat in a chair next to the counter, grabbing the water and taking a big gulp.
"Father is making out like my arm was ripped off. I am fine." He grumbled.
"Good. Then this will be nice and easy." I smiled softly, holding out a hand for his arm. He rolled his eyes, but held his arm out to me. I carefully removed his glove and gently rolled his sleeve up. The wrist was swollen, and I delicately tested his range of motion, feeling for grinding or any obvious breaks. He barely responded at all, just staring me down.
I looked up at his face; "any pain?"
"I've experienced far worse."
I sighed softly. "Habibi…"
He released a breath slowly. "… It is … tender. There was a brief, sharp pain when Hatter pinned my hand behind my back. Probably a torn ligament."
I nodded, offering him the pain killers. He hesitantly took them, and I fitted the splint on his wrist. "Well, a week or two and you should be good as new. Be gentle with it for now, and take the painkillers as needed."
He nodded once, mumbling into his chest; "thank you … mum …"
I blinked a bit and smiled softly. "Wh- what was that?"
He slowly looked up at me, entirely expressionless behind the whites of his mask; "… Robin is not the son of Talia Al Ghul. So … she cannot object to Robin calling someone else mom … right?"
I smiled softly, gently wrapping an arm around his shoulders and kissing the top of his head. "Makes sense to me, baby bird."
He leaned against me a bit, sighing softly. "… Can I stay tonight?"
"Of course you can. I insist."
He buried his head into my shoulder, mumbling; "… Thank you, … mama …"
May rolled around, bringing Jason's graduation with it. The whole family was there, filling out the first row of the guests section. Oracle had informed the GCPD that the Bats would be 'busy with Justice League matters' for the day, and reported that they were scheduling extra officers. And Dick called in a favor, getting Kid Flash to cover Signal's patrol for the day. An unusual allowance from Bruce, but not unwelcome; the whole family wanted to be there for Jason. Roy and Lian ran in shortly before the ceremony started, dropping into their seats with the rest of us.
The music started and Dick and I got our phones out, his set to film and mine set to take pictures. A moment later, the graduates began walking down the aisle. I had been expecting maybe a dozen people, but GED prep courses were apparently a booming industry in Gotham; Jason's graduating class was bigger than mine had been! I briefly wondered if that was the fault of the Gotham rogues, or the flourishing drug trade, before deciding it was probably some unholy combination of the two. I recognized a couple people in the crowd; young adults who had been meant to graduate with me, but had become hospitalized or dropped out during our high school tenure. It felt like a full circle moment, that they would graduate with Jason -with the Red Hood- instead.
I watched the graduates file past us to their seats. Jason stood a good head taller than most of them, making him easy to find. He locked eyes on our group after briefly scanning the crowd. The tips of his ears started turning pink and a little grin spread across his face as he saw all of us. He glanced down at the ground as he walked past, pointedly ignoring the hooting and hollering of his siblings.
The university president got up and spoke about tenacity and how proud they should all be of themselves before finally announcing the graduates. Bruce and Alfred were blinking away tears as Jason walked across the stage to receive his GED certificate. He waved to us, beaming with pride. I snapped a few more photos before he returned to his seat for the rest of the ceremony.
Everyone joined us for dinner to celebrate. The house was decidedly not designed for such a large group; we had people in the living room, the kitchen, and throughout the backyard. Duke, Tim, and Dick had picked up food from three local restaurants, all Jason's favorites, and Steph and Cass picked up a cake. The house was full of music and laughter, and Jason was right in the middle of it all. He was trying to contain himself, but the big dumb grin on his face told us all exactly how much this meant to him.
I got a couple extra pictures throughout the party, excited to fill out a photo collage frame I'd gotten for the occasion. I wanted it to be a reminder for him - that he was smart, and capable, and loved. I snapped a photo of him and Bruce, finally talking in person about the sequel to the book they'd been writing about. Bruce had picked up two copies so they could read it immediately, and they had nearly identical smiles and excitement in their eyes. As I glanced at the photo, Tim slipped the camera out of my hands. I looked over to him, and he gestured for me to go sit with them.
"You've been behind the camera all day. Time to get in the shot."
I chuckled softly; "thanks Tim."
He was far more particular than I was, getting the three of us lined up just right for the photo. But when he finally returned the camera to me, I couldn't deny his results; it was the perfect picture. Bruce looked every bit the proud father, I was leaning against Jason in a way that looked cool and intentional, and Jason's eyes sparkled with joy.
In which Grisham wakes up to something new, something nice.
Previous | AO3
Tagging: @wegotfoodathome @houndenny @fruitteagoblin @grisham-enjoyer @anotherpokemonfanaccount @aki-i-guess @averysmolkirbo @vanillianbean @godserene
WC: 2k
Written To: What it Means to Love (Violet Evergarden OST)
Pale blue light heralded the approaching dawn, casting your sleeping face in ethereal softness. Grisham almost held his breath, unable to take his eyes from you.
You stayed.
He almost thought he was still dreaming when he’d woken up to the unfamiliar but comfortable weight of you next to him. To your warmth, to your scent, and to the steady lowness of your breath. He wasn’t alone, Zorua was likely curled against his back, and Grisham could spy Sylvie at the foot of the bed even without his glasses on.
This was new.
He’d never woken up next to a lover.
Lover.
The word bloomed in his chest. Is that what you were to him? Was that the right word to use for you? It didn’t feel… wrong. So to speak. It felt nice. A little too early, and certainly unmoored by not knowing if you would have accepted the title. But nice.
He smiled, carefully brushing the hair from your face and kissing your forehead. Behind him, Zorua stirred, pressing more of his weight against Grisham’s back. You didn’t stir, you stayed asleep. And Grisham marveled at the sight of you.
You stayed.
And he hoped you would continue to stay.
Eventually, he carefully slipped out of bed and made way towards the bathroom, clothes in hand.
You awoke to the sound of the shower running, lingering warmth, and a dull ache between your legs. The memory of last night soon greeted you. You were in Grisham’s bed, where you had fallen asleep in his arms.
In the light of the morning you could see Grisham’s room. There wasn’t much to it, but it was kept clean and tidy. There were photos next to the closet, colorful depictions of Cafe Nouveau at various stages of its development. A book of poetry was on the bedside table, you’d seen him annotating it once or twice in the time you’d been living with him.
It felt safe. Mostly impersonal. Temporary.
But the bed smelled like him, and there were hair ties on the bedside table, his clothes in the hamper. It was his room. That eased the slight discomfort as you stood and dressed yourself. It seemed that Grisham had brought in a change of clothes for you, a comfortable outfit he’d seen you in plenty of times. You were thankful to not have to risk going into the living room in the nude to retrieve your clothes, otherwise you weren’t sure how Grisham would’ve felt about you wearing one of his shirts. If it was too soon to even do so, or if it was something he would have welcomed. Maybe even expected.
You made his bed before you went out into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, heart hammering in your chest when you heard the shower shut off.
You slept with him. You were going to have to talk about that and that talk was rapidly approaching. Was it a mistake? A one-off slip up? Or was it the start of something more, something akin to a friends-with-benefits? But you had said you loved him. And he had said it first.
The bathroom door opened, and Grisham paused, taking you in at the table. Hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, another one waiting for him, and a question on your face.
“Let’s talk.” Grisham nodded, sitting across from you. His hair was still wet, dripping into the towel around his shoulders. Even as casually dressed as he was, he still carried himself with an air of measured grace, softened as it had become in the last few weeks.
For a moment, you tried to find where to start, but Grisham was the first to move.
“I don’t regret last night.”
“Even when you said you loved me?”
He didn’t respond right away, mulling the question over while his hands wrapped around his cup of coffee.
“Especially that.”
Your heart skipped. Your cheeks burned.
“Maybe it was a little soon.” He eased, “I’m sorry if I-”
“I said it back.”
Grisham sat still, but you had heard the short intake of breath.
“You did.”
You swallowed hard, willing your heart to steady itself.
“And I meant it.”
The smile that bloomed across his face was a small one, hesitant, but genuine. Hopeful.
“I meant it too. I love you.” He said it with gentle conviction, nothing at all like the broken desperation you’d heard him say it before. That reverence was still there, clear as the daylight that now spilled into the apartment.
It made your heart flutter, a warm lightness spreading over your body. But, confirming it wasn’t enough, and your next question grounded you.
“What does this make us?”
“Lovers would be the easiest description.” Grisham shrugged, “But we never really… it feels temporary to call you my lover, like you could leave—which, you can if you want, I don’t want you to feel trapped here but I do—”
“Grisham.” Your hand flew to his, halting his spiral before it could take him over the edge, “What do you want us to be?”
He took a deep breath and exhaled.
“I want this to be serious.”
“And?”
“I want this to work. I want us to work.”
“I’d like that.” You reassured, your hand hadn’t left his, “I’m willing to put the work in.”
He nodded, his hand leaving his coffee mug to hold yours. His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“I’m terrified I’m moving too fast into this.” His voice was barely above a whisper, “Am I moving too fast?”
“Maybe. But if I feel the same then… why not? Let’s give this a shot.”
Grisham nodded, gently squeezing your hand. You squeezed his hand back.
“Lovers then.”
“Lovers.” You nodded.
He held your hand in his, anchoring himself to you. An amused note chimed from him as his smile turned from content to amused.
“I just remembered we’ll have to tell Griselle about this.” Probably for the best. Definitely for the best.
“Should we tell her when she’s home?”
“Depending on her mood.”
“Right.” She should be in a good mood, given that her own date went exceedingly well. But it was never easy telling someone you lived with you were dating the only family they’d ever known… were you dating? Being lovers was one thing, simply dating was another. This was starting a life together.
“We should figure out what this looks like though.” Grisham took a sip of his coffee, as if reading your mind, “Sleeping arrangements, you moving in—if you want to that is.”
It might have been moving too fast, but you had to be honest with yourself, you’d been sleeping on their couch for a couple of weeks. Sleeping in a proper bed again was a delight and not just because of the man you shared it with. Sharing a room with Grisham though was a big change from having your things in a suitcase in their living room. It meant rearranging things, making space, and adjusting to one another in a closer capacity than before.
But he had already done that hadn’t he? Letting you live with him, work for him. Involving you in plans for the future. He had already made space for you, you just had to take it, and stay.
“I wouldn’t mind sharing a bed with you more.” You began, “As for fully moving in… let’s take our time on that. This is still new and I don’t want to hurt you by rushing in head first.”
Grisham blinked, a spark of surprise twinged across his features before quickly returning to the gentle smile he’d been regarding you with the entire time.
“You won’t hurt me.” Grisham lied, hoping it gave you comfort, disappointed to find you shaking your head in patient disapproval.
“I’m still human after all, arguments are bound to happen.”
“Sure.” Grisham agreed, “But we’ll work through it.”
You nodded. Hopeful.
A comfortable moment enveloped you, your hand in Grisham’s, the taste of coffee on your tongue and the warmth of a new relationship burning in your chest. This was nice.
---
Griselle had noticed it the moment she had walked through the apartment door. The air had shifted. You and Grisham cooked together, nothing unusual there, you sometimes worked together with either of them.
But the smiles, the glances, the way Grisham hummed a pleased note when he lightly brushed his shoulder against yours. Her eyes narrowed. Even Sylvie seemed more energetic than usual, watching you and Grisham with her tail practically wagging and her ribbons bouncing with each step she took.
Dinner was served. Crammed around the kitchen table, your knee knocking against Grisham’s, those same glances exchanged. The almost giddy atmosphere between the two of you… the lingering gaze Grisham held, and the way his gaze flicked to your lips and back to your eyes.
You hadn’t said anything yet, but you didn’t need to. Griselle leaned forward, resting her head in the palm of her hand. There was a lull in the conversation, then…
“Did you two finally fuck while I was gone?”
Grisham’s fork clattered to the plate, a wild red blush spread across his face and burned the tips of his ears. You knew exactly how red your face had gotten.
“I—we—How did you—?” He was stumbling over his words, trying to find solid ground while the smile on Griselle’s face grew.
“Finally!” She threw herself back in her chair, “I’ve been watching the two of you dance around each other for weeks now! Honestly, I thought I’d walk in and find the two of you at each other at some point. Kinda glad I didn’t, but in the future maybe you could give me a heads up if you’re going to—”
“Griselle, please.” Grisham begged, burying his face in his hands. He knew she would do this.
“No no! No. You don’t get to take this from me, Grish, let me have this.” She sat back upright, “So. Are you two together now?”
There was an angle to her question, a careful prodding without outright saying what she wanted. Almost like a child checking to see if it was safe to come out of hiding.
“As of today, yes. We are.” You confirmed, “Is that alright?”
Griselle’s shoulders settled, her expression softened, almost as if something in her had been comforted by that.
“Of course it is.” Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, the smile that grew across her face was genuine and brighter than any you’d seen from her before. Gone was the mischievous ‘told you so’ air she’d carried before, “Of course I’m alright with that. More than alright, actually. I’m happy the two of you are finally together.”
You were waiting for her to make a joke, to brush aside the weight of whatever feelings she was having as she always did. But this time it wasn’t so, this time, she meant every word of what she said. And you knew it.
“Be good to her, alright Grisham?”
Grisham had reached over and taken your hand in his, giving you a reassuring squeeze.
“I intend to.”
---
Grisham laid across from you, his hand wrapped around yours. Part of him hadn’t expected you to stay in his bed again that night, this time without the sex. It was uncharted territory sharing a bed with someone who didn’t want him for his body, that loved him romantically. Something in him was healing, an emptiness he hadn’t thought to fill, finally finding fulfilment in your presence.
He was glad Griselle approved, though he realized he had nothing to worry about. Griselle liked you, and honestly, she probably would have been fine with anyone as long as they made him happy. But it was better that it was you.
For the first time in his life everything felt normal. And it was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. He whispered your name, checking to make sure that he still wasn’t dreaming. You made a small noise, something affirmative and on the edge of sleep.
He smiled, pulling your hand to his lips and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your fingers. You were his lover, by choice.
Masterlist of all my Steve & Robin fics (platonic ofc)
All posted here: AO3
Lots of hurt/comfort, angst & them being platonic soulmates
a fragment of my mind (oneshot: 6.1k)
"Just… just a li'l nap," Robin whispers, voice hoarse, cracked in places he's not used to hearing.
"Yeah." Steve flips the palm on her brow to the cooler side, runs the other through her hair. One hand of hers curls into his shirt again, so weakly he feels no difference. "Just a nap."
or: not everyone makes it out alive, in the end.
trauma buddies (oneshot: 8.2k)
There are moments where she thinks she might be sure enough to say she not only tolerates this version of Steve Harrington (her co-worker – not to be confused with whoever he becomes once stepping out of here; she needs to draw a clear line there and never forget it) – but maybe, big maybe, even likes him.
or: Summer of 1985. Robin takes a summer job and, against all odds, ends up befriending Steve Harrington.
what more can you do? (oneshot: 2.5k)
"I'm just trying to keep everyone as safe as I can, alright?"
"Right," Robin scoffed. Her laugh was brittle, breaking off too soon, like it hurt her to let all of it out.
"Fine. Sure. Just say whatever you wanna say, Rob. Go right ahead. I'm–"
"You're selfish," she cut in. "There. I said it."
Steve blinked. "How– what part of me wanting to keep everyone alive makes me an egoist?"
or: Robin and Steve get a chance to talk before they head into the final battle. Set near the end of 5x07.
in the wind with the leaves that are dying (oneshot: 5.3k)
"Maybe… if you would hold it still, dingus, I'd actually be able to see what–"
"Oh, as if you don't remember–"
"Jesus! I don't!"
"–the suicide notes you casually keep in your drawer?"
Heat flushed straight up her neck, the instant burn enough to clamp down on any hint of nausea.
"Why were you– I said the book was on top of–"
Steve cut her off, "Christ, Robin, that's so not the point here!"
or: After the events of season 4, Robin starts writing letters. Not because she wants to die – she doesn't. They're... just in case. Steve finds them. He doesn't take it well.
comes and goes (oneshot: 5.1k)
She wants to grab him by the collar of his annoyingly mature navy polo shirt and stuff him into one of her packed boxes (though he would never fit), and just take him with her. Poke little holes into the cardboard with her keys so he can breathe okay on the long drive to Smith.
Robin wants so many things, but saying goodbye isn’t one of them.
or: The eighteen months between defeating Vecna and the kids' graduation, as told through Robin missing her best friend.
grab my hand, i’m drowning (oneshot: 4.7k)
What did they do with her hands? Did they take them?
—the bone saw?
At least they didn’t take Steve’s, too. His are holding her face, so they can’t have taken his.
"Robbie," Steve pleads, desperate now, digging his thumbs into her cheekbones. Into— ow. Robin recoils. There’s something there— on the right side of her face—
"Shit, sorry, I'm sorry—" The burn dulls. "But I really need you to breathe, Robin. Can you? Can you match my breathing? Can you breathe with me?"
or: my attempt at fixing a tiny fraction of the series finale
(Written for Stobin month day 30: flashback)
you're the only one who knows, you slow it down
(multichapter fic: 30.6k)
"For what it's worth… I think… I think she wasn't trying to be mean–"
"Yeah, no, she never means to," Robin butted in, now unmistakably indignant.
"She, uh, found that prom leaflet. In your room. And I think– she just thought maybe you would like to go and–"
"I don't." Her tone was resolute, the way her chest curled in on itself wasn't. "I really don't."
"Okay," Steve said slowly. "But I mean… we could. As friends."
Robin's gaze snapped to him, her eyes taken up by a rare blaze. "I just said I don't want to."
or: Robin and Steve go to prom together. But that's not really the point of this story. Set in December 1985.
seal my heart and break my pride
(multichapter fic: 23.800 so far)
"It’s okay, Meylonia," Steve says calmly, grabbing a bunch of napkins to soak up the mess he’s made. The white cloth immediately stains pink. An Avox in clotted blood red attire rushes to assist Steve; he politely waves him off. "If Robin doesn’t want to be mentored, that’s her choice."
If Robin wants to die, that’s her choice.
Yes. Damn right it is.
Only choice she’s got left.
or: a platonic Stobin-centric Hunger Games AU
Leading a boring, depressive life is all that you’re used to. The only thing that keeps you going is your obsession with Final Fantasy VII, or rather its lead antagonist: Sephiroth. But the last thing you ever expected was to have your life blown up by none other than your favorite villain, showing up at your apartment and claiming that you’re destined to become his fated wife.
˚₊· ➳❥ word count - 2717
˚₊· ➳❥ warnings - female reader, insane/post-Nibelheim Sephiroth, happy ending, isekai/dimsenion-travelling, immediate marriage proposals, eventual smut, in this chapter: mentions of pregnancy (it's a dream)
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ notes - so this is shorter than my typical longfic chapters, but I was really satisfied with the stopping point here. Next chapter will be out shortly to compensate for how short this one is, though!
The sound of your boots against the stone paved road echoed within your head, the noise distracting you from your surroundings as you walked towards yet another shop. You sought to mindlessly spend what little money you had, a terrible coping method you’d developed in response to the disaster that was your life.
You had already treated yourself to dinner at your favorite restaurant, and had decided to browse the shops in the surrounding area afterward. Why not, you’d reasoned. You’d dressed yourself in the cutest outfit you owned and done your hair and makeup, so why not continue to stay out and enjoy yourself? Except you’d been struggling to find anything to buy. The one time I want to actually spend my money, you sigh.
Leaving yet another store without buying anything, you paused on the sidewalk and finally took in your surroundings, trying to decide which store you should dive into next. You really didn’t need any more clothes, and most of the trinket-filled gift shops had nothing substantial to you. Of course, what you truly wanted to spend all of your money on was merchandise of your favorite video games, but none of the shops in this area catered to that sort of thing. And so, you continued to stand around, contemplating what to do next.
It wasn’t until the pattering of rain and thunder rolling in sounded that you realized it was beginning to rain. You’d somehow failed to notice the drops splattering onto your head before the heavy rain started, and now you were seconds away from getting soaked. Great.
Dashing into the nearest shop, you stayed close to the door, hoping the storm wouldn’t last too long. Aside from walking, you had no way of returning home- and the last thing you wanted was to have to drag yourself through a storm, with no umbrella or jacket to shield you. Of course this happens when I choose to go with fashion over function…
Sighing, you leaned against the wall and opened your phone, tapping your thumb onto the mail app, hoping that maybe you’d scored an interview.
Zero unread emails, it read.
Perhaps if you weren’t in public, you would’ve audibly groaned. You had been applying to jobs for months now, yet there was nothing. Nothing was going well for you in any aspect, to tell the truth. You’d severely struggled through your last few months of studying, only to be let go from your minimum wage job that barely kept you afloat and now it seemed nobody in your field of study wanted to hire you. Not to mention your lack of friends and family to help you through these tough times. If you had more money, you’d get a cat to keep you company, maybe, but that didn’t seem like a good idea at the moment. How would you manage to pay for a living creature and everything it needed?
Going through your social media apps and finding nothing interesting, you finally landed on your favorite fanfiction site, seeing your most recent work had gotten a lot of attention since you’d last checked. It was a fix-it fic for your favorite character, Sephiroth from Final Fantasy VII. It played out similarly to the games, except in the end he’s saved by discovering his real mother, Lucrecia; putting an end to him seeking godhood and summoning meteor. And instead of having him die and return to the lifestream, you’d decided to write an epilogue detailing his new life, where he lives somewhere near Lucrecia’s cave, living his days out in peace. You were actually quite proud of how it turned out, and the floods of comments and likes only added to how great you felt about it.
A small smile grew on your lips. If only he were real… then maybe I’d have someone to keep me going, you thought. But then you cringed, realizing you sounded ridiculous. How much longer could you keep this going, anyway? Your obsession with him was unhealthy as it is, but to say he was the only thing keeping you alive? You really needed therapy. If only it didn’t cost an arm and a leg…
A bright strike of lightning followed by a loud boom of thunder broke you out of your thoughts, and not without you nearly jumping out of your skin. That had to be the loudest thing you’d ever heard, no doubt. Looking outside, you watched as an intense storm ripped through the area. The rain was coming in hard at an angle, leaves and other debris flying passed the windows as the wind roared. It had all come out of nowhere, and even the weather predictions had zero mention of it… so what was the deal with this storm?
After a few more minutes of gazing out into the storm, watching as the rain calmed down and the thunder and lightning grew to a stop, you decided you’d wait a couple more minutes before heading home. Checking your weather app, you saw there weren't any other chances of rain, so… surely it was safe to head out again, right?
Holding your bag tightly, you stepped out of the shop and began to walk home. The sun had fully set by now, so even with the skies clearing up, it was completely dark out. The lack of sunlight made your skin almost crawl, an uncomfortable feeling rising from within. Despite the fact that you lived in a relatively safe area, you still feared the possibilities of what could happen to a woman walking alone at night. So you kept your pace high, hoping to reach your apartment building without any hindrances.
As you made your way along the sidewalk, you took notice of all the debris the storm had blown through. Leaves, some small sticks and such, but the thing that stood out most… were the black feathers you saw every few minutes.
Had a bird's nest gotten caught in the wind? You didn’t really see any other signs of that though, so… why were there raven feathers everywhere?
You brushed it off as nature being nature, and continued to walk along your route home. You began to hum one of your favorite songs, as it was stuck in your head but putting headphones on didn’t seem like the safest thing to do at the moment. So instead you listened to the jingling of your keychains and the sound of your own voice, getting closer to your apartment.
But then, seemingly out of nowhere, a singular black feather fell in front of you.
Your feet came to a quick pause, eyebrows knitting together in confusion as you tried to make sense of it. There were trees along the path, yes, but you weren’t really standing under one at the moment. You were almost starting to get a little scared. Was this some kind of ill omen? Was something terrible about to happen to you? Somehow that seemed like the most reasonable conclusion.
The voice in the back of your mind then joked that it was Sephiroth, coming to save you from your miserable life, and while you gave yourself a short “hah”, you quickly forgot about that entirely, more worried about getting home. It was getting really late, and the longer you stayed out here alone, the more your heart began to race as your train of thought went through all of the awful things that could happen to you out on the street.
Gripping your bag tighter, you picked up your pace, hastily trying to get home, despite there being no active threat. And within a few more tense moments, your apartment building was finally within sight. You could feel yourself physically relaxing with every step closer towards it. You unpursed your lips, facial expression evening as your breathing slowed along with your footsteps decreasing in speed. You were nearly there, and god were you ready to shower and get to bed.
As soon as you were safely inside the gate, you found yourself letting a heavy sigh of relief leave your lips, your body completely falling into a relaxed state as you leisurely climbed the stairs.
Once on your floor, you fished your keys out from your purse and opened the door, exhaustion suddenly washing over you in an intense tide. You dropped your things on the kitchen counter, and went straight for your couch. Showering and getting into your pajamas could wait just a little longer, you decided. As you allowed yourself to fall into the cushions, you pulled your phone out and began mindlessly scrolling, boredom quickly getting the better of you.
Maybe you could catch up on a couple of chapters before showering…
You went to your favorite fanfiction website, heading for your bookmarks and opening the story you’d recently started reading. It was of course a Sephiroth one, but this was a reader-insert. As you began to read through the paragraphs detailing an intimate scene between you and Sephiroth, you found yourself struggling to keep your eyes open, suddenly in a trance that had you wanting to succumb to sleep. Just finish this chapter, and then I’ll sleep…
But you didn’t even make it to the next paragraph. Dropping your phone against your stomach, you allowed your head to fall back into the throw pillows and closed your eyes completely, falling into a slumber.
—
You’re not quite sure how you exactly ended up here, but nonetheless, you’re thrilled to be in the arms of your beloved Sephiroth. You’re somewhere in his world, Gaia, being whisked away to some unknown place by him.
“Come now, we mustn’t keep mother waiting,” he says, taking you by the hand.
You don’t say anything, left completely breathless by his beauty up close. And the way he speaks to you… it sends shivers all throughout your body.
In the blink of an eye, you’re suddenly in a cottage, wearing a silky and thin dress, akin to that of a goddess. Sephiroth stands behind you, wrapping his arms around your torso and burying his nose into your hair. He breathes in your scent, a smile on his lips.
“You’re ethereal like this, my love,” he sighs, running a palm over your stomach.
You melt under his touch, leaning back against him and wishing your bodies were even closer. With the way he continues grazing his hands over your stomach, you think that you must be pregnant with his child. The thought is jarring, yet you accept it without question; you’d do anything for your beloved.
You place your hands over his, looking down through your eyelashes at the difference in size between his and your hands. His skin is so pale against the dark fabric of your dress, hands hardened and smoothly toned from many years of using them in wars. He suddenly slides them out from under your hands, palms engulfing the tops of yours as he intertwines your fingers from above.
“Isn’t this lovely? Knowing our child grows within you?” He asks, voice hushed so close to your ear. You let your head fall back, swooning at his words.
“Yes,” you agree, voice barely above a whisper.
“Shall we let mother see the baby? I’m sure she’d enjoy it,” he then suggests, releasing you without awaiting a response.
You almost whine at the loss of contact, but wait patiently as Sephiroth leaves the room, supposedly going to fetch his mother. You briefly wonder what you’ll be greeted with when he comes back. Perhaps it’ll be Lucrecia…?
A chill runs down your spine as he returns to the room, a head in his arms. It’s clearly Jenova’s, and despite knowing he’d taken her head from the mako reactor in the games, you still feel dread and fear as he approaches you with it. It’s disturbing to see in a real setting like this.
“Look mother,” he says, crouching in front of you, leveling the head with your stomach as though she can actually see it. “Your heir is growing within her womb… aren’t you proud?”
The red eyes of the alien’s head stare back at you, blank and empty yet so concentrated with power. It terrifies you as you look down at it, and you feel yourself start to cry, throwing your palms up to hide your face as you whimper.
“Oh, there’s nothing to fear, my love,” Sephiroth says, placing Jenova’s head aside. “Mother is elated to see you, you don’t need to weep.”
He pries your wrists away from your face, pulling you into an embrace as you cry and tremble in his arms. His wing suddenly bursts from behind him, wrapping around your bodies and engulfing you in a feathery shield. Despite him blocking your body physically, all you can see and feel are Jenova’s hollow, malicious eyes on you, watching, waiting for the moment it can take control of you, too.
—
Gasping for air, you practically throw yourself into a position where you can sit up. Your chest heaves as you catch your breath, heart racing like you’d just ran for miles.
It had been a dream, of course.
Or was it a nightmare? The idea of being with Sephiroth and having his child… that part you had liked. But the haunting stare of Jenova’s head, peering into your soul? That had scared you more than you’d thought it would’ve, even with you knowing it was just from a video game. It couldn’t harm you.
You just hoped you would be able to sleep tonight with that image in your head, or worse, continuing to have nightmares about it.
Running a hand through your hair, you decided that you needed a glass of water, and then you could go take a shower and finally get ready for bed. Setting your phone onto the small coffee table, you stood up and stretched, wondering how long you’d napped for.
Reaching for your phone again, your fingertips just barely grazed against the case to turn it over, when you noticed something chilling:
A single black feather, sitting on your coffee table.
Okay. Now you were absolutely horrified. How the hell did it get into your apartment?! Maybe you had tracked it in, after it’d fallen onto your clothes? But wouldn’t you have noticed that before laying down? It seemed like there was absolutely no way to make any sense of it. And now you truly were entirely convinced that something bad was coming for you. It had to be a sign of something terrible impending.
Sucking in a sharp breath, you decided, water first, then you could panic some more. Your throat was dry and scratchy, desperate for something to quench your thirst.
Making your way over to the kitchen, you opened one of the cabinets and reached for a glass, hoping the ice machine in your fridge would be working for once. You suddenly felt warm, almost feverish. That dream had done a number on you. Feeling overly paranoid, you froze up as you felt what you could only describe as eyes on you, watching you from within the darkness. Seriously, you hadn’t reacted to a nightmare so poorly since you were a small child! What was going on with you?
Except it wasn’t just the nightmare making you feel this way. No, as you continued to feel a pair of eyes on your back, you were beyond certain that someone was in your apartment, watching you. Someone had broken in, and now they were going to harm you.
Setting the glass back in its place and shutting the cabinet, you slowly turned around, fearing what you were about to find. Your entire body tensed up, your throat suddenly feeling tight as dread filled your veins.
And what you found, peering at you from the shadowed hallway, were eyes that almost seemed to glow within the night, two thin feline-like pupils focusing on you. Your own eyes widened in shock as you took in the sight before you. His tall, thick frame, black leather coat and long silver hair was all very real as he stood there, a sweet yet sinister smile on those pretty lips of his. You didn’t understand how, but you knew without a doubt that this was your reality.
A young Ximena struggles with running the forge on her own, and doing her best to support her son.
“I haven't got this one!!!” He shows her what suspiciously appears to be yet another rock to add to his already considerable collection. “It's the best one ever!!”
‘This one’ is mostly dark grey, but with a sliver of pale, silvery-blue, running through it.
“Jayce! Just–”
But Jayce can’t ‘just’. He instead carries on as if Ximena hasn’t opened her mouth, his current thoughts too big to be contained in one painfully enthusiastic young boy. It’s quite possible that for Jayce, she hasn’t spoken, or at least that her words haven’t registered inside his busy mind.
Jayce, it seems, is the whirlwind owner of what he has self-diagnosed as an ‘itchy brain’.
“You know like itchy fingers? Or…or…itchy feet?”
“Yes mijo, I know all about ‘itchy feet’. If I didn't, I wouldn't have left Ixtal, or come to Piltover, or met your father, and then there would have been no you!”
“Hmm…you understand then, I suppose, although I don't like the idea of ‘no me’.”
“I'm sure you don't. What…what has this to do with you having trouble concentrating?"
“Well, just like the itchy feet and fingers…my brain does that.”
collision course—carol and manousos plan a heist to the maryland labratory in order to destroy carol's eggs. ...absolutely unrelated mix-up between kilometers and miles
1/4 chapters currently out!
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