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#please have the only good photo i’ve taken of myself in like a year
avengersfantasies · 8 months
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Pictures (Steve x Reader) - Part 2
Summary: Steve lets you know how he feels about the pictures you unknowingly sent to him, and the two of you decide to give each other what you need.
Read part 1 here
What to expect: smut
Tagging those who wanted a part 2: @felicitylemon @muddyorbsblr @kjah97 @alexakeyloveloki @imyourbratzdoll @mellowcakiesworld
Author's Note: I really kind of wanna turn this into a series lol. Let me know if that's something you guys want!
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It was happening…your worst nightmare was coming to life. Your face was bright red as the pictures you thought you had deleted from Steve’s phone stared back at you. Swallowing hard, you tried to start explaining yourself.
            “S-S-Steve…I’m so sorry,” you desperately apologized. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean for you to get those…it was an accident.”
            “And here I was thinking you were trying to come onto me,” he smirked – looking at the photos. “So, is that why you broke into my phone and deleted our conversation?”
You nodded in response. “I didn’t want something so…whorish to affect our friendship.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “Whorish?” he questioned. “What makes you think it’s whorish?”
“Seriously?” you scoffed incredulously. “They’re nude pictures of myself…pictures of my most intimate parts.”
“And?”
“I know you’re old-fashioned,” you explained. “If I had done something like that back in the 40’s, I would’ve been exiled.”
Steve thought for a moment. “I am old-fashioned, but we’re not in the 40’s…I’ve had to learn to evolve with the times, and I have needs just like you do…Old-fashioned has never meant not human.”
“You…You have needs?” you asked in shock.
He chuckled. “Yeah, I do…Believe it or not, Captain America is still a human.” His large hands gripped your cheeks softly. “So…if you’re wanting to…we could take care of both our needs.”
Your eyes scanned his with a hint of fear in them before nodding. “Yes,” you spoke quietly.
At that, Steve pulled you close and pressed his lips against yours – his kiss being needy and soft at the same time. He pulled you into his lap – his hands feeling the curves of your hips as he moves you around on his hardening length.
“Such a tease,” you moaned as he kissed your neck – the scruff of his beard making you even wetter.
“Tell me something,” he breathed. “Have you ever been taken by a real man?” he asked. “That scrawny, man-child you dated last year couldn’t have been good at pleasuring you.” You blushed hard at his question – causing him to chuckle. “Is that why you’re nervous?”
“Maybe a little,” you confessed.
Steve’s thumbs brushed your cheeks. “I’ll take care of you…you tell me to stop, and we’ll stop.”
You nodded and pressed your lips back to his – opening your mouth so that he could explore. You sucked gently on his tongue and tangled your fingers in his hair – pulling beautiful moans from the soldier. Your grinding on him must have had a big effect because before you realized it, he had you pinned down on your bed – your legs on either side of him. You thrust your hips up towards him – desperate for some sort of release.
“Please, Steve,” you pathetically begged – a smirk growing on his face as he slide his hand in between your legs to feel your heat.
“Damn, baby,” he chuckled. “You must be really desperate, huh?” You nodded through your heaving breaths, and he guided your hand to his bulge. “So am I.”
Your eyes widened once you realized just how big he was. You had expected him to be big, but he was big, big. “You even gonna be able to fit in me?”
“Of course,” he panted. “Once I get you loosened up.” You bit your lip in anticipation of what he meant by that, but you knew you trusted him to take care of you. Slowly, he pulled your sweatpants down and off your legs. “No panties?” he chuckled. You could only moan in response – his fingers soaking themselves in your arousal. “So naughty.”
“Yes, Captain,” you panted. “Was gonna play with myself tonight.”
“Were you, now?” he smirked. “And not invite me?”
“Yes, sir.”
He tsked and looked up at you. “Do you mind if I try something I’ve never tried before?”
You giggled. “Captain America hasn’t experienced everything about sex?”
“I’ve been a little busy for the past eighty years,” he reminded you. “So…?”
“Go ahead,” you consented – not knowing in the least bit what he had planned.
When Steve licked his lips, however, you figured out where he was going. He dove in between your thighs to take in your scent. “God, you smell amazing.” You moaned, and that moan turned into a gasp when you felt the super soldier’s tongue lick up your cunt. His hands spread your legs wider so that he could have you completely open and eat every inch of your soaked core. “Fuck,” he moaned into you. “Taste amazing too.” His warm breath on your clit made your body shake – the feeling of his lips wrapping around your throbbing nub causing you to pull his hair so that you could keep his mouth close on you as much as possible. Your hips grinded against him – needing more friction.
“More, Steve,” you guided him through your heavy breathing. “Use your fingers too.” He did as you told – your back arching off the bed when he slid two of his large fingers into your cunt and curled them. “Fuck!”
While eating you out, he took himself out of his sweats and began stroking his cock – desperately wanting to feel you. “Are you on birth control, sweetheart?” You nodded – unable to speak. Holding your lips apart, Steve dove deeper into your cunt with his mouth, and his fingers worked you mercilessly. He could feel your orgasm beginning to take hold on your body. Your legs began to shake, and your back formed a perfect arch – giving him the chance to wrap his arm underneath your back and hold you close to him. Finally, you felt the coil in your lower stomach snap. Your vision went white – a warm feeling coming over your body as you felt yourself come on Steve’s tongue. At first, a tinge of embarrassment entered your mind, but when you heard him moaning and drinking from you, it only turned you on more. He rode you through your orgasm – waiting until you barely came down before he slid himself into you.
You gasped at the feeling of him starting to enter you. “Fuck, Captain,” you moaned – wrapping your legs around him and pulling him into you more.
Instead of letting you pull him in, however, he move your legs. “Let me take care of you,” he spoke softly – pulling yours and his shirts off – his mouth finding its way to your breasts. You could feel each inch of him disappearing into your body. Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible for him to fit. He held your legs wide and pushed them towards your chest – giving him leverage to get in even deeper. Once he fully sheathed himself in your cunt and let out an exhale.
“Goddamn,” he moaned against your inner thigh. “So tight and warm for me.”
“Yes, Captain,” you whined. “Please…fuck me.”
Steve chuckled deeply – moving his hips slowly at first but speeding up quickly. Soon, the room was filled with your shared moans and the sounds of your sloppy kisses and slapping skin.
“Love your pussy,” he praised. “So wet for me.”  You wanted his hands on you, so you took over holding your legs back – holding the back of your thighs with your hands.  “Tell me what you want.”
“You, Captain,” you squealed. “More.”
You let go of your thighs when he tossed your legs over his broad shoulders – your hands tangling themselves in his soft hair. “Pull my hair, baby,” he ordered with heavy breaths. You did as he told, and you pulled on his blond hair – pulling his face towards your chest. One of his fingers played with one of your nipples while his mouth latched onto the other one. His pace was brutal as he beat your cunt up – pleasuring you more than anyone else ever had. You felt your walls beginning to clench his cock – pulling a loud moan from him.
“Come for me, baby girl,” he ordered you softly. His dirty words were enough of their own to send you over the edge – a wave of ecstasy going over your body – your whole being shaking and writhing underneath the soldier. With a loud grunt that was muffled against your neck, Steve exploded inside of you – his warm cum coating your walls and shooting deep within your cunt. His lips crashed against yours, and the kiss you two shared was sloppy and intimate – each of you exploring the other’s mouth. Once you both rode out your orgasms, Steve hung himself over you – keeping his weight from crushing you as he rested on his forearms. Panting, he pulled out of you once he softened and fell next to you – laying there while you caught your breaths. Once he managed to recover, he walked into your bathroom – grabbing a rag and cleaning you both up. “I gotta say,” he chuckled. “I’m glad you sent those pictures.”
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milawritesstuff · 1 year
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Hiii Mila, can you do a pedri enemies to lovers trope in which him & the reader went to school together & hated each other for dumb reasons (you can make up why). They go years without seeing each other since he moved to Barcelona but they bump into each other at the Springfield clothing photo shoot. They don’t recognize each other so they flirt during the shoot until they begin to talk about their childhood & it finally hits him who she is. Eventually he invites her to a game & she falls for sweaty pedri & at the end he takes her out to dinner as their first date…sorry this was super long but uh yeah ✌🏼
Ok this was SUPER long but I couldn’t take anything out. Hope you like it :)
Warnings: it’s long lol
•••
You heard your alarm in your sleep, you shot open your eyes and realized you almost slept in. Lately the days had become so mundane. You had been in Barcelona for about six months and you finally were beginning to miss your home in Canarias. You began to get ready and remembered that today was a photoshoot day. “Great.” You thought. You worked for the creative department of a clothing company and you were given the task to take care of the “talent.” Most of the time the talent turned out to be people who thought they were better than you and treated you as their servant. Today’s talent was supposed to be a footballer from Barça.
An hour later you walked into the building where the photoshoot was. After lunch the session would be moving to to the beach. “Y/N!” Said your boss as you walked in. “Pedri is running late, please make sure he has everything he needs to be comfortable. And begin setting out his outfits.” She said. You proceeded to do as she said. 
Eventually you began to hear commotion. You looked over your shoulder and saw a dark haired guy greeting people. You continued to separate the outfits when your boss came behind you. “Pedri, this is Y/N. She will be helping you out today. Please ask her for anything you may need.” You turned around and put on a fake smile. 
“Hello, nice to meet you.” You said. He smiled and extended his hand out to shake yours which caught you by surprise. “Nice to meet you.” He responded. “Okay, Y/N please get him settled in.” Your boss said as she began to walk away with Pedri’s manager.
Pedri stood there looking at you in silence. “You can go ahead and take a seat.” You said motioning for the couch in the room. “Do you want me to show you the different outfits? If you don’t like something we can always switch it.” You explained. Pedri sat down on the couch. “Whatever you tell me looks good I’ll be fine with.” He said with a smile. You turned around and returned to separate his outfits. “I’m really nervous.” He said.
You weren’t sure how much to engage, this was definitely more than many of the talent had said to you. “It will be like just any other photoshoot.” You responded. He giggled, “Well, this will be my first photoshoot so…” You turned over to look at him and realized you hadn’t truly taken him in.
He was young. His brown eyes looked pure. His jawline was chiseled but in between his manly features glimpses of his youth creeped through. His dark eyebrows perfectly framed his eyes. He looked familiar but you couldn’t recall from where. You had probably seen his face at the Barça store down Passeig de Gràcia you assumed. “You will do fine.” You said. 
You began to give Pedri the different outfits so that he could try them on and make any adjustments that were needed. “How long have you been doing this?” He asked. “I’ve been here only for about six months. Listen, don’t be nervous. Just pretend you’re out on the pitch. It’s just you and the ball.”
“Do you follow futbol?”
“Not really.” You admitted nervously knowing that was his passion. 
“So what do you like to do outside of work?”
“Usually not much. I like to walk around the city by myself and just look around. Other than that I really just like being home.”
He just stood there without a response when his eyes drifted towards the door where my boss and his manger were walking in. They were ready to start.
A few minutes later Pedri came out of the dressing room in the first outfit. A jean button up with a white shirt underneath and blue pants. You couldn’t help but stare at him because he wore the clothes with such confidence despite you knowing he was nervous inside. You neared him and smiled. “Do you like music?” He nodded. “I’ll play some Quevedo for you during the shoot. Just let the music guide you.”
Throughout the shoot he would turn over and mouth “thank you” as they continued to take his pictures. Your music idea had worked and he had loosened up after a few photos. By the time lunch break came around he was a natural.
You rode with him in the car on the way to the beach. “I’m super hungry.” He commented. “They will have all sorts of food ready for you once we get to the beach.” You explained. “Will you sit and eat with me?” He turned around to ask a she stared at you. You giggled. “It’s kind of my job, I have to be around you all day.” He raised his right eyebrow “So you’re being paid to be my friend?” He asked jokingly.
“No. Well I’m being paid to be with you all day. But trust me you make it easy.”
The two of you talked while having lunch and the rest of the crew was setting up the photoshoot area. Eventually you two realized you were both from Canarias. “I can’t believe it, you said. What part exactly?”
“Tegueste.” He said which left you shocked.
“No way, that’s where I lived my whole life.” You responded. Before you could say anything further the photographer had called Pedri up to continue the shoot.
“Pedri if you can do as good as you did in the studio we can finish the session earlier than expected.” He said as Pedri walked over to the setup.
You stood there looking at Pedri as you turned on the music for him once again. The end of the session went by quick and when Pedri went to take the pictures with his last outfit it finally hit you. You knew why he had looked so familiar. You hadn’t seen him at the Barça store. You took out your phone and quickly looked up his name. Pedro Gonzalez Lopez. The same boy who had made fun of you for years throughout grade school. The same boy who told everyone your pants had ripped in class.
*flashback*
“Come on, Y/N we have to get to class.” Said your best friend Alejandra.
“Ale, I can’t go to class. I can’t believe my pants ripped. Everyone will know.”
Alejandra looked around the locker room in search of something for you to wear. Eventually she took off her sweater and handed it over to you. “What’s this for? It’s not long enough to cover my butt.”
“It’s not for you to wear, well at least not like that. Put it around your waist and it will cover the back of your pants.” Alejandra was going to go cold the rest of the day to help you and you appreciated it.
A few minutes la the two of you were running towards class because the bell was about to ring. “Look at them.” You heard Clara yelling behind you. You turned and saw Clara, her boyfriend Pedro, and the rest of their group walking behind you and Ale.
Clara was the most popular girl in your grade. You had known her since preschool and most days you wish you hadn’t ever met her. You rolled your eyes and continues to run with Ale. “What are you running for?” Clara continued to yell. “Some of us want to do well in school.” Yelled back Alejandra.
“And what are you wearing Y/N?” Asked Clara once they got closer to you and she saw the sweater wrapped around your waist. “None of your business.” You spat back. “Are you trying to be fashionable?” Clara laughed mocking you. “Look Pedro.” She turned over to her boyfriend. “She thinks she can get a boyfriend if she gets some style.” Pedro looked at Clara and over at you without saying a word. “Isn’t that funny Pedro?” Asked Clara pressuring him to answer. Finally he laughed. “Who would want to be with her?” He muttered and his words hurt you more than whatever Clara had ever told you. You stood at the door of your classroom as Clara and her friends shoved you over to go in. Clara being the last managed to pull the sweater arm causing it to become undone and expose you to the only person now behind you, Pedro. You turned around in horror hoping he had suddenly gone blind. Hoping he had turned around and not seen what you were trying to hide. But instead you were met with Pedro’s eyes on your ass. “Pedro, please.” You pleaded silently to him. He stood there just looking at you. Then suddenly Clara yelled, “Pedro are you coming in or not? Or do you want to hang out with Y/N so much?”
I continued to plead with my eyes until Pedro finally yelled over at Clara. “Y/N’s pants are ripped Clara. I just saw her whole ass and I don’t ever want to see it again.”
*end of flashback*
You stood there looking at Pedri. A knot in your throat because despite so many years passing since those incidents it still hurt you. School was torture for you after that day. Clara would not let it go. Pedro always followed her lead. You counted the days until school would be over and you never had to see Clara or Pedro again. Finally Pedro moved away but Clara continued to bother you until graduation.
Pedri approached you and brought you out of your thoughts. “It’s over, thank you so much.” He said. You turned around to look at him. You wanted to yell at him but remembered you were at work. “I’m glad. Goodnight.” You said as you began to walk away leaving Pedri standing there.
“Excuse me Y/N, is everything okay?” The young man asked clearly sensing how your attitude has taken a 180 turn. “I’m great. The photo shoot is over, we will send your manager all of the outfits you wore today and you can decide what to keep or what to donate. Good night.” You proceeded to walk towards a trailer where you would pack up the outfits. A few seconds after you went in and closed the door you heard footsteps and a low knock. “Come in.” You said begrudgingly knowing you couldn’t deny anyone entry into the trailer. It was Pedri.
“What do you need?” You asked.
“This may be weird but I thought we were having a good time and you caught me off guard just now with -“ you decided to interrupt him.
“I was paid all day to spend time with you. My job is over now.” You said as you packed up the last box you had to take with you.
Pedri didn’t say anything he just stood there. “I get it, you were just doing your job.” He said as he turned around and began to walk towards the door. And despite how he had made you feel when you two were younger, the way he looked when you muttered those last words really tugged at your heart. “Stop. Do you want to n ow the truth?” You asked.
He turned around “I would like to.”
“Clara Morata.” You said.
He looked surprised. “I haven’t heard that name in years. She’s a girl I dated back in Tegueste.”
You nodded. “Do you remember the girl she tormented?” Pedri stared at you dumbfounded.
“Y/N” he said.
“Have a good night Pedro.” You said as you walked past him and out of the trailer.
A few days later as you were sitting in your desk looking over some of the assignments your boss had sent you were startled by your boss walking in with. A bouquet of flowers.
“Y/N” she said.
“How can I help you Miss Calderon?” You stood up from your chair.
“I would usually get mad about any of my employees getting involved with the talent.” She said. “But you and Pedri are so close in age and both from Canarias, I’m going to pretend I didn’t know anything about this.” She said as she handed the bouquet over to you. You looked surprised.
You quickly opened the card attached to the flowers.
“I’m sorry for not standing up to Clara. You deserved better. Please come to my game tonight. - Pedro.”
You stared at the card. “I gave his manager your number, I hope you don’t mind.” Said your boss as she began to walk out of the office. “And you have my permission to leave early tonight. Make sure you freshen up at home before heading to Camp Nou.”
You sat there for a few minutes contemplating the proposal. Your phone chimed. “I don’t have any excuses for being how I was. But please give me a chance. Let’s start with a clean slate. - Pedro”
You didn’t know how to feel. He was nothing like the boy who has tormented you anymore. But you were still weary.
After much thought you decided to go to the game. If anything you would at least get a game out of all of this. You sat on the bleachers watching the team play and you couldn’t believe how good Pedri was. He ended up scoring that day. As the game ended and the players began to walk back into the lockers you stood there waiting to see him. He made his way to where you were sitting. “You came.” He said. He was sweaty and his cheeks were flushed red. Something about seeing him like this attracted you even more to him. Which was weird because he had never been someone you had been into, until now.
“Clean slate.” You said as he smiled.
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The Price of Peace -Chapter 1
Here is the first chapter of a new fic!! At long last! Hope you enjoy!
Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: M/M Fandom: Buddy Daddies (Anime) Relationship: Kurusu Kazuki/Suwa Rei Characters: Suwa Rei, Kugi Kyuutarou, Kurusu Kazuki, Unasaka Miri, Suwa Shigeki Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Gun Violence, BloodMinor Character Death, Please don't worry as the death is not any of the main cast, They are alive and well, Getting Together, rei is a good papa Language: English Summary: When Kyuu informs Rei of a job request he's been given, he must decide what is most important to him and what he should do to protect those he's come to care about. With one last mission, he tries to put and end to this threat.
Chapter 1: Fight or Flee?
Rei sat at the bar, hand trembling as he stared at the photo Kyu had passed him. Never before had a picture of someone deemed worthy of execution made him feel so sick. If he wasn’t careful, he felt like he might pass out right there and then. “Is this a joke?” “I wouldn’t joke about this,” said Kyu pushing his glasses up. “I got that picture last night. I have two weeks to gather information on them.” “You want me to betray them?” There was an uncharacteristic bite to his voice, not unlike a wolf snarling at a stranger getting too close to their pack. “I’m only telling you the facts. In two weeks, I will hand over whatever information I collect.” He turned round, tidying up some glasses. “You know what would happen if I didn’t.” Rei was silent, eyes never moving from the photo of his partner and their daughter. “What shall I do?” “There’s not much but I’m sure you know as well as I do that there is only one way to ensure their safety.”
Gently placing the photo back down, Rei finished the coffee in front of him. “I should get started.” As he slid off the barstool, a memory stick was placed on the bar. “You’ll need this. It’s up to date and there’s not so much as an illegitimate child missed off.” “Why?” “Because I’ve seen how willing they are to stab people in the back. I didn’t want to leave myself without some sort of insurance.” Standing back up, he folded his arms. “Do what you need to. Good luck.”
The way home felt long and the memory stick weighed heavy in his pocket. The Boss had always taken away anything that Rei had cared about. Stray animals he found always seemed to wind up dead, anyone he got friendly with disappeared. And now, he’d gone too far. He didn’t know he could care like this until Kazuki had just appeared in his life; cleaning, organising and decorating the apartment. His work colleague stayed and then simply never left. Then a few years passed and they ended up with Miri who simply never left as well. Not that he wanted either of them to leave. Rei was never taught love but he knew it now.
Those two never let him forget that. Miri. Kazuki.
Rei turned a corner and looked up at the apartment block. Whatever happened, the Boss would never get his hands on them. He swore that now. And if that was the game that the Boss wanted to play… then it would be by the rules that he had taught Rei… and this would be the last time that Rei would ever play this game.
***
Kazuki stretched as he woke up. It was nice to feel well rested for once. No jobs had come their way in a while so he could actually sleep at night. The only difference was for about a week or so Rei had been acting… weird. Or weird for Rei. He’d barely touched his games and been working on something. He’d never seen him so focused on something that didn’t involve a controller and a tv screen.
Flinging the blanket off, Kazuki got up and made his way downstairs to get breakfast ready before he had to get Miri up and take her to daycare. Everything was so quite first thing, not that Kazuki minded. There was nothing wrong with some peace and quiet now and then. He rubbed and hand through his hair as his eyes fell on a couple of notes folded pieces of paper left on the counter. One was addressed to him and Miri, and the other just to him. But he knew that handwriting. Hastily, he opened the one addressed to the both of them.
Dear Kazuki, The Boss has provided me with a job. It’s dangerous. I don’t know if I’ll make it back. In the event that I’m not back by tomorrow morning, take Miri and go into hiding. Do not contact anyone. Sorry, Rei.  
Dear Miri, Papa Rei loves you. Remember that. Papa Rei
Kazuki read it again, eyes wide. Bastard! Why hadn’t he mentioned any of this before!? Instead, he just runs off at some godforsaken hour on a suicide mission only leaving a couple of letters!! He snatched up the second letter, furious with his partner in crime for pulling a stunt like this… and then his anger suddenly faded as he looked down.
The second letter wasn’t folded as neatly, almost as if this had been rushed. The ink spelling his name seemed to bleed in one spot, the page slightly warped. Kazuki opened it carefully.
Kazuki I love you Rei
The handwriting was shaky; hurried but hesitant at the same time. Kazuki read the letter over again. Why did he only mention this now? He scrambled for his phone and called Rei, not even bothering to check the tracker he’d set up. It rang twice before he heard a noise coming from Rei’s room. With quick strides, Kazuki ran to the room, flinging the door open to find… the bed made and Rei’s phone left on the pillow. He let his hand slowly drop away as Rei’s voicemail message played. He’d thought of everything. Kazuki didn’t know what to do with himself. Should he try to find him? Hack his computer? Or maybe-
“PAPA KAZUKI!!”
His head shot up. Miri. Kazuki ended the call that was still ongoing.
“Coming, Miri!”
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petri808 · 1 year
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Twiyor AU
“Please?!” The women begs. “I heard you were some kind of Cupid; can’t you help me find a match?”
It’s another day and another coffee shop I’ve found myself in. I’d grown used to these requests, even though I’ve given up on love. Ever since the rumors spread during my college years of how my relationship recommendations equaled 100% success, it’s a never-ending routine of requests. I don’t know if it’s so perfect, and frankly don’t care anymore. Because you see, I have a gift… Take this woman sitting across the table. I can see that her hearts aura is a yellowish color which means if she falls for someone with a similar color, they’ll be a good match. Getting the gist of what I can do? 
I sit back in my chair and take a sip from my coffee cup. “I don’t actually find you a match. You show me someone you’re interested in, and I’ll tell you if I think you’re a good match.”
“Oh…” the woman deflates in her chair. “I see… There isn’t anyone I’m interested in right now.”
“Then you can always contact me when you’re ready.” I throw on a professionally fake smile and stand up from the table. “Have a nice day ma’am.”
That was a waste of my time, but at least I got free coffee out of it. On my way back home, my friend texts me to see how the meeting had gone. Franky, the pest. This is all his fault, the A.K.A. rumor starter and only person who knows my secret. He even set up a website for people to find me… how thoughtful, so now my free time is taken up by this pseudo part-time job. 
‘She didn’t read the description on the website,’ I text Franky back, ‘so it was a bust.’
I’m not a warm-hearted guy who’s doing this out of the kindness of my heart or care about other people’s happiness. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to see all the successful pairings when I’ve never had one in my twenty-eight years? All the thank you cards, photos, and wedding invitations from the successful pairings filled with syrupy sweetness. It’s enough to make my teeth hurt. 
My phone pings, it’s Franky again. ‘Oh well she’ll be back.’
No doubt, I sigh and toss my apartment keys onto the counter before dropping onto the sofa. I’ve still got a couple more hours to kill so I close my eyes as the memories of failures run their course. Not to brag, but I know I’m a good-looking guy who’s been popular all through high school, college, even now as a salary man. Perfect blonde hair, striking blue eyes, fit build— you’d think finding a partner of my own would be easy, right? Not so. Not only can I see the hearts aura, which is akin to a person’s essence, but also their emotions in the moment like a halo glowing above their heads. Women always look at me with a superficial lust, judging me based on appearance and those ones disinterest me the most. The few times I’ve dated, it was those halos again revealing what they really thought about me. Some cheated or maybe didn’t really love me anymore, but the worst were lies. People can so easily lie, but their emotions never do with their background dark greens and browns giving it all away. Eventually, it gets tiring to even try and besides, it’s not like I know my own color to guide me. Maybe then I’d find a better match without having to play the guessing game…
It’s Friday night, and it’s Valentine’s Day, so why am I at the bar with Franky? Ugh, I’m such an idiot for letting him talk me into this. ‘We’re both bachelors,’ he’d pitched, ‘maybe we’ll get lucky.’ Well, lucks never been much of a friend and I’m more likely to end up with a stomachache. 
For a Valentine’s Day the bar is comfortably full, a mixture of couples and hopefuls looking to change their status. As one could imagine, there are a lot of reds and pinks hovering over heads, then a scattered variety over the rest. I’d seen quite a few potential matches while walking in, but too bad for them that several of the couples aren’t among them. 
“Loid, I just don’t get it man.” Franky squeezes and shakes my shoulder. “So, what if it might end? Sometimes gotta go through a few snags before landing the right fish. You shouldn’t rely on that gift of yours so much and just take a chance.”
Sitting at the counter with my back to it all is the best option. All the fish in this bar that Franky’s yapping about is not for me, and I’d rather not be reminded of it. Just shut up and let me drink! 
I set my drink onto the bar top. “I’ve taken enough chances and I’m over it for now.”
“Tch,” Franky let’s go with a harumph. “Fine, then back to me.” He turns his body to scan the room. “Oh, hello! Beauty just walked in!”
“Maybe beauty will like a beast like you.” I snicker without looking.
“Pfft! Well, she’s looking this way… staring actually!” Franky slaps my chest in rapid succession with the back of his hand. “Take a look, is she a fit for me??”
I doubt it, I think to myself as I turn to look. It’s not that I don’t doubt she’s pretty cause Franky’s tastes only run to models but—
“Rainbow…” the words wisp from my lips before my brain can catch up to the scene. A raven-haired beauty staring in our direction so strongly it sends chills shooting down my spine. Who is this woman? It’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone with a rainbow color! Most are just one, maybe two tops but not her, she’s literally sparkling like a character in a comic. 
“Rainbow?” I hear Franky parrot but I’m too mesmerized to care or remember he is next to me. He’s asking more questions… jabbing my side, but all I can is do is watch— frozen to my seat as she moves towards us from the front door. My breathing slows as she gets within a meter’s length. 
Her eyes flash as a beaming smile takes over, sending my heart into a tizzy and breathing to a halt. 
“Wow!” She grabs my hand forcefully without hesitation, as if willed by an invisible force. “I’ve never seen a rainbow aura before on anyone else. You’re just like me!”
Huh? What? Come again?! My head tips slightly in confusion. “I’m sorry? Did you say I have the rainbow aura? Ma’am, you have the rainbow aura.”
“No, you do.” She smiles brighter. “We both do.”
“Y-You can see… my color?”
“Yeah,” her eyes sparkle again.
Sparkling like ruby gemstones glinting off the bars backlit liquor display. Her gaze is a sirens lullaby slowing time itself— I can’t look away… just taking in the vision of long dark hair against creamy light skin on slim yet toned features. The yellowish orange excitement surrounding her head is slowing melting into a reddish orange. I feel the heat rising on my cheeks the longer I stare, my own color no doubt changing to red as well if the surprised look on her face is any indication. Shit! This is the first time this ability has made me feel so self-conscience! 
“Tch,” I hear Franky’s annoyed tone, “I’ll catch ya later Loid.”
“Yeah…” I respond back without breaking eye contact with the woman. I’d forgotten he was even there. 
“I’m sorry for interrupting sir.” The woman directs her words towards Franky who merely nods and walks away before turning back to me. “Um… mister Loid?” 
Her voice snaps me out of the void. “Oh, yes. Sorry how rude of me,” I quickly gesture to Franky’s now vacant bar stool. “Please, if you’ll join me.” 
Considering the enthusiastic lack of hesitation earlier, now it’s so cute how this beauty’s turned shy. I do my best to focus on her and not look at the colors dancing around her because Franky did have a point about not relying on auras. Though from the rosy hue of her cheeks, coyly down-casted eyes and upturned lips, to the fidgeting fingers in her lap it’s obvious which emotions are plaguing her. 
I take her trembling hand and kiss it’s back. “I’m Loid Forger,” I flash a smile, “and you are?”
She pulls her hand back only to tuck some loose tendrils behind her ear in a nervous gesture. “M-My name is Yor Briar. I’m sorry for the sudden intrusion, I was just so happy to see someone else like me I couldn’t stop myself.”
“It’s okay,” I smile sweetly. “I’m happy too, but I don’t want to ruin your plans either, are you meeting someone here?”
“Ah!” She suddenly straightens out as if remembering suddenly, turns and scans the room as she continues talking. “Yes, my co-worker… but I don’t… see her yet.” Yor let’s out an exhale of relief. “She’ll be surprised to see me sitting with a man.”
“Oh?”
Yor blushes again with her shoulders slumping in embarrassment. “I—I’ve always been too shy to deal with men.”
I chuckle lightly, “but I bet with your looks there’s been many suitors.”
So adorable! I laugh internally at how cute she is, because if Yor blushes anymore fiercely her hair might catch fire. She turns her gaze fully to the floor unable to meet my eyes.
“I could say the same for you.” Yor responds in a soft voice. “Besides, I’d never met my hearts match before.”
Now it’s my turn to blush. So, she knows how the colors work, I shouldn’t be surprised considering it didn’t take me long to figure it out either. In middle school when classmates started dating, I began noticing a pattern between the couples that lasted and the couples that didn’t. I don’t think those relationships were as stable though because even those with the same color would sometimes break up, so it wasn’t until college that I fully understood. Anyway, there is one difference between us. 
I sigh light-heartedly, “neither had I,” before perking up again, “but at least you can see your own aura, because I can’t that made it more difficult to know who would be a match.”
“Oh, really?” Yor perks up as well and meets my gaze. “I suppose that’s true.” 
After ordering new drinks, our conversation continues for several more minutes before Yor’s friend finally shows up. Based on the interweaved green and red pulsing around her, the female coworker whose name is Millie is jealous that Yor caught my attention. So, they’ve come tonight as part of the hopeful crowd. Sorry Millie, but my hearts already taken. 
“So, exactly what is it you do Mr. Forger?” Millie questions with a grilling tone to her voice. 
Is she asking for her friend’s sake or for her own. Not that it matters to me. I throw on my fake professional smile for the woman. “I’ve always been great at understanding people, so I became a psychiatrist. It’s my own practice but I do work for the hospital as well as provide pro bono services for the local orphanage.” 
“Wow,” Millie keeps her outward expressions emotionless trying to hide her annoyance. “You’re such a great guy to help those orphans. Yor’s lucky to have met you.”
Oh, the flickering jealousy is so amusing. Millie’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets in surprise. A philanthropist doctor?! She’s practically seething over it, so why not go in for a kill shot? Shut this woman up and impress Yor at the same time, it’s two birds with one stone. “I do it because I enjoy it. Those kids have gone through a traumatic experience, so I couldn’t help but be moved— enough so, that I ended up adopting a bright little girl named Anya who really captured my heart.”
My chest puffs out unconsciously when I see Yor’s face brighten like a blooming rose and Millie’s faux smile falters. I already know we’re a good match, but I want Yor to want me for more than just some supernatural power. Plus, the story isn’t a complete lie. Originally, I adopted Anya for a tax write off— yes, I know that’s despicable, but it didn’t take long for the precocious child to win over my heart. 
Millie recovers quickly and redirects toward her friend. “Are you willing to be a stepmom Yor?” She asks no doubt hoping her friend will be taken aback at a sudden change like motherhood. 
“Yes!” Yor replies quicker than I’d expected and with much enthusiasm. She’s practically on the edge of her seat, eyes sparkling at such an idea. “I don’t mind at all. After my parents died, I had to take care of my younger brother, so I have a lot of experience already though…” Yor shrinks back a little. “I’m not a very good cook.”
Oh, this is perfect! My smile brightens. “I’m sure you’d make an amazing mother Yor.” But, perhaps it’s time to let things marinate a little as well. “Well lady’s,” I stand up from my seat. “It’s been fun, but I must get up early to pick my daughter up from her sleepover tomorrow, so it’s time for me to leave. You both have fun.” I then take Yor’s hand again and place a chaste kiss to the back of the knuckles. “Though you, not too muchfun,” I tease, “may I contact you tomorrow?”
Yor’s rainbow aura shimmers along with the flash of an embarrassed and beaming smile. “Y-Yes! Of course, I look forward to it.”
Me too, Ms. Briar… me too… 
Did my aura just shimmer too as if calling out to its match? I can’t see my own aura but somehow it sure feels that way. I squeeze her hand with a final kiss to her cheek. “Then till tomorrow.”
The moment I’ve turned my back to them, I can’t help but smile to myself. Such a totally unexpected event! I’ll thank Franky later. Tis a Happy Valentine’s Day after all…
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lekendall · 1 year
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Tamika Wood's Birthday Party
Chapter Eight: The Tape
Audio for this chapter (and lots more chapters!) available on my website.
Gillian
When I first left Sydney for Havenport it seemed like such a long way away. So many years later the drive back passes quickly and I wonder why I didn’t move further away.
I never intended to come back. Certainly not to come back here.
But sometimes it’s easier to ask for others when you can’t ask for yourself and I’m in trouble again. Again.
With Scott moving in officially I’ve now got three children to look after. And when the baby is born it will be four. And I’m going to go and ask Nanny Bas for help. Well… money.
She’d offered of course – back then – but still sick with fury from what The Dragon had offered with her chequebook I’d taken only enough for the train fare. The Dragon didn’t even know about the baby – babies although I didn’t know that yet – and I’d already made up my mind to leave. I did take her cheque, but I didn’t keep the money. And I’ve always been pleased with that. I needed it, of course. But I didn’t take it. And whenever I feel poor I ask the children…
“What do you do if someone offers you a large sum of money to do something you were going to do anyway?”
“Donate the money to Greenpeace in her name,” they reply. And it still makes me smile. She fucking hated Greenpeace.
I took money from The Dragon but I didn’t take it from Nanny. The Dragon didn’t know I was pregnant but I did tell Nanny. Nanny Bas had held my hand and promised not to tell. “Send me a photo of the baby?” she’d asked with tears in her eyes. And I did, eventually. I sent her two. Nanny Bas is good at keeping secrets.
I tell myself that if I’d known how hard it would be I would have accepted more. But I was always far too proud.
But before I visited Nanny I had somewhere else to go. Someone else to see.
It didn’t look like anyone had visited in a long time. No flowers. Just weeds.
I talked to him. The way we used to talk to him together. I told him what I was going to ask from Nanny Bas. And I cried the way I don’t let myself cry in front of my children.
He didn’t say anything of course. He’s been dead a long time now. And once I was all cried out I drove here, to the big house.
I come in through the back, of course.
“Is that you, Gillian Parker?” Says Nanny Bas. And she must be surprised. She doesn’t show it. She just hugs me and she smells the same as she always has and I want to say she looks as she always has. But she doesn’t. She’s older.
“She isn’t here, love.” Nanny Bas assures me. I wonder suddenly, why Nanny Bas still is. She has her own money – I know that – she’s not completely dependent on her daughter-in-law. But she hasn’t been well for a very long time.
I tell her about Michelle. About how scared I am. And this time I have more photos. Of Michelle. Of Alan Sebastian. At four and six and fifteen years old. And this time I accept the money she offers and I cry and I thank her.
And on the back of the cheque she writes an address. I can’t take one without the other.
“Tell her she’s pretty,” she tells me. “She needs to hear it.”
I don’t have to go there. But it’s in Wollongong which is in the same direction as home which means I have almost two hours to keep changing my mind.
I put Michelle’s tape on in the car. I’ve listened to it a few times since she gave it to me but I don’t understand it any better than the first time.
Alan Sebastian’s drum music is something I understand. I feel the rhythm in my bones and in my chest and it doesn’t move me the way it moves him. But I feel it and I can feel his frustration when he misses the beat and his satisfaction when he masters something complicated and new.
But Michelle’s Cello eludes me. It felt like an offering when she gave me the tape. “I wrote this,” she told me. But it doesn’t sound any different to me from her warm-up scales. It sounds the same to me as when she first began the violin so long ago. But I listen to it anyway. And I think if I could hear what she can hear perhaps I’ll understand her. But I can’t. And I don’t. It’s just one more thing in an endless list of things I don’t understand about my daughter. Her choices baffle me. Even more so when they mirror mine.
“My father would have understood me,” Michelle has told me more than once. And I wonder, not for the first time, if that would have been true.
I take the turn. I don’t have to stop, I tell myself. I don’t have to go in. She might not even be home.
She is. She’s outside, smoking a cigarette as I drive up. I’ve never thought that smoking was glamorous but somehow Shell makes it seem so. Her hair is long now, and she is wearing glasses which throws me for a moment because she didn’t, then. But Alan Sebastian does which makes me think I should have guessed it.
I don’t remember making the decision to stop and I don’t remember pulling over and I don’t remember rolling down the window. But I suppose I must have done.
“Gillian?” Shell’s eyes are wide with the surprise I’d expected from Nanny Bas.
She’s taller than she was. Taller than me, now. But not nearly as tall as Alan Sebastian who grows at an alarming rate.
Shell grins at me and says my name again and I wonder if I can pretend that I just happened to be driving by. It’s a main enough road that it’s a plausible excuse and it could be a random coincidence. She doesn’t enquire.
“How are you?” I ask her. And she tells me about music and friends and studying and she’s so alive that I wonder how I ever worried that she wouldn’t be.
Too soon she looks at her watch in dismay. “I have class,” she tells me. “I’m going to be late for the bus.”
“I can drive you,” I offer.
“I should say no,” she tells me. “But it’s just so good to see you…”
“I don’t have anywhere else to be,” I assure her. And we get in the car.
“What’s this?” she asks as I start the car. Michelle’s cello music is still playing and Shell closes her eyes and smiles as she listens.
“Do you like it?” I ask. I wonder what she hears in it. I remember how hard she tried to teach me to hear music as we lay beside the record player in her room, playing quietly so The Dragon wouldn’t hear and complain.
When she smiled like that I knew it was something good.
“It’s beautiful,” she says reverently. She tells me where to go and she listens and she nods and she smiles and I can’t hear what she hears at all. “So sad,” she says quietly. “I’m glad I heard it.”
Shell looks at her watch when I pull into the car park. “Now I’m going to be early,” she laughs.
I’m so… lonely. And I think about doing it all again. Because as much as I don’t understand Michelle she’s just a child and I can’t possibly let her take it all on on her own. I’d thought that I was done with the crying and the nappies and the endless nights… never enough sleep and never enough money and… and I had thought – for a moment – that from now on it would get easier. And instead I’m starting over with another baby.
It suddenly seems so unfair that Shell has so much life ahead of her when I’m going to be raising children until I’m fifty-four.
When I was a child I wanted to be a mother but I wonder now if I just didn’t know any other options. I was lonely and I had nobody but Shell. “At least the baby will LOVE ME,” Michelle says and I want to shake her. And I want to put my arms around her and stroke her red-brown hair and have her cry into my shoulder and know I’ll make everything okay. She hasn’t done that in a long time. And I no longer can.
“Are you happy, Shell?” I ask her.
She smiles wryly. “Nearly,” She tells me. “I wasn’t. For a long time, I wasn’t.”
When I saw her, standing there with her cigarette, I’d thought she’d looked like Alan Sebastian. But as her voice stutters over the words, as she confesses how very not okay she was… All I can see is Michelle.
“But now…” Shell says quietly. “Now I can see it, Jilly. Now I can feel it just out of reach. I’m not happy yet. Not quite. But I will be. I’m determined!” and she laughs again.
“Do you have a family?” I ask her and as soon as I do I want to take the words back and swallow them but Shell just shakes her head and laughs.
“No way.” She says. “I wouldn’t mind a girlfriend, though. Maybe a dog. One day. Once I’ve sorted more of myself out. You?” She asks. And I don’t know if she’s asking if I’m happy or if I have a family and I don’t want to answer either question. So I don’t.
“I have to go now.” Shell says. “Can I see you again?”
“I don’t think so.” I tell her. I don’t know what she sees in my face but she doesn’t push it.
“I’m so glad we ran into each other.” She smiles. For a moment I think I could lean over and kiss her. But I don’t. I reach out and eject the tape and fold it into her hand.
“You should keep this,” I tell her. “I think it’s more your thing than mine.”
“Well thank you,” she says. “Thank you for stopping.”
And I watch her walk away and convince myself, again, that it’s better that she doesn’t know.
The drive back to Havenport feels very, very long.
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munchymuncher · 2 years
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A little something about me
Hello everyone! I thought that it was about time I wrote a little something about myself... On the internet, I either go by the name Musha or KP. I have been an artist almost my entire life. I hit a point in my childhood when I realized I wanted to draw portraits. I still remember my very first pencil drawing of my mother. It wasn’t anything too impressive, but it had taken a lot of effort to make. Seeing the smile on people’s faces when I handed them my creations made me want to pursue art. So much so that after elementary school, I decided to go to Art School (or what we Europeans call a Gymnasium but specializing in Art). Every moment I spent at our school’s atelier, I just knew that it was like my second home - that’s where I felt most comfortable. Like any artist, I have had a lot of ups and downs and when it was time to pick a university, I decided to stray away from it all to try and focus on what was another interest of mine at the time. I could have finished uni, but my heart was telling me otherwise. I didn’t enjoy it as much and to be quite frank, I don’t think I was even that good at it either. It is a bit odd, coming across an almost empty profile on the internet. It gives the impression that I’ve only just started with my journey in art. I, however, have already had a lot of beginnings and a lot of, what I now think were unnecessary, clean slates. Long ago - must’ve been about 12 years ago - I even had a YouTube channel where I would post sped up videos of me making art. I mostly made fanart at the time. The most impactful moment then was when one of the very people I drew acknowledged me in a video of theirs. It was none other than the wonderful trio Hat Films! It might not mean much to most of you, but to me, it meant so much that I ran around the house screaming in excitement. Ask my parents! I still have that video bookmarked too, you know. But, I was still a kid. At one point I felt embarrassed and thought that my art wasn’t anything to brag about, so I deleted the channel. A lot of videos I edited, lost forever. And the artwork, stored away to be forgotten. And what makes this worse, I’ve done that more than once, on other platforms too. I can’t explain the regret I feel making those decisions. To this day I still ask myself about what could have been if I wouldn’t have doubted myself. So, many a usernames after, here I am again as Musha. This time however, I am giving it my all to continue sharing my art as well as do my best at entertaining you people. Knowing that some of you might look at my art or visit my streams… Knowing that what I do could mean something… It makes my heart race. I feel anxious but at the same time, it makes me happy when I see the response. I am a weird one too, I changed my art style so many times already. Experimented with so many things - from acrylic painting and pencil drawings to video editing and photo manipulation. Even though I might feel lost or confused at times, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to quit art. Maybe one day when I feel brave enough, I’ll even dig up some of my older creations and share them with all of you. Having said that, I would like to thank all of you who have stuck around and have been supporting me throughout this mess. I know I repeat myself, but know that I appreciate each and every one of you. And please, if there is something you want to pursue in life, don’t give up! You never know what awaits… 
- KP
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morgana-pendragon · 3 years
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what a shame she’s fucked in the head
happy poc selfie night! @swiftiesofcolor <3
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nationalharryleague · 3 years
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Two for the Show
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Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that. 
Genre: Famous Fake Dating! 
Word Count: 17.1k!
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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries​) and Lu (@meetmymouth​) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)
***
Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.
If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.
But this time, she thought they might be going too far.
“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”
“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”
His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.
But something kept holding her back.
“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”
“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”
That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.
In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.
“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”
“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”
A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”
“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.
Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.
“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.
***
The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.
She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.
If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.
She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.
She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.
She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.
When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.
And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.
The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.
To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.
She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.
But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.
“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.
She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.
“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”
“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.
“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”
From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.
Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”
His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.
She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.
She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.
“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”
“How so?”
“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.
His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.
“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”
“I see,” she mused.
They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.
Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.
Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.
“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.
“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.
Y/N  looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.
She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.
“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”
***
They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.
All was going according to Jeff’s plan.
Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.
She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.
Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.
Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.
It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.
Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour
She was honestly speechless. This was huge.
She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.
She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.
The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.
But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.
It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.
Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.
The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.
She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.
It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.
I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.
His response came only seconds later.
Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?
She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.
I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.
She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.
People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.
Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.
Really good job, kiddos.
Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.
@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.
***
The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.
While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.
She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.
Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.
She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.
It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.
“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.
“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”
“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”
“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.
“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”
“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.
“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”
There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.
“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.
They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.
Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.
“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.
“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Emma,” she breathed.
“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”
Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.
“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.  
“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”
Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”
Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.
***
The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.
Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.
She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.
Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.
“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”
His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”
Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.
A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.
“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”
Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.
They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.
From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.
She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.
She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.
Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.
“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.
“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”
“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.
“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.
She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.
She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.
Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.
Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.
“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.
“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”
***
He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”
About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.
Fans took notice and loved it.
A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.
The fans loved that too.
But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”
The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.  
They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”
Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.
There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.
He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.
“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.
“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”
“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”
“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.
“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”
It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.
“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”
Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.
“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.
“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”
“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.
Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.
When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window. “I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”
An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”
“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”
She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.
She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.
The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”
The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.
“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.
“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.
“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”
“But it was rude.”
“It was necessary.”
The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.
***
It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.
Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.
She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.
“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.
Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.
Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.
“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”
“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.
“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”
Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.
“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”
“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.
“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.
She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.
“We have to celebrate.”
It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.
After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.
“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.
“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.
“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”
“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.
“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”
“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”
“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”
“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”
“Can I ask you?”
“What?”
“About your ex.”
She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.
“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”
“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”
He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.
With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.
“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”
A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.
“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”
“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.
“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”
“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.
“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”
Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”
“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”
“What a dirtbag.”
“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”
“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”
“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.
“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”
She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.  
“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.
“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.
“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”
“Noted.”
“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”
“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.
“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”
“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”
“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”
“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.
“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”
“Rude-”
“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”
“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.
“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.
“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.
“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”
She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”
“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.
“Wait, I have another!”
“Watch it, smart ass.”
“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”
“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”
“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”
“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.
“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”
She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.
Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.
He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.
He was her best friend.
And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.
“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”
“Just remember me when you get famous.”
“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”
“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”
Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”
Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.
“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.
It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.
“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”
He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.
He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.
She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.
“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.
She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.
“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”
“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.
“You’re welcome, love.”
His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.
“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”
“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.
“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.
“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”
“Just practicing.”
His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.
But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.
He was always in hers.
***
There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.
But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.
She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.
The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.
She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.
Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.
“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.
He smelled so good. He smelled like home.
She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.
“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”
“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.
���Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”
“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.
“Sing what?”
“That’s the surprise.”
“Do I even know the words?”
“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.
“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”
“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”
“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.
“I had Lambert put something together for you.”
“Of course you did.”
She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.
“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.
“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”
“Pinky swear?”
“Pinky swear.”
Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.
There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.
She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.
The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.
Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.
“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.
Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.
Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.
She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.
“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.
“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.
“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.
The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.
“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.
The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.
“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”
Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.
“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’
“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.
He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.
The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”
Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.
They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.
“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.
“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.
The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.
Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.
“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.
The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.
“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.
He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.
When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.
He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.
She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.
“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.
“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”
“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”
“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.
She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”
She could never say no to him.
Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.
She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.
If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.
She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.
“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.
“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”
“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.
His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.
The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.
The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”
“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.
He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”
“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?
They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.
“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”
“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”
“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”
“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.
She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.
Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”
There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?
She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.
She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.
A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.
All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.
The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.  
***
The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.
She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?
But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.
It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.
There he was.
His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.
Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?
“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.
It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.
“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.
“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”
“You don’t remember anything?”
“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”
“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”
“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”
He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”
“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.
“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.
Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”
Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?
“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.
“Just a question, princess.”
She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”
“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.
She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”
“You're cruel.”
“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”
“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”
The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.
“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.
“I think so.”
“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”
“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.
“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”
“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”
Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”
“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.
“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”
“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.
“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.
“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.
“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”
“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”
“But why Harry’s?”
It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”
“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.
“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”
“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.
“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”
Fuck.
Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.
She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.
Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”
“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.
Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.
There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.
Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.
“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.
“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.
“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”
“I don’t think it would be weird.”
“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”
He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.
“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”
Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.
“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.
“Neither do I.”
The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.
He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.
Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever
When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.
“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.
“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.
“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.
“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.
His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”
“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”
“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”
“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MEAN THE WORLD!!! 
An extra for our babies can be found here!
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newronantic · 3 years
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HAIKYUU!! FICS
so this is mostly gonna be for myself to keep track of my favorite fics i’ve read, but hey if anyone else wants to check some of these out then thats great
MHA one is up!!
ill keep updating this as i read more, feel free to send me suggestions!
KageHina
plain as day - emleewrites
In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.
In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments
Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.
I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments
Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.
Chaotic Neutral - akaraka
Who's this Kageyama person on twitter and is he gay?
1: Anonymous: see title
2: Anonymous: curry king
3: Anonymous >> 1: It's the curry king, obviously. Have you been using his memes this whole time without knowing who he was?
4: Anonymous: 1) Hinata Shouyou's boyfriend 2) See above
jellyfish - mysterytwin
At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out.
TsukkiYama
Try This On For Size - CloudMonsta
A lot changed for Yamaguchi Tadashi over the course of high school. He started trying on dresses, for one.
The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw
"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team.
No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.”
Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.
IwaOi
Terrarium - sausaged
He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).
At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?
Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?
A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.
They Say it Rain Diamonds on Jupiter - exsao
"You're in love with him."
Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.
"Yeah," he says instead.
He's never been good at lying, anyway.
bait and switch - Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody
Oikawa's university volleyball team knows he's in a long-distance relationship with someone from high school. They imagine a sweet-faced girl that matches his sarcasm with patience. They are so incredibly wrong.
my heart is where it’s always been - foreverautumn
Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.
Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.
(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)
KuroKen
Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life - todxrxki
Kuroo Tetsurou runs a private Twitter account where he's constantly tweeting about how desperately in love he is with Kozume Kenma. Little does he know that Kenma sees all the tweets and keeps referencing the account in an attempt to get Kuroo to confess to him. / Or, five times Kuroo didn't notice Kenma hinting about his private Twitter account, and one time he finally did.
the things that get caught in the valves of his heart - ghostpot
Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.
Accidentally In Love - todxrxki
Kuroo frowns, but then slowly, the corners of his mouth lift up into a smirk. "Well, if it's so unbelievable, why don't we give it a try?"
Kenma glances up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"
"Let's do the 36 questions to fall in love," Kuroo says, still smirking stupidly. "If we don't fall in love, then you're right, it's bullshit. But if we do somehow..." Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. "Then I win." / Kuroo decides he and Kenma should do the 36 questions to fall in love as a joke, but they both start to realize they might actually be in love already.
the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony
TW: major character death
Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives
even if you’re ahead for a bit, i will catch up - ghostpot
Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.
you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot
Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.
teach me the way home - icespyders
“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —
because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”
Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.
in this universe - crossbelladonna
Living with Kuroo is sometimes, just like this. It always feels surreal like he's living half a world and a lot of things rush by too quickly. Kenma feels like he'd watched him come and go in a blink, eyes wide and wordless as the shared space went snug in an instant and far larger in the next.
All this, and a glass of water.
Beginning’s End - todxrxki
Somehow over the course of Kenma's lifetime, he’s never really had an opportunity to miss Kuroo. He’s always been there. Even when they went to different schools, Kuroo would meet him afterwards so they could walk home together, shoulders brushing, Kuroo occasionally taking the opportunity to guide him when his nose was buried in the newest video game. The thought of Kuroo not being there anymore is uncomfortable, to say the least. / Kozume Kenma's third year and the changes the year brings in himself and his relationship with Kuroo Tetsurou.
All I Want for Christmas is You - todxrxki
“Kuro,” he says. “You’re a single guy.”
“Yeah, great, thanks for pointing that out.”
“And my parents already know you, plus they already know you like guys or whatever so… what if you pretended to be my date for Christmas dinner?” / In which Kenma recruits his housemate and best friend Kuroo to be his fake date for Christmas.
BokuAka
just to miss the sun - rosevtea
Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.
Operation BokuAka - kazzydolyn
After spending two whole years watching Bokuto and Akaashi pine for one another, the rest of the Fukuroudani Volleyball Club has had enough. When everyone meets up for a reunion dinner, the team decides to play matchmaker and finally get the two of them together. Unfortunately, their plan starts to fall apart when they discover that Akaashi is already dating someone. And apparently so is Bokuto. What a strange coincidence.
bitter - silvercistern
He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.
Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.
And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.
In Another Life - LittleLuxray
TW: major character death
Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.
The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.
120% yes - pissedofsandwich
TOKYO FRANCHISE COMING SOON @OnigiriMiya
in reply to @bokkun_official 
Congratulations! In celebration of your historic engagement, please DM us so we can send you a free membership code with a 25% discount on every fourth purchase!
Kissing Ace - karasunovolleygays
It happens right after training camp.
Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way.
But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.
daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) - gabstar
Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.
SakuAtsu
The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara (syailendra)
Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”
(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)
A Liar’s Truth - internetpistol
In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?
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hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)
Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.
~*~*
Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.
Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You
Rating: M(ature)
Warnings: Blood & violence. 
A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.” 
Ao3 Link: Here 
*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2
Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here 
Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return. 
In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks. 
But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo. 
“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.” 
That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew: 
Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious. 
Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind. 
This couldn’t be happening. 
“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him. 
The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave. 
“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…” 
He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat. 
“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove. 
“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.” 
The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye. 
“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 
“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—” 
“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.” 
Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.” 
“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—” 
A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.” 
“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. 
The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs. 
He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk. 
Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did. 
He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue. 
“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—” 
“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.” 
“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—” 
“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.” 
“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses. 
“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.” 
Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot. 
No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him. 
The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.” 
“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached. 
The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.” 
He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore. 
Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure. 
“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.” 
Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head. 
Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do. 
But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations? 
He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability. 
Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position. 
The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. 
“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.” 
The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.” 
Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!” 
“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.” 
“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova. 
“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.” 
You’re hearing will never be as it was. 
You’re hearing will never be as it was. 
You’re hearing will never be as it was. 
The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current. 
He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out. 
Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies. 
Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight. 
He needed a fucking drink. 
~*~*~*~*~*~ 
Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs. 
Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy. 
Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets. 
Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools. 
“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb. 
He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again. 
“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more. 
Except… he’d been standing still that time. 
“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet. 
The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving. 
“What the fu—” 
Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later. 
Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs. 
Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face. 
A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots. 
The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth. 
This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight. 
Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue. 
Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky. 
The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way. 
Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them. 
Dynamight was here to get the job done. 
“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head. 
The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc. 
Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him. 
The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet. 
As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god. 
He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch. 
Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him. 
A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought. 
“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze. 
Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar. 
“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals. 
Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again. 
The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air. 
A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window. 
He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then… 
Nothing. 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time. 
A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes. 
When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop. 
You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat. 
Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place. 
So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way. 
It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to. 
Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled. 
That might also have had something to do with your little… side business. 
You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia. 
And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite. 
But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least. 
That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers. 
For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst. 
Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things. 
Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself. 
When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps. 
But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself. 
One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good. 
So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet. 
With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help. 
At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful. 
So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful. 
When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own. 
Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone. 
This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train. 
You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you. 
“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.” 
After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief. 
The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 
Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.” 
You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts. 
So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking. 
Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away. 
It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out. 
You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments. 
Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.
Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes. 
You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor. 
“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass. 
Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms. 
What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms. 
Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash? 
Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs. 
That sounded… closer. 
With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky. 
“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals. 
You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person. 
Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth. 
Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack. 
Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down. 
The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air. 
Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air. 
A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached. 
The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street. 
You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill. 
The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed. 
The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it. 
The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later. 
The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames. 
You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene. 
Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him. 
You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 
You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped. 
In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window. 
Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.
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stopeatingwhales · 3 years
Text
the 1995 brits x damon albarn & liam gallagher
hhhiiii I'm here with a very cute little fic about the brits!! the idea of writing something with Damon and liam fighting over someone was requested quite a long time ago (sorry it’s taken so long omg) but I loved the idea!! I do hope you all enjoy it as I enjoyed writing it a lot hahah xx
Pairing: 90s damon albarn & 90s liam gallagher x reader
Warnings: nothing, just a little bit of bickering n dat
Word count: 3.057
Requested by anon x
༉‧₊˚✧
Being a part of the madness that adapted the name ‘Britpop’ was truly an experience. Paparazzi at every corner you turn, equipped with the brightest, flashiest cameras, also having the most annoying click noises to the point that after one image you’ve earned yourself a migraine that would last the entirety of the day; parties that would last entire nights, bearing millions of different kinds of drugs - some that hadn’t even been given a name yet, but you’d still give a try anyways, since you’re so high and drunk that you simply lose the intellectual capability to construct decisions, you say fuck it, and get so high to the point that you’ve blacked out in a booth in a bar, with the owner asking you to get out since you’ve been inside for one too many hours after closing time; as well as constant press coverage. With your name plastered over literally every newspaper and music magazine known to man, as well as having your entire life consistently dictated for the entire nation to read about every Sunday morning and indulge themselves into as a form of entertainment, it was what being famous delivered, right on your doorstep at 7 in the morning. Any earlier and you’d feel rude not to give them a cup of tea as a form of dignity and respect towards their sublime dedication to the job. Although it was fun being associated with it all, my band in particular gaining a different form of calidity due to it being a female fronted band, by the time that the entire nation was hooked on this ‘Blur vs. Oasis’ rivalry, it was as if every other britpop band had been washed away from existence, due to eight boys arguing as to whom had the better music. And the better looks, according to Liam Gallagher.
Tonight was the night of the Brit awards, perhaps the most prestigious awards ceremony for music. To be awarded a Brit was probably the largest achievement possible in British music in the form of an award, and it was definitely either going tonight to either Blur or Oasis. The chances that another band, say Pulp, were to get the award, would not only be extremely amusing to see the reactions of the two biggest names in the Britpop game, but would also cause the largest uproar in the nation. It’s either Blur or Oasis. “Their drama is so silly,” laughed Emily, the guitarist in our band whilst flicking through the latest edition of the Sun, the cover of the newspaper being, of course, Liam Gallagher. “They’re literally bickering about who looks the best. How do people find this interesting?”
“Because of how silly it is, people never leave their secondary-school-like selves. Just a bit of fun I guess.” I replied, fixing up my hair in the mirror in front of me. We were currently getting ready to go to the award show, and needing to look your best was an expectation. Though I wasn’t dressed in anything that would result in jaw’s dropping, it was important that I at least appeared somewhat admirable - the entire nation always had their eyes on us, but tonight they were going to see us all, live. Perhaps the reason why bands like Oasis and Blur are so obsessed over nowadays, since all they’ll do is turn up in some flimsy Adidas t-shirt and call that fashion. I suppose scruffy was the new elegant.
“Who do you think they’ll give the award to?” she questioned, still aimlessly flicking through the recycled pages of the magazine. “I think Oasis. Their music is so much better than Blurs.”
“Really? I’d say Blur. They won on top of the pops, so the likelihood of them winning the Brit award is highly likely,” I answered, shuffling away from the strong reflection of myself towards Emily, my eyes quickly scanning the page that she had her eye on currently. “Gosh Liam’s so full of himself.”
“He’s got his eye on you, you know,” She said, shoving the paragraph she had just read in my face of Liam boasting about his little crush he had supposedly gained from watching our latest performance on top of the pops. “Thinks you’re ‘well fit’.”
Scoffing in response, I mumbled back to Emily. “If he thinks that he’s sleeping with me, he’s very deluded.”
By the time we had arrived at the venue, you weren’t able to walk into the entrance without at least 50 cameras blinding your eyes and the shouts of so many begging for you to quickly turn your head and grin - the price for the photo would reach the many thousands. Once walking in, it was less crowded, only having select people by the ground floor, dedicated for musicians and bands, with the occasional interviewer walking past to every circled table, adorned with white cloth and champagne glasses, asking questions about how they’re feeling, who they think may win, and what they thought of the music throughout the past year. What was nice was that people didn’t have that much interaction with one another, just with their groups. It created a sense of formality in the space, which made me feel a bit at ease from the idea of some random row happening in the middle of the floor, most likely between Liam and Damon. The past year in music was truly something. Britpop was at its peak the entirety of the year, with songs like Parklife and Supersonic pouring out of every radio station in Britain that by the end of the year, you had ditched casual radio music and began blasting the classical station. It was a nightmare. Since the fall of grunge subsequent to Cobain’s death the previous year, the talk of any other genre in Britain apart from Britpop didn’t occur. It was as if we were living on this mystical island, miles away from any other music and culture, whilst adorning and obsessing over our own. What was nice about Britpop was that it was a pure celebration of English culture, whether it be a simple Sunday roast, or going to school, they all carried the same ambience of nostalgia and pride - also disregarding whichever band wrote what song.
“Free champagne… Yes please,” said Madeline, the secondary guitarist of the band, whilst heading to the first seat she could sit on, then quickly indulging herself with the first taste of the rich drink. “Oh my gosh it’s heavenly!”
Laughing at her reaction, the rest of the band took a seat around the table and took their first sips of the champagne, which we would all come to find to be indeed heavenly. Small talk was shared here and there with the rest of the group, but overall I stayed silent. In all honesty I found attending award shows was quite boring because if you didn’t end up getting an award, you would essentially be sitting there for two hours doing nothing. Even if you did win an award, it’s simply a minute of glory with the speakers blasting your music, and another minute of all eyes piercing into your soul as you make sentences about your gratitude towards those who had helped you along the way to earn such an achievement. I doubt anybody genuinely liked attending shows like these.
“The champagne is good, yet we don’t get enough for our table,” I complained, grasping my now empty champagne glass and waving it around in the air. “I’m gonna head to the bar to get a refill, anybody want anything?”
After receiving a handful of nos from the rest of the band, I took myself out of my seat and wandered over to the bar, which was empty, perhaps due to the venue not yet being completely filled with all the artists that were set to attend the night. “Just a refill of the champagne, please.” I asked politely, handing the bartender the used glass I had kept in my hand. Whilst waiting, I noticed that Damon was on the other side of the bar, who also didn’t notice me there, until he caught eyes with me.
A grin broke out on his face as I walked over to him. “You alright?” He asked me, quickly thanking the bartender for his drink and turning back to look at me. The height difference between us was evident, but it wasn’t the case of something so dramatic that he was the height of the empire state building and me, just a measly common tower in the city. He looked quite content, his hair scruffy yet neat, along with his outfit being just as I had assumed: a white shirt with jeans, a used pair of Adidas for shoes.
I smiled back at him and nodded. “Suppose you have high hopes for the award tonight.” I said, simultaneously receiving my refill of the beverage I had ordered, followed by my thanks. We stood adjacent, although there was enough distance between us to establish our relationship - mutual acquaintances whom had met every now and again, since they’ve both been dragged into this wormhole of madness. He was quite the opposite in comparison to his rivals, though he himself could be quite bothersome occasionally, he still had a grasp to what those may call sensibility.
“Oh well we’re better than them, aren’t we love?'' He chirped, his head now cocked to the side in a teasing manner. “I’ve heard that you’re rooting for us this year.” He added, a little smirk pasted on his face.
“Do you read every paper you see?” I questioned, my face turning away from him in slight embarrassment. Between us, there was no shared intention for a relationship to stem, though there was definitely a flirtatious tension that followed between us wherever we had met. Whether it be a random photoshoot for a magazine double-spread, or backstage at top of the pops, we always managed to share a chat with one another, and nothing else followed on from then. It was quite sad, because once you’ve established a connection between something you either both disagree or agree with in terms of societal views, something in the press, or life in general, you’re instantaneously cut off and asked to hop onto stage to record a meaningless three-minute performance with fake, plastic instruments which practically mean nothing.
“Well it was nice seeing someone else's face on the papers for once.” He replied, downing his drink, then ushering at the bartender for another. A thing that we both realised was that, between our conversations, we indirectly indicated that we were both there for each other, because we both had a complete understanding towards what may be happening to the other person. It was stressful being in the limelight constantly, and for someone who was the frontman of a band so large, with his face plastered on every magazine cover imaginable, things were bound to be stressful.
Sighing, I turned to face him again. Despite the fact that before I had the ability to respond, our conversation was cut short from a voice shouting my name from behind. “Well if it isn’t bloody Y/N.” the voice said, and from then I instantly knew it was Liam’s. Turning my face away from Damon’s, I locked eyes with Liam. As always, he was dressed in the usual: a parka, with casual jeans. Oh, and don’t forget the Adidas shoes. Even though he and Damon practically hated each other’s guts, they always seemed to have similar fashion senses, but I could never picture Damon in a parka. And I don’t think I even want to.
“How’ve you been love?” He asked, swinging his arm around my shoulder in a warm, but nonchalant manner. Me and Liam had a similar relationship to that of mine and Damons, simply just minusing the sentimentality of it. We were friends, and had come across each other at random parties, which opened the gateway for us to drink and get high together many a time. While he was quite the idiot, he was also a very fun guy to be around, but I knew Damon would never understand that. “And why’re you letting this twat chat to you?”
A laugh escaped Damon’s throat. “I think you’re the only twat here, Liam,” he began, a sigh leaving my mouth as I was trapped in a situation that I could only pray didn’t gain much traction from the rest of the attendees. “Me and Y/N are friends, don’t suppose we’re getting jealous are we?”
Liam’s grip on my shoulder tightened as I stared at his reaction to Damon. I felt quite small in this situation, due to me needing to tilt my head a good amount to properly look at Liam, and knowing if I left it would just erupt chaos and make it worse. “No need for me to be jealous when I know that she wouldn’t want to spend a minute with you in bed you bastard.”
“And you’re so sure about that are you?” Damon replied, amusement laced in his words. “Because you’ve totally spent a minute with her haven’t you?”
“Well I’ve got my arm around her haven’t I? And she’s not stopping me,” Liam argued back, a smirk entwined on his lips. Reaching for my hand, Liam grasped it lightly, then then brought it to his lips, kissing it, before holding it gently. Method of intimidation, perhaps, and though it was sweet, there was a time and place. And this was definitely neither the time, or place. “Who’s the jealous one now, eh?”
“The last I recall, she had hoped that we were winning this year, not you,” He boasted, moving the contents of his drink around whilst grasping it firmly. Whilst it would be something that would offend Liam, he was simply the type of person to not take criticism regardless of whomever it was coming from. I respected him for that. “So much so for a healthy relationship.” Damon mocked, staring into my eyes as a small laugh escaped my lips.
Granted that I had found the argument shared between the pair of them to be extremely silly, it was good entertainment as the time passed before the award show would begin. Watching them both, attempting to throw insults at one another, each one trying to cut a little deeper than the one previous, made me almost laugh at the both of them right there. “You know, it’s so silly that you both think you know me so well to think which one I’d pick from the both of you,” I said, detaching myself from Liam’s embrace and snatching my half-empty glass of champagne. “At this point, it’s neither of you.”
Walking back to my band’s designated table, I quietly took my seat as the show began. “Saw you chatting to Damon,” Emily whispered, raising her eyebrows. “Also saw you grinning like a madwoman.”
“Oh shut up you,” I replied, looking back at the bar to notice that both parties had left, assuming back to their places. “There’s nothing going on between me and Damon- Liam too in fact.”
~~~
As the ceremony went on, the boredom got to us. Even the amount of drinks I had didn’t entertain me, but what could we do, we were stuck in the middle of an award show celebrating music, even though I had largely doubted that the majority of those attending were enjoying themselves. I had no clue who the awards were going to be handed out to, and whether that somebody may be us in a category, but we all knew Blur were going to win something. Yes, Oasis had gained a lot of fame and had become one of the most famous bands in the music scene at the minute, but by the way things had gone for Blur after the release of Parklife, things only seemed to go further up from there. And that was only proven to be truthful, after Blur had left with four different awards.
After Blur had received their fourth award for best British group, we all knew that there was nothing left for Oasis. “They’ll get it all next year, they only debuted this year you know.” I said to the table, who were staring at the four smiley boys on stage as they trotted up to receive their award. I admired Damon as he said his speech, then also turning to look over at Liam, who looked quite evidently pissed off. He was practically drooling in anger from the sight brought to him at that particular moment, and I couldn’t blame him - their band hadn't gone home with one award that night, but neither had ours. “They’ve taken four awards home, isn’t that like, the most anybody has ever taken?”
“Indeed it is,” Madeline replied, taking a sip from her drink. “Must be a good year for them then, eh?”
As I watched the band leave the stage in absolute glee, I stared at Damon as he walked back to his designated seat for the short remainder of the evening. Despite the fact that my band had been sat in our seats the entire evening in complete boredom, just like Oasis and so many other acts that had been nominated for pointless awards, it would be a lie to say that I wasn’t proud of how far Blur as a whole had come and evolved through their music, and especially Damon. From beginning as young, bowl-cut boys only charting so far on top of the pops, to creating songs and melodies that could unite our entire nation, it was impressive.
Damon was the face of Britain at this very moment, and a very good looking one. Once I watched him sit down, he scanned the room for a while until he was able to find where I was sitting, which was parallel to his seat, merely a couple metres away. He connected eyes with me as soon as he found me, also accompanied with a small smirk painted on his expression as he raised his eyebrows and sent me a wink. I simply smiled back at him in response before turning away abruptly, disrupting the little moment we seemingly shared, and though I felt my heart flutter a little, he’s definitely not winning me that easily.
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talatomaz · 3 years
Text
lockdown | jj x fem!teen!reader
a/n: i can’t believe that a year ago today, the last ever episode of criminal minds aired. i miss jj so much 🤧
this is sort of in line with my own experiences (to a certain extent). and there’s not as much jj x d!r as i’d intended but I hope you still like it.
(feedback/positive comments are appreciated)
requested by @ouat2017 : “could you do a jj x daughter where the daughter’s school is on lockdown and jj is worried or something like that?”
warnings: gun violence. blood
word count: 2.6k
masterlist | request list | request rules
r is jj’s 18 year old adopted daughter and suddenly finds herself on lockdown after someone brings a gun into her school
i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated
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“Look, you’re the one that needs to be tutored so can you please focus?”
You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance.
You were currently in the tutoring centre trying to help a self-absorbed jock pass English so he could remain on the school’s football team.
Looking around you, you saw a handful of students giving both you and Cameron - the man-child you were tutoring - disparaging looks.
“You’re not supposed to be yelling at me. You’re meant to be telling me the answers.”
The aforementioned narcissist leaned against his chair, smirking at you in a way that made you fight to hide a shudder.
You could have easily wiped the grin off his face by mentioning who your mother was and who she worked for but instead, you decided to just continue ignoring his advances and carry on teaching him.
“That’s not how this works, Cameron. Now either you listen to me or you fail and get kicked off the team. And quite frankly, I’d rather the latter happen.”
You watched as his brows furrowed in confusion. Sighing, you answered, “latter means the second thing of two things mentioned in a sentence. Now, for the love of God, just finish writing your paragraph on Heller's satire of capitalism in Catch-22.”
You let out a breath of relief when he finally relented and started to scribble on his sheet of paper. You glanced over at one of your friends, who was also tutoring for extra credit, and smiled when she rolled her eyes at Cameron’s actions.
Leaning against the large desk that stood at the front of the room, you relished in the long-awaited silence aside from hushed whispers that came from other students asking for help.
Taking out your phone, you glanced at the screen to see that it was only midday and soon the lunch bell would be ringing.
You smiled softly at your lock screen.
It was a photo of you and JJ, your adoptive mother.
It was taken a few weeks prior at your 18th birthday party. You’d been living with JJ for almost 5 years now; her having fostered you before later adopting you when you were 14.
You still didn’t know what she saw in you on that day you’d first met her - you’d lost your family in a home invasion, barely surviving yourself - but whatever it was, you were grateful because you’d gotten a second chance at life.
Several minutes passed and you’d only broken from your train of thought when you heard someone clearing their throat beside you.
Looking over your shoulder, you saw your friend, the one who’d rolled her eyes earlier at Cameron, standing beside you.
“I see you finally got him to do his work.” She whispered, loud enough for your ears only.
“Barely. He still has an essay to write and hasn’t even finished a paragraph yet.”
“I would have smacked his sorry ass by now.”
You laughed before clamping your hand over your mouth, her comment having caught you off guard.
“Ally!” You whisper-shouted, playfully hitting her arm.
She looked at you with a raised eyebrow causing you to smirk, “Trust me, I’ve thought about it but-”
Before you could finish your sentence, a large bang rang out, shattering the silence the room had once held.
With wide eyes, your head whipped to the door where the gunshot had presumably come from and you listened as the hallways were filled with panicked screams.
Running to the door, ignoring the gasps and shouts from the other students behind you, you turned the lock on the door, pulled down the blinds, switched off the lights and jammed a chair under the handle.
Looking up, you saw everyone had the same look of panic in their eyes; a few were crying, including Ally, and others were pale with shock, Cameron was one of them.
“Guys, we’re gonna be okay but we have to be quiet.” You whispered harshly, constantly looking over your shoulder at the door, listening for any indication of the shooter coming your way.
Everyone stared at you, as if you were the leader of a camp and they were small children awaiting for further instruction.
You supposed it wasn’t far off.
By taking charge, you were the one who’d been unwillingly given the role of protector.
“First things first,” you walked over to the group of 10 students, “I need you all to make sure your phones are on silent. We can’t risk being caught.”
You watched as everyone followed your instructions.
“I know you all want to call your parents but that’s going to attract attention to us so for right now, we need to be quiet.”
Your heart was beating out of your chest and as you spoke, one thought repeated in your head. JJ.
Taking out your phone, you scrolled to find your mother’s name in your contacts. You watched as your thumb hovered over her name.
Just breathe, y/n. Breathe.
Tapping your mother’s name, you brought the phone to your ear.
“I thought you said we couldn’t call anyone.”
Your eyes locked onto Cameron’s, his face pale and his eyes filled with terror and a hint of anger.
“My Mum works for the FBI.” You whispered as the phone rang out.
Any other time and you probably would have laughed at the way his face grew paler, if that was even possible. But, in a situation this tense, it was going to be difficult to find any levity.
Your Mum picked up on the second ring and you let out a shaky breath when you heard her voice.
“Hi baby. A bit early for your lunch, isn’t it?”
You closed your eyes at her soft tone, as if you were trying to engrave the way she spoke into your mind lest you would never hear it again.
From your lack of response, the blonde sensed there was something up, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”
A single tear dropped down your cheek as you struggled to maintain a steady tone. Catching a glimpse of Ally staring at you, you steeled yourself and spoke.
“Mum, you need to come quick. Someone’s brought a gun into school.”
“Oh my-AARON.”
You winced when you heard her shout for her boss, listening as you could hear her run up stairs. You held your breath as she filled Hotch in on what was happening before telling Garcia to hack into your school’s security system.
“Are you okay? Stupid question. But are you hurt?”
“Mum,” you interrupted her rambling, “I’m fine. I’m in the tutoring centre with 10 other people. I don’t know how many people are injured. It just all happened so fast.”
“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay.”
Though you could hear the clear panic in her voice, her words did bring some form of reassurance to you.
“Penelope’s hacking into the system so hopefully she can have eyes soon.”
As she spoke, you could hear the clacking of keys in the background of the call; presumably Garcia doing exactly what JJ said.
“Mum?” You questioned when you heard Garcia swear.
Instead of JJ answering, the usually peppy tech analyst replied, her voice shaky and wet, as if she was crying.
“Y/N, thank God you’re okay.”
“What’s wrong, Garcia?”
“Someone’s disabled the cameras remotely. I can only get them back online if someone reprograms them from the inside.”
Grasping what she was explaining, you nodded, “I’ll fix them.”
“What? No!”
Your mother had taken the phone off of Garcia.
“You are not leaving that room, y/n. We’ll find another way in.”
“Mum, someone needs to fix the system from inside the school. I need to do it.”
Ignoring your mother’s worried shouts, you continued to speak, “Mum, I have to. I love you.”
You disconnected the phone and switched it off, preventing her from being able to call you back.
“Y/N, you are not leaving this room.”
You’d only just realised that everyone had been watching you intently during that entire interaction.
“Yes, I am.”
Moving away from the huddle, you rose to your feet and replied to your friend.
Cameron rose to his feet and towered over you as he challenged you, “No, you are not. You’re going to put us in danger.”
“Do you know how to hack into our school’s security system and then reconnect the transformer and enter the Mastercode?”
His face contorted to a look of confusion making you reply,
“Exactly.”
Turning to leave, you felt a large hand enclose around your arm.
“I said, you’re not leaving.”
Your eyes flickered from Cameron’s hand up to his face that dared you to take another step.
“Remove your hand from my arm before I remove your hand from your body. You may letter in football but I’ve been trained by some of the best FBI agents there are and unless you want to end up in a sleeper hold, I suggest you shut up and do what I say for once.”
His harsh grip almost immediately lessened as his hand returned to his side.
“Good. Now, have any of you been shot? No? I didn’t think so. Well, I have and whoever did get shot is probably bleeding out in the hallway. I can’t not do anything.”
No one dared to respond and instead, shook their head ‘no’ at your asking if anyone else would try to stop you.
Content that you weren’t going to deal with any more unnecessary distractions, you made your way to the door and gently removed the chair that was beneath the handle.
“Ally, you’re in charge. Lock the door when I leave. By my count, the FBI will be here soon. And Cameron, you do anything stupid and I’ll shoot you myself.”
Unlocking the door, you stepped out into the empty hallway and hastily made your way to where the main security hub was located.
Just a couple of hours ago, all you had wished for was silence but now that your wish had been granted, all you wanted was to hear the playful shouts and conversations between your friends and fellow students.
The silence that currently fell on your school was unnerving and unbearable. And with each step you took, you flinched at the sound your shoes made against the marble floor. Each noise practically acting as a beacon for the shooter to come find you.
You let out a sigh of relief when you found the Hub and you quickly worked to reconnect the security system. Typing on the laptop that rested atop one of the servers, you couldn’t help the smile that formed when all the cameras re-engaged.
Tapping on one of the keys, you navigated through the various cameras, looking for any indication of the shooter or of any injured people. You stopped when you caught a glimpse of someone.
Squinting at the screen, you saw, what appeared to be a freshman - since you didn’t recognise him as being a part of your year - laying on the ground, a hand clutching his stomach as blood coated his clothing.
Immediately knowing where he was, you cautiously made your way to the east hallway before running when you noticed him laying on the ground, his blood coating the once-white marble floor.
Falling to your knees, you pressed your hands against his wound, trying to stop the steady flow. He groaned out in pain, tears staining his face.
“H-Help me.” He choked out.
“What’s your name?”
“Jackson. But everyone c-calls me J-Jack.”
“Jack, you’re going to be okay. I just need you stay with me, okay? I’m-”
“Y/N.”
You failed to hide the surprise from your face making the younger teen smile despite his predicament.
“You’re t-tutoring Cameron. Everyone knows who you are. Y-You’re the one who doesn’t take any of his shit. I think h-he likes you.”
“Well, tough shit for him. I may be bi but he’s definitely not my type.”
Jack’s laugh quickly turned into another groan of pain.
Unzipping your jacket with one hand, you used the other to keep pressure on his wound. After removing the jacket, you harshly pressed it against his torso and watched as it barely absorbed the blood.
“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”
“No, you’re not. I won’t let you.” You said, tears filling in your eyes as memories rushed back of when you tried to save your brother after he’d been shot.
“You’re going to be okay. I just need you to-”
You stilled when you heard footsteps come up behind you.
“Well, what do we have here?”
You didn’t recognise the voice and couldn’t bring yourself to turn around to face the person who’d caused all this pain.
You opened your mouth before closing it again, unsure of what to say.
Closing your eyes, you readied yourself for your inevitable death when a shot rang out and a body slumped to the ground beside you.
Jumping at the action, you turned around and almost collapsed in relief at what you saw. Your Mum and her team stood behind you with several SWAT members flanking them.
The tears that had once filled your eyes now spilled shamelessly down your cheeks.
Without saying a word, JJ holstered her gun and ran to your side, hugging you as best she could since your hands were still pressed against Jack’s wound.
Paramedics soon followed and after that it was all a blur. It was as if you were floating outside of your body. Logically, you knew it was the effects of an adrenaline crash but you felt so disconnected from your body.
You barely took note as your mother gently lifted you to your feet, allowing you to be briefly looked over by the paramedics. Nor as your mother escorted you to one of the school bathrooms where she rinsed the blood off your hands.
You didn’t even say a word until you’d arrived back at the BAU where a worried Penelope wrapped you in a tight hug which you returned.
“I’m gonna take her up to my old office, Hotch.”
The Unit Chief simply nodded as he and the rest of the team watched as JJ led you to the abandoned office that was still filled with random case files.
Closing the door, she sat you down on her sofa and stared at you, not touching you in fear that even a simple caress would cause you to shatter.
You exhaled a long breath before finally speaking, “I’m sorry.”
Her brows narrowed, “Sorry? Sweetheart, why?”
You looked at your hands that had been coated in blood less than an hour before and then up at your mother; her blue eyes filled with nothing but concern, love and confusion.
“You told me not to leave and I did. I’m sorry.”
And with that, you started to cry heart-wrenching sobs that made your shoulders shake.
JJ gathered you in her arms, gently rocking you as her long blonde hair draped over you.
“It’s okay, y/n. I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”
Her arms wrapped tightly around you as she laid soft kisses on your head, her hand stroking your back.
That only served to make you burrow into her even more, seeking comfort in her motherly embrace.
You muttered your apologies as she continued to reassure you that you were okay.
JJ was afraid that if she stopped, you wouldn’t be here, safe in her arms.
Still rocking you in her arms, she whispered in your ear,
“I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”
831 notes · View notes