#bags under the eyes and stubble is enough for some people but not me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yndrgrl · 2 years ago

Note

Could u do a aizawa fic pls

you found a new job under yandere! aizawa as a nanny for his cute kid

age gap. quirkless! au. soft! yandere. dom! aizawa

warning: nsfw, stalking, smacking/slapping, slight coercion??, punishment, daddy kink, sir kink, creampie

a/n: yayyy, first request 🥳 idk if you wanted a fluff or spicy fanfic... so i chose spicy haha. also sorry for taking so long, i just started a new job :0

---

it was a chance encounter, you truly believed. your first year of college just came to a close, & now you had too much free time while the money in your bank account was slowly declining. even if you saved as much as possible, you'd still end up spending all of your money then you'd have to dip into your savings account-- something that you didn't want to do.

so that began your search for a job. you used websites, applied in-person. you thought your resume was solid enough to land a job by now. but no. even though they claimed they were desperately hiring, they never hired you. some had the curtesy to at least let you know that they weren't going to go with you; the rest completely ghosted you. from receptionist to substitute teacher to bank teller, they all rejected you.

it was extremely frustrating to go through the interviewing process then you were ultimately rejected. it was as if someone had it out for you.

that chance encounter happened while you were on the phone with your best friend. you sat at a small round table in a cafe you frequent often.

"i just don't get it, jirou!" you exasperated, taking a sip from your drink. you let out a heavy sigh. with how much effort you've put into finding a new job, you should've been paid.

"i'm sure momo's dad has a job for you," the girl on the other line tried to assure. she was on her daily jog, so she was slightly out of breath as she spoke.

with your face propped in your hand, you responded, "we already tried. all the available positions are for people with like, actual degrees or something. besides, we're not close enough for her to make a whole new job for me."

"i'm sure a job will fall right into your lap," jirou said, rustles of clothes being picked up in the phone microphone. in some sort of messed-up irony, she was getting ready for work. the universe just loved toying with you.

you took a breath in to exclaim how much you needed the money, needed a job, when a man pulled out the chair across from your table. "i'm sorry, i don't mean to be rude & eavesdrop," he began, catching your attention.

"sorry jirou, i'll call you back in just a sec," you whispered, then you hung up. "um, sorry, can i help you?" you took mental note of his appearance-- you know, just in case something happens in this very public, very populated cafe.

just by looks, you'd assume he was in his early thirties. his jet black hair was tied into a bun, stray strands framing his face. there were bags under his eyes-- along with a noticeable scar under his left one. though his disheveled appearance, he took care of himself; his stubble was even & maintained. his shirt was tight around his arms & his chest, & you could faintly make out the shape of his muscles. & god, were they big. he was alluring, with that slight smirk of his.

he would've intimidated you, maybe even set off red flags if he didn't have a toddler bouncing on his leg, tugging his hair out of its bun. she bubbled words & strung together incoherent sentences in beg of attention of her dad.

"i apologize again, i really didn't mean to eavesdrop," he repeated. "it's just i couldn't help but overhear you were looking for a job?"

"yes!" you exclaimed, clearing your throat with an embarrassed blush on your face. "i am looking for a job."

"are you interested in being a live-in nanny for my little girl?"

it was a chance encounter, you truly believed.

the job & its perks were almost too perfect, but you're not complaining. you got to move into the basement of his suburban home for free, he would cook you breakfast & make sure the fridge & cabinets were well-stocked. for nearly $25 an hour, you were living the dream.

eri, his -adoptive- daughter, was an absolute gem as well. she was a cheery toddler who loves life. she's not a picky eater, she loves picking out her own outfits, & if you turned off her show, she would pout for a little bit then bounce back for the next activity. never once has she screamed & shouted. she would cling onto her father almost all the time when he was home.

speaking of her father, you learned his name was shota aizawa, so, naturally, you call him mr. aizawa or sir. he would constantly ask you would other things you wanted, not needed. he would take you shopping, calling it a bonus. your living area was decorated, & you didn't even have to pay a dime! there were times where you felt more like a sugar baby than a nanny, in all honesty.

not that you minded. one look at him & you could already feel your heart beat quicken. maybe it was your daddy issues that just scream when you choose a guy you're into, but he was exactly your type. he's protective, yet soft. strong, yet humble.

you thought you hid your crush on him quite well, treating him as though he were any other person. sometimes you felt like he knew you were so utterly attracted to him.

"y/n," he called out, drawing you out of thought.

"u-uh yes sir?" you replied. you were dressed down still as it was the morning. he just finished breakfast & eri was fast asleep, bound to wake up at any moment. it was just the two of you.

"are you okay?" he asked. aizawa awaited for your answer while he plated your breakfast. he always insisted so you learned to let him.

as he walked towards you with your plate, you answered, "yeah, i'm okay."

he set down the plate in front of you from behind. aizawa bent over so his head was leveled with yours. both of his arms encased you, & if it weren't for the back of your chair, you would've been pressed against his chest. "are you sure?" he whispered into your ear. "i'm hear to listen, if you'd let me."

you turned your head to look at him because, somewhere in your strange logic, you thought it would've reduced the tension & made you less embarrassed. it did the opposite.

the tips of your noses touched, his lips only a few centimeters from yours. with half-lidded eyes, the way he looked at you made you quiver. you tried to create space between the two of you, only for your head to meet his arm. centimeters turned to an inch of space. "i-i am okay," you repeated.

"aw, don't lie to me," he said in teasing voice, but you could've been imagining it. "i know it's been hard, tell me about it~" you never would've thought he would have this amount of confidence-- mainly because, if he did, he should've been bringing home loads of women.

"i-i, it's just, um," you stumbled over your words. he had a smirk, amused. his eyes glanced down to your glossy, shaky lips, then back into your doe eyes, just waiting.

"daddy," eri called from the top of the staircase.

"y/n," he whispered.

"y-yes, mr. a-aizawa?"

"eat your food before it gets cold." & with that, he pulled away from you, sauntering upstairs to grab eri. left stunned, you picked at your food.

oh, how you loved telling your friends about how hot your boss is.

after that incident, you had to tell all your friends about it, so, during your guys' weekly, weekend, late night group facetime.

"oh, my god!" uraraka squealed. "you HAVE to tell us more."

"yeah, that's literally so hot," jirou laughed. "see! you found a perfect job."

you had your phone propped against some random bottle as you snuck into the kitchen to fix yourself something to eat. another thing about eri is that, once she's asleep, nothing is waking that girl up. as for aizawa, he's usually up doing something else-- which explains the bags under his eyes & his scheduled naps.

while you dumped your noodles into a pot of boiling water, you said into your phone, "i'm not even exaggerating, it was the hottest thing to ever happen to me."

giggles erupted from your phone. "well, to be fair, you haven't had much luck with guys in the past," mina stated. it was true. while you were in high school -& this past year of college- you really didn't connect with any guys.

"maybe the problem was that they were all her age," joked jirou. hysterical laughter followed after. you were bent over, trying to catch your breath.

"that's not true! i could go for guys our age," you tried to defend yourself.

"okay, let's name every single one of your crushes ever," tsu said, her camera angle only showing her eyes.

all the other girls started to spit out whoever they could think of.

"remember keigo? he was like, 2 years older than us," momo said.

"that's not even that bad," you rolled your eyes, stirring your noodles & adding the seasoning packet.

"oh yeah?" jirou challenged, "what about shoto-"

"he's our age!" you cut her off to save yourself the embarrassment. "besides i didn't even like him."

"yeah cuz you liked his DAD," jirou finished, to which even more bowls of laughter erupted. okay, maybe you did have a thing for older guys.

"oh wow, y/n, i didn't know you had a thing for older guys," a voice spoke from behind you. you jumped, letting out a yelp.

your phone blasted all of your friends' laughter until you grabbed your phone & hung up. "o-oh hey, sir," you stuttered out. you hid your phone behind your back as if you were caught doing something wrong. you felt your phone vibrate, your friends begging to be on call again. "how much did you hear?"

"not much," shrugged aizawa as he grabbed a glass cup from the cabinet above you. that's when you realized how warm he was, how flushed his face was, how messy his hair fell. that's when you realized he was wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants & a small towel around his neck.

"wh-what are you doing up," you coughed, taking in his physic-- just for a second, of course. veins protruded up his muscular biceps down his forearms. his pecs were in front of your face. they were well-toned. his washboard abs rose with every breath he took. you let yourself quickly -& ever so sneakily- glance downward. smaller veins & a trail of black hair were like arrows, pointing down his sweatpants. you gulped. was it normal to have a bulge that big-

"you know, it's rude to stare, y/n," aizawa whispered in your ear before pulling away. he walked toward the fridge that had a water dispenser attached to the freezer door. "i just need a cup of water after my workout," he answered in his regular voice to her question.

"oh, nice, nice," you said. a tense, awkward silence followed afterwards. "i-i'm sorry, i didnt mean to," you swallowed, "stare."

"right, i'm sure." & with that said, he left upstairs to get ready for bed.

aizawa loved teasing cute, little you. how could he not? your reactions were simply priceless. your face would get pink while you tried desperately to hide your embarrassment. your skittish eyes darted around the room just to avoid eye contact.

you weren't going to speak up because he knew that you "secretly" loved it. you'd probably make some lame excuse to defend yourself. you'd say, "well i'll let it slide just this once because i really need this job." which was the truth, it just wasn't the entire truth. aizawa knew though. he knew how much you craved his closeness.

he loves teasing you, but he's not a monster.

that's why he whispers in your ear, caging you between him & some other surface. he fed into your fantasies while fueling his own.

he thinks about you. all the time. more than you'll ever know.

what you believed to be a chance encounter was -in fact- a calculated, perfectly-executed plan concocted by aizawa. you might've never noticed him until he introduced himself, but you're so eye catching; it was only natural for him to notice you.

at first, he cursed himself to the moon & back for being attracted to someone ten years younger than him. you're only twenty-three, why is he so charmed by you?

determined to find a fault in your character, he learned your daily routine, find your social handles, grasping at anything. he was expecting to find out that maybe you're so much of an alcoholic that you practically live at a bar or that you have eighteen children with twelve different guys. but no, he found nothing terrible about you.

all of your habits he found adorable-- especially the face you make when you're frustrated. he would watch from afar as you grunted & groaned at your laptop screen. the day at the cafe he figured out why you were so upset lately.

that's why he offered you the job, out of the kindness of his heart. no other reason.

he just wanted to make sure that you stay happy & safe, which is why he installed secret cameras in the basement before you moved in.

he loved to tease you. he loved to rile you up.

he'd tease you so badly that you -at the dead of night- spread you legs wide towards the camera & play with yourself with your fingers, moaning desperately for him. all while aizawa watched you.

tonight was different though because, with the money he gave you, you bought yourself something new. tonight, you had a bright pink vibrator stimulate your clit while your eyes rolled back in ecstasy. aizawa was offended, in all honesty. it was almost like you were mocking him.

he could do better than some toy. you should've known that. he was angry, aroused, & ready to make his move.

you were unsuspecting. usually you were hyper-aware of your surroundings when you masterbated, scared of getting caught. however, this was your first time using a vibrator, & god, it felt so good. you've never experienced anything like it before. blood rushed to your ears as you could only listen to the vibrations & your choked-back moans.

aizawa crept down the stairs, into your basement. the floorboards would creak as a warning, but they fell on deaf ears. he opened the door to the basement, sneaking in. the only light that was on was a dimly lit lamp from your room. "ngh, ah." he heard your muffled moans, & his cock twitched in anticipation.

he bursted through the door, making you jump back & pull the closest thing over the bottom half of yourself. "s-sir! i-is something wrong?" you asked in a high-pitched voice as you tried to calm yourself down.

he gave you a glare, & you felt like you were in trouble, preparing for some sort of punishment. even though you didn't do anything wrong, it was him who barged in. "what. the fuck. do you think you're doing?" he seethed, closing the bedroom door. you were exposed, your juices so clearly staining your sheets.

"wh-what are you talking about-"

"don't give me that, y/n. you've been such a bad girl," he growled. aizawa stalked closer towards you as you gulped.

"n-no i haven't, i don't know what you mean, sir," you managed to say, watching him walk to the side of your bed.

"what were you doing then, hm?" he questioned with a mocking smirk. "tell me. i'd hate to do something brash over a misunderstanding."

"i-i was just laying down," you lied. he was standing at the edge of your bed, & you turned towards him. your gaze was met with his aching bulge, & you gushed all over your bed once more. you tried covering up the squelching with a yawn. "i-i'm kinda tired, you know." you were still staring at his crotch, licking your lips subconsciously.

suddenly, his hand shot to your face, his palm covering your mouth while his thumb & middle finger dug into your cheeks. "don't lie to me~ you were touching yourself, weren't you? using a dirty toy while you thought about me, hm?" you tried shaking your head but he grasped harder, making you still. "i said, don't fuckin' lie to me." he made you nod your head yes while you look up into his lusted eyes.

"you're such a bad girl, & you should know that i don't tolerate any kind of bad behavior," he informed, his gaze never breaking away from yours. "i'm going to sit down, & you're going to lay belly-down on my lap, alright, baby?"

you shook your head no once again, embarrassed. you knew that, the moment you would do that, he would catch you. after all, from the waist down, you had no clothing. "no?" he repeated in an almost sing-songy voice. "no?"

it happened so fast. one minute you were disobeying him, the next you were on his lap, just as he wanted. the baggy crop top rode up the arch of your back, & now you were practically naked -ass up- on your boss' lap. you buried your face into your messy duvet. you felt your core leak onto your inner thighs, hoping aizawa didn't notice your arousal. he did though; he loved it.

his fingers stroked your pussy as he slurred, "what a naughty girl, gettin' wet for me. y'know how much older i am, don't ya?"

you nodded your head, dripping onto his fingers.

"& ya still want me?"

you nodded, this time with a small squeak. he pulled your head back with his other hand entangled in your hair. "what was that, baby?"

"y-yes," you whispered out, hyperfixated on his fingers that teased you.

"yes what?"

"yes, i-i want you, sir," you moaned out. his middle finger ghosted over your clit, & you jolted closer to him for more friction.

"aww, you're so cute," he purred as he let go of your hair, allowing you to fall back into your bed. "it's a shame that you were so impatient though," he said with faux pity, "i have to punish you."

"no, please," you whined. "that's not fair!"

"not fair? oh darling, you brought this on yourself," he laughed. aizawa drew his hand away from your aching pussy, much to your dismay. the hand came back down, thrashing your ass cheek. you let out a muffled scream into your blanket as you were pushed forward with his force.

"what's wrong, y/n? can't handle a bit of spanking?"

"n-no! i-i want you... i-inside of me," you stuttered out with a red-tinted cheeks.

"aww, do you?"

you nodded eagerly. he, in response, growled lowly, "you're going to learn your lesson. i don't want to hear anymore whining. you're going to be my good girl, & take it, right?"

you just nodded again.

smack!

"i said, you're going to be a good girl for me, aren't you?"

"y-yes, sir!"

smack!

you let out a moan, looking back at him with teary eyes. you wanted an explanation why he spanked you again. you did everything right, didn't you? you were a good girl.

"you didn't apologize."

"i-i'm s-so sorry, daddy," you gasped out, then tried to explain why you called him that. "i-i didn't-"

smack!

"you're going to keep calling me that, right?"

"y-yes, daddy." your ass stung bright red, & you felt the tingling sensation as the blood rushed to your asscheeks. aizawa let his hand graze over you, squeezing you ever so slightly.

"sit up, & look at me, y/n," he commanded in a softer tone than before. mindlessly & eagerly, you sat up onto his lap. one hand gripped on your hip while the other was placed behind your back. you wrapped your arms around his neck to stay sitting up. he leaned in for a kiss, lips pressed against your plush ones. with the hand behind your back, he glided his nails over your back.

his tongue slid over your bottom lip before invading your mouth. you let out a moan as he kissed you. he was the one to pull away, you unconsciously leaned into him for another kiss. you were snapped out of your lust when he dove into your neck, nipping & kissing all over. between hickeys, he whispered, "see? good girls get a reward."

you just let out breathless moans. your arms were still around his neck while he lowered you onto the bed. "baby, i don't ever wanna punish you again," aizawa lied, slipping your crop top over your head before throwing it on the floor. he took of his shirt, chuckling when he saw how pink your ears got. "you know why i had to punish you though, don't you?"

"y-yes, i do, d-daddy," you stuttered out. it was hard to focus while he dragged his tongue over your body. he bit your collarbone, sucked on your tits, kissed down your torso. it was all so distracting.

"why did i have to punish you, y/n?"

"because i-i was p-playing with myself without y-your permission," you told him, sighs in between every word. you don't know how or when your legs were over his shoulders, & you didn't notice until he spoke.

every annunciation blew warm air to your throbbing heat. "such a smart girl, y/n~" he praised, his onyx eyes locking with your doe eyes. you didn't have to say anything, he could tell by your facial expressions how badly you needed him. he kitten-licked your pussy; it was so little, yet you couldn't help but squeak in delight.

"oh, my god," you moaned out, throwing your head back as he began to lap your juices. he groaned as his tongue flicked your clit.

"you taste so fuckin' good, baby," he uttered, diving back for more.

"thank you, daddy," you said, you didn't even know if he still wanted to punish you, but there was a chance that he did, & you didn't want this to stop.

"good girl."

he stimulated your clit with his tongue while three fingers pumped in & out of your hole. he pulled away from your pussy for a second, demanding, "look at me when you cum, got it?"

"yes d-daddy!" you yelled out, self-restraint turning into the opposite. a pressure built inside your core, threatening to pop at any second. you looked down, tears of pleasure & neediness rolling down your pink cheeks. "i-i'm gonna cum. please keep going, i'm gonna cum!" you let out a string of pleads & moans as you came all over aizawa's face.

he stood up, slipping off his pants & boxers. he kicked them away as he towered over you. he was standing on the edge of the bed while you lied with your legs spread. "you want me, y/n? you really want me?" he asked because if you wanted him to stop, he would. if you wanted him to do anything, he'd do it.

"i really want you," you said as sincerely as someone who just climaxed could say anything. "i-i just don't want this to be a one-time thing," you admitted.

he laughed, lining his cock with your entrance as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. "trust me, baby. this is not a one-time thing, i'm so addicted to you, y/n. you don't even know." he finished his short-lived speech by shoving his girthy dick into your cunt, & you remembered just how dominate aizawa was. you let out a scream due to the pain, unexpectedness, & utter pleasure you got all in a single moment.

his thrusts were soft & slow at first. you could feel every inch leave then plunge back into your weeping hole. "d-d-daddy, you're so big," you moaned while you wrapped your arms around his neck.

his pace picked up, hips jerking against you. your tits jiggled with every thrust, claps every time he went back inside you. he abused your sensitive g-spot, ramming himself in & out of you. your hands unraveled themselves around his neck, your nails digging into his muscular back. you let out babbles how you couldn't take it, how you were going stupid, & how you were going to cum. he groaned in response, "if you're saying anything other than daddy or more, shut your fuckin' mouth & take it like a good girl."

"n-ngh, ahhh, yesss daddy," you slurred, eyes rolling to the back of your head. you wanted him to slow down so you could think again, but you liked being mindless, you liked how you didn't have the energy or will power to think about anything in this fucked-up world. all that mattered in that moment was you, aizawa, & how good the two of you felt.

"you're so fuckin' beautiful, baby," he groaned, he couldn't help but compliment you. how could he not? you looked even better pinned under him than he imagined. "so tight for me."

"please let c-cum with me, daddy," you begged. he didn't respond for a second, & you started to doubt yourself.

"wh-where," he groaned out, thrusts becoming rough & sloppy.

"what?"

he was losing composure. "where do you want me to cum?"

"inside," you answered quickly, wrapping your legs around his waist. you felt like you were in control now. "i-i want you inside of me when i cum all over your cock, d-daddy~"

"y/n. don't say stupid shit," he warned, knowing damn well he'd fold in an instant. you kept moaning with every thrust, begging for him to cum.

"p-please~ daddy, i deserve it. i-i've been a good girl," you whimpered. you jutted your bottom lip in a pout & tried to give your best puppy-dog eyes. every thrust he could see you twitch in pleasure, your expression couldn't hide how much you were enjoying this.

"fuckin' brat," he scowled. he watched you as you figured out how much power you truly have over him. he couldn't blame you for extorting it because that's what he did to you. at the end of the day though, you won.

he became sloppy & fast. his cock twitched inside of you when he saw your slutty expression-- tongue hanging out of your mouth, cheeks red, tears running down your face, eyes begging. & it was all because of him, how he fucked you. he was the cause of such a beautiful thing. finally, with a single thrust, he buried himself deep within you, cumming.

whiteness painted your insides while you came around him, clenching his twitching prick. "a-aizawa!" you screamed out in pure ecstasy.

deep breathes, panting, & sighs of content followed afterwards. he slipped out of your gaping hole, his sperm leaking out of your pussy. he climbed into your bed, coddling you. you were still shaky, senses heighten. you placed your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat slow.

he pulled the covers over the two of you. aizawa said while massaging your scalp, "you okay, baby?"

"mhm," you hummed, "i-i just never been fucked like that before."

he laughed, then kissed the top of your head. "i promise that this won't be the last time, y/n. i'm all yours." though he didn't say it, he was thinking, besides, guys your age won't know what to do with a bad girl like you.

#aizawa x y/n #anime and manga #yandere bnha #bnha x reader #bnha aizawa #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa headcanons #aizawa x reader #x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #aizawa imagine #aizawa smut #mha au #mha #bnha #yandere aizawa #yandere mha

968 notes · View notes

whichcouldmeannothing · 2 years ago

Text

paper rings (teacher!spiderdads)

this is dedicated to ran podiumspray who helped me get this idea all fleshed out idk maybe if i get like 20 notes I'll write it fr idkkk

EDIT: read chapter 1 here!

Someone drops their lunch tray on the table with a large bang. Miguel sighs before he looks up at Jess, who sits across him at the table. He always hopes that maybe he's intimidating enough that no one will sit near him in the canteen, that maybe people still believe that rumour that Mister O'Hara actually is a vampire who sucks people's blood.

But even if that were true, Jess would probably still sit across him and gossip.

Jess has been the closest thing Miguel has to a friend in this place, so he knows that she knows that he's not being an asshole when he continues to write down his lesson plan in his notebook. He's an excellent listener, she's said before. And she only comes by if she has something juicy, something Miguel cares about.

"I heard Parker got divorced," She says, twisting open her apple juice.

Miguel's pen stops moving.

He looks up at her.

He turns to where Peter is standing in line. A kid is engaging him in a lively conversation, and his eyes are bright in the way they always are. But Miguel, under Jess' guidance, knows how to sniff out details. Something something literature something something. He can see the dark stubble dotting his chin, the unironed shirt and the dark circles under his eyes.

"He could just be stressed," Miguel offers.

"He's not wearing his wedding ring." Okay, maybe he's not the best at looking for things yet. Miguel squints, and he can't see the glint of silver that Peter usually flaunts.

"What are we talking about?" Someone's puffy cardigan presses against Miguel's arm, and he has to close his eyes before registering Lyla beside him.

"Can you come with a bell? So I can be prepared for when you pop up and ruin my lunch." His assistant stares at him, unimpressed. She's never been scared of him, and that lets her get away with too much. He hates it.

"I'm not a cat, you're just a bitch." Eloquent as always. She follows Jessica's line of sight, and she jumps in her seat "Talking about Parker's divorce?"

She says it loud enough that people around them are turning to look at his table, and Dios mio, Parker is looking at him from the stall and he wants to die. He can eat in his cubicle. He takes his entire tray and walks out of the cafeteria.

He walks straight to the lounge, scanning his ID and walking forward and turning to the left and right, with one last right to get his cubicle. The cubicles are set by order in seniority, so a small carpeted wall separates him from Parker's mess of a desk.

He sets his tray down, and in the air-conditioned silence of the room, he eats. It's lonely, but it's peaceful. It's tranquil. He eats his salad and finishes his lesson plan. He drinks his apple juice. The only thing left on his tray is the cookie, kept in a white paper bag.

He stares at the carpeted divider. His is sparsely decorated, with two photos pinned up. One of his brother at the beach, and one of tiny Gabriella with her uncle at the same beach.

Miguel is a family man. That's all he has to be. He wakes up, makes Gabriella's food for school, sends her off, goes to work, picks her up and takes care of her. He meets Gabriel once a week for family bonding. Sure, he doesn't have much of a life outside that, but he doesn't need one. He's fine.

The cookie isn't his favourite. It's too sweet for him. He keeps looking at the wall.

He knows that on the other side of that wall, Peter's wall is full of notes and letters from his old students. Different cards in every single colour of Post-It note, all thanking him for the impact of his teaching.

Now, he's divorced.

The man so proud of his wife and his toddler, the man who would flaunt her so much, the staff is well aware of Mary Jane Watson-Parker and Mayday Parker's day-to-day escapades. Similar to Miguel, he holds his family as a priority.

Something that feels like concern tugs at him. He tries to squash it down. Peter has been one of the worst colleagues he's ever had. He goes on tangents in his class more often than actually teaching, he rewards the smallest step forward, and he's remarkably laid-back. On paper, he's a terrible teacher.

He's a horrible seatmate, music almost always loud enough to be heard in Miguel's cubicle and always ready to lean over and ask Miguel stupid questions about his class and his day. They're the only two teachers who joined from their year to have stayed in Romita Senior High School, but that's where their similarities end.

But the man's going through it. And as much as Miguel thinks he's a nuisance, he's not (He sighs.) the worst thing on the planet. He stands up and takes his cookie. He walks five steps and places it on the mountain of papers he calls a desk.

Is that too cheesy? Too vague? Too incomprehensible?

He hears the lounge open, and he sees a familiar spike of greying brown hair walking forward, about to take a right.

Miguel panics. He looks around for- aha- a pen and draws a haphazard smiley face on the bag. It's shakey, and Gabriella can do better. But Gabriella is a saint, of course she could do better.

Miguel runs back to his seat and stays completely still. He starts counting. Peter walks past his cubicle, his cheap cologne smelling very faintly of cedar and vanilla.

"Oh, nice." Peter says. "Free cookie."

Miguel feels underwhelmed. Maybe he'll never do anything nice ever again.

#spiderdads #spiderbite #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #itsv #atsv #miguel o hara #peter b parker #miguelpeter #snippets #writing wip #maybe idk

319 notes · View notes

phantomdoofer · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: Strambos

Peppino sighed as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

I'm getting too old for this shit.

Bags under his eyes. Body: getting fatter. Cheap food had that effect. Hair: still thinning. Still got its color, though. The thought gave him a slight little smug grin. And considering everything he'd been through - war, debt, that damned tower - it was a miracle he still had any hair left. He had his pizzeria - finally out of debt, for now - his old buddy Gustavo was joining him at work now, and with all the Tower residents living nearby these days, his business was, well, not exactly booming, but at least he could afford to eat more than once a day again.

The thought lightened his mood a bit.

He reached for his razor and carefully started shaving around the mustache he so carefully maintained.

As he shaved off the night's stubble, he reflected. All thing considered, it could be worse. Better than they'd been for a while, actually. And he had to admit, after spending all that time running, he was starting to feel better about himself. Maybe he could get back into his old football regimen. He doubted he'd be able to get back to his old weight - his diet alone would see to that - but he might feel more confident about himself. And it would make his Ma happier.

I need to go visit her. It had been too long. Before, he couldn't have taken a day off without driving himself further into debt. With things more stable, he could probably afford to take a day to go over and visit every so often. She told him she understood every time he called her, but he knew she missed him.

He set the razor down. Good enough. He rubbed the stubble on his chin, which never seemed to go away no matter how hard he tried. Maybe I should grow that little beard out again. He chuckled, remembering the little goatee he'd had as a teenager. The army had made him shave it off, but they'd let him keep the mustache. Ever since, he'd kept the same look. The tower had given him a bit more confidence, though. At least that much had gone well.

Maybe it was time for some changes.

Peppino grinned at his reflection, snorted, and turned.

Probably look goofy, anyway.

~~~~~

What's-a up with these strambos?

A bunch of people had been hanging out in the pizzeria all evening. Not that unusual these days, but Tuesdays were always quiet. Besides, these weren't teenagers or the tower residents. If anything, they reminded him of some of the military spooks from the war: big, quiet, and way too serious. They were paying for everything up front, though, buying drinks and ordering pizzas. Good tippers, too. One even bought a stack of pizzas to go, left, and came back and sat with some of the others.

They were giving him the creeps. Something was up, but he couldn't imagine what.

"Hey, Peppino, I've got everything cleaned up back here! It's past closing time, you want me to stay?" Gustavo called from the kitchen.

For a second, Peppino considered it, then decided against it. If these guys are up to something, I don't want anyone else tied up in it. "Nah," Peppino called back, "I'll-a cover it til the customers are ready to go. I'll-a be all right. You head home, it's late."

Gustavo called a affirmation back. "All right Pep, see you in the morning!"

Shortly after he head the back door close.

Good. Whatever happens, he's out of it. Peppino idly thought about the shotgun he had stashed below the counter. The tower proved he still knew how to use one, even if just holding it gave him the shivers. But not everyone was a good guy. Sometimes you had to be prepared.

The bell jingled as a new customer walked in. He was average height, wearing sunglasses, and built like a linebacker. He was balding himself, and had a full black beard. And yet, Peppino could see his shoulders stooped a bit, like he was carrying a huge weight. He nodded at the other customers, who nodded back.

They all stood up as one, and went outside.

Oh, Mio Dio, here we go... Peppino tensed and immediately started sweating, but he stood his ground. This was his place. He'd be damned if he was letting anybody run him out of it.

The man walked up to the counter. When he spoke, it sounded gravelly but oddly familiar.

"Buonasera. Tu sei il proprietario, immagino? Peppino Spaghetti?"

Peppino was surprised. Other than his mother and Gustavo, no one around here spoke Italian. While this one sounded a bit formal, he was pleased. "Sì, è il mio nome. Posso aiutarla?"

Then man nodded, and took off his glasses.

Suddenly Peppino realized why the man's voice sounded familiar. He heard it every day. The man's eyes were the same ones he saw in the mirror every morning. And yet, somehow, they looked infinitely more tired.

Peppino started shaking. "Questo non può essere giusto. Chi sei? Sei un'altra di quelle cose della torre? Cosa sta succedendo?"

The stranger with a copy of his face leaned his elbows on the counter.

"Peppino, my name is Giuseppe. Giuseppe Spaghetti. And I've got a lot to tell you."

Next>>

Side Stories

In and Out>>

Running Hell>>

#pizza tower #pizzatower #peppino #peppino spaghetti #fan fiction #my stuff #pizza tower fanfic #pizza tower au #tower town au

29 notes · View notes

beeeinyourbonnet · 9 months ago

Text

Covetous | Chapter 23

Pairing: Nostelle

Rating: E

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [chapter 7] [chapter 8] [chapter 9] [chapter 10] [chapter 11] [chapter 12] [chapter 13] [chapter 14] [chapter 15] [chapter 16] [chapter 17] [chapter 18] [chapter 19] [chapter 20] [chapter 21] [chapter 22]

[read on ao3]

----------------------------------------------

Belle and Nosty slipped in to mass just a few minutes before it started. There were nearly two dozen people there this week, but even if there’d only been five again, they’d have sat together in the back pew, close to the aisle in case they needed an escape.

Lucy, Nosty’s admirer, glanced back at them, returning Belle’s smile of greeting before staring at Nosty’s arm around her shoulders and facing forward. Belle also smiled at Archie and Gray and the old woman, but then she finally had to look at Joseph.

He stared at her from the pulpit, and the church was small enough that she could see the bags under his eyes, the stubble on his cheeks. Guilt filled her stomach, but she swallowed it away. She had no reason to feel guilty.

Instead of the kicked dog look she expected, Joseph stared at the two of them with his jaw clenched, eyes resolute, much the same way Nosty was staring away from him. What did that mean?

The service began and Belle tried to follow the prayer card just to keep from being bored, but it was so hard when the longer it went on, the more anxious she felt. Yesterday, mass had sounded like a safe place with low stakes for her to assess the situation, but this mass in an all but empty room, with almost nothing between them and Joseph, was suffocating.

Not sure which of them she intended to comfort, she squeezed Nosty’s knee. He squeezed her shoulder but didn’t turn from his aimless staring. She wanted to crawl into his lap, tuck herself safely into his arms where she knew he wouldn’t let anything touch her, but she had to settle for his arm around her and her hand on him.

Too soon, everyone was setting down their hymnals because it was time for the sermon. Nosty’s knee bounced under her hand, and she wanted to tap her feet anxiously as well, but if both of them did, it would be too loud, so she pressed her heels into the floor like her life depended on it.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Joseph said. “I’d like to take this time to make a confession, and have all of you bear witness to me as I bear witness to you.

“I think it’s important that everyone know that their clergy, their spiritual leaders, are human as well, and capable of making huge mistakes just like anyone else. I’m sure some clergy might disagree, but I know that we’re not exempt from making amends.”

Nosty’s fist clenched by her ear. She squeezed his knee, a sense of calm washing over her. Whatever happened, it would be over soon.

“I made a horrible mistake.” Joseph looked around the sanctuary. “I hesitate to call it a mistake now, because at the time, I thought I was being righteous, justified. A ‘mistake’ makes it seem like an accident, like I stepped on your toes as I walked by, but this wasn’t an accident. It was wrong.”

Everyone in the church was rapt, or maybe Belle was just unable to hear anything but the sermon.

“I treated someone very badly, someone that I would have liked to call a friend.” Joseph glanced down at his notes, then straight at Belle and Nosty. “He didn’t deserve that.”

Belle almost didn’t dare to believe it. Nosty’s leg stilled.

“The truth is, I was a prick.” A murmur of laughter spread, but Nosty and Belle were silent. Joseph shook his head. “I don’t want to go into specifics, because I’d like to respect his privacy, something I haven’t done in the past, but I think it’s important for me to take accountability here, publicly, in my place of worship, this place that’s supposed to be a sanctuary for all lost souls.

“I wanted to be a good, kind person, but I didn’t want to give up anything to do it.” He looked straight at Nosty then, and Belle didn’t know if Nosty met his eyes or not. “I didn’t see his worth, because I closed my eyes and refused to look.”

Belle understood now why Joseph had decided to orate for a living. He held the room captive.

“There’s nothing left for me to say here, in public, except I’m sorry, and I hope he’ll give me the opportunity to apologize in person.

“I know we always stress that you’ve got to confess and repent, say your Hail Marys, reaffirm your relationship with God, but remember that we live on this earth now, and sometimes, the most important thing is to repent to and forgive one another.” He turned his page over and clasped his hands over it. “Thank you. Please join me at the altar if you’d like to take communion.”

Nosty stood with everyone else, and Belle thought he meant to take communion even though they weren’t Catholic, but then he stormed out of the sanctuary, letting the doors close behind him.

She didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, everyone had already turned to stare, so it was likely they had all connected the dots, but on the other, Belle didn’t need any additional attention on them.

But Nosty needed her. She stood, locking eyes with Joseph and flashing him a tentative smile, and then hurried out.

Nosty sat on a bench, elbows on his thighs and hands in his hair, staring at the grass.

“Nosty?”

He didn’t speak, but he shifted to give her room to sit down. Tentative, she laid a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked.

It was as if she wasn’t even there. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge that anything was going on around him. Maybe to him, it wasn’t.

“Nosty?”

Finally, slowly, like he was clawing his way back to reality, he turned to her. “I can’t.”

She rubbed his back, but he didn’t relax. “You can’t?”

Without warning, he shot to his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I have to get out of here.” His head whipped from side to side, and then he stomped toward the park, pausing a few meters away before turning around.

Belle stood. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” He shook his head and halved the distance between them. “I just—I need some air. You go in. If you want. I can’t face him yet. I—”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but she could tell he was holding himself together for her benefit alone, so she waited.

“I have my phone,” he said finally. “So if I’m not back—” He kicked the grass with the toe of his boot.

“I can still reach you,” she supplied. He glanced up at her, and she thought he might have looked relieved, but she could have invented that because he was gone before she could say anything more.

Belle plopped back onto the bench, not sure what to do. No one had left yet, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to face Joseph either. She’d thought so many awful things about him since yesterday, and even if he didn’t know—and even if they were warranted—she was still embarrassed.

The doors opened and a group of people left, but Belle was too unfocused to see if she should be saying goodbye to anyone. After the second wave of exits, she stood again.

She could go inside. She was brave enough to face Joseph. And what was the worst that could happen? She’d have an awkward conversation?

She could survive an awkward conversation.

Steeling herself, she pushed the doors open and strode inside. A couple people hung about chatting with one another in the pews, and Joseph was busy moving things around at the pulpit.

Even though no one actually paid attention to her, she felt like all eyes were on her as she strode down the aisle toward Joseph. She paused before him and it took almost half a minute for him to look up and freeze.

“Belle.” His voice was hoarse.

“Hi.”

“I thought you’d left.” He straightened up, gripping his sermon notes like a shield.

“I didn’t.” She wished she had pockets or something to do with her hands other than twist them behind her back.

“Do you—” He swallowed. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.” It would be too much to sit in the kitchen and wait for tea to brew and then be beholden to however long it took to drink it.

“Right.” He glanced down at his sermon.

“But we can talk upstairs.”

His wounded dog face didn’t make her as angry as it had on Friday, but then, it didn’t look so pathetic today.

They walked up the stairs in silence, Belle clutching her phone in case Nosty called, and once they made it to the rectory, Joseph stopped and turned around.

“Have a seat?” He gestured weakly to the couch, but Belle did not feel comfortable enough to have this conversation on the couch. This was too serious.

“How about the kitchen table?”

He winced, but nodded, leading her that way without comment. She licked her dry lips—was she about to find an empty booze bottle?

“Careful,” Joseph said, skirting something just inside the door, and then she was grateful for the warning because instead of an empty bottle, it was a shattered bottle, with whatever the contents were now stuck to the floor in a sticky, congealed puddle littered with broken glass and the remnants of a mug.

Belle knelt to lift the handle off the floor, the only piece still intact. She didn’t recognize it, so she set it back down and then sat at the table.

Joseph removed his robes and hung them on the back of a chair before joining her, head ducked to look at his hands in his lap.

Belle almost wanted to throw him a bone, break the silence first, but she didn’t know what to say. He’d surprised her by apologizing to Nosty, and it didn��t sound like pretty words meant to manipulate her, but she still didn’t know what Nosty thought. And she still wasn’t sure she forgave him.

“Where’d he go?” Joseph asked.

Anger flared hot in Belle’s chest. “Are you concerned about him, or do you want him to absolve you of guilt?”

Joseph flinched. “I just don’t know what else to say.”

She picked at one of her nails, vowing to treat herself to a manicure as soon as possible. She deserved it. “He’ll be back soon.”

“I’m glad you found him.”

“Are you?”

He looked up at her, and she met his eyes, expecting him to cower again. When he didn’t, a tiny bit of anger left her. “Belle, I’m—” He shook his head. “I don’t have anything to say other than ‘I’m sorry,’ and I don’t think you want to hear that anymore.”

She chipped off a triangle of polish. “I’m open to an apology.”

“Then Belle, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She was glad they had a whole table between them so that she couldn’t reflexively reach to comfort him. Let him stew.

“Why?” she asked. “Why did you hate him so much?”

He rubbed the side of his arm, reaching for his pocket again. “I was convinced he’d hurt you again.”

Belle shook her head. “That’s just an excuse, and I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you didn’t seem worried about it at all!” he said. “Someone had to be.”

“Of course I was worried about it!” Belle rubbed her forehead. Where was Nosty anyway? “I just didn’t say anything because I knew you would make a big deal of it, and besides, it’s my choice whether I trust him or not, not yours.”

“Belle, I—”

“No!” She stood, and then immediately plopped back down, afraid of slipping on more spilled booze. If Nosty had to come scrape her off the floor, Joseph might not make it out alive. “You didn’t think I knew what I wanted.”

“Do you remember what it was like when he left the first time?” Joseph asked. “Because I do. I didn’t want that to happen again!”

“Of course I remember.” The tears sprung to her eyes without her permission, and she swiped them away. “That’s why we were taking it slow, figuring things out.”

“Yeah?” He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or sick. “And how long did you spend looking for him on Friday?”

“How long?” she asked, glad that his hard look never turned smug. “I didn’t look for him at all. He was waiting for me at the solicitor’s office, just like he promised he would be.”

Joseph’s eyes widened like she’d punched him in the gut, and his lap was suddenly intriguing. Belle crossed her arms. She could wait all day for Joseph to digest that little factoid—or, at least, she could wait until she heard back from Nosty.

“I’m glad,” he said as though she’d pulled the words from him by force.

“You know what?” She stood, and this time, she pushed her chair back in. “This was a mistake. I’m going to get his things.”

“No, wait!” He leapt up and grabbed her sleeve. She didn’t move. “I really am glad. I just—I feel stupid. That’s all.”

She calmed a fraction but didn’t move to sit. “You were stupid.”

“I was jealous.”

When she looked up at him, she expected him to be watching his hand on her sleeve or the wall or the ceiling, but he stared straight at her.

“That’s not fair to me,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to be with you, and even if I did, I couldn’t be. You’d be dooming me to a life of loneliness.”

“I know.” He dropped his hand. “I’ve just—I’ve never questioned my calling, but I wanted to. I wanted to be the most important person to you, even if we couldn’t be together.”

“Joseph, you are very important to me,” she said. “But you chose this life. I didn’t. I’m not a nun.”

“I told myself I was just protecting you,” Joseph said. “I believed it.”

Slowly, she sat back down, and Joseph let go. They sat in not uncomfortable silence for at least a minute before Belle put her hand on the table. She didn’t want him to take it or touch it, but she wanted to at least show that she wasn’t holding herself taut anymore. A tentative peace offering.

“If Nosty decides he doesn’t want to see you again, then we won’t,” she said. “It’s not my place to offer forgiveness.”

Joseph swallowed and nodded. “Do you think he will?”

Belle shrugged. “I don’t know.”

They sat in silence again, Belle staring at the sticky mess on the wall. She would not clean it; she would not tidy or fix or straighten.

“I want to make amends,” Joseph said. “I know I fucked up. Badly. He deserved so much more than I gave him.”

Belle couldn’t respond. She thought Nosty deserved the whole world, but she was biased.

“If he’ll let me, I’ll work to earn his trust again, just like he worked to earn yours.”

“I hope not exactly the same way,” she said, and when Joseph frowned in confusion, she let slip a tiny grin. He laughed, then jumped in surprise at the sound.

“Well, if that’s what he’d prefer,” he said, and she laughed too.

“I want to pick up some of his things,” she said. “I don’t know when exactly we’ll be back here.”

Good humor dissipating as quickly as it had arrived, Joseph nodded. “Of course. I’ll—I’ll leave you to it.”

Belle stood for the umpteenth time and Joseph did not join her this time. She eyed the spill. “Are there any more hazards I should know about?”

“No. And—” Joseph rapped his fingers on the table.

“And?”

“I didn’t drink. I was going to, but I stopped myself. I just thought you should know.”

Even though she was mad, and even though her vision of him had suffered, that did make her happy. “Good.” She smiled at him. “I’m glad.”

****

Nosty stayed radio silent and gone for forty minutes before he texted Belle that he’d meet her at home—home!—and then she waited for him with a pot of hot coffee and sandwiches from the place around the corner for another two hours.

He came in panting and sweaty, kissed her on the cheek, and went straight for the shower. She was dying to know what was going through his head, but all she could really ask of him was not to disappear without warning, and he hadn’t, so she was trapped.

When he emerged in a t-shirt and pajama pants, he finally sat for the first time, across from her at the kitchen table.

“Hey,” he said as though he hadn’t had what she could only assume was a three hour mental breakdown.

“Hi.” She reached across the table for him and he took her hand.

“Thanks for bringing me more clothes.”

“Of course.” She squeezed his. “Are you okay?”

“Got the shrink tomorrow,” he said.

It wasn’t an answer, but she thought she understood what he was trying to say. She squeezed his hand again then stood to retrieve the sandwiches.

“That’ll be good. Are you hungry?”

He nodded, then poured himself a coffee while she found napkins and plates and set them out. They ate in silence for awhile, and though Belle was dying to ask him a thousand questions, it wasn’t an awkward silence. Nosty inhaled his food, presumably hungry from walking all the way from the church, and Belle wasn’t too far behind since she’d just been sitting here for two hours, waiting to eat it.

“Belle?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.” He crumpled up his sandwich paper and tossed it toward the bin, standing when it pinged off the rim.

“For lunch?” she asked, crumpling up her own. “Of course.”

“Well, that too.” He busied himself with throwing away both papers. “But I mean, for letting me go. And trusting I would come back.”

She crept up behind him, though she knew he could hear her anyway, and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his back.

“I have no reason not to trust you, Nosty,” she said. “You haven’t given me one.”

He turned in her arms and wrapped his own around her. “And I won’t,” he said, quietly. “I promise.”

****

Maybe her heart trusted Nosty, but her anxiety still remembered what it was like kissing him before work and expecting him back at lunch time only to have him disappear. She tried to ignore that when he kissed her goodbye at the car with a promise to return for a late lunch after his appointment.

“And don’t forget,” he said, hands cupping her face and fingers tangled in her hair, a much more thorough kiss goodbye than made her comfortable—like he planned to leave for a long time. “You promised you’d teach me how to use the computer.”

“I won’t forget.” She kissed him, unable to hold his elbows because she was holding the lunchbox she’d packed for them, which did include a sneaky extra sandwich for Kaz just in case. “Have a good session.”

He kissed her once more and then he was off. She didn’t even know where the office was, but he had a few hours to kill, and now that he had a roof over his head at night, he liked to spend time outside instead of cooped up in the library.

Belle sat at her desk for most of the morning, alternating shopping online for things she couldn’t buy and shopping for new books for the library. They hadn’t talked at all about Joseph yesterday, and she hoped he would say something after therapy, but what if he didn’t? Would they just live in this weird limbo, and she’d have to go back to the church to get the rest of his things and then leave forever?

Kaz showing up was a welcome distraction, and Belle invented a craft that desperately needed to be done so the two of them sat at a table and made friendship bracelets for an undefined group of kids. It didn’t take Kaz long to get the hang of it, and soon they were working in focused silence.

Around one, Belle reminded herself that Nosty had promised to come back. She wasn’t even exactly sure when his appointment was, so she didn’t even know if he was late.

At two, they had a pile of bracelets that Belle needed a purpose for, and Kaz was making herself a lunch from the snack cart. Belle alternated between reminding herself that she trusted Nosty and berating herself for doubting him.

Then, at 2:27, Nosty swaggered through the doors, and she could have wept.

“Nosty!” Kaz said.

“Hey,” he said, then grabbed Belle’s cheeks and planted a kiss on her that left her dizzy.

Kaz wolf-whistled, a gleeful look on her face as Belle blushed like a schoolgirl. “Thought you didn’t have a fellow?”

“Well—”

“She does now.” Nosty kissed her again, then swept off to her office, leaving her to press her fingers to her lips.

“So I guess you really aren’t scared of him,” Kaz said, still grinning like she’d just learned the juiciest secret. “I knew he fancied you.”

“I’ll be right back.” Belle stood and almost knocked over her chair. “Are you hungry? I’ll be right back.”

“You said already.”

Belle fled to Kaz’s snickering, joining Nosty in her office where he was sitting on her desk, setting out food at their respective seats. He held up the third sandwich when she walked in.

“Feeding more strays?” He jerked his chin toward the door.

“You have to stop talking like that,” Belle said. “None of you are animals.”

“Old habits.” He kissed her again, and though he was always affectionate, the PDA surprised her. “I’ll give it to her.”

He slipped out, and she plopped into her chair, pressing her hands to her flushed face. The elation at his return filled her like a balloon, and she could have floated away.

It took a little longer for him to give Kaz a sandwich than she expected, so she hoped he was being nice, but when he returned, he was still in good spirits. She’d never seen him so happy after therapy.

“What has gotten into you?” she asked.

He shrugged, swallowing a giant bite of sandwich. “I missed you. Happy to see you.”

“You’ve been with me all weekend.”

“I always have to go back to the church after I see the shrink, don’t I? Never get to see you right away.” He shrugged again. “It’s nice.”

It had hurt so badly when Nosty left her all those weeks ago, but would that Nosty have ever gotten to the point where he would say something like that to her? For that matter, would he have ever agreed to therapy? Would Belle have even suggested it? Kathryn was a miracle worker.

“So, is there anything you want to talk about?” Belle popped a grape in her mouth, raising an eyebrow.

Nosty shook his head. “Will you take me to the church after work?”

Was this what whiplash was like? “Of course. Are we just—getting your stuff?”

He studied a grape in his hand, picking at the skin, and then shook his head. “I want to talk to Joseph.”

Progress. “Do you want to talk to me about anything first?”

He glanced at her, then back at his grape. “Will you be mad if I say no?”

She didn’t know what to feel, but “mad” certainly wasn’t it. “No. You don’t have to talk to me about this, but I’m here if you need something.”

He finally popped the grape in his mouth and stood. “I need you to teach me about computers.”

She had been mulling over how she planned to do this all day, since growing up with computers meant that it was so ingrained within her, she couldn’t even begin to know where to start. She decided on a typing course, since almost everything Nosty wanted to do would require him to use a keyboard, and it was probably the easiest transition from his cell phone.

Much to her surprise, Kaz wanted to be set up at a computer next to him, so she loaded the typing program she remembered from her childhood on both machines and set them to work, Nosty with his brow furrowed in concentration and Kaz with childlike delight. She probably didn’t need the typing course, Belle realized. She had to have been at least ten years younger than the two of them, and it was likely she’d actually learned to use computers in school.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Belle said, resting a hand on Nosty’s shoulder when he turned a panicky look on her.

“What if it breaks?” he asked.

“It won’t break. And if it does, I’m right there.” He nodded, and after a glance at Kaz already absorbed into her typing games, turned to his screen.

From her desk, she was close enough to see when Nosty’s shoulder’s tensed, when they relaxed, when he desperately searched for a key, and a well of pride filled her. She had never seen Nosty set himself to a task that he wasn’t already good at, but she could imagine that the Nosty of a few months ago would have stormed off if he hadn’t gotten the hang of typing immediately. Now, his shoulders would roll and he would stretch his neck, but he kept doggedly on, and she even felt bad when she had to tear them both from the screens to close the library.

Nosty wandered off to have a cigarette while Belle locked up, and then Kaz appeared at her elbow.

“Belle?”

She pressed a hand to her racing heart. Somehow, having Nosty around had made her even less observant. “What’s up?”

“You’ll be careful?”

They both looked toward Nosty, smoking and pacing by the car, and Belle couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips.

“I’ll be careful.”

****

It wasn’t until they’d pulled into the parking lot that Belle realized she should give Joseph a heads up they were coming, so she sent him a text and they resolved to wait in the car at least until he responded. Nosty ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his locks into their usual ponytail, clutching it like a security blanket.

“Should I be getting the rest of your things while you talk to Joseph?” Belle asked. She hadn’t managed to pry any information out of him the whole drive, but this seemed a safe, logical question.

“Don’t think so.” He stared at the church door. So he didn’t plan to cut Joseph off.

“Do you want me there for it?”

He licked his lips, then nodded. “If I get—upset—you take over. Just until I’m meself again.”

“Of course.” What a lovely thought that Nosty didn’t consider being upset his normal anymore.

Her phone buzzed with Joseph’s response and Nosty paled, gripping his ponytail tight.

“We don’t have to go in yet,” Belle said. “I don’t know if he knows we’re literally outside.”

He shook his head. “No, let’s get this over with.”

She didn’t know if he’d want to be touched on the endless walk from car to church door, but she smiled when he grabbed her hand, lacing his finger through hers.

Unsurprisingly, Joseph opened the doors just as they were walking up. Beside her, Nosty drew himself up, and Joseph swallowed.

“You came,” he said.

Nosty said nothing.

“We did,” Belle said.

Joseph watched Nosty, but when it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anything, turned to Belle. “Come in. I made coffee.”

It had never felt too inconvenient that they had to walk through the atrium and the sanctuary to even get to the staircase that led to the rectory, but now they all trudged back in silence like they were headed to an execution. Joseph led them up the stairs, and Belle kept between him and Nosty, and then they continued their march across the sitting room and through to the kitchen, where Joseph had cleaned up the broken glass and spilled alcohol.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the table, so Belle, wishing that anything she did could make this situation less awkward, took the first seat.

Nosty stood next to her, arms folded, while Joseph brought three mugs, the carton of creamer, and sugar to the table, then poured the coffee. Belle took a mug and then pushed one toward Nosty, but he didn’t move until Joseph was seated with his own mug. Then, he sat, but he did not reach for the cream or sugar. Should she add it to his coffee? Did he even know he had a coffee?

Joseph took a sip from his mug, then winced, presumably burning his tongue. Belle poured cream into hers. Nosty continued to stare, only moving to bring the sugar closer to Belle when she reached for it.

“Someone say something,” Belle said because she could not take it anymore.

“Nosty,” Joseph said. “I’m sorry.”

Nosty said nothing, tapping his knee rhythmically under the table. Joseph glanced at Belle, but she didn’t know if this counted as a moment that Nosty wanted her to take over, so she didn’t speak.

“I treated you badly,” Joseph went on. “I didn’t respect you. You deserved my respect.”

“Yeah,” Nosty said. “Okay.”

Belle would never take back her friendship and love for either man, but sitting here at this table between the two of them, she was considering wishing they’d all never met so that she’d never have to sit in this palpable tension.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Nosty tapped his foot. “I mean, not okay. It’s not. Okay.”

Belle reached for his knee under the table and he closed his hand around hers.

“Okay,” Joseph said.

“I talked it over,” Nosty said. “And I don’t forgive you.”

Belle had a moment of panic, a small flash of concern that Nosty had actually come here to commit violence, and Joseph’s crestfallen face was no help.

“Right,” Joseph said.

“Stop looking at me.” Nosty tapped his free hand still, staring now into his black coffee.

“What?”

“Just turn around,” Belle said, having some experience with Nosty’s preference of talking to walls. “I’ll turn too, okay?”

Nosty nodded, and Joseph, though he clearly didn’t know what to make of it, faced the fridge. Belle, wanting to keep an eye on Joseph, just turned so that she could no longer see Nosty. She felt him let out a breath.

“I don’t have to forgive you yet,” Nosty said, as though he was going to refer them to his therapist should either of them argue. “But I accept your apology. And—and I’m sorry for—hitting you with a spoon.”

Belle pressed her lips together to squash her surprised laugh. Hitting him with a spoon?

“I deserved to be hit with a spoon,” Joseph said.

It was very difficult, after that, to hold in her laughter, but she managed.

“I have some conditions,” Nosty said. “You can turn back.”

She and Joseph shifted around, and he did not look anywhere near as amused about the spoon thing as she did, so she resolved never to bring it up. Whatever it meant was in the past.

“Okay,” Joseph said. “I’m listening.”

“First, I want you to do something for homeless people,” Nosty said.

Joseph’s eyes widened. “Something like—what?”

“I don’t know. You’ve got all these empty rooms.” He gestured around. “People are sleeping on the streets.”

“Nosty, I can’t just have strangers sleeping here all the time,” he said. “It’s not set up for that.”

Nosty turned to Belle, eyes pleading.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to just have strangers sleeping in your home,” Belle agreed. “But maybe you can host a soup kitchen once a week? And raise money for shelters?”

“And take Kaz in,” Nosty added. “She’s not dangerous.”

“Okay,” Joseph said, though he looked a little pale behind his collarino. “You both have to be here for the first few nights she is, then.”

Nosty glanced at Belle for approval, then nodded.

“So what’s second?” Joseph asked.

“You have to see a therapist.”

Belle should not have been present for this. If someone made one more face like the one Joseph was making now or one more reference to hitting people with spoons, she was going to laugh and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

“A therapist?”

“Aye.” Nosty folded his arms.

“But I’m a priest.”

“And who’s more fucking repressed than a priest, hey?”

Joseph looked to Belle like she might help him, but all she did was shrug. A therapist was a great idea as far as she was concerned.

“Fine. Give me your therapist’s number.”

Nosty scoffed. “You can’t see my shrink. Get your own.”

“I’ll help you find one,” Belle said before Joseph could protest.

He sighed. “Okay. Fine. I will find a therapist. Is that all?”

Nosty shook his head. “Just one more thing.”

Was Joseph starting to regret apologizing? He was eyeing Nosty like he was afraid of having a mug thrown at him. “What is it?”

“You have to cut your hair off with me.”

Joseph’s mouth fell open. “What? That’s—that’s just—that doesn’t have anything to do with anything.”

“Actually,” Belle said, because now that Nosty had said it, she felt that a haircut was a fitting punishment. “It would be a lovely gesture of solidarity. Nosty is getting a haircut for his court date.”

Joseph looked between the two of them, while Nosty folded his arms a little more smugly than Belle found appropriate. When neither of them budged, he sighed.

“Fine. Okay. I guess I’m supposed to—to reject vanity. So I’ll cut my hair off.”

“It’ll grow back,” Nosty said.

“It will.” He took a sip of his coffee and winced again, probably because it was cold this time. “And then we’re back? All of us? Together?”

“Is that what you want?” Nosty asked. “All of us? Or just Belle?”

Joseph rubbed his finger along the mug handle, and Belle’s heart sank. After all this, after yesterday and Friday, after Nosty’s therapy, was Joseph going to throw it all away?

“Obviously, Belle is very important to me,” Joseph said to his coffee. “I suppose it’s also obvious that I behaved the way I did out of less than noble motives. And I have to admit that I’m not thrilled about sharing her, but I suppose that is something I’ll need to work on in—” He swallowed. “—therapy.”

“We’re together,” Nosty said, then glanced at Belle for approval.

“A package deal,” she said.

“I know,” Joseph said. “And I want the whole package.”

No one spoke for a minute, then Nosty thrust a hand across the table. Joseph shook it.

“Maybe we’ll actually be friends someday,” Joseph said.

“We’ll see,” Nosty said.

“I believe in both of you,” Belle said, and neither of them scoffed. She smiled, letting her shoulders relax. Things were finally looking up.

#anyelle #anyelle fic #anyelle fanfic #nostelle #anyelle fanfiction #nosty x belle #nostelle fic #new update #covetous

3 notes · View notes

bagog · 1 year ago

Text

Study Buddy

When he heard his friend call, Kevin looked up from his phone.

“Hey bro, sorry. Been waiting long?” Jeremy tossed his bag on the floor of the food court and slid into a chair across from Kevin.

“Nah, maybe like twenty minutes. Prolly enough time to get started but…” Kevin shrugged, gave a covert smile. “You open Insta and next thing you know…”

“Thirsty boy,” Jeremy laughed, fishing his text book out of his bag. “Well the honeys are just gonna hafta wait, cuz for the next hour and thirty, you’re all mine.”

Kevin smiled at that, but couldn’t find anything to say. He awkwardly fetched his book, adjusted his glasses. He was trying not to look at Jeremy—felt like he was blushing—and concentrated on his book, looking for the page they were supposed to start with. When he looked up, Jeremy quickly looked down.

Jeremy was lanky. As tall as Kevin, but where Kevin had a little more mass to him, you could see Jeremy’s ribs, practically, when he shirt was off. Body of a distance runner, he’d say. He was an old track legend at his high school.

He had a sort of plain brown hair that fell very straight, and was usually swept under cap. Where Kevin had proudly been growing a moustache since he came to college, Jeremy was clean shaven and Kevin couldn’t picture that smooth face with any stubble on it. He realized he’d been staring and that Jeremy was saying something, addressing his textbook.

“—we can finish up and maybe grab some Chinese?”

Kevin shook his head. “Sorry bro, I spaced out. Say that one more time?”

“I said, this doesn’t look as hard as I was afraid it’s gonna be. Maybe we can finish up early and grab something to eat?” Jeremy finally looked up, brown eyes catching Kevin’s. Kevin still felt like he was blushing.

“Um yeah, yeah awesome, dude.”

“Thanks again for helping me out with this, bro. I don’t know what I’d do without you, buddy.” Jeremy said, leaning back in his chair and standing his book up in front of him.

“You’d hit up that blonde girl who sits up front,” Kevin chuckled. Jeremy answered with a raised eyebrow.

“You think I’d only ask someone to study with me because I secretly wanted to go out with them?”

Kevin swallowed. He could feel his leg next to Jeremy’s beneath the table as the two stared at each other across the tabletop.

“I wouldn’t put anything past you, bro.”

“Good.” Jeremy’s leg lightly fell against his, his bare knee against Kevin’s. He mumbled, “I don’t like it when people assume things about me.”

#character sketch #original characters #de facto love february #unaware #college dudes

6 notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 3 years ago

Note

Ok riddler request time! Imagine getting creepy cute cards from a “Secret Admirer” and finding little gifts at your work, in your apartment...and you’re shocked to find out The Riddler is leaving the same style of cards for Batman at his murder scenes....

Pick-up Lines

Part 1: The Secret Admirerer / Part 2 /

Thank you, Delaney! This was such a good request and I'm so happy I got to write it 💖

Warnings: Language, stalking behavior, some suspense, not very much Eddie but I think this is gonna be a few more parts.

Requests are open but I'm slow. Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!

The Riddler x Femme! Reader

3.3k words

"What is this, Gordon?"

The police lieutenant stands at the open edge of the building, twenty stories up on a construction project abandoned before anyone bothered to add in windows or walls. A stiff breeze blows through the open floor as the vivid sunset disappears behind the scattered clouds on the horizon. Gordon turns back over his shoulder as you approach, and his face clouded in shadow.

"I'm sorry," he speaks just loud enough for you to hear him over the hum of the searchlight beside him and the clack of your heels. "I wanted to meet somewhere we could be safe."

He's got a cigarette perched between his fingers, and he takes a drag, hand shaking. He looks tired—more tired than you’d ever seen him—heavy bags under his eyes and a hint of graying stubble on his cheeks. The layer of perspiration that coats your palms goes cold, and you try to clear it away on your slacks with little success. Jim had always been the calm one between the two of you, and if he’s this nervous . . .

"What's going on?"

He sighs, peering out at the drop before you, like he's considering how the landing might feel—if it might be more pleasant than this conversation. "What do you know about the riddler?"

That’s not the direction you thought this would go. You give him a look, like what the fuck would I know? "The serial killer? I saw the video, like everybody else. Why?"

Gordon sighs, then takes a drag on his cigarette. "He's been leaving messages at the crime scenes, hints at his next targets. We think he's targeting people who worked on the Maroni case."

You have to check to make sure your feet are still on the ground. The plummeting feeling in your chest makes you think you might actually be falling.

You manage to recover, but your eyes are stinging from more than the wind, hands not so cold yet that you can’t feel them shaking, “Jim, is he coming after us? How do you know that he’s— wait . . . who is we?"

"Neither you nor Gordon are going to be targeted."

The voice seemingly comes from nowhere, much deeper than Gordon's, and you jump a mile out of your skin—too close to the edge to risk losing your footing. Gordon gets a hold of your arm just as you think you're about to topple over the flimsy wire railing, back to the open air and face to the darkness.

You stare into the yawning cavern of the building, but it’s all just black, stretching on and on indefinitely. No matter how long you look, your eyes don't adjust. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, the spike in adrenaline leaving you to conjure up images of faces that aren't there.

Then there's the sound of heavy, measured footsteps, and he emerges, only seen because he wants to be.

"Jesus Christ, Jim!" you smack him on the arm—hard—and he yelps, the cigarette in his hand slipping from his fingers. "What the hell is this? Do you know how fucked my chances at the DA office would be if a picture of me with a masked vigilante ended up in the Gotham fucking Times?"

Gordon rubs at the place where you hit him and kisses his teeth, looking hurt. "This is my colleague. He's helping with the investigation."

"Well, I'd hate to put a damper on your relationship, but if I beat out Gil I'd be responsible for putting guys like him on trial—" you spare the barest glance in the masked man's direction, "no offense."

After a moment, he nods, a sort of deferential, none taken, gesture. You can’t help but laugh, just a sharp exhale through your nose. At least he has a sense of humor.

"You used to work in the DA's office during the Maroni case, under Gil Colson?"

His voice is low and artificially gravelly—another aspect of his disguise. Part of you wants to get a good look, see if you couldn't identify Gotham's strange protector, but everything about him unsettles you. It's hard to find anything human in him, underneath the layers of shadow and fear.

"Yeah,” you sniff, wrapping your arms tighter around your torso, “I worked for Gil."

A coveted position in the DA's office was supposed to be an opportunity for you. That's how Gil had made it sound during that first meeting over lunch—which he assured you was standard—plying you with expensive wines and lofty promises. Turns out the only opportunities Gil was interested in were the opportunities he might have to get in your pants.

It's what made you want to run against him in the first place. Gil had spent too much time letting big men with big wallets go free, and punishing their victims in the meantime. With every step forward, every sleepless night, you imagined how it would feel to look him in the eyes and shake his hand the moment you stole his job right out from under him.

"There was a rat feeding some key players information on the case. Did you hear anything that might point to their identity?"

You shake your head, feeling small. The sun had set, the night air bitter and biting. You shouldn't have left your coat in the car. "But I know all about Colson's coffee order, if you think that might help."

Gordon glances at the dark shadow beside him, reluctantly turning back to you. “There’s more.”

Jim reaches inside his jacket, retrieving two colorful envelopes which he sets in your palms, the paper rough and dry. They’ve both been opened, little triangle flaps raised slightly where Jim had pried them up. On the front, you see your name.

“The riddler’s been leaving these at the crime scenes. The first at the mayor’s and the second with Commissioner Savage’s body.”

“There were others, addressed to me, as well,” the batman says before a heavy pause. “These seem to be of a . . . different nature.”

You stare down at the purple envelope, at the letters of your name carved in so deeply with a ballpoint pen it’s a wonder the paper didn’t tear. Like the sender worried that if the impression wasn’t deep enough, you’d never see it.

You’re not sure how you manage to slip the card from its envelope, not when you can’t feel your fingers. The pungent smell of aged paper fills the air, and the spine of the card is worn from repeated openings.

The front features a cartoonish drawing of two peas in a pod, smiling cherubically.

“We would be so “happ-pea” together?” you read, looking up at the two men in front of you, quizzical. You can hardly hear yourself think, let alone speak.

Gordon nods, and you flip the card open. There’s a handwritten message—What follows you everywhere but can't be caught? Beneath, some symbols you don’t recognize.

“Your shadow,” the batman answers the question for you. “There was a cipher, as well.”

Jim reaches into his jacket again—although you wish he wouldn’t. He hands it to you, another piece of paper, this time bagged as evidence. Even through the thin protective layer, you can feel the familiar texture of the paper—warped and crisp, as if it’s been wetted with the sweat of someone’s fingers and then dried repeatedly.

It’s a photo of you, printed in black and white. You remember the day it was taken—clear still, although it happened a few months ago, in the early summer. It was the night after you announced your intentions to run against Gil. The Wayne Foundation was throwing a charity ball, and you walked the red carpet, pretty and powerful in the well-fitted black dress. You look younger in the image than you ever remember feeling, smiling too wide for it to be inauthentic, eyes catching the light. You give the cameras a look, staring back over your shoulder at the paparazzi, daring someone to say a word about the way the neckline of your dress sinks down your back. It’s beautiful. It makes you feel sick.

It’s not like any of the other photos you’d seen from that night. The angle is much too high to be from one of the photographers’ cameras.

Gordon peels the photo from your hands, sensing your distress. “We couldn’t find any fingerprints, despite how much it seems the photo was . . . handled. The characters in the key led us to solving the cipher.”

He shows you the back—a grid of squares, each containing a variety of strange shapes. A few of the boxes are filled in, forming the rudimentary shape of a heart.

“Jesus Christ.”

The cold of the concrete stings your ass through your pants. You must be sitting down, although you don’t remember making your way to the ground. Gordon has an arm around your shoulder, placing his own coat where yours should be.

“I should have told you earlier,” he says in that same calm voice, but the steadiness of it can’t penetrate the solid wall of panic, “I just didn’t want to get you involved. You wouldn’t be involved now, if I saw any way to avoid it.”

Gordon takes the other card from your hand—this envelope a light, sky blue, not often seen in Gotham with its constant cloud cover. He shows you the front of the card, another cartoon drawing, this time of a dainty little blonde girl holding a squirming black kitten. The front of the card reads, Cat got your tongue? in a thick black font.

Inside, the same handwriting. All capital letters, dug so hard into the page you can see the places where the paper had begun to peel apart from the back of the card.

I will not be ignored.

“Okay,” that’s all you can say. Okay, okay, okayokayokayokay. Two people are dead. The man who killed them is demanding your attention. Okay.

The batman kneels in front of you, the leather in his boots squeaking. His eyes are hard, and serious—an anchor in the hurricane. If you look away for even a moment, you’ll be lost.

“This man, the riddler, seems to be under the impression he has some kind of relationship with you. He may have tried to reach out in other ways. Left you gifts. Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?”

If he’d asked you that question before, you would have said no. Would have told him the idea was ridiculous. Now, though, it feels like your life has been filled with the hands of unseen phantoms.

There was the box of chocolates on your desk a few days ago. No name. You’d assumed it was a past client, or a campaign donor hoping to get your attention. You meant to ask your secretary about who’d dropped off the gift, and had forgotten by the next time you saw her.

A coffee, already paid for when you went to order, your name written on the cup in neat letters and made just the way you like. An extra box of thumbtacks in your desk drawer before you’d mentioned to you secretary that you were running out.

The pints of your favorite ice cream waiting in your freezer, even though you’d forgotten to add them to the shopping list you gave to Clarice, your housekeeper, before she went to the store.

And then there were things that had gone missing: a bottle of your favorite perfume you’d been sure had a few more sprays in it before it would need to be replaced, the top you’d been photographed wearing seated courtside at a basketball game . . . the delicate lace bra you’d had few excuses to wear beyond meandering around your own apartment.

Your hands press bruises into your temples, and it’s still not enough force to keep you from falling apart. “Oh my god, Jim. He’s been in my house.”

Your skin crawls, the sharp sting of a million spider legs pressing at every nerve. Had he only been there when you were gone, or had you just missed him out of the corners of your vision? How long has your life been a show for an audience of one? Your stomach churns, ready to spill its contents across the concrete as you come to the realization that every moment of privacy you’d thought belonged to you had been stolen.

“Do you have somewhere you can stay for a few days?” Gordon asks, his hands wrapped around each of your wrists, pulling you gently from your spiral, “With a friend, maybe? It’s probably best if you’re not alone.”

He holds your gaze, steady as ever, and your breath slows without any thought on your part. It’s just the effect that Gordon has.

“Yeah . . . yeah, of course.”

Neither of the men say anything. Gordon glances at the batman, and the silence is heavy and awkward.

“Who is it?”

You roll your eyes. “Does it matter?”

“The riddler’s intentions seem to be romantic,” the batman cuts in now, trying to save Gordon from your ire, “and if he sees you with another man, it could make him angry enough to react violently.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Well, unless you’d like to have a sleepover at whatever abandoned mine shaft you live in, I don’t really know what to tell you.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Gordon says, “we don’t know that he’s going to try and make contact any time soon. He hasn’t been brave enough to show himself in person yet, and a little police presence might discourage him from making a move.”

You open your mouth to argue a little more, and then decide against it. The plan does seem reasonable.

“I’ll have some of our guys meet you at your building, then do a sweep of your apartment. We’ll keep a few of them there overnight. Do you think you can make it home okay?”

You nod, moving to stand, and Gordon helps you. He makes no move to take back his coat, which you’re grateful for.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I should have told you earlier.”

“Don’t be, Jim.” If the roles were reversed, you’d have done the same. Protecting each other is in your nature. You turn over your shoulder, looking for the batman—maybe to thank him, or to apologize for threatening to send him to jail.

It’s too late. Vengeance is already gone.

Your apartment is fairly modest—especially for one of the top defense attorneys in Gotham—but it feels like you’re waiting for ages as the police perform their search, tapping your fingers nervously against the steering wheel and glancing at the officer leaning up against the hood of your car periodically, just to make sure he’s still there. Eventually, he mumbles a reply into his two way radio, and then he knocks on your window.

“They’re ready for us to go up.”

They've turned on all the lights, but you still find yourself glancing into corners and back over your shoulder, looking for some hidden pocket where he might be hiding. Your reflection stares back at you when you face the windows, distorted by the city lights outside. You step up to the glass, feel the chill echoing off it as you stare into the night, looking into windows and spying for pedestrians on street corners.

Could he see you right now? The thought sends a shiver across your skin.

The officer who’d waited with you by the car coughs to get your attention, and you turn your back to the glass.

“This is Officer O’Connell and this is Officer Garrett. They’ll be keeping watch here tonight. If you need anything, let them know, but otherwise you can go about your evening as normal.”

Yeah right. You’re not about to wander around your living room half-dressed with a glass of wine in your hand, going over campaign talking points while a couple of cops sit on your couch waiting for a serial killer to show up and do who knows what to you.

“I think I’ll just turn in for the night. Thank you, officers.”

There’s some solace in your bedroom, at least, with its tightly locked door and curtained windows. You roll the stiffness from your shoulders, walking towards the bathroom, hoping to wash the smell of fear and sweat from your skin.

No matter how hard you try to think of something else, he stays on your mind. The Riddler. That green mask flashes across your vision, the white lines of his insignia printed on the dark canvas. You're thinking of Don Mitchell, and the poor girl he’d been seen with, the bruises across her face like wine stains. Thinking about how your hands had ached with the need to tear into his skin when you'd watched the news that night, of all the times you’d sat across from girls who looked just like her as they begged for your help. Thinking about how many you had to turn away, and thinking about how that’s split your soul in a way that can’t be repaired.

Your jaw clenches tight under your skin, the water scalding against your back. It’s nothing compared to the heat of your anger, of the one thought that’s not supposed to be on your mind.

Maybe Mitchell had it coming.

Or at least, he had something coming. You stare hard at the white tile, trying to imagine a world where Mitchell had gotten what he’d actually deserved, where he’d lived to see the roots of his shame dug from the earth and exposed to the light.

You can almost see it. Then a high, electric whine pulls you from your thoughts, and everything goes dark.

The power doesn’t come back on. You stand there, waiting, pummeled by the quickly cooling water, and nothing changes. No light flickers, no sound interrupts the rush of the pipes. You reach back for the faucet handle, locating it only by feeling, and shut off the water. The darkness, and now the silence, are deeper and more complete than death.

Time feels slower. You’d never be able to tell someone how long it takes you to pull back the shower curtain, to find your robe hanging on the hook. You feel clumsy, drunk with fear, waiting for a hand to reach you out of the darkness. You run your palms haphazardly against the counter of your sink, until you feel the nudge of a familiar shape.

Your phone. You wake the screen, squinting into the brightness before tapping the little flashlight icon in the bottom corner. The lock on the door makes a soft click when you turn it, but the door swings open silently.

Oh god. Fuck. Your flashlight is less necessary in your bedroom, light from the windows pouring in from the open door—the door you’d left locked. The floor is covered in blood, speckled with thick drops of it, in a path that leads towards the kitchen Your stomach roils when you look down, finding more beneath your feet.

Except it doesn’t smell like blood; the unmistakable scent of iron is nowhere to be found. Your heart pounds against your chest as you bend down, dipping the tips of your fingers against one of the dark black spots.

They come back dry, confirming your newest theory. The floral scent is stronger down here, and feel the softness of the mark between your fingers, picking it from the floor and examining it in the light.

Rose petals.

You slam back against the bathroom door, forcing it closed again with the full weight of your body, turning the lock as quick as you can manage.

Shaking fingers navigate to Gordon’s contact information, and you can hardly hear the sound of it ringing over your own breathing.

He doesn’t even bother with a greeting. “What’s wrong?”

“Jim, he’s here. I don’t know how he got in but he’s here.”

“I’m on my way-” the squeal of tires is distorted but audible through your speaker, “stay on the line with me until I get there—”

Yeah, fuck that. A serial killer broke into your apartment, and god only knows what happened to those officers. You’re not staying here a second longer than you have to. As soon as Jim arrives, you'll be out the door.

You dial the familiar number, almost certain he won’t pick up. Then the ringing stops, and there’s the distinct silence of someone else’s presence on the other side of the line.

“Hello?”

You sigh shakily, equal parts fear and relief. It’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice.

“Bruce? It’s me. I need a favor.”

Tags: @theold-ultraviolence

#the riddler x reader #the riddler x you #the riddler/reader #the riddler/you #edward nashton/you #edward nashton x you #edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton fanfic #the riddler fanfiction #dano!riddler x reader #dano!riddler x you #dano!riddler #danonation #the batman #the batman fanfiction #the batman fanfic #requests #my writing

707 notes · View notes

piratesfromspace · 4 years ago

Text

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

Word count: 1.9k CW: mention of food & alcohol, smut

Female reader

Note: This short fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who created the character of the financial advisor of mister Shaw. Also there is not enough fics with Deckard Shaw so here we are.

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

“Mister Shaw, it’s me again, I’m so sorry but I really need you to call me back please. It’s important. Thank you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you hang up. Handling the finances of rich people is a lucrative and thrilling job, but damn it sometimes those clients of yours are annoying. Especially Mister Shaw.

First, he’s annoyingly busy and unreachable. Most powerful people are, but he can disappear for weeks on end without so much as sending an email.

Second, he’s also infuriatingly handsome and smart and funny. And he has an impeccable sense of style. He has nothing in common with the other clients of your firm, mainly old and boring men, whose only conversation subject is their money and how they hate their wives.

And finally, the worst thing about him is how good of a lover he is. You found out half a year ago, when you ended up in his bed after what should have been a regular business dinner. It was a mistake of course. One that could have cost you your career because it was a very serious breach of contract to sleep with a client.

You never told a soul, and you promised yourself to never do it again. But it was still hard to forget the feeling of him pressed against you, of his hands holding your waist, of his mouth between your thighs...

You try to focus again on your task and stretch your legs, kicking out your high heels. Feet bare on the soft carpet, you walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of your posh office, taking a second to admire the view, as the final rays of the sun disappear over the lake, and Geneva lights up under you. It’s breath-taking, really. But it also means you’re once again staying way too late at the office. Your assistant has gone home a couple hours ago, and your colleagues are either on vacation or on business trips, making you the only person on the building’s 7th floor. You still have a few things to finish so you plop on your leather chair and get back to work, hoping to make it home before 11pm.

That’s when you hear it: the familiar *ding* of the elevator’s door, at the end of the corridor. You tense immediately. You’re not waiting for anyone, and the security guards always use the stairs when completing their patrol.

Steps are coming down your way, and you grab your phone, ready to dial for the security team. And then you recognize his silhouette through the polished glass wall. There is a knock on your door before it opens to reveal Deckard Shaw himself. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch, a very light stubble is highlighting his perfect jawbone and his deep grey eyes bear a mischievous glint. Handsome, as always.

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

“You know you can call me Deckard.” His stupidly sexy British accent and cocky smile will be the death of you.

He’s been in your office for two seconds and you already want to slap him in the face - or climb him like a tree, you can’t really decide.

“It’s quite late, Mister Shaw, you scared me. Anything I can do for you?” you insist on saying his family name, in a feeble attempt to maintain a professional façade.

“You needed to see me.” it’s more a comment than a question, and you’re suddenly reminded of the dozen of unanswered phone calls you made trying to reach him.

“Yes… yes, that’s right, but honestly you could have called tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather see you in person.” he answers, looking you straight in the eyes. You can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re working too much you know.” he says with a soft smile, as his eyes drift down to your sore bare feet and then to the discarded heels under your desk.

What a condescending prick, you think. But at the same time, he’s right and his care seems somewhat genuine. It will not make you forget you almost lost your job because of him though.

“How did you know I was still here tonight?” you purposely redirect the attention on him, rather than you.

“Well, let’s say I would not leave the woman in charge of my assets without any... supervision.”

“Is that a polite way to say you’ve been spying on me?” you retort dryly.

“Oh I love when you’re getting all angry and snobbish, your French accent is even cuter.”

You’re gonna murder him. You really really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s the one responsible for a very generous part of your paycheck, so you have to keep quiet.

“I would be more comfortable if we keep our conversation strictly professional, Mister Shaw.”

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

The professional attitude has been long forgotten, since Deckard has pulled you onto his lap on the velvet couch of his presidential suite at the Four Seasons hotel, where you were supposed to only review the important documents he needed to see. But when the room service had brought a very nice bottle of Scotch, you knew you were screwed. You could not refuse a drink, and the warmth of alcohol combined with the warmth of his hand slightly brushing against your thigh had overcome all your resolve.

You are now sprawled on the king-size bed, moaning his name as Deckard Shaw is destroying your sanity very methodically. One foot on the floor, one leg bent on the edge of the bed, he’s pounding into you, holding your hip with one hand, and circling your clit with the other. His pace is calculated, not too fast so you can feel every inch of him, but not too slow so your nerves don’t have any respite, and it’s driving you crazy. Hands tangled in the dark silk sheets beneath you, you try to catch your breath to no avail.

“I won’t stop darling. Not until I can feel you coming again all over me.” His voice is like heavy honey, dripping all over your senses, drowning you in sweet and sinful promises.

You want to close your eyes to focus on the overwhelming feelings, but the view in front of you is too good to be missed. He looks like some demi-god, bathed in the subdued light of the room, broad and muscular chest, abs perfectly drawn. What is his job again? You vaguely remember him talking about serving a few years in the military when he was younger, but he is still definitely hitting the gym on a regular basis.

His muscles flex when he brings you down on his thick cock a little more sharply than before, and you keen as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You can feel your orgasm build again, and so can he.

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

You mewl in response and he chuckles darkly, keeping up with his ruthless assault on your most sensitive parts. He angles his fingers just a bit differently on your clit, and keeps thrusting into you, stretching you so perfectly you can’t remember the last time someone fucked you this good - wait , actually you can, it was a few months ago and it was by mister Deckard “annoyingly perfect” Shaw.

“Come on, I know you want to, I’ll keep going until you give me one more anyway princess…”

And that's it. You’re gone. Back arching off the bed, you come hard, harder than the first time, clenching around him. You barely hear him hiss in pleasure as you spasm helplessly on the soft sheets, the silk feeling almost cool against your burning skin.

----

“Good morning darling."

You open an eye, natural light is flooding the room, as is the delicious smell of fresh coffee and tea. At the foot of the bed, you spot a room service trolley loaded with breakfast treats and through the open door of the bathroom, you can see Deckard is looking at you in the mirror reflection while buttoning a crisp white shirt.

"Your tea is ready. Black, no milk, right?”

He's right and it's annoying because is there anything this man messes up?

"What time is it?" You ask, suddenly remembering you have a busy schedule today.

"You have 27 minutes to eat and get ready, so I can drop you off at your office in time for your first call of the day."

He knows about your tea preferences and your professional agenda, of course he does , he was not joking when mentioning the whole "spying-on-you" situation, or "supervision" as he liked to call it. He needs to stop it, but you decide to keep this discussion for another day.

You stretch, and rise to put on the hotel bathrobe, sighing at the thought of having to wear the same clothes as yesterday. Last you saw them, they were scattered on the floor all over the room and your underwear were positively ruined.

"The concierge was very helpful this morning, thanks to him I got you a few clothes delivered for today." Deckard adds as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the cart and gestures to the leather armchair where a couple of bags doning logos of luxury brands are perched.

You make your way to the packages, and open the first one to reveal a sophisticated dress, fitted and sexy, but not too much that it would be inappropriate as office wear. The second bag is a thoughtful selection of high end make-up products. And the last one contains a gorgeous set of lacy lingerie, nothing too raunchy but sexy nonetheless. Of course everything is in the right size.

"Thank you..." you whisper, a little stunned. The assortment must have cost him a couple grands at the very least - not that he can't afford it because you're well placed to be sure he can, but still, he did not have to do this.

You have to suppress a smile, because damn he's being annoyingly perfect once more, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction to reveal he was right when promising you could stay the night instead of going home and still look fresh for your day at work.

"I was thinking, I'm free tonight, so maybe we can finally review those documents, you know the ones you were supposed to show me before you jumped on me on the couch last night?" Deckard states as he bites in an apple in front of the window, casually looking at lake Geneva glinting in the bright morning sun.

You blush unwillingly, struggling to find a reply that would save you from admitting you had failed at enforcing your usual work ethic.

"I'm kidding dear!" He barks in a laugh. "I know enough to trust you on this venture, you have my approval to go on with the investment." He continues more seriously.

You open your mouth to answer but he's quicker.

"I'm not kidding about being free though, so what about dinner and then we can see where this takes us…"

When you don't answer immediately, he turns to look at you. Maybe he's realizing the situation can be awkward and precarious for you since you're technically working for him.

"You can say no, I won't take any offense." He adds without irony.

"Yes..." You finally answer, tip toeing toward him until you can snatch the apple he was eating from him. He protests but you shush him.

"...Yes, I would like this very much..."

As he starts to protest again, you take a big bite from the fruit with a knowing smile.

"...but only for dinner. Nothing more."

"You'll be the death of me." Deckard says, falsely irritated, his voice dropping lower.

"At least the feeling is mutual, mister Shaw ..."

#deckard shaw #deckard shaw x reader #female reader #fast and furious #hobbs and shaw #deckard shaw fanfiction #hobbs and shaw fanfiction #deckard shaw / reader #jason statham #jason statham imagine #smut #hobbs and shaw smut #deckard shaw reader insert #fast and furious fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

wolferess · 3 years ago

Text

BETAS DON'T MATE, AT LEAST NOT WITH ALPHAS...

TW; NO QUIRK AU, FLUFF, COMFORT, AGED UP, ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION (bakugou drinking), FEMREADER, SLOWBURN

Beta’s don’t mate.

Beats are normally by themselves, sometimes also called the lone wolf.

They don't mate alphas.

They don't mate omegas.

They don't mate.

Beta, Not lower than an omega but Not entirely higher than an Alpha, they are normal. Nothing really special about them. Some would say it sucks being a beta, some say they like being a beta.

A beta is not the type to mate long-life like Alphas and Omegas do, like I said their lone wolves.

That’s Y/n, a lone wolf. A normal child. Nothing special.

Her family were Alphas and omegas. No betas. I guess she broke the family line of being Alpha and Omegas.

Omegas were meant to be with an Alpha in order to conceive their future pups, Omegas aren’t allowed to mate with betas or with another omega; it's illegal and the price for such an act is execution. Not something Y/n want to go through.

Highschool has always been tough despite not being the only beta there but they fact that her family is famous and known for having pure Alpha slash omega blood, not a single beta in the family, people made fun of her because of that though she never let it get the best of her at least when she isn’t around anyone that would see her in her vulnerable state. She tried many times to appease her parents with good grades, running a charity doing noble things to get their attention but it never works, they always had their back turn towards her apparently all they care about was her second gender.

College, well lets just say it was calm for the while, Y/n never let her ‘friends’ got the better of her and she strived for what she could do best, she may not be the smartest in her family but she does have knowledge for what it will apply later to her the future. She graduated from college with a good degree. It was the happiest moment of her life but what she wished is for her parents to see how much she has achieved in the past eighteen years but as always they didn’t care but she never let that stop her from smiling.

Three years later

Working as a beta isn’t easy, despite getting a degree your status ruined for certain jobs but that didn’t stop you from applying for a job. After all, you have to pay for your bills and meals…

Working as a part-time barista at a club and at a coffee shop, coffee at day and club at night. You have seen some weird shit in the club, some to the point you don’t think bleach would help while at the coffee shop it's peaceful when there aren’t any ‘karen's’ asking for a refund but other than that the days are decent.

Every once n a while a gang of your old school friends would come in to torture you acting like entitles asses as if they own the place sometimes you hate the policy ‘Customer Is Always Right’. ‘Yeah right my ass’ you say in your head as you clean up the mess they made almost costing your job on the line for the umpteenth time but eventually you caught up to their schemes.

Nightfall arrives and you head off to the pub you work at, greeting your decent enough coworkers and you go behind the counter.

[AN; I don’t know much about drinks but I did a little research on drink names so excuse me for not knowing]

Hour Later

“Welcome to Thinks and drinks, what are you feeling for?” you said with a smile to the man in front of you, he looked to be in his early 25 with a stubble, small tea bags under his eyes, ashen hair that looked like hay, he had on a white shirt rolled up to his elbows with a tuxedo pants. He grunted “The Usual” his alpha aroma giving out a deadly scent of burning wood making omegas and occasionally alphas staying away from him but due to the scent reduction not many can smell it as strong as he wanted them to and you smiled “Coming up!” Yes you know this man by the name of Katski, unaware of his status.

Yes ‘The Usual’, he has been coming to this bar for no more than two weeks and he usually orders the same kind every time so it's no surprise but ju “Here’s your usual, White Russian with a little extra Vodka, just how you like” Sliding the drink to his direction with enough momentum so the drink won't fall but it will land straight into his hand and down it goes into his throat, his adam apple bobbing with every gulp of his drink. “Hit me with another” he uttered. Passing another you headed for the other customers serving their drinks.

Within two hours, Katsuki on his sixth glass started to get tipsy “Wow I think you wanna slow down your intake there buddy” you said, usually it's about four glasses before exiting the pub but I guess this time he’s really stressed out .

“Oh f*ck off, I know my intake” he slurred “Yeah I believe you” you responded sarcastically causing a ‘tch’ noise to escape his lips, “Listen here beta” his muscles flexed as he pointed a finger at you “I know what I can handle” his figure almost topping you, showing his dominance that He is the Alpha, he gets what he wants if he wanted, “Now be a good girl and past me another” he sat back down knocking the counter something customers normally do when needing another drink. Rolling your eyes you made his drink muttering ‘Asshole’.

“Your drink sir” you bellowed, he snatched it from top the counter and gulped it down as if it was water, rolling your eyes as you headed off to serve other people.

Another two hours had passed and he looked as if he was about to pass out right then and there and by the look of the amount of drinks he would have a bad hangover.

“Hey, do you have someone to take you home?” you poked his head causing him to lean back and he growled at you for almost tipping him out of his chair, with a sigh you told your coworkers that you're clocking in and you contemplate on where you should carry him. It's either a nearby affordable hotel or to your apartment.

Neither sounds good cause

You barely know him

What if he tried to rob your belongings

Thinks you kidnapped him

Leaving him in a hotel will leave him startled and confused

Though the fourth option was tempting but you don't wanna pay for just a one-night stay at a hotel, rubbing your temple to ease the tension in your brain and without a second thought you carried him to your apartment. Yes this may be a stupid idea and you fear the consequences but you somewhat didn’t have a choice.

“Alright big guy, lets go” you pulled him out of his chair and slipped your head and arm under his arm to stabilize for the long walk, “Where the f*ck are you taking me?” rolling your eyes you barked “My place” “Woah but I don’t even know you plus your a beta” You stopped you didn’t even think of it like that where was his mind even going!? “W-where’d you even get that idea. Look, you're drunk and I don’t know any of your friends or family members that could pick you up!” your protest fell onto deaf ears as he was already passed out, a sigh escaped your lips.

Carrying him was a challenge due to his big figure and height, he would unexpectedly , with every huff and puff and praying to who you believe to somehow make the trip shorter and as if your pray has been answered, there you were standing in front of your apartment building ow its just to get him in the elevator, thankfully, and up into your room.

《《Time skipped》》

Finally arriving at your apartment, grabbing the apartment keys and carrying him to your bed to rest up till morning or whenever his drunken state is over, yep it's best to wait till morning.

After almost being crushed when resting him onto your bed, you sat on the edge of the bed catching your breath and giving your back a break, by how painful your back felt he owes you a massage.

Getting off the bed you remove your clothing and other accessories on your body and face and changed into your nightwear and head off to the couch, putting on something to watch till you felt drowsy and knocked out on the couch.

Morning comes……

Bakugou POV

Waking up onto an unknown bed, with unknown sheets, had him startled no doubt, seeing himself still in his clothes that was a breath of relief, he hadn’t been taken advantage of last night, but where was he?

Removing his legs on the ground and easily getting off the bed since a nasty hangover was taking over, growling with each step he took till he was at the bedroom door, slowly opening the door he saw a room that was conjoined with a kitchen and a body’s back facing him.

Slowly stoking up to the person that somewhat smells familiar to him but doesn’t at the same time. A slight scent that is a mixture of pine and something flowerey, maybe lily?

Turning slowly after feeling a lingering presence behind you, almost hitting him with the frying pan in your hand, your breath a sigh of relief, “Gosh you couldn’t be anymore silent” a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

Y/N POV

He just scoffed, before putting a hand on his spiky hair and growling from the pain that had subdued for a little before hitting him back almost ten-fold, telling him to go sit down and you’ll give him an Advil for his hangover headache. Another reason why you don’t drink.

After gulping down the tablet and waiting for it to settle and do its magic, he watched as you headed to the oven to continue what seemed like breakfast, “Hey, would you like some pancakes or something else?” he heard you say despite the pounding headache that is slowly yet surely going away “Whatever’s fine idiot” he grumbled unaware that you just rolled your eyes.

Within ten minutes the pancakes were ready and you both sat in silent eating and enjoying breakfast, the only noise that was made were the forks hitting against the plate.

“Do you have your phone to call someone to pick you up or do you need an Uber?” you intervene, using one of his hands to search through his pockets to find his phone only to realize that it's not there, “F*ck, I must’ve left it at that f*cking bar last night ``''Alright I’ll call an Uber for you then” and going back to continue with breakfast.

.. .. ..

After thirty minutes an Uber was in front of your apartment building and after offering to pay he refused bickering saying that he could pay for himself, not wanting to continue you let him win.

Now that He’s gone time to repeat your day

Clean up.

Work.

Come home.

Work.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Bakugou POV

Being dropped off at his mansion and paying the Uber a decent amount and heading inside he saw a certain red-headed man that was secretly his best friend, Kirishima.

Shoving his hands in his pocket and walking to clean up himself as if Eijirou present isn’t even there before he felt a broad palm clamped onto his shoulder. “Where were you bro?, I’ve been calling your phone all night” his friend scold but he just brushed off his palm and said “None of your business Shitty hair”

“I’ve been saying this since high school days, my hair is not that different from yours but that's beside the point!”

Kirishima has a smell that is Persian Lime when in distress or anger or in rut the scent gets more sour. And it's sour in the moment we speak of.

“Wait, what's that scent on you?” “Is it an omega?” Bakugou stopped in his tracks, now realizing he faintly smelt like you, your faint warm scent rubbing on him every so gently.

“That’s none of your business, Shittyhair” he ignored his question and walked to get ready for his job.

It's been at least a week since that last encounter with him and you were starting to wonder if everything's alright. Something in the pit of your stomach is churning in anxiousness, sadness and many other mixed emotions and pheromones.

You miss the way his hair looks, his fire eyes that you never got bored looking into, his palms that are twice the size of your hand, the way his muscles flex unintentionally when he gripped his drink- slapping your cheeks, trying to get his image out of your head and focus on your task at hand.

That was a bust, he has never once not appeared in your head, ‘What’s going on with me!?’ ‘Am I falling for him? I can't, it's not possible!?’ This can’t be, do you know what this could do to you!? Well me neither but I don’t think you wanna find out.

‘Ok I think I can get over this ‘high-school girl crush’ right?....’

Back with the explosive blonde, just organizing paper works and going into business meetings to help uplift the business a bit and eventually make it the number 1 business.

“GET OUT!” he yelled at a poor omega, fleeing from his murderous gaze and busting into tears as she rushed past Kirishima almost knocking into his chest, “Come on Bakubro that's like the sixth one in this month!”, clicking his tongue at the red head who couldn’t help but let out a big sigh.

“Okay it seems that you need a beta as an assistant since you scare EVERY other omegas” emphasis on the every. “Do you know any betas?” Kirishima looked with curious eyes and that wide smile that looked like a thousand rays shining on.

Slouching on his chair with arms crossed, vermillion eyes hidden behind his lids, a shadow casting under his hair and brows slightly knitted together. Who is a beta that he knows of. A memory flash of you, he hasn’t visited you down the bar in about a week.

Ducking his head lower to hide the blush that forms on his face, how could be thinking about you right now? He is in need of an assistant but you’re plaguing his mind “I think I got one…” he broke the silence “Great who?” the red head questioned. “I’ll talk to her later” , “So it’s a girl huh?” Kirishima teased, causing a stapler to be flown in his direction as he fled for his life.

Till next time ;3

#alpha bakugou #bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #alphabakugou #beta reader #bnha #bnha omegaverse

203 notes · View notes

thewitchunderyourbed · 2 years ago

Text

When the sun goes down

Chapter 2

Pairing: JoyToy!Johnny x V

Warning: language, sexual themes, brief mention of violence and abuse.

Jhonny watched the mercenary speed into the traffic inder the pouring and slightly toxic rain of Night City.

Steam from the underground district heating billowed out of the manholes, making even a neighborhood like Jig-Jig Street gloomy, always teeming with bright lights and people of all kinds.

He didn't give a fuck about the rain but he couldn't stand the cold, his leather pants made good work covering his legs but his torn net shirt left his torso almost naked, he wasn't going to complain anyway, too haughty to even admit he was shivering.

The screeching sound of a black van hitting the brakes caught his attention.

"Looks like someone miss me" he thought sarcastically tossing away the cigarette butt and disappearing into a dark alley.

××××××××××××

V opened the door of her apartment and as soon as she stepped inside, she headed for the kitchen, pulling out a cold beer from the fridge.

She sat on her big sofa, switching the TV on and rubbing her temples as a headache began to make her day worse.

"Shit" she muttered.

Wakako was kind of right, she needed to relax in one way or another.

She opened the bottle and tossed the glossy metal cap on the table.

It catches the lights coming from the screen, reminding her of the cybernetic arm of that JoyToy, shining in the pink and blue neon lights.

Her phone rang making her jump on her seat, huffing, she answered the call, she would have declined if it hadn't been from Evelyn.

"Hello V, I hope I won't disturb you" the soft voice of the woman had always had a soothing effect on the mercenary's psyche. In another life, maybe she would have fallen in love with her.

"You know you can't, even if you wanted to. Tell me everything, Ev" She took a swing from the beer bottle.

"Our caretaker, Woodman, is looking for someone for a gig, one of the Dolls knocked him out the other night, tried to open his safe, and ran away. "

"...and? You called because...?"

"Woodman wanted you for the job but I dissuaded him. He doesn't want the Tiger Claws to know about this, he's pissing his pants, the fat pig" it was clear Evelyn hated the man.

"The doll that escaped, is he your friend?" V asked.

"Yes, he's a great asshole but he's not a bad person, V please, you need to find him before they do... They'll kill him" her friend sobbed.

"Hey hey, sure. I'll find him. What's his name?"

"Robert, but he performs as Johnny"

V stood up from the couch like she was electrocuted "SHIT" she shouted, taking the elevator to her garage.

The sun was already set to rise when she arrived on Jig-Jig Street but of the man, there was no trace.

××××××××××

Johnny rubbed the sleep away from his tired eyes and stretched like a cat.

An old and dirty mattress in an abandoned hotel has been his nest for the night.

He was starving, he didn't eat in almost two days and everything he got was an opened Spunky Monkey and two cigarettes.

His nerves were at their limits, he was a fugitive and he was sure that in one way or another someone would have captured him and dragged him back to Clouds or worse.

The reflection looking back at him from a broken mirror made him realize how miserable he looked, with the bags under his eyes, his ruffled hair, and his unkempt stubble.

Johnny managed to steal some casual clothes, a black tank top too tight for him and a grey zipped hoodie that was too big, and he tied a piece of torn fabric around his neck to cover the doll chip.

He needed money fast and he sure knew how to make them, so he entered the nearest seedy bar he could find.

The Maelstrom girl that kept looking at Johnny from the dark corner of the bar was creeping him out, not enough to be scared but he couldn't tell if she wanted to kill him or fuck him, maybe both and he preferred not to think in which order.

Eventually, she stalked closer and closer until the stool near him was vacant and she sat at his side.

"Hey, can I offer you anything?" she asked him, purring.

Johnny didn't know where to look, part of her face was replaced by cheap chrome and blood-red optics.

"Depends if you can afford me," he smiled seductively.

The hand that slowly rose from his knee and up to his thigh, until it played with his belt, gave him the answer he wanted.

It was quick and dirty, but not bad, he'd never liked to do it slowly and he was pretty sure the girl had left some bruises on him, as he had left them on her, the scrapes caused by the short nails of his right hand would stay on her hips for a while, but the black and blue bruises caused by his cybernetic fingers would have lasted longer.

He found himself with money for food and a taxi but not much more.

××××××××××××

"Have you seen this man?" V asked every Joytoy, pedestrian, and shop owner in the street but it looked like Jhonny vanished into thin air.

She inhaled deeply and entered a ripperdoc shop, he hated that viscid piece of shit will every fiber of her being, but Fingers could have known where Jhonny was directed.

She took the stairs up to the clinic if a room full of glitters, cybernetic body parts, and blood could be called like that.

A group of dolls and JoyToys were in the waiting room, some of them looking nervous or pissed and others in pain with tears in their eyes.

V tried to ask them too, sending a photo of Johnny that Evelyn gave her to their optics.

"I know him, he works at Clouds. Jesus, that man is a true and genuine whore, fucks like nobody" a green-haired doll told her.

"Any idea of where he could be now?" the merc asked hopefully.

"He said he wanted to be free, he was tired of... well, everything. But I swear I don't know where he went-"

The door of Fingers' clinic opened abruptly, and the skinny rat-looking man stood frozen on the doorstep, the fear in his eyes made V laugh, while he scrambled and tried to run to the stairs.

V cached him back inside and closed the door, locking it and turning around with a deadly and hunting gleam in her eyes.

"I-I swear I'm not installing flawed implants anymore, the chrome I sell is-" but he was interrupted by a slap on his face that almost made him lose his balance.

"You better! If I found you altering even half a screw on a chrome I swear to God I'll kill you... But that's not why I'm here. Did you see this man?" V hissed.

Fingers started to nod frantically "Yeah he came here a couple of times or more... Once for a problem with his synthetic liver and another... Ah yes he asked me to remove his doll chip but he couldn't pay so I sent him away"

"Any idea of where he went?" V asked grabbing him by his filthy net shirt and holding her hand in a fist, ready to punch.

"Jig-Jig Street, but I saw a ticket for a bus ride to Little China in Watson in his back pocket, he had such a nice ass-" the man recalled, still shaking, before V's first collided with his face.

This time he fell into the ground, coughing blood and spitting a tooth, while V stormed out.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk johnny #cyberpunk v #cp2077 #cyberpunk fanfic #johnny silverhand fanfic #jhonny silverhand x v #johnny silverhand x v #Bob #cp2077 fanfic #fanfiction

37 notes · View notes

nationalharryleague · 4 years ago

Text

Two for the Show

Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that.

Genre: Famous Fake Dating!

Word Count: 17.1k!

Pinterest Board

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!

3K notes · View notes

youshouldhavepaidattentiondad · 3 years ago

Text

Never Found Again

Summary: John comes home to a new warzone: his child's resentment. Words: 3,355 Ao3

My sweet boy Russ is in this fic. Also, this fic is for @whotfamitho who brilliantly, back when NMT2 first streamed, suggested Ziggs MacNamara as to why we didn’t learn Ziggy’s last name.

The sun starts to set as a nondescript black sedan follows a winding road to a small neighborhood. The car slows as John MacNamara pulls into the driveway of a two-story gray colonial. He parks beside a familiar merlot colored SUV.

He retrieves a duffle bag from the backseat before heading up the walkway to the front door. He glances out to the street, smiling at the sight of a small green pickup truck parked by the curb in front of the house. He reaches the door, unlocking it before stepping inside.

Immediately, the smell of something delicious hits him. He drops his bag and follows the scent, leading him to the kitchen. Stopping in the entryway, he leans against the wall, drinking in the sight of a tall man at the stove. His long, dark hair is pulled into a low ponytail and he has a dish towel thrown over one of his broad shoulders. John continues to watch him fondly for a few moments longer before calling, "I'm home."

The man turns, his eyes lighting up at the sight of John. “Hey handsome.” He smiles warmly as John approaches him. As soon as he’s close enough, he pulls John into a kiss.

John melts into the kiss, his hands coming up to rest on his husband’s shoulders. He manages to knock the dish towel off his shoulder. A large hand slips under John’s t-shirt, pressing against the small of his back. John shivers.

When they break apart, one of John’s hands comes up to stroke the other man’s cheek, stubble lightly scratching his fingers. “Hey, Russ.”

Russell MacNamara pulls away at the sound of something on the stove sizzling. He turns quickly, picking up a spatula.

Grinning, John moves to lean back against the fridge. Blue eyes watch his husband lovingly.

"Are you just gonna stand there and gawk at me?" Russ teases as he glances over his shoulder.

John shushes him. "I haven't seen you since Thanksgiving the year before last, let me have this."

The sound of footsteps running down the stairs drowns out Russ' chuckle. “Hey, Pops, is dinner almost ready? It smells so fucking good!” A lanky figure dashes into the kitchen, skidding to a stop at the sight of John. The grin on their face disappears. “General MacNamara,” they greet flatly.

“Ziggs,” Russ calls over his shoulder, a warning in his tone.

Ziggs rolls their eyes. “Hey Dad.”

“Hey Ziggy.” John moves forward to give them a hug.

Ziggs dodges him though, avoiding his touch altogether. “Want me to set the table, Pops?” they ask Russ, ignoring John.

Russ bites back a sigh. “Yeah, that’d be good.” As Ziggs starts grabbing plates and glasses, Russ adds, “Set it for three people, Ziggy.”

“Ugh, fine.” Ziggs takes the stack of plates, glasses, and cutlery and walks past John again to go to the kitchen table.

As the soft clink of the table being set fills the air, John moves over to his husband’s side. “I guess that hasn’t gotten any better.”

Russ hums sympathetically. “How could it, darling? You haven’t been here to try to fix it.” He gives John a quick kiss. “Grab some potholders and help me move these to the table?”

Soon they’re settled around the glass top round table with plates laden with homemade vegan eggplant parmigiana and zucchini ‘noodles.’ John has to force himself to not just scarf down on everything on the plate. He hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in over a year and Russ’ cooking is the best.

Finally, he makes himself set down his fork to take a drink of water. "So how are classes going, Ziggy?" John tries to ask casually, as if he hasn't been away the past several months on military business.

Ziggs shrugs, shoveling food into their mouth to avoid answering.

Nice to see that teen rebellion never wore off. John looks at his husband, pleading silently.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Russ asks, "You mentioned the other day you have a job lined up for the summer?"

"Oh yeah." Ziggs takes a long drink of water. "Perky's Buds, working as a farm hand and graphic designer."

"That's- wait. Harvest isn't until fall, why are you working in the summer?" John questions, unable to keep the strict military tone from his voice that makes it sound like an interrogation.

They keep their eyes down, pushing food around on their plate. Finally, Ziggs looks at him. "Cause it's a pot farm, Dad. I'm surprised you didn't already know that with all your "super secret" intel." They roll their eyes before stabbing their fork into a chunk of eggplant. “How long are you here? A night or two?”

“No, actually.” John feels himself smile at the surprise on Ziggs’ face. “I’m here till the end of August. Practically all of summer.” His grin grows as he looks over at Russ. “We can rent a cabin out on the lake. Go to the Honey Festival; I haven’t been in years.” His gaze moves back to Ziggs, hoping to see any sign of excitement. “We can do anything.”

“Cool.” Ziggs finishes their food. They drop their fork, the metal hitting the ceramic with a loud clang. As they stand, they snatch their plate up. “Then I’m going to spend the summer out at the farm with Perky.”

John’s heart drops as Ziggs walks over to the sink to rinse their plate. Russ starts to rise from his seat but John grabs his hand, shaking his head. “They’re an adult,” he says quietly, barely audible over the sound of the water running. “They’re allowed to make that choice.

It’s been two weeks since John got home.

Which means it’s been two weeks since Ziggs left to go stay with Perky.

“Am I wrong, Russ?” John asks quietly. They’re sitting on a blanket in the grass behind the cabin they’re renting. John’s legs are crossed in front of him, his jeans rolled up to mid-calf. He’s shirtless, soaking up the sun’s rays. His hair is thrown up messily, leaving his back bared.

Russ hums as he carefully pours paint from the bottles onto a palette. “I don’t think it’s a matter of being right or wrong, John.” He picks up a slender paintbrush, dragging the soft, dry bristles across his thumb. Delicately, he dips the brush into the paint before bringing it to John’s back.

Hissing at the coolness of the paint against his skin, John stares out at the lake. “Then what is it a matter of?”

“...remember when we first started talking about me moving up here to Hatchetfield?” Russ muses as he paints deliberate strokes across John’s skin. “How you made it clear to me how important your work is to you, how you would have to constantly be gone and I wouldn’t always get to have a reason why?”

“I do.” John feels a smile tug at his lips. “Yet you chose to come up here anyway.”

“I did.” Leaning forward, Russ presses a tender kiss to John’s shoulder before smiling. “And I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.” He straightens up to resume his painting. “Ziggs didn’t get a choice, though. I tried to explain it the best I could to them when they were growing up, but I don’t think it stuck. I don’t think you understand how hard it was on them with you always gone and never really explaining why.”

John’s eyes flutter closed as he listens. “So they resent me.”

“Absolutely.” Russ shrugs as John glares at him over his shoulder. “What? You asked, darling. I’m not going to lie to you.” He rinses out his brush and switches colors. “Now, what are you going to do? Because I’ll be honest, if you ever retire and you’re at home growing herbs or whatever your plans for your golden years are-” He ignores John’s soft laughter as he continues speaking, “And our child won’t visit because you’re around, I’m going to be very upset.”

Still chuckling, John nods. “Okay, okay. I’ll develop a plan of action-”

“Or you could just talk to them, love.”

The grating ring of John’s work phone wakes him and Russ from their sleep. Rubbing his eyes, John reaches for the phone. He clears his throat before answering, “General MacNamara speaking.” He squints against the light spilling in through the bedroom window.

“John, it’s Xander,” the voice says on the other end, sounding anxious. “We got word of activity over in Hatchetfield. Nearly the entire checkered-tailed nighthawks population was burned to death. Reports we’ve intercepted from the Hatchetfield Police say the two suspects are claiming the marijuana they were growing-”

“Xander, I’m on vacation,” John replies wearily before his sleepy mind finally catches up. “Wait… who are the suspects?”

Through the speaker, he can hear papers rustling. Russ sets a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Looks like a woman named Emma Perkins, aka Perky, and her farmhand-slash-graphic designer-”

“Ziggs MacNamara,” John finishes as he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Russ squeezes his shoulder slightly. John glances back at him, frowning when he sees the concern on his face. “What’s going on?” Russ asks quietly.

Holding up a single finger, John speaks into his phone’s receiver, “Xander, pull whatever strings you need to, promise whatever favors, I don’t care. Get those two released and the charges dropped. I’m heading to the HFPD station now to pick them up.”

“Wait, John, you can’t-”

“Those were orders, Xander,” John says firmly before sighing. “I’ll explain later.”

“...10-4. Tell Russ I say hi.”

That manages to get a small smile from John, despite the circumstances. “I’m sure he’ll say hi as well.” He hangs up and drops his phone back onto the nightstand. With a soft groan, he runs a hand back through his hair before looking at his husband. “Xander says hi.”

“What else did he say?” Russ asks, gently nudging John out of bed so they can get dressed.

John stands, stretching as he walks to the closet. “Ziggs and their boss got arrested. Something happened out at the farm. They should be released by the time I get there.”

“If they got arrested, why didn’t Zi-”

“Probably because I’m here, Russ.” John snaps, trying not to think about how that hurts. He pulls on a pair of fitted jeans and an old PT shirt from way back when he was in bootcamp. It hugs his muscles, the acrylic across his shoulders spelling out his last name flaking from age. “That’s probably why they didn’t call,” he clarifies, his voice calmer now. He runs a hand up his face, eyes squeezed shut.

Russ watches him silently. Without saying a word, he begins getting dressed as well, donning a loose t-shirt and a plain back maxi skirt. “I’ll drive.” He grabs his wallet from the top of the dresser.

“Thank you, honey.” John sighs again as his hand drops from his face. He follows after Russ, catching his hand and bringing it up to press a kiss to the back of it.

When the SUV pulls up to the police station, Emma and Ziggs are standing in the parking lot, looking confused. Russ rolls down the driver’s window and John carefully leans back so he can’t be spotted. “Ziggy! Emma!” he calls.

They both turn, looking incredibly relieved when they see who it is. “Pops!” Ziggs jogs to the SUV, Emma following close behind them.

“Oh thank God, Russ!” Emma grins. She loops around the back of the SUV to get in on the passenger side while Ziggs gets in behind Russ.

Once the doors are closed and the SUV is rolling down the road, John twists in his seat to look back at his child. “Hello, Ziggs.”

Ziggs eyes go wide, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. They immediately unbuckle their seatbelt and try to open the door, only to find it locked.

“Put your seatbelt back on, Zig,” Russ says calmly, “You’re not in trouble.”

“Uhh…” Emma’s eyes dart between John and Ziggs. “Who’s that?”

John counts to three. “I’m John MacNamara. I’m Russ’ husband and Ziggs’ dad.”

“...I thought you said your dad left,” Emma whispers nervously.

“I’m also guessing you’re the reason the charges against us were dropped?” Ziggs demands, ignoring Emma. A little bit of anger bleeds through their tone. Their seatbelt clicks back into place and they cross their arms across their chest as they slouch down in their seat.

John sighs before turning to face forward again. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I am.” He feels Russ take his hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

For several moments, the only sound comes from the radio. "Um... thanks, Mr. MacNamara," Emma says hesitantly, breaking the quiet.

Scoffing, Ziggs corrects her, "Oh no, Perky, you have to address him as 'General MacNamara.' Don't you know how important titles are?"

"Ziggs," John says sternly. When he addresses Emma, his voice softens, "You can call me John, Emma, it's fine."

Silence fills the SUV and stays there until they arrive at the MacNamara household. Ziggs jumps out first, slamming the door behind them. Russ intercepts them before they can dart off inside. John can hear their hushed voices as he and Emma climb out as well.

John leads the way into the house. Gesturing to the couches in the living room, he says, “Have a seat, Emma. Would you like anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea?”

“Uh, water’s great, thanks, John.” She smiles weakly before settling on the ottoman in front of the armchair.

When John returns to the living room, he sees Ziggs seated behind Emma on the armchair. He hands Emma the bottle of water and offers the second one he grabbed to Ziggs. They take it without looking at him.

Settling himself on the couch next to Russ, John leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Now…” He laces his fingers together and rests his chin atop them. “...tell me what happened.”

Ziggs wants to hold out. John can see it all over their face. They won’t look at him still, fiddling with the water bottle.

Emma doesn’t seem to have the same problem. She launches into her story, which Ziggs quickly corroborates with their own anecdotes, though not all of them are relevant to what John wants to know.

“You should have seen it, Pops!” Ziggs says excitedly, “She was gorgeous, a real work of art-”

“Ziggs, we can talk about your super cool logo later,” Emma cuts off impatiently with a roll of her eyes. “So the nighthawks-”

Almost an hour passes before the entire tale comes to a close. At some point, John stood up, fingers itching for a cigarette. Ziggs’ eyes on him, looking entirely too apprehensive.

"So your cannabis plants were magic and the nighthawks that ate them gained sentience. Additionally, the leader of the nighthawks was named Ezekiel and he gained telepathic and telekinetic powers?" John asks as he paces in front of the couch where Ziggs and Emma are sitting.

"... yes sir," Ziggs mutters as they sink into the cushions, their eyes dropping to the floor.

John stops and looks at them seriously. "And at no point you thought to contact me?"

"Oh what and pull you away from important things, like whatever the hell P.E.I.P does?" Ziggs mumbles.

"...what's 'peep'?" Emma asks as she looks between the two of them.

"It's a military branch," John explains, "Special unit P.E.I.P. We call it 'peep'."

Emma stares in disbelief. "... I have never heard of that before."

John smirks slightly and Ziggs groans, annoyed at what they know is about to transpire. "Oh, we're always around. Maybe you'd notice if you took a peep."

Emma blinks.

"That was a joke, Emma,” John informs her, completely deadpan. “And to answer your question, Ziggs, I am on vacation. All you needed to do was call-”

That gets Ziggs on their feet. “Since when? Please tell me, General, since fucking when do I just need to call for you to be around?!” Their voice cracks as they glare at him.

John jerks back, not expecting that. Deflating slightly, he tries to answer, “That’s-”

“Cause that would have been great to know when I woke up on my first day of kindergarten and you were gone! Or when I got that stupid award in soccer when I was nine and you weren’t at the ceremony! Or hell, at my high school graduation when I was onstage getting my diploma and saw you walking out!”

Their chest heaves and their eyes shine with unshed tears. Whether they’re from anger or hurt, John can’t tell.

He glances back at Russ, who looks unsurprised by the scene unfolding. It feels like there’s a lump in his throat. John tries to swallow around it as he looks at Ziggs again. “Time is-”

“Important, right?! That’s the only thing you ever fucking taught me! Well-” Ziggs yanks down their sleeve, revealing a lovingly worn watch encircling their wrist. “Wearing a watch didn't do me any fucking good, now did it?”

A loud crack sounds off from inside John’s chest. He’s sure he just imagined it but it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way. He stares at the watch on Ziggs’ wrist. The leather on the straps is still in good condition, obviously well tended. He’s sure if he looked on the face of the watch itself, there would be very few scratches.

He knows that watch. His parents gave it to him when he graduated basic training. He was about the same age Ziggs is now. He remembers the inscription engraved on the back.

“ ‘Lost time is never found again,’ ” he recites. There’s another pang in his chest as the realization hits him. He blinks as he feels teardrops roll down his cheeks. “How long-”

“Literally since you gave it to me.” Tears stream down Ziggs’ face. “You gave it to me the night before I started high school.”

“...that was the night you came out,” John remembers.

“...yeah.” Surprise washes over Ziggs’ face. “You said Grandma and Grandpa gave it to you when they were proudest of you and…” Their voice catches. Ziggs swallows before finally managing to get out the words, their voice warbling slightly, “...and you said you were proud of me.”

John presses the back of his fist to his hand to try to fight back a sob. “I was.” He gulps before letting out a shaky sigh. “...I still am.”

The two of them stare at each other for several moments. Finally, Ziggs takes a small step forward.

That’s all the invitation John needs before he’s rushing over to his child, pulling them into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m sorry,” he manages to choke out as he pats Zigg’s back.

Ziggs doesn’t respond. They just sag against him as they hug him back just as tightly.

Finally, John pulls back. He wipes his tears away from his face with the heels of his hands before reaching up to wipe away the few stray tears on Ziggs’ face.

“Well, I’m proud of you both,” Russ comments with a smile.

Chuckling, Ziggs rubs the back of their neck as they glance over at Emma. “Sorry about that, Perk- are you crying?!”

“No!” Emma snaps even as she rubs her eyes. Her hands fall into her lap and she gives Ziggs a little grin. “We’re all good over here, Ziggy.” Her smile turns into a frown. “Except I don’t have a house now. Or an income. Shit, I really don’t wanna go back to working at fucking Beanies.”

Smiling, John sits on the couch next to Russ. His smile widens when Ziggs sits next to him. “Well, Miss Perkins, from what I’ve heard today, you’re incredibly observant, resourceful, and tenacious.”

“...thank you?” Emma blinks in confusion. “I don’t understand what that has to do with me going back to my shitty barista job.”

A soft chuckle precedes John’s next question. “How would you feel about joining P.E.I.P?”

#john macnamara #russ macnamara #ziggs #hatchetfield universe #tgwdlm #black friday #nightmare time #mr macnamara

62 notes · View notes