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ryaiga · 1 year ago

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The One God Forbade

Chapter 2

Pairing - Captain Price X GN!Reader X Lieutenant Riley

MDNI 18+ PLEASE.

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

Summary: You finally get some well deserved downtime, getting a new tattoo to hide a scar you had. However, you get a call saying that you were recently transferred from the ECHO team to Task Force 141.

AUTHOR’S NOTE AT THE END!

WARNINGS/CWS/TWS: Military terms that might be wrong, Paranoia, Drinking.

Spacers/Headers by: @mmadeinheavenn , @imlevis , @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

“Please!- Please- I have a- a- a family.. Please, I swear I didn’t want to do all that to you! I was just doing as I was-” BANG-

Your body jolted forward, waking you from the slumber that was fueled by the nightmares of being on the field. You raised your hand to see them, clenching and unclenching whilst you turned them repetitively to inspect for any change. Your t-shirt clung to your body with the remaining sweat that was too stubborn to evaporate into the cold air. The room was dark, with nothing but the moonlight emanating from the window. You weren’t on the field, you were in your small apartment complex now. You took deep breaths as you scanned the room, looking at the trinkets you had scattered over the few surfaces you had. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see picture frames of the Echo team and one of your mom sitting across your bed. A reminder that you weren’t in the barracks. A small speaker with white noise playing softly sat on top of your dresser. Slowly, you felt yourself being grounded back to reality.

Nights like this meant that you weren’t going to get more sleep now that you were rudely awakened. That being said, you walked to the bathroom of your small studio apartment with a clean tee in hand. You changed and sat on the bed, not wanting to forget the words said in your dream, you reached over to the bedside table for a small journal with quotes that had awakened you the same way tonight’s little plea did. You merely wrote it down, not wanting to dwell on the thought or memory any longer. You figured that you might as well preoccupy yourself with a little spring cleaning to allow your mind a break. Or so you could zone out, like the times on the field but without a sniper rifle in hand.

You chose to start with the laundry. You grabbed all the ‘dirty’ clothes and placed them in the basket before walking to your washing machine and stuffing it with said laundry. Doing what’s necessary, putting the two cups of detergent liquid, closing the door, and setting the machine to mix before starting it. Then, you made your way down the list; Dishes? Washed and dried. Furniture? Pushed back to the exact millimeter of where it was first placed when you first moved in. Dust? Hunted and dusted. Laundry to end it off, dried, folded, and kept in their respective places. Doing all this helped ground yourself more with reality, bringing you out of the deployment mindset that was conditioned into you. Albeit, it was also what you were used to doing back in the early days of being a Navy recruit.

And as per the routine, the clock strikes 6:00 am, three hours since you woke up. Now it was time for your morning run around the street. You put on your shoes and grabbed the headphones from the table that housed your knick-knacks like your keys, wallet, and karambit. You grabbed the two, hooking the keys through your pants loop, and holstered your karambit in its place by your inner thigh. Wallet and phone in hand, you leave your apartment, locking the door and exiting the complex.

It's been a week. Yet no amount of vodka helped with the nightmares. But something about last night’s dream was different. It wasn’t just the sounds that followed the war and the imagery of corpses from both sides littering the field. Instead, it was the body of a man who had pulled your fingernails. And this time he was begging to be given a chance before it was abruptly interrupted with a pistol shot to… to?

That you don’t remember. Yet it haunted you as you ran. Every stride you took awakened a feeling of fear in you from that day for some reason. Running your usual route with tunnel vision slowly creeping into your sight. Sounds of even more white noise playing through your headphones usually helped with it, making sure your mind didn't drift away. But

You finished your run and decided to drop by the local tattoo parlor you wanted a ‘cover-up’ of the branding scar you had. It still sustained a little of its bright red color, so you thought why not slap a knight holding a sword to help divert the viewer’s eyes? You’d embrace the scar on your left arm instead of just hiding it. You didn't know what to get, not wanting to be the typical American soldier who gets an eagle or skull with any form of ammunition. You decided a knight with a shield that has the Echo team insignia and a sword would fit both you and the spot perfectly.

Since you knew the artist who works at that shop, the booking went smoothly. All that’s left is to come in tomorrow since she was nice enough to keep a slot open for you. Your next stop was a hole-in-the-wall cafe for a light snack and coffee.

You diverted from your usual routine. See, usually you’d buy your order of americano with a nice little blueberry cupcake (it’s what you’d get at the base for breakfast.), but today felt off. It felt like you had eyes on you. You weren’t on the field, and definitely not too far from base. Yet the paranoia and instincts in you are blaring brighter and louder by the second, similar to a flare that was shot out in the midst of the night’s darkness. Unavoidable. You gave it time just in case it really was just paranoia, you decided it would help if you sat outside the cafe. You’d scan your surroundings with just your peripheral vision, something that was instilled into you for reconnaissance missions. No one stood out.

An hour goes by and you were starting to get stares from small families who’d pass you, taking it as a sign to leave. You beelined home, not wanting to deal with more stress than you already felt. The nightmares weighed your consciousness long enough and the possibility of someone stalking you was making you feel on edge. You got home, checked all the rooms and locks. Sweeping from one end to the other, bathroom windows locked and covered, bedroom windows locked and curtains drawn, all living room windows got the same treatment. And there you sat, by your bed with a pistol in hand with a clear shot to the front door. That’s where you remained for the rest of the day, glad that you took care of the chores earlier that morning.

You were awoken by the buzzing of your phone. Just your alarm, 6 a.m. Time for your run. You must’ve been so mentally tired that you didn’t realize you’d passed out. However, you were glad you were that tired as there were no nightmares, just empty silent darkness as you rested. You got up and headed to the bathroom, remembering that you didn’t have a rinse after the run. You got ready, headphones, keys, karambit. But today you had your pistol with you too. You kept it hidden in your boots.

You went for your run, nothing out of the norm yet. No prying eyes followed you like a hawk, as it should be. You made your way to the tattoo parlor for your appointment, you know it isn't the brightest idea to get a tattoo on a recent scar but you'd rather look at art than a bright red scar. You looked around and realized that the shop was empty, your tattoo artist made sure to not have people around so you can have peace of mind while being tattooed.

She sat you at one of her booths and got your arm ready for the long first session. It was a big piece for a first and she asked if you really wanted to get the entire tattoo in one go . You've been through a lot so a needle continuously stabbing you should be fine. The concerned expression she had faded as she starts. You sat there in her care with the buzz of the needle she wielded and the radio playing in the store. She'd tell you stories, from the different clients she had to the apartment complex and her weird neighbors.

You had bumped into her on a moving day. With your small stature and zero presence, you couldn't blame her. She felt bad and chose to help you despite you telling her you didn't need it. Apparently, she lived in the apartment across from yours. She told you about her little tattoo parlor. You never caught her name surprisingly, considering how she helps keep your apartment dust-free whenever you go on deployments. She treats you like a younger sibling, occasionally inviting you over for food which you always accept. Better than the shitty microwave meals you had procured in the freezer. She’d keep you up to date with what’s going on with the neighbors.

She was your only form of social interaction and you were honestly glad. But you could never tell her anything about your ‘job’. All she knew was that her neighbor is never home and when they are, she’ll never know until they bump into her. Hours later she finished the piece, you thank her with a simple ‘Thank you, neighbor.’. “You do know I have a name right? No need for neighbor anymore, it’s Jordan.” Both of you walk to the counter as she tells you how to care for the fresh tattoo but she stops you when she sees you pulling out your wallet. “On the house. You keep me company while you're home and eat whenever I invite you. This is the least I can do since I talk your ears off.” She chuckles and tells you to come over tonight for dinner, it was burrito night and you wouldn’t miss it for the world. You agreed and left the parlor. Deciding that maybe you should bring a nice drink to Jordan’s place, you walked to the store.

That’s when you felt something out of place again. Someone watching. Not close, but within said person’s peripherals. You quickly took to the sheltered alleys and crowd. It’s off-putting, the fact that you are spending your downtime feeling like you were being watched. You couldn’t just blame it on your paranoia anymore. It honestly starts to piss you off, you shot Jordan a message with your burner phone. You asked if she could cook for you every day now. The feeling of being watched made you decide that it wasn’t worth leaving the house, you can run loops around your apartment and Jordan loves cooking for you so it seems like a win-win in your book. You finally reach the supermarket, grabbing a trolley. You start filling the trolley with ingredients for Jordan, 2 big bottles of soft drinks you think she’d like, and a bottle of vodka for yourself. You quickly make your way to the checkout, you feel the eyes of civilians, and yet the one who’s following you is what caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand. You practically threw a hundred-dollar bill at the cashier and rushed out with the bags. The person was a professional stalker because no matter how well you scanned the people around you, you couldn’t spot them.

You finally made it to the flight of stairs to your apartment level. You dropped off the ingredients by Jordan’s door before knocking it and heading back to yours. You needed a shower before dinner. You needed to feel the cold water wash the sweat and paranoia off your heavily scarred skin. You needed it off you asap. It's funny how it's about a week into your downtime and it feels as if you were on the receiving end of a reconnaissance mission.

You stepped into the shower and stayed under the water for a solid 30 minutes. You only left as you hear Jordan yelling at the door saying something about phone and dinner. You dried off, put on your usual fit, and made your way to the fridge to grab the soft drinks. You hoped that a bottle of sweet tea and some soda would make up for asking her to cook meals for you. You quickly shot a message to Jordan to make sure all curtains are drawn and to not ask why. You didn’t want whoever to see that you were acquaintances with a civilian and that her safety is not jeopardized by your friendship with her. You waited 5 minutes before heading over.

Jordan welcomed you in with that bright smile of hers and the smell of beef hits your nostril, making your mouth moist. It’s been a while since you had something that had even smelled this good. You walked to her little dining table and set the drinks on it before heading to her kitchen and helping with setting up. She knew exactly what you liked and made your burrito perfectly to how you did the first time you two had burrito night. All this simply from watching you eat. Both of you finally sat down after a long day and were ready for dinner and a little chat. You thanked Jordan for dinner and started eating, she started talking about how the neighbor next to her had their boyfriend move in and every night has been a nightmare for her. Just as she was about to say what was the reason, your burner phone rings. You apologized to Jordan but by now she was used to it from the few dinners you had to up and go back to base. You stood up and pulled your phone out to see who it was that is bothering your dinner time, it was Rodney. You excused yourself to the bathroom to answer it.

“Hey (Y/N), just got a call from Laswell. Warrant Officer (Y/N), you are officially part of Task Force 141 as of today and are to report back to base to collect your gear and fly to their base. Congrats on making it into the big boy league and thank you Echo 2 for everything, hopefully, we’ll get to run missions with you in the future. As the Echo team once said, Best 2IC. I know you’ll do well there, you are still welcome to talk to me whenever (Y/N). Rest up, Echo team and I will see you off.” Just like that, Rodney ended the call before you could say anything.

Leaving the Echo team? So soon might you add. It’s only been 3 years since you were assigned to the Echo team and yet you were the one selected to transfer to TF141. It made sense as you were a warrant officer but it was usually just for a mission or two with a different squadron. But never a permanent transfer. It’s not that you’ll miss them, you weren’t close to them in the first place, but you felt that someone better was more deserving of such a position. However, you never doubted Rodney’s decisions ever so you’d have to learn to get used to the new team, or the other way around.

You went back to the dining table and apologized again to Jordan for interrupting her. You felt that telling her you might not be home for years on end could wait until after dinner. You let her continue talking, listening, and chiming in on the conversation every now and then with small questions. You felt bad for leaving as it means she’d go back to helping make sure your apartment was kept dust-free while you were away and it’s no longer a few months but potentially years at a time. Maybe you could get her little souvenirs as a thank you.

You polished your plate and brought both of your plates to the sink to wash. You felt that you’ve been there longer than usual and decided to call it a night. Before you left, you called out to Jordan who was confused as you usually just leave and she didn’t need to see you off. “I wanted to let you know that I’ll be traveling for work now Jordan and it might be for a year at a time. That being said, you really don’t have to clean my place while I'm gone-” “If you think I wouldn’t clean your place just because you’ll be away longer, you’d be very mistaken. Plus I could stay at your place if Rachel and her boyfriend decide to fuck every so loudly. You wouldn’t mind would ya?” You chuckle at how she purposely mentioned the loud fucking part loudly in hopes that the neighbor would hear. You told her she could use your place whenever but to make sure that everything stays in its place for the sake of your OCD and to make sure the curtains remain closed at all times when she’s there.

You went back and immediately went into your routine of making sure everything is secured. After which you immediately crashed onto your bed, too tired from everything that happened today. You’ll worry about packing tomorrow morning.

In your seventeen years of being in the military, you never would have predicted that you would have been selected to be a part of something bigger.

You’ve done six years in the Navy, two years in Afghanistan for your first tour. During your time there on patrol duty, you saw it all. From being your fellow soldiers being shot at by terrorists who were kids armed with Ak-47s to the burn pit where every and anything is thrown and burned. Not forgetting the time where the humvee your team was in happened to drive over an IED and exploded, causing it to flip. Thankfully everyone was safe, walking off a concussion and a few scratches. You spent another year in Germany for the same thing. Throughout all this, you climbed the ranks and became a lieutenant. You managed to impress the higher ups with your combat skills and they had recommended you to go through the BUDS training to become a navy seal. Since you had barely any sense of direction to how you wanted to leave, you went with the flow.

Six months of grueling training and seeing soldiers drop out purely from how intense it was, you made it out as a Seal team operative. Another 6 years of deployments as a Seal op and you witnessed many deaths, you’ve lost so many friendlies and some to which fueled your nightmares from how you wished (and sometimes knew) you could’ve saved. In a deployment, you were blown up by a rogue IED that the Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) Specialist had missed. Luckily for you it wasn’t enough to kill you but it did rattle you for the few months after, being very wary of where you stepped. What was your luck with IEDs? At some point people knew you as an IED detector that detects them a second too late, you even considered becoming an EOD specialist but decided not to as you were already a sniper and a combat medic.

Once again someone had eyes on you and had invited you to DEVGRU training to which you once again went. This time it was six weeks of training and you were part of the tiny few who were approved. Not to mention as they were deciding who to accept, you had caught Rodney’s attention but at this point Echo team was a complete team. You spent two years training and waiting for a position in any team. To make use of the time, you decided to go to the Special Force Warrant Officer Institute. Not long after becoming a warrant officer, you were called in to join Echo team as a member had stepped down to retire. That’s where you met Rodney and the team.

And that’s where you found yourself again, the door that led to the cages but this time was to say goodbye. Everyone stood by the table in the center with shit eating grins on their faces. “Finally made it here 2ic, we’ve been waiting man!” Ricko spoke up, he was Echo’s K9 handler. The pup, Cerberus, comes up to you as if he knew that it was your time to leave. It touched you that they wanted to send you off, never would’ve thought that you were that much of an impact to the guys. Rodney hands you a picture, it was a picture of Echo team after your first deployment with them. You chuckled before patting him on the back, you turned to the guys and thanked them for coming to say their goodbyes. You stepped into your cage to grab your gear. You told the team that you’d want to visit the surplus store to get more stuff just in case. A couple more inner long sleeves and pants wouldn’t hurt to have.

You soon made your way to the store for a quick shopping session, with Echo team behind you being rowdy as their usual selves, it got you thinking whether you’d miss the noise whenever you're on base awaiting a green light for the next mission. You grabbed the clothing you needed, in hopes that it is enough for your time in the new base, then again you could shoot Rodney a text for a care package if needed but you’d rather be prepared for now. You decided to grab a couple of t-shirts in a material you like to repurpose into a fitted mask that would simply cover half of your face down to your neck, the balaclavas available were nice but you wanted a more personalized article of clothing for your face. You were about to pay when the entirety of Echo team fought each other to pay for your items, you simply stood back and chuckled alongside Rodney. Never in your time in the military would you imagine seeing grown men fighting each other to pay for clothing specifically.

It soon came time to board the plane to the UK to meet your new team. The guys had lined up the walkway to the plane’s entrance with Rodney next to the entrance itself. Before you could make your way to the walkway, someone walked out the entrance. A lady with blond hair comes out to talk to Rodney. You walked past the guys, man hugging them and telling them to take care of each other now that you were gone. You waved your final goodbyes to them and made your way to Rodney and the lady. “(Y/n), this is Station Chief Kate Laswell, she supervises all the missions Task Force 141 goes on.” You shook her hand with a slight bow of your head to show respect to her. “Take care of this one Laswell, they’re quite a handful but a handful worth keeping.” He lets out a soft chuckle and you could see that Rodney was a little sad behind those eyes of his, he looks at you and gives you a sincere smile before telling you to take care of yourself and to text him if you need anything. He soon joins the boys to see you off from a distance.

You boarded the aircraft with Laswell, noting that there were a few other officers from your base who were making the trip with you. None of whom you personally knew, you’d find an empty corner and chose to sit there. It wouldn’t hurt to take a nap during the flight over. Despite your eyes being closed, your mind was awake. You heard everything around you, the whispers of you by the other officers on how you were terrifying. Little did they know, you were merely a quiet one and not that scary if they bothered to chat. Even if you didn't like talking to new people thanks to social anxiety, you wouldn't have been that much of a killer if they'd just said hi.

The flight was as smooth as you could get when traveling between bases, you 'woke' up from the nap thanks to Laswell and had helped the rest gather up their bags before touchdown. Soon enough the pilots gave us the announcement that we arrived safely and could depart. You braced yourself, not sure who's in your new squad and whether they were going to be nice enough to you.

You grabbed your bag and gear, 'no reason to be nervous, you're more than capable' you told yourself. You set foot onto the asphalt, sun glaring down at you as if it was foreshadowing your 'bright' future with TF141. Eyes finally adjusting, they set upon only Captain Price. Surprisingly enough the rest of the team wasn't there, you were almost glad until you heard a familiar Scottish accent.

"Sorry capt, tried to get Lt out of his office but apparently he has much more pressing issues to handle before meeting the new recruit- I mean lieutenant." If you recall his name correctly, Soap corrected himself when he saw you. He donned a look that wasn't bad nor good either. You simply chalked it off to the vase incident you two had. "Hell's fuckin' bells if it isn't you, you vase chucking cunt." He chuckles before smacking you lightly behind the head. Well that clears the air, no hard feelings for the past and clearly he was on best friend status with how he greeted you.

Laswell had gone to Price to chat a bit before he walked up to you. "Welcome to our base (Y/n), glad to see that you came prepared already." He pats you on the back before having Soap show you to the barracks. "Didn't catch my name did ya, Sergeant Johnny "Soap" McTavish but I'm not one for the whole formalities shite. Plus you're now part of our fuckin' team, practically family now." He sure does talk, not even the boys from Echo could compete but at least it isn't an awkward silence. "Warrant Officer (Y/n) (Y/L/N). Nice to properly meet you Soap, apologies for the vase." He merely waved you off, laughing and giving you kudos for catching him off guard.

You weren't far off from the barracks from what Soap has told you, glad that you weren't going to lug around your gear for much longer. But you suddenly felt those same eyes from back home on you once more. It almost had you stop in your tracks just to look around, but you didn't. You had a nagging feeling that Soap was gonna bombard you with questions and right now you were in no mood to entertain an interrogation. You tried to ignore it for now. The two of you finally reach the front door to the barracks, with the stalker still watching.

When all of a sudden the door nearly flies off its hinges with 2 guys chasing one another out. "Gaz!- Get back here right the fuck now before I get the old man here!" A British man with tight curls dashes right past you with an American man with hazel hair chasing close behind. You quickly moved aside not wanting to get rammed into. "Steamin' hell- well that was Gaz and Alex, although you won't see Alex around base too often as he's helping a special someone back in the Urzikstani Liberation Force. More on that later!"

Soap proceeded to drag you to your room. "Nothing too fancy, just consider yourself lucky not having to share a bunk with the other guys." It was pretty similar to your apartment and way better than your barrack back home. Although, it was a little more on the luxury end of a military barrack. The common room was rather spacious, that in itself was a major difference from what you had back home. Soap had shown you the little break room they had if the squad decides to eat a meal together. Soap stated specifically to not eat in the common room unless its snacks aren't messy, this was because a certain member was rather particular on the barracks cleanliness. He did not specify who exactly it was. Soap shows you to your personal room. You thanked Soap for the tour before deciding to place your stuff down and organize them into their respective spots.

Once you were done, you realized it was already 7pm there. It's been 2 hours since you touched down and you are definitely long overdue for a good wash down. That's when you also found out that the barracks here have private bathrooms and not a communal one. You walked into your shower, it wasn't big nor was it small enough to feel stuffy from being in it. Thankfully there were spare towels in the cabinet under the sink, you grabbed it and instantly used it to cover the mirror. You were about to shower when you forgot your toiletries in one of the bags you brought.

Wrapped in a towel, you stepped out to grab your toiletries. You turned to head back for a shower when there was a knock on your door "(Y/n)? We're heading out to a local pub not far from here. Wanted to see if you wanted to come." Unfamiliar voice, probably Gaz. You gave a quick response, agreeing but that you wanted a quick shower before you leave. He gives you the go ahead and you finally take that well needed rinse. You squatted low under the showerhead as you let the harsh mist wash the sweat from your body. You must've zoned out because Soap was hammering on your bathroom door. "Oi! Gaz said you were showering, not fuckin' asleep in there. Hurry up so I can drink Gaz under, you vase cunt!" You hear Soap chuckle at someone's disagreement, that you couldn't quite hear, coming from the common room.

You dried off, taking your dirty clothes and placing them neatly by the sink, before wrapping yourself once again with the towel. "Steamin' Jesus- give a brother a heads up!" You caught Soap by surprise when you stepped out, receiving a slightly disturbed look by him before he turned to leave. You quickly grabbed some cargo pants, a crew neck instead of the usual as you weren't in the mood for a hassle, and chose the half-face balaclava and a cap. You pocketed your burner phone and wallet after putting on a simple pair of gloves.

"Finally the diva is out, shite. Gaz and Alex meet (Y/n), pretty sure you remember the fucker Alex." He giggles after his little comment to Alex before it turns into a full blown cackle after seeing Alex grimace. You mentally noted to apologize for whatever you did. Soap grabs you and starts pushing you out the barracks door, only to be greeted by a 6 '2 (189cm) man with a lower half of a skull painted on his balaclava. You dug your foot into the concrete just in time to not get pushed into the man in front of you. Soap smacks his face into your back causing him to groan.

"(Y/n), this is Lieutenant Riley." Price walks up from behind the man. Oddly enough, his presence felt familiar, but you dont think it's in a good way. "I think he prefers-" Soap butts in but is interrupted immediately. "Just Ghost will do soldier.” Ghost shot a glare towards Soap, garnering chuckles from the rest of the squad. Price beckons for you guys to get into a pickup truck as enough time has been wasted. He also called for you to ride shotgun while the rest sat in the cargo bed. You followed as told, sitting next to the captain as he started the engine and drove the whole lot of you towards the pub they frequented.

"Enjoy your personal space here? I know it isn't much but if there's anything you need, do let me know." Price shot a smile at you before knocking the small window behind both of you, letting the rest know that we'll be reaching soon. Price finds a spot that is right next to the pub's entrance. "Try to relax, I know we pulled you from your downtime so use this as both a welcome gesture and an apology for pulling you to base." He spoke softly as if the rest could hear. Once the truck came to a stop, your door was yanked open and similar to the door you were next to be yanked.

Soap practically pulled you out the truck like nothing, laughter from Gaz and Alex soon followed. The trio dragged you into the small English pub, definitely different from the usual bar scene you were used to with Echo. You just hope that they had something you could drink. The trio sat by a booth not far from where the bar was as Ghost and Price went to. Alex got up to get a round for the booth, coming back with 2 tall boys in each of his hands before passing them out. Despite not liking beer, you took it to be polite.

The three chatted amongst each other catching up from what seemed like individual assignments while you took sips of your beer. You turned to Alex, "I wanna apologize for the uh, incident..?" Alex simply leaned his head sideways, "Don't even sweat it greenie, you happened to just come back from something traumatic. Just don't remind Soap- too late…"

Before Alex had the chance to finish, Soap’s ears had perked up. He starts retelling his version of the incident. Soap had swapped watch duty with Alex to grab a bite and after he felt rather nice because he had grabbed snacks for Alex. He came back to med bay when he saw the doctors trying to pull you off Alex who was honestly too flustered and confused at what just went down. "Okay, in my defense, I just walked in and all I saw was bare ass. Sorry (y/n), but honestly that gown did jack shit for your ass. Why do medical gowns not cover ass even?" Alex stuttered as he tried to defend himself.

Your cheeks now flushed red, you had almost spat the sip of beer in your mouth when Alex brought up 'bare ass'. Apparently, the doctors at med bay were doing their daily checkup on you when you came to again. You had assumed the worst and were defending yourself, Alex had caught you by surprise when he walked in. Soap literally had to pull you off him as Alex was too confused at what went down. You couldn’t blame him either, how would you react if some random soldier jumped you and you were flat on the ground within 5 seconds?

You thank Soap in your head for segwaying into messing with Alex and how he reacts to shit that happens out the blue. Gaz simply chuckled and soon added onto the teasing. You took this opportunity to slink your way to the bar for some alone time. You wait for the bartender and when they come to you, you simply tell them to keep your shot glass filled with vodka and a glass of bourbon constantly topped up till you tell them to stop. You were a heavyweight drinker and knew that it took a shit ton of drinks to actually feel somewhat drunk. Guess you could thank the sleepless nights for building your tolerance to alcohol.

You were down 10 shots of vodka and 2 glasses of bourbon, picking at the threads that lined your forearm while tuning out the noise of the rest of the pub. You didn’t notice Price walked up and sat next to you. “So how did Laswell get to know you (y/n), CIA then soldier? Cause if she sent you, you got one hell of a track record.” Price was the one to start up a chat. Captain being proactive and learning about the new member before anyone else, nothing you weren’t used to. “Seventeen years climbing the ranks from Navy to Seal, but I’m sure you’ve seen my file Capt.” You felt that whenever your team captain asked how or why you got transferred over, that they surely already know about your past in the military. “That's quite a lot of years in service. How did you become a soldier, you grew up with a soldier parent? or was it just something you wanted to do?”

You decide to entertain Price's questions, nothing to hide after all. “No. Dad died and I left mom after college. Somehow ended up in the Navy. After 5 years there, I was promoted to a Lt. I decided to transfer to special ops, did BUDS and DEVGRU training that took another 5 years, the last 7 years was doing missions with Echo Team wherever we were needed.”

Price hums in response as he lights a cigar. “Life's tough soldier. But as long as you have a good team, it becomes a little less hard. What's your opinion on war?” The question threw you off, no one had questioned why any of you were sent to war. “dumb politics. the only reason for war. politicians feeling the need to one up each other, and at what cost? Their brave soldiers and the lives of innocent civs.”

“I agree. Politicians send our boys to hell and for what, money? power? they're not the ones fighting or dying. But it’s for the better good of maintaining some resemblance to world peace.” Price gave a response that you’d expect from someone who’s been in the military for a while. You were glad that both of you were on the same page. “So, how do you deal with stress? I’m sure a soldier as experienced as you must’ve got some way to cope, enlighten me.” Price asked as he finished the glass of whiskey he brought over. You chuckled, “I’m sure it’s similar to any of the others, vices. Drinking, smoking. That's about it.” You followed suit and downed your own glass. He waves for the bartender, offering you some whiskey to which you felt that you couldn’t turn down.

“To The soldiers that made the ultimate sacrifice.” Price holds up his hand up his glass to cheer.”To those we lost along the way, the bravest ones as well.” You smiled sadly under your mask, remembering your partner that you lost on a mission. The two of you take a drink from your glasses. “Aight enough about the heavy subject soldier. What was the funniest thing that happened to you in the military?” You appreciated the change in topics, you sit and think for a bit before remembering what Echo did recently. “Being given a trophy that reads "The best 2IC of the year", I brought it over from base.” You laughed, the mixture of alcohol has definitely made you looser than you’d normally are. You asked for your last shot and glass of bourbon from the bartender.

Price took it as it was time to head back to base, turning to the boys in the booth and being met with the sight of Alex with his head down on the table and Gaz slurring at a Soap who’s for sure too drunk for his own good as he himself was slurring random Scottish gibberish while laughing. Price stood up and headed towards Ghost who was simply drinking water as he smoked, letting him know that he'll drive the team back. Ghost took his last puff before heading to the booth. He grabs Soap by the back of the collar dragging the drunken Scott out the booth before gently getting Gaz and wrapping his arm around his neck. Ghost with the two drunks walks his way out the pub and to the truck, setting them in the cargo bed. You down your drinks quickly to help Ghost with Alex who was clearly too hammered. You slowly guided him out the booth before slinging his arm around your neck and walking him to the truck. You pass him off to Ghost once you reach the cargo bed.

You only managed to get one foot on the step of the bumper bracket when Price walked out as he thanked the bartender. “(Y/n), you’re sitting passenger, I’ll handle the boys back here.” You tried to offer to watch the boys when he reassured you that this was the usual routine the team had. You weren’t gonna argue with the man so you stepped down and headed to the passenger side and entered. You buckled the seat belt and Ghost took his seat on the driver side. He buckles himself before knocking on the glass window behind him, letting Price know that he was about to start the drive back.

“What’s with the mask.” Ghost took you by surprise with that conversation starter, his focus still locked on the road. “Keeping my face to myself, maybe for the right people I can trust.” You were sure he saw what you looked like, especially since he was one of the people who came to your rescue. “Don’t worry, Price made sure no one saw your face when he found you.” It was as if the broody British man read your mind, it was a relief to say the least. You decided to shoot the same question back, similarly curious as to why he wore a mask himself. “Same reason as you.” That was it. One sentence. It was painfully honest that he did not want to indulge in sharing more than necessary. Not pushing, you nod in response and go back to staring out the window.

“Anyone back home, family or partner?” You wanted to question why he wanted to know more about you, maybe it’s just to see if he can trust you or hell just to know you. But it did break his character, or the infamous character everyone labeled him. “No. Dad died, disappeared from mom’s life. No partner.” He hums, tapping on the wheel as if the cogs in his head turns as he looks for a response but doesn’t. That’s where the line of questioning from your fellow lieutenant. The rest of the ride was simply filled with an oddly comfortable silence and the sound of the wheel rolling over the gravel road as you pulled up to the gates to base.

Ghost drives through base to park up by the parking lot closest to your barracks. “Help Price dump the boys in the common room. They’ll go to their rooms in the morning.” He states as he parks the truck. You hopped out and headed to the cargo bed, opening the tailgate door and pulling Soap to the edge to get him safely. Price lays Gaz on the couch while Ghost sets Alex on the recliner, leaving no spot for Soap. Ghost tells you to just drop him on the floor and you do. You walk into the communal kitchen to grab a drink before stepping out for a cigarette.

You settled for a bottle of water to help hydrate yourself and prepare for the headache you'll get in the morning. You sat on the step leading to the entrance of the barrack, lighting a cigarette once you were comfortable. You sat there for a while, smoking alone and looking at the sky. You were glad the balaclava was thin, allowing you to take a drag without even lifting your mask. You touched your clothed face, reminded that you are scarred and that no one will look at your face without fear. You chuckled at the thought that stumbled into your mind, maybe Jordan would laugh instead of fear you, just like the older sister she is.

Just as you finish that thought, Ghost walks up next to you. “Can’t sleep, soldier?” “Not that, just not ready to sleep.” You lit another cigarette, not wanting to say that your mind was still yelling at you on random topics. You take a drag before asking “You? Why are you out here?” No answer, nothing not to be expected of the silent man. You tap at the cigarette, tapping the ash off onto the gravel. You offered, to which Ghost surprisingly took a stick from your pack of cheap cigarettes. Once again like the drive back, the both of you sat in silence. A comfortable quiet, one that both of you welcomed.

You were finished with your cigarette, getting up, you pat Ghost’s back before heading back in. He grunts in response. You threw the bottle away before checking up on the three that were out cold. You decided to place blankets on them before stepping into your room. You looked around, a bed you weren’t familiar with, four walls which enclose you in this new unfamiliarity. Your new room. Just like before, when you were first tasked to Echo team. But this time, no one was around to silence the voices. Those you had to kill, their pleas for mercy despite the heinous crime they committed mere seconds before, the cries of your fellow brothers and sisters in arms dying in your arms. No one to yell at each other to keep quiet so that anyone could sleep, no sound of someone watching a video on the lowest volume yet it was too loud for anyone to ignore, or even the sound of someone’s loved one on a call, talking like it was going to be the last call they’ll ever make.

Now you were left in the silence of these four walls in a country you weren’t familiar with. Surrounded with soldiers you knew nothing about except for the rumors about them and the long tales of the missions that they’ve come to complete. What were you there for? Whose shoe did you have to fill now? Questions like that started to plague you, filling your mind with doubt that you belonged. You weren’t meant to leave Echo, you certainly didn’t deserve a place in a prestigious team like Task Force 141. Right?

You threw your clothing to the side, tears on the brinks of escape. You laid on the bed, in your garments. Wondering if it was truly your own thoughts or it was just the effects of the alcohol. You drifted to sleep, still questioning yourself as you fell deeper into the nightmare that awaits you in the hours to come.

A/N:

I KNOW- It's a long awaited chapter release, but between college and my health, it's been hard to get anything out. I've been chasing deadlines with all my projects on top of trying to not fall sick since catching Covid (thanks to my weak immune system). Not to mention the mountain of ideas that keeps flooding so it was hard to figure out how I wanted this to play out without revealing too much. Thank you to my proof reader for helping make sure this chapter has little to no grammatical errors and that the writing was perfect for you readers!

TAGLIST:

@thychuvaluswife @tiny-kasper @tapioca-marzipan @rafaelacallinybbay @idkbroimjusthere @wolfyland07 @berryjuicyy

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reefer-reelz-n-reviews · 2 years ago

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French Kiss (1995)

Smoking: Horus

So, this is my all-time favorite movie. It is something I watched many many times with my family. 3 Generations would sit around together watching it. When my nana came to town it was a MUST to watch before she went back home from visiting.

It starts with Kate, Meg Ryan, on a plan and she is having a panic attack. Turns out she is trying to get over her fears of flying to go with her Fiancé to go to Paris.

Since this is such a chick flick I’m watching it with my roommate, she’s never seen it before. So, this will be fun!! Back to the movie.

So, the Fiancé, Timothy Hutton, goes to Paris without Meg, because of course it is for work so he still has to go. Well, he falls in love with a French woman named Juliette. Played by Suzan Anbeh. In order for Meg to get back Charlie so she decides to fly there to win him back. Where she meets Luc Tessier played by the first love of my life 😍 Kevin Kline 😍. He is able to get her to not even think about the take-off and they are in the air before she knows it!

They land and Luc has put something in Kate’s bag because he knew that she wouldn’t get stopped. Well in the process of Luc getting asked to show his things he runs in to his friend Inspector Jean-Paul Cardon, played by Jean Reno. The inspector takes him in his car and inspects his stuff instead. He loses track of Kate as she heads to the hotel where her Fiancé is staying.

Now I love this movie so much. I have a tattoo of the Eiffel Tower and in blue a quote from the movie in French. Translates to “All men are bastards.”

I’ve skipped over some parts, eh its okay you’ll watch it…maybe hahahah. This part coming up Kate goes back to the hotel where Charlie was staying. And starts to make a scene in front of the Concierge. She like attacks the bell and when she tries to do it a second time, he grabs it like nooooo!!! 😂

Luc goes to find Kate because she has his necklace. He finds her at the train station where she is heading to Cannes to go after Charlie. I love how he is trying to convince her that he is sorry and then has to part from her because he sees the cops that he knows are looking for him and starts to run in the middle of his apology. Enter this funny chase seen between Luc and the Inspector. Just to end up sitting right next to Kate finishing his apology 😂

Well on the train ride, Kate has a fun time eating cheese. Then it turns on her and they had to get off the train and wait for the next one to come through. My next favorite line “My ass is twitching. You people make my ass twitch.”

Now Luc is trying to help Kate get Charlie back. They make it to the hotel where they will be staying, of course it is where Charlie and Juliette are staying at too. Well Kate is trying to spy on them and runs into the dessert tray and it’s just a HUGE mess! 😂

After the first interaction with Charlie, Kate runs into the Inspector who tells her that they need the necklace or Luc would go to jail because they already know that he has it.

I’ll leave the rest to you watching it. It’s your typical 90’s Meg Ryan RomCom😊

-RRR

#meg ryan #kevin kline #timothy hutton #suzan anbeh #french kiss #jean reno

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art-donaldson · 2 years ago

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sorry that last ask was confusing. i mean in the books at the ice court! i was going off of your button on the ask that says “he needed to tell her…what?” which is from that scene.

no worries about the confusion <3 gonna put my answer under the cut because i can already feel myself shifting into analysis mode which means i am gonna get wordy so... sorry in advance?

okay so the "he needed to tell her... what?" part happens when he's swimming in the ice court and he can't help but think about inej and it goes like

"he needed to tell her... what? that she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. that he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn't pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. that without meaning to, he'd began to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. he needed to thank her for his new hat."

but in your original ask, you asked about the scene where she touches his cheek, which happens before the above quote and it goes like

kaz snagged her wrist. "inej." his gloved moved thumb moved over her pulse, traced the top of the feather tattoo. "if we don't make it out, i want you to know...." she waited. she felt hope rustling its wings inside her, ready t take flight at the right words from kaz. she willed the hope into stillness. those words would never come. the heart is an arrow. she reached up and touched his cheek. she thought he might flinch again, even knock her hand away... this was the first time she had touched him skin to skin, without the barrier of gloves or coat or shirtsleeve. she let her hand cup his cheek. his skin was cool and damp from the rain. he stayed still, but she saw a tremor pass through him, as if he were waging a war with himself.

okay now, the first quote (he needed to tell her... what?) is actually the first kaz POV we get after inej touches his cheek, so you can guess that he wanted to tell her all of what he thought from the first quote. but inej knows kaz, and she knows the words will never come (at least in this point of the story)

also, you could argue that kaz didn't really know what he wanted to say to inej before we get his POV cause he trails off and doesn't really finish his thought while inej tells him, "if we don't survive this night, i will die unafraid, kaz. can you say the same?" cause at this point, she's gone through some pretty major character development (iirc, the incinerator scene has already happened at this point and that was when we see her character start to shift and change; kaz, at this point, has not gone through that change; his character shift comes when he's swimming in the water and can only think of inej so AFTER the scene where she touches his cheek)

so what did kaz want to say to her? i think he would've liked to tell her everything he thought, but he didn't have the words for it in the moment cause he's kaz,, he's emotionally constipated and extremely repressive of his feelings and emotions cause that's what he thinks he needs to do in order to survive

anyway, i hope this answered your question <3 i clearly Love analyzing six of crows so if you have any more questions, don't hesitate to ask them!!

#six of crows #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kanej #asks #anon #otp: i think you're worth saving

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5sosfanfictioncatalogue · 2 years ago

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Tattoos Masterlist

Blowing Kisses Like We're Lovers (ao3) - hukelemmings (dafeedil) michael/luke T, 1k

Summary: “You haven’t been in for weeks. You were supposed to come in so I could check your lip.” Michael scolds, and it’s honestly the last thing Luke expected him to say. He misses the flirting, he wants it back.

“Yeah, well, I’m here now. Maybe you can come over here and check it for me.” Luke bites his lip, making sure to run his tongue over the black metal in his lower lip. Michael’s eyes are honed in on the movement, and Luke can’t help but smile, knowing he fascinates the red haired boy like this.

Or, Luke comes back to the tattoo parlor for a new piercing, and Michael is awfully excited to see him.

End Up Here (ao3) - Hoodie, orphan_account luke/calum E, 2k

Summary: Calum was always going to the Bar where a bartender named Luke worked, and finally gets his attention after being his loyal customer.

Galaxies (ao3) - orphan_account luke/ashton G, 508

Summary: Ashton's writing his wedding vows and thinking back to moments in his life with Luke.

I listen to the song on repeat from the other night, (ao3) - gayformichael (youregoingtobeamazing) michael/calum N/R, 7k

Summary: "But you do like it, right?" "Of course I love it you dork, but mine is going to be way better." "Oh really? What’s your oh-so-brilliant tattoo idea then?" "Well… I haven’t decided yet. But, when I do, it’s gonna be dope."

Or the one where Michael and Calum get their first tattoos and are totally gone for each other.

'I should ink my skin, with your name' (ao3) - Forbiddenmichael michael/luke G, 1k

Summary: Black ink finally marking Luke’s skin wasn’t what scared him the most, he was happy with the words and their meaning; it was the nervous bubble of butterflies in his stomach that reminded you that soon Michael would see the two words inked there, and he may not be happy with them and their meaning. His reaction was the only one that really mattered.

or Luke gets a tattoo and Michael really wants to find out what it is

Just Like A Tattoo (ao3) -89IfWallsCouldMuke michael/luke T, 59

Summary: Michael is an idiot but at least he's Luke's idiot.

Let's Forget Who We Are (ao3) - flowercrownmikey luke/ashton, michael/calum G, 2k

Summary: Soulmate AU

"The blood in my veins is made up of mistakes, let's forget who we are and dive into the dark." Ashton quoted directly without even needing to look at his stomach. He'd been trying to figure out what song it had come from for the last week. He knew the lyric off by heart now.

Or// Ashton doesn't know what song his soulmates new favorite lyric is from until its being played to him by a boy with an acoustic guitar and an amazing voice.

never said that life was easy, but we're gonna make it work (ao3) - orphan_account luke/ashton M, 1k

Summary: In which Luke gets a tattoo for Ashton, who loved gardenias (and Luke)

Polarize (ao3) - radioactive_pizza michael/luke G, 1k

Summary: // the one where mikey is really fucking adorable so his daddy brings him presents

Roses Are Red (ao3) - mukeclemmings luke/calum, minor michael/ashton T, 5k

Summary: Ashton and Luke open a flower shop next door to a tattoo parlor, and relationships blossom (quite literally).

the first mark is the deepest (ao3) - yehwellwhatever michael/luke G, 100

Summary: Ashton tried to convince Luke not to do it. He failed.

To The Moon (ao3) - SecondsOfMuke michael/luke, calum/ashton T, 4k

Summary: They say that when you find your soulmate, you can hear each other's thoughts. They say that when you find your soulmate, no one else will ever matter except for that one person. But they never said anything about what to do when you didn't find your soulmate.

Or, When Michael gets his soulmate tattoo and Luke refuses to take his shirt off.

We Go Deeper Than Skin (ao3) - bluenna calum/ashton, michael/luke N/R, 2k

Summary: The marks are a family trait. Ashton has none.

when do flowers bloom? (ao3) - CalmCake Luke/Calum T, 917

Summary: when do flowers bloom? (i always forget)

or; Calum loves Luke's tattoos.

Your Dumb Tattoo (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke, calum/ashton G, 2k

Summary: In a world where soulmates are found by losing something of worth to you, Michael happens to lose something so noticeable, making his secret infatuation with his band mate known.

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #au #fluff #tattoos #tattoos masterlist #masterlists

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booksandwords · 1 year ago

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A Little Familiar by R. Cooper

Series: Familiar Spirits, #1 Read time: 1 Day Rating: 5/5 Stars

The Quote: He wasn’t genderfluid, at least, not how Piotr understood the term, but then again perhaps he was. Bartleby was… Bartleby. He wore what he chose to wear and acted how he chose to act. He’d never requested to be addressed by another pronoun or name, he simply was, like a trickster deity of old, although one not interested in deception. — Piotr

Warnings: from R. Cooper herself "witchcraft, onscreen sex, intense loneliness, genderfluid character" And I have no notes.

I loved this so much more than anticipated. It's just a super cute and fun Halloween story. It has a degree of predictability as you would expect from a piece this short but that isn't an issue for me. It's a fairly simple getting-together story set at Halloween. There are some elements that I won't include here because spoilers. I liked the characters and the story and the way they wound together. The elements that at first feel near meaningless then come into focus later. It is just wonderful R.Cooper and wonderful Samhain when you look at it as an ending/beginning time (because this does have a focus on ending as much as beginning).

Piotr (born to a Russian father, can you tell?) is a strange character to read. He struggles with loneliness but has resigned himself to it, despite loneliness being potentially of greater danger to him than any of us. Piotr is one of the greatest witches of his age, potentially for generations but it isn't really a point of pride and we aren't talking combat, it is a more grounded power. That grounded power is perfectly demonstrated in his personality, steadfast and rigid. Genderfluid Bartleby (he/him) is the first human familiar in generations, only able to serve the strongest of witches. His greatest wish in life is to help and serve but he takes pleasure in it, his personality is softer, lighter. He just gave me so much joy. His outfits and presentation are stunning at all times, his tattoo is stunning. That Bartleby is a reformed Goth is just unexpectedly funny. His strength and patience are quiet but build through the story, like a storm. I do like their relationship. It is one of mutual care and miscommunication.

Quite possibly my favourite character is Aunt Elysia, Piotr's deceased grandmother and the ghost that lives in his house... well her house. Piotr talks to her and she communicates back through noises and actions within her house. Laughter and flickering candles are both common. Elysia is the best matchmaker because she has elemental magic, she can play with the lights and the power grid (which of course she does) simultaneously preparing "It could have been any small, quaintly furnished room made up to welcome a gentleman caller.". It is through Elysia that we get our comedic relief, she likes to participate in Halloween through her ghostly form and is slightly voyeuristic. What can you say a ghost's gotta get her kicks where she can and Elysia was no prude in life. Honestly, it was through Elysia that I got my best indication of exactly how powerful Piotr is, his power is equal to or surpasses hers. (Why yes I do overthink novellas)

Some quotes I liked. Though I've left out some from the later part of the novella. • The dark sky was rolling with clouds. Ominous, to those who thought of rain as bad weather instead of necessary and life-giving. — I'm honestly not sure why I love this one so much, there is a perfect truth to it. (Piotr)

• Loneliness could turn a person inward, leave them without a bridge to the outside world. — This is probably the iconic quote of the book. It has the most highlights of any of the story. There is just such pain to it. (Piotr)

• Perhaps it was the stenciled climbing vine tattoo that started on the top of his left foot and made its way leisurely up his body, blossoming into honeysuckle at his throat. — This is here purely because I love this tattoo so much. Bartleby is Spring and rebirth and this tattoo is perfect for him. (Piotr)

• Samhain is the end of harvest and green pastures. It’s the beginning of winter and the death of the year. It’s the space between, where boundaries disappear and anything can happen. Halloween was chaos and magic and mischief that some enjoyed and others feared. The ones who feared it tried to render it harmless with jokes and singing skeletons, but deep down they knew the truth. Halloween was a celebration of life through an awareness of death, and a reminder of the presence of spirits. — I needed this quote, I needed this differential. I hadn't fully understood it until now. I'm so glad that someone has decided to use both. (Piotr)

• “It was because I am this. Powerful and… dull. I’m just a persnickety fuck.” — I had never heard the term persnickety and that is the whole reason this quote is here. Persnickety adj. informal; North American. Placing too much emphasis on trivial or minor details; fussy. (Piotr)

• “Let me be a part of your Hallow’s Eve, if not your Samhain. I will aid you. You won’t regret it,” — There is something endearing in this. The context Samhain is where the witches spend their holiday, in revelry (Bartleby)

• “My great aunt is in the room,” Piotr commented, although he saw no shadows. “Does she mind?” Bartleby sounded idly curious, but his cheeks were warm when Piotr bussed his lips across them. There was, perhaps, an envious sigh on the breeze, so Piotr shook his head. “She doesn’t.” Bartleby made a pleased, hitching sound for Piotr’s firm grip and pressing fingertips, then groaned when Piotr pulled his hands away from his skin. Piotr had to kiss him again, in apology, and because Bartleby’s mouth was intoxicating. “I mind, however.” — I told you I like Elysa? Elysa has a bit of a voyeuristic streak and it's amusing to me. What is even more amusing to me in this situation is that Bartleby was willing to give her a show. (Piotr and Bartleby)

R. Cooper is probably one of my fave authors (the dragon excepted, gimme the others), her novellas are lovely and great short reads if you need if something quick or easy to read on a commute. Or in this case short and seasonal. There are two others in the Familiar Spirits Series book #2 is Holly and Oak and is set in the lead-up to Christmas and book #3 Nothing More Certain is set in the lead-up to Halloween. Lastly, can we all just take a moment to appreciate the beauty of Kimieye Graham's cover art? It captures the paragraph... "Pallas startled him by swooping down to the table. She grabbed a red daisy and croaked at him, a pleased “Big Bear” before she took her prize to the parlor.". It's a wonderful line and I love the art. Going to be honest the art is part of what caught my attention for the novella.

2nd quote: “How did you ever convince yourself you were goth?” Bartleby was practically glowing. Rather than being insulted, Bartleby was surprised into a snorty giggle that then made him laugh harder. “It took a lot of conscious effort.” — Piotr and Bartleby

#a little familiar #r. cooper #holiday reads #halloween #familiar spirits #book review #ktreviews #read 2022 #novella #booklr

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avery-thorne-bookthoughtsblog · 2 years ago

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Wretched Balance Excerpt

Presentation part 1

When post-graduate student Indigo Blackthorne schedules her first tattoo appointment, the last thing she expects is to be sent into presentation as an omega by her tattoo artist.

:readmore:

Chapter One Indi:

I looked at the tasteful archway of the tattoo parlor with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I’d spent the better part of the past few months scouring social media, trying to find an artist that could tie together the styles I wanted for this tattoo—my first. I’d decided that it was time to reclaim my body, customizing it the way I wanted.

Maybe if I had enough beautiful art to look at instead, I would be able to look at my body without feeling waves of shame and disgust.

Eventually, I’d landed on Inkspire, owned and operated by Tomás Navarro. His greyscale hyperrealism was what had originally drawn my eye, but as I looked deeper into his portfolio, I’d become enraptured with the way he captured the depths of color in his tattooed gems.

After that, it was a matter of explaining my concept and getting a quoted price range.

Everything was set—all I had to do was cross the threshold, and I could begin.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself, before I do just that, silver bells jingling as I open the door.

“Welcome to Inkspired,” the gorgeous Latine man behind the counter greeted me. “Indigo?”

I gave a little half wave, overwhelmed by his brilliant smile. “That’s me!”

Internally, I cringed. Could I be any more awkward?

“Tomás,” he said, stepping around the counter and striding to me with an outstretched hand.

I grabbed it, surprised by how rough the callouses on his palm felt against my academic’s hands. A jolt of heat shot through me as I shook it, and I pulled my own back as quickly as I could.

“C’mon, let me show you the final design,” he said, gesturing me towards the desk. He handed me a tablet and I couldn’t help but gasp in surprise.

It was beautiful, and everything I had wanted. The raven’s outstretched wings had feathers beautifully defined with deep blues and purples. Held in its feet was a black Lightning Ridge opal cabochon, brighter shades of blue, green, and purple—my favorite colors—flaring across the dark gem. Between the wings and the centerpiece, strings of smaller pear-shaped jewels of the same color draped in many levels.

It would sit so that the raven’s wings went from shoulder to shoulder on me, the full tattoo taking up the majority of my sizeable chest, when all of the chandelier necklace’s precious stones finished dripping down my cleavage.

I’d always been defined by the size of my breasts, them being the first thing to develop when I started puberty at nine. As a result, I had been constantly restricted with what clothes I’d been allowed to wear, and my chest size had been used as evidence that I was inherently sinful, a lure designed to lead otherwise upstanding men and boys into temptation.

It’d also been one of the few things I got compliments on, by those I’d attempted to date since reaching adulthood, so needless to say, I had a complicated relationship with my boobs. Who wouldn’t?

But I’d realized when I’d turned twenty a few months ago that, left in a vacuum, I actually loved the way they looked on me. So where better to start reclaiming my body and finding beauty in myself than where I already had seeds for it planted?

“I absolutely fucking love it, Mr. Navarro,” I breathed, barely tearing my gaze away from the tablet.

He chuckled, deep in his chest. “I’m glad you love it. But please—call me Tomás. Mr. Navarro is my father.”

“I’m excited for you to put it on me, Tomás,” I said warmly, fully meeting his deep brown eyes with my own for the first time. For a second, his eyes darkened with what I would call desire if he’d been looking at anyone else.

Foolish, I thought, glancing away quickly as I blushed. As if someone who looks like that would be interested in someone as fat as me.

Tomás was undeniably an alpha, towering above me and his tawny arms corded with thick muscles. He had an aquiline nose, wide, generous lips, and a square jaw with the barest dusting of dense stubble across his face. His hair was a few shades black than even my own dark chocolate brown, and hung in beautiful waves around his face. His scent had sweet cocoa top notes, a teakwood middle, and depths of a deep, earthy spice.

I paused, considering. I’m not normally able to scent alphas in that type of way.

I shrugged, dismissing the idea and grinding the stab of hope in my chest to dust. I was at the normal age when presentation happened, and I’d long-since wanted to be one of those betas who is near-magically transformed into the ever-valued omegas. Hell, I’d even have several beta men be interested in me because I was the closest they’d ever come to someone with ‘omega sized tits and ass.’

It wasn’t pleasant.

Besides. I was a masters student, and I’d seen more than my fair share of how omegas were treated by others—especially male alphas—when they were candidates for post-grad certifications. Dismissed as an airhead bimbo at best and anomalies failing to produce kids for their packs at worst—raging feminist somewhere in the middle, but those could be ‘cured’ by the right pack.

I already had a hard time getting others to take me seriously due to my age. I was going into a male-dominated field with my aims at becoming a tenured college professor. I put in enough work and had made enough advancements on my research that had I been male, I’m sure I’d have gained so much more praise than I currently did. I knew I could do it.

But why want to give myself an additional hurdle? I didn’t even want a pack—or kids. Not after that day.

So I was happy I was a size 18 5’6 beta, endowed with nearly as big a stomach as the rest of my curves. I had a baby face and a scent that was, at best, sweet green apples. It was safer.

Tomás cleared his throat, and I realized that I’d been lost in my own thoughts for longer than was socially acceptable.

Fucking autism.

“So uh. We can start whenever you want, if you’ll just take your shirt off…” he trailed off, his gaze raking over me in my tube top.

I’d made sure to wear a strapless corset I’d made to give myself the more back support needed by big boobs, maximizing my cleavage as best I could, and covered up with a fishnet hoodie. It was a huge fuck-you to the ways I’d been raised, and I’d worn it out a few times before to test out if I was okay with having that much skin exposed. There was no way I wasn’t going to show off this tat, and I needed to test the waters.

For my bottom half, I wore a long skirt with two slits up the middle front so that there was a long strip of fabric in between my legs. Underneath, I wore a pair faux-thigh high fishnet tights (and wore a pair of cheeky panties, the thin, smooth black silk pinstriped with mesh).

For some reason, I’d been craving silkier fabrics lately, and looser clothes. Wearing the corset wasn’t hard, per se—but it had been more comfortable when I first made it.

I probably gained weight, I thought gloomily.

“Yeah, no problem—where should I put my clothes?” I asked, looking around.

“You can hand it to me,” he said, holding out his hand. “And I’ll hang it up for you.”

“Sure, thanks,” I said, shrugging off my hoodie and handing it to him. “Do you need this corset off too?” I ran my hands up and down it slowly, soothing myself by stroking the seams in the black silk where the turquoise silk striping I’d put over the boning was. I looked up at him, feeling his eyes on me. “I wasn’t sure how you’d want my, um. Bosom?”

He watched me, mouth parted slowly. He swallowed, shook his head slightly, and coughed before speaking. “No, you can um. You can leave that on—I’ll have you adjust them as necessary. At least while I’m placing the stencil.”

“Okay, perfect,” I said. “Since I do want some of the gems to kinda go lower on the cleavage.”

“Oh?” he said, his voice strained as he printed out the stencils. The tattoo was broken into several core pieces, so they could be adjusted as necessary without having to do the whole thing all over again.

I’d been very curious and cautious about the tattoo, okay? I needed to learn as much about it as possible to make sure I could customize it enough to want it on my body forever. He’d been super patient and understanding with me, and I appreciated it a lot.

I’d felt really safe with him before meeting, and that impression was only confirmed now.

“Yeah,” I replied, holding absolutely still by keeping my eyes fixed on the painting visible on the wall where he had directed my head. “I can show you if you want.”

“Yeah, we can do that,” he said. “I’ll stand either in front of you or behind you as I put it on then, and you can look in the mirror and tell me where to put the dots.”

“Sure,” I said, walking over to the mirror and trying to ignore the way the thought of him behind me or kneeling in front of me had sent a throb to my core.

I’d been excessively horny lately, no matter how many times I made myself cum. It hadn’t quite gotten to the point where I was daydreaming about my favorite alpha professor I’d had a crush on since undergrad—who was now a colleague, and who’d chatted with me during office hours after bringing me a chocolate-raspberry scone. I’d also been craving sweet things, and I didn’t know why.

But it had definitely made it so I went out to a club later that night, using my fake ID to sneak in and hook up with men around my age. I didn’t get very far—no more than a hot and heavy makeout session that ended with him fingering me ineptly. But still, I’d been getting increasingly desperate for something in my holes, and my fingers were quickly becoming not enough.

It wasn’t surprising, exactly, that I got turned on at the thought of this alpha marking me from behind—oh fuck.

I realized with a desperate spasm in my core that I might be about to present as an omega.

#indigo blackthorne #OC #omegaverse #smut #tomas navarro #tattoo artist #plus size goth FMC #wretched balance

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omibbeauty · 2 years ago

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How Much Are Henna Tattoos

Welcome to OmiB Beauty! We are a professional permanent makeup artist business, passionate about helping people express their unique style and beauty. Today we're here to talk about henna tattoos – an increasingly popular form of body art that has been around for centuries.

Henna tattoos have a long history in many cultures across the globe. With its rise in popularity among modern styles, it’s no wonder why so many folks are looking into getting one! But before you decide to take the plunge and get your own henna tat, there’re some important things to consider, including price.

At OmiB Beauty, our goal is to provide quality services at affordable prices. That's why today we dive deep into how much henna tattoos cost and what factors impact the pricing involved with this type of body art. So if you've been wondering how much these gorgeous body decorations will set you back, keep reading as we break down all aspects of henna tattoo pricing!

Definition

Welcome to OmiB Beauty, where we specialize in henna tattoos and permanent makeup! Henna is an ancient form of body art that has been used for centuries in many cultures. It dates back thousands of years, from the Middle East to India and Africa, with a rich history steeped in symbolism and meaning. It symbolizes joy, beauty, protection—and its designs have become increasingly popular as a temporary tattoo alternative.

At OmiB Beauty, our goal is to help you explore this beautiful tradition through our services: henna tattoos. We offer personalized artwork that reflects your individual style while honoring the symbolism behind each design. Our experienced artists use only natural dyes made from herbs and plants so you can rest assured that what goes on your skin is safe and non-toxic. Plus, because it’s not permanent like traditional tattoos, you get all the fun without any long-term commitment or worry about making a mistake! So come join us at OmiB Beauty to experience the unique artistry of henna tattoos today!

Types Of Designs

At OmiB Beauty, we offer a variety of henna tattoos that reflect your individual style and embrace the symbolism of this ancient art form. From Indian henna designs to intricate tribal patterns, there’s something for everyone! Here are just three ways you can make use of our services: 1) Intricate Designs – Our artists specialize in creating detailed designs with an eye-catching level of detail. Whether you’re looking for flowers or paisley shapes, these delicate works of art will bring out the beauty in any design. 2) Indian Henna – We also provide traditional Indian henna tattoos that honor the rich history behind this unique body art tradition. You can choose from classic motifs like peacocks and lotuses as well as tribal symbols and more modern interpretations. 3) Tribal Patterns – For those who want to express their inner warrior spirit, we have a selection of intricate tribal patterns. These bold designs feature angular lines and sharp edges sure to stand out—and last up to two weeks on the skin! No matter what type of henna tattoo you’re after, our experienced artists are here to help you explore this beautiful tradition safely and without worry. So come join us at OmiB Beauty to experience the power of henna tattoos today!

Cost Considerations

When it comes to cost considerations for henna tattoos, there are a few things you should keep in mind. First and foremost, the price of your tattoo will depend on the complexity and size of the design. Generally speaking, larger designs with intricate details will be more expensive than simpler ones. Additionally, some artists may charge extra for certain materials or equipment they need to complete your tattoo.

To get an accurate estimate of how much your henna tattoo will cost, we recommend talking to one of our experienced artists. We’ll discuss all aspects of the project—including size and detail—to give you an accurate quote that works within your budget. Here's a general breakdown of what you can expect: 1) Cost estimation – Smaller designs usually range from $15-$30, while medium-sized tattoos typically run around $50-$75. Larger pieces may go up to $100+ depending on their complexity. 2) Henna Price – At OmiB Beauty, prices generally start at $25 per hour for basic designs and increase from there depending on size and detail. 3) Henna Cost – Our talented artists use only high-quality dye and take care in creating each unique piece so that it lasts as long as possible without fading away quickly. 4) Price Range – Prices vary widely based on individual needs but generally fall between $25 -$150+. We understand that everyone has different budgets when getting a henna tattoo—which is why we offer flexible payment options tailored just for you! So no matter what kind of design you want, our team at OmiB Beauty is here to help make it happen safely and affordably.

Aftercare Requirements

At OmiB Beauty, we believe that proper aftercare is essential for a successful henna tattoo. To ensure your new design looks its best and lasts as long as possible, here are some important care instructions to follow:

• Keep the area clean: After you get your henna tattoo, make sure to keep it dry and clean. Avoid swimming or soaking in water until the dye has fully settled into your skin—otherwise, you’ll risk fading or smearing of the design. Additionally, avoid using lotions or creams directly on the tattooed area.

• Let it heal naturally: Henna tattoos usually take about two weeks to fade away on their own. During this time, try not to pick at it or scratch—especially if it starts to itch! This can cause irritation and damage the design.

• Follow removal instructions: If you decide that you want to remove the henna earlier than expected, there are certain steps you should take. Consult with our team before attempting any kind of DIY methods and always use natural products like lemon juice or sugar scrub for safe and effective results.

At OmiB Beauty, we strive to provide quality services with lasting results. Our talented artists will guide you every step of the way—from designing a unique piece tailored just for you all the way through ensuring proper aftercare so that your beautiful artwork remains vibrant and intact!

Frequently Asked Questions

How Long Do Henna Tattoos Usually Last?

Are you curious about the duration of henna tattoos? At OmiB Beauty, we understand that this is an important question for our clients. Henna tattoos offer a beautiful and temporary way to express yourself through body art with less commitment than permanent makeup. So how long do these kinds of tattoos typically last?

The lifespan of a henna tattoo depends on several factors such as where it’s placed on your body, how often it’s exposed to water or sweat, and even the type of henna used in the application process. On average, most people can expect their henna tattoo to last anywhere from 5 days up to 2 weeks. In some cases, if not washed off too frequently (or covered with clothing), they may last even longer! For instance, when applied correctly on areas like hands or feet which are normally exposed more often to sunlight, a well-crafted design can survive up to four weeks. This makes them perfect for special occasions – think weddings or festivals – so you don’t have to worry about fading away before you get home after celebrating all night long!

At OmiB Beauty we use only high quality ingredients and employ experienced artists who are experts in proper technique; making sure each client has perfectly-applied designs that will stay put until they're ready to be removed. We also provide tips on how to take care of your new ink so it lasts as long as possible while still looking fabulous!

What Is The Best Way To Prepare The Skin For A Henna Tattoo?

At OmiB Beauty, we understand how important it is to properly prepare the skin before getting a henna tattoo. It's imperative that you take the necessary steps in order to get the best results from your tattoo experience. That's why we want to share with our clients some of the best ways to prepare their skin for their upcoming henna tattoos.

The first step when preparing your skin for a henna tattoo is exfoliation. You'll need to scrub away any dead or dry skin cells so that the ink can be absorbed more easily into your new layer of healthy and vibrant skin. After exfoliating, make sure you moisturize using lotion specifically designed for sensitive areas such as around eyes or lips – this will help keep your skin hydrated without clogging pores. Additionally, if you have allergies or sensitivities to certain ingredients found in cosmetics, it’s best to do a patch test beforehand just in case there’s an unexpected reaction during application.

When all preparations are done, you're now ready for your henna tattoo! As long as proper procedures were followed beforehand, then expect beautiful results and enjoy being able to show off your unique design!

Are There Any Health Risks Associated With Henna Tattoos?

When considering henna tattoos, it’s important to understand potential health risks associated with them. As a professional permanent makeup artist at OmiB Beauty, I want to ensure my clients are aware of all the facts before deciding on henna tattooing.

Although many people believe that henna is safe and natural, there are some dangers to be mindful of: 1) Some chemical ingredients in black henna contain PPD which can cause skin irritation or an allergic reaction; 2) Allergic reactions may also occur from other additives mixed into the dye such as preservatives and fragrances; 3) If using unsterilized tools for application, there could be risk of infection.

These risks should not discourage you from getting a henna tattoo – they simply provide more knowledge around safety when making your decision. At OmiB Beauty we take great care in providing our clients with quality service and products with minimal health risks so everyone feels comfortable and confident!

Are There Any Age Restrictions For Getting A Henna Tattoo?

At OmiB Beauty, we specialize in professional henna tattoos. Before you decide to get one of our beautiful designs, however, there is an important question that needs to be answered: are there any age restrictions for getting a henna tattoo? The answer is yes! It is essential to understand the age requirements for henna before committing to a design.

The age limit for henna can vary depending on where you live and who your artist is. Generally speaking, most artists have a minimum age requirement for their clients. This could range from 18 years old all the way down to 8 or 10 years old. Additionally, some places may also require parental consent if the client is under 18 years old. As such, it's best to contact your local professional artist ahead of time so they can provide guidance about their individual policies when it comes to henna tattoo age restrictions.

Regardless of what the specific requirements are in terms of henna age minimum or the henna tattoo age range set by your chosen artist, always remember that safety should come first. Be sure to check with them and ask questions beforehand so that everyone has peace of mind during the process.

Is It Possible To Remove A Henna Tattoo?

Are you wondering if it is possible to remove a henna tattoo? The answer is yes! With the right methods and products, one can easily erase a henna tattoo. At OmiB Beauty our professional permanent makeup artists have been successfully removing henna tattoos for years using effective techniques.

When it comes to removal of a henna tattoo, there are several options available depending on your skin type and the size of the area that needs to be treated. One such method is laser treatment which can help break down the pigment in the ink so that it fades away over time with regular treatments. Another option includes exfoliation, where we use creams and lotions to gently rub off any excess color from the affected area. We also offer chemical peels as an alternative way to remove or reduce the visibility of a henna tattoo.

At OmiB Beauty we understand how important it is for people to feel confident about their appearance. That's why when it comes to henna tattoo removal, we provide customized solutions tailored specifically for each individual client’s unique needs. Our certified technicians use advanced tools combined with safe and gentle products designed to get rid of unwanted tattoos without leaving any scarring or damage behind. So don't hesitate - let us help you make your dreams come true today!

Conclusion

At OmiB Beauty, we believe that every person should feel empowered to express themselves in whatever way suits them best. That's why henna tattoos are so popular – they offer a safe and unique way to make a statement.

When it comes to the cost of henna tattoos, it ultimately depends on how complex your design is and how long you'd like it to last. Generally speaking, prices range from $20-50 for small designs. Of course, us at OmiB Beauty will be more than happy to work out a custom quote for you depending on what you're looking for!

No matter your age or skill level, getting a henna tattoo can be an enjoyable experience as long as proper safety precautions are taken. I hope this article has given you some insight into the world of henna tattoos and encouraged you to take risks when it comes to expressing yourself creatively!

How Much Are Henna Tattoos was published on https://omibbeauty.com

Originally published here: https://omibbeauty.com/how-much-are-henna-tattoos/

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kenmakaminari · 9 days ago

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Other random things I remember about the early PJO/HOO fandom:

That dude that plays Finnegan in the Hunger Games? Yeah, we fan-casted him as Luke...

The "Ask The Seven page" or whatever its called... Just look it up 😭

THE HORRIBLE FAN CASTS I remember hating every single one. Yall they were so bad dont even search for ts

SO MANY 1 chapter "Reading the book" fics. authors would write one chapter and then fall off the face of the planet

another honorary mention of ffn being impossible to navigate. I had to type the exact trope I wanted into Google to find a fic. And I didn't know how to turn off the auto type feature on my phone so yeah...

Vira was our god. I know shes cancelled now, but I don't think new people know just how much of a celebrity she used to be like 10 years ago, girl was everywhere

We were so reliant on other fandom members contributions, I joined from the HP fandom and it was kind of a shock. Like HP has/had official versions of EVERYTHING buy Pjo/Hoo you had to know how to work Etsy and Pinterest in your favor. I have a really old CHB hoodie that my dad got me, and I don't even know how!! like you couldn't just go to an official website or Disney or anything you had to know people who knew people if that makes any sense

You think you cant mention the og movies now? You used to get shunned back in the days!!! The only reason you could mention those movies was if you were hating on them, even Uncle Rick followed those rules lmfao

Which reminds me, UNCLE RICK!!! That's the name I've always known him by! I'm not quite as involved anymore, so I don't know if he is nowadays, but Rick Riordan was heavily involved in the fandom, the OG how far we've come amv on YouTube even features his reaction to it in the beginning!!!

The Musical, I still love it!!!!!!!

the Percy deal with it meme

Persassius Jacksasson

The headcanons, I would just type PJO Headcanon into google, go to images and scroll all night lol some are really good, others omg

the shipping wars were brutal. which is crazy for a series where everyone is already in their own canonical relationship, but it still happened

Rachel was the devil 😭 the poor girl couldn't catch a break to save her life

OMG DUMB PERCY it was so hard to find anything without Percy being a complete idiot or him and Jason saying 'Bro" every 5 seconds

those fuck ass tattoos with like the HP (deathly hallows) symbol, riptide, and a mocking jay or smth, I'm so glad I couldn't get a tattoo back then

The "inspirational" quotes things that were like "Annabeth taught me..., Katniss learned..., Hermione said...," you know what I mean

"They're not just books/characters!" was my version of "it's not a phase mom!!!"

anyways that's it for now!! this whole thing probably doesn't make any sense 😭

I almost started crying from nostalgia at a Percy Jackson TikTok today... like this TV show is making my childhood come back to life

I'm not exactly and OG og, but I've been in this fandom long enough that I had to wait for HoH and BOO to come out. Yeah I'm one of the ones who read about Percy letting go of the cliff and then had to WAIT to find out what happened next. 8y/o me was shook

AND I've been here long enough that all the fandom stuff was on ff.n and I had to use Google to find fics I wanted instead of an awesome tagging system, and I would watch hours of those AMVs on YouTube where the same 20 pics from Vira and random Pinterest photos were edited to different Midwest emo songs like Coldplay and 21 Pilots. That was my shit man, and also how I discovered my music taste lmfao

yeah this post really has no value other than to write down my thoughts, I'm so happy for this show, cuz I love that the fandom is coming back to life and new people are discovering my babies!!! I finally get to share PJO with my non-reader family and friends (even if I'm a bit salty that they never read the books)

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fandom #pjo #percy jackson tv show #percy jackson tv series #percy jackson #pjo hoo toa #riordanverse #pjo series #early fandom activites #back in the old days #heroes of olympus #nostalgia #way back when #like 10 to 15 years ago idek #rrverse #fandom #childhood

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pollyna · 2 years ago

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Navy regs are in books that quote books that quote books. Ron has all of them somewhere in the house, with Tom's precise handwriting pointing out all the spelling issues and doing the theoretical maths his degree didn't help him to understand. In a less neat calligraphy, in some pages, Nick's notes are mixed with doodles and his own notes. Of Annapolis he will forever remember the heat and the hours in class, before their callsigns, when Nick used to make him late because he had to kiss him one minute more and Tom had the most convenient, and convicing, excuse for them.

(Maybe he could find some of those books and show them to Bradley the next time he's going to come around. He could probably appreciate them? Or maybe he should ask Maverick?)

Regs say no tattoo, but regs say a lot of shit Ice used to correct back then and that he corrected during the years. Regs say no tattoos, and Tom said they were stupid, so Ron got his first, then his second, and half of his right sleeve. The only people who know of them are his friends, his doctors, his mirror and his tattoo artist. Having to wear a shirt all day, and a jacket for most of it, has its advantages, even if he fucking hates being an admiral most of the time. But it's almost time; another couple of years, and he's going to retire and never again put a foot on a Navy base.

The studio isn't the biggest in town, but Ron knows the artist and their dad, and they are both the best for what he needs. He's so focused on the piece of paper between his hands that he almost misses two young women saluting him, with a half-panicked Adrmial Kerner, sir!

At ease, Lieutenants, glad to see someone knows where to get good ones. He smiles because he knows they shouldn't be there, but he shouldn't be either, so it's not really a problem. He's going to add something when something, someone, hugs his leg and has all his attention. Oh, who do we have here? George? You're so big now, boy! he picks up the kid. Mom is waiting for you! he points towards one of the rooms, and, in less than five steps he takes, George tells him all he can fit in, and it's a lot.

(Ron finds himself wondering if Bradley was the same at that age.)

So you're already back for the next piece, uhuh? a voice asks. You know, I can't live without you, hon, he answers, laughing loudly. They laugh with him, but it dies when he passes them the piece of paper. I'm so sorry, Ron, they murmur, and he finds himself smiling lightly, trying not to cry again, thank you Carly.

He takes off his jacket and then his shirt, and his right arm is colorful but not whole. Are you ready, big guy? they smile, dipping the tattoo gun in the red ink as ready as I was the first time he answers. Carly draws and talks, asking questions about the kid (he's a man now and he's almost as tall as me), about the kids (if they destroyed the base while I was gone, at least they're going to let me retire), about Tom and there, Ron has to take a breath because it fucking hurts. He doesn't know if it's the point they're working on or missing Tom or both, but he has to ask Carly to stop for a minute. (He was-the last few days were the hardest. Did you know he used to write mathematical formulas when he was bored during lessons? He and Nick were good friends, Tom was the reason behind the Mother Goose. I miss him. I miss them all Carly). Almost five hours have passed by the time it's done, and by that point they're humming random songs and listening to the description of the rock George found outside his school that same morning. All done, Admiral. You already know what you have to do, right? I'd like to see you next week to check on some of the edges around the elbow, but it's already looking pretty great. Ron barely hears her because he's so intent on looking at his arm, where now Tom's name is adorning his arm, just inches away from Nick and Carole's. Yeah, yeah whenever you want Carl'.

(It's seven in the evening and the cemetery is empty. The bouquet is a happy one, and his shirt leaves are already up. It's done, I finally finished it. He starts and you're here all together now. I miss both of you. I hope Tom's there too. I hope you're all okay now.)

The regs say no tattoos, and Tom said fuck 'em all, and now they are all there while he flies and teaches and lives another day, under his uniform and out in the open.

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nationalharryleague · 4 years ago

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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!

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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries) and Lu (@meetmymouth) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)

***

Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.

If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.

But this time, she thought they might be going too far.

“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”

“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”

His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.

But something kept holding her back.

“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”

“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”

That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.

In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.

“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”

“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”

A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”

“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.

Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.

“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.

***

The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.

She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.

If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.

She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.

She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.

She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.

When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.

And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.

The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.

To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.

She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.

But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.

“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.

She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.

“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”

“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.

“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”

From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.

Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”

His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.

She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.

She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.

“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”

“How so?”

“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.

His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.

“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”

“I see,” she mused.

They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.

Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.

“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.

“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.

Y/N looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.

She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.

“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”

***

They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.

All was going according to Jeff’s plan.

Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.

She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.

Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.

Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.

It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.

Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour

She was honestly speechless. This was huge.

She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.

She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.

The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.

But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.

It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.

Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.

The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.

She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.

It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.

I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.

His response came only seconds later.

Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?

She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.

I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.

She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.

People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.

Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.

Really good job, kiddos.

Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.

@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.

***

The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.

While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.

She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.

Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.

She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.

It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.

“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.

“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”

“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”

“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.

“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”

“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.

“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”

There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.

“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.

They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.

Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.

“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.

“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Emma,” she breathed.

“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”

Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.

“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.

“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”

Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”

Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.

***

The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.

Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.

She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.

Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.

“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”

His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”

Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.

A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.

“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”

Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.

They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.

From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.

She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.

She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.

Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.

“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.

“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”

“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.

“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.

She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.

She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.

Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.

Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.

“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”

***

He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”

About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.

Fans took notice and loved it.

A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.

The fans loved that too.

But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”

The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.

They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”

Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.

There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.

He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.

“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.

“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”

“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”

“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.

“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”

It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.

“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”

Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.

“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.

“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”

“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.

Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.

When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window. “I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”

An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”

“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”

She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.

She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.

The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”

The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.

“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.

“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.

“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”

“But it was rude.”

“It was necessary.”

The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.

***

It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.

Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.

She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.

“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.

Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.

Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.

“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”

“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.

“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”

Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.

“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”

“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.

“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.

She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.

“We have to celebrate.”

It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.

After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.

“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.

“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.

“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”

“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.

“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”

“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”

“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”

“Can I ask you?”

“What?”

“About your ex.”

She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”

“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”

He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.

With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.

“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”

A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.

“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.

“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”

“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.

“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”

Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”

“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”

“What a dirtbag.”

“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”

“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”

“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.

“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”

She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.

“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.

“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.

“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”

“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.

“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”

“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”

“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”

“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.

“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”

“Rude-”

“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”

“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.

“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.

“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.

“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”

She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”

“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.

“Wait, I have another!”

“Watch it, smart ass.”

“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”

“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”

“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”

“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.

“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”

She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.

Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.

He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.

He was her best friend.

And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.

“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”

“Just remember me when you get famous.”

“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”

Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.

“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.

It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.

“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”

He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.

He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.

“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.

She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.

“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”

“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.

“You’re welcome, love.”

His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.

“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”

“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.

“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.

“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”

“Just practicing.”

His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.

But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.

He was always in hers.

***

There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.

But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.

She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.

The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.

She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.

Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.

“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.

He smelled so good. He smelled like home.

She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.

“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”

“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.

“Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”

“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.

“Sing what?”

“That’s the surprise.”

“Do I even know the words?”

“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.

“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”

“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”

“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.

“I had Lambert put something together for you.”

“Of course you did.”

She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.

“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.

“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.

There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.

She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.

The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.

Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.

“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.

Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.

Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.

She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.

“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.

“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.

“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.

The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.

“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.

The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.

“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.

“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”

Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.

“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’

“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.

He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.

The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”

Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.

They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.

“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.

“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.

The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.

Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.

“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.

The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.

“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.

He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.

When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.

He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.

She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.

“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”

“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”

“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.

She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”

She could never say no to him.

Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.

She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.

If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.

She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.

“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”

“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.

His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.

The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.

The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”

“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.

He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”

“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?

They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.

“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”

“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”

“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”

“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.

She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.

Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”

There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?

She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.

She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.

A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.

All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.

The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.

***

The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.

She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?

But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.

It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.

There he was.

His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.

Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?

“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.

It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.

“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.

“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”

“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”

“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”

He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”

“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.

Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”

Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?

“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.

“Just a question, princess.”

She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”

“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.

She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”

“You're cruel.”

“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”

The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.

“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.

“I think so.”

“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”

“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”

Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”

“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.

“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”

“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.

“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.

“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.

“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”

“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”

“But why Harry’s?”

It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”

“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.

“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”

“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.

“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”

Fuck.

Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.

She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.

Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”

“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.

Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.

There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.

Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.

“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.

“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.

“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”

“I don’t think it would be weird.”

“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”

He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.

“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”

Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.

“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.

“Neither do I.”

The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.

He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.

Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever

When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.

“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.

“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.

“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.

“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.

His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”

“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”

“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”

“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MEAN THE WORLD!!!

An extra for our babies can be found here!

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missfangirll · 2 years ago

Text

Under your skin

Fandom: KinnPorsche Rating: General Relationship: Vegas / Pete Tags: fluff, tattoos, post-canon Words: 3177 Summary: Their story in five tattoos.

Read on AO3

- - - - -

This is what happens when I'm left alone with a plot bunny.. 😅

This is also my first attempt at writing for VegasPete, be kind 🥰

Please note: The plot follows the show, but with the addition of Venice as Vegas' and Pete's kid. (In the novel Venice is Vegas' little brother, who he decided to raise with Pete after Kan's death.)

- - - - -

- 1 -

The first time Vegas saw Pete’s tattoo, he didn’t pay it much attention beyond taunting the other man with its meaning, one way of many to poison his mind and break his spirit. It didn’t work, in the end, Pete as immovable as a mountain, even in the face of Vegas’ burning anger.

The second time that line was visible to him he was busy doing other things, his mind occupied with the tiny noises Pete made as he dragged his underwear down his thighs, kissing and nipping at the exposed skin.

The third time, when the storm had passed and they were lying in Vegas’ cramped hospital bed, he took his time, slowly caressing his index finger over the black letters.

“Why this quote,” he asked softly.

Pete hummed contentedly, shifting slightly on the pillow. After a while, he replied, “Because I believe in it.”

Vegas paused his ministrations, resuming them with a tiny huff of laughter when Pete nudged his hand impatiently. He drifted a bit closer to the other, nuzzling his cheek in Pete’s fluffy hair.

“I know you do,” he said carefully, “but...” He trailed off, not sure how to voice the question, but Pete seemed to understand anyway.

“I believe in it,” he said again, voice a bit firmer than before. “When I was young my father lied to me about what had happened to my mum, then he wanted me to lie to my teachers, trainers, friends...” He inhaled shakily. “His whole life was one big bluff, he never achieved anything, and when I finally realised that, I swore to myself I would never follow this path.” He turned his head to press a soft kiss to Vegas’ jaw. “I believe in it,” he reiterated again, and this time, Vegas thought he understood.

- 2 -

“Where have you been?” Pete’s voice sounded tight, strained with a carefully concealed worry, as he stood in the small safehouse kitchen, deliberately relaxing his posture, Vegas noticed. He shrugged.

“Went out,” he said, ignoring the looks he received from the bodyguards and Pete alike. He shouldn’t have ditched them, he knew that, but he hadn’t needed an audience for what he had planned to do. Pete, as always, seemed to sense that there was more to Vegas’ silence and shooed the bodyguards out, not without giving them jovial shoulder pats and encouraging smiles. Vegas frowned, but didn’t say anything. When Pete turned back to him, he tried a smile. Pete’s brows furrowed in response. Biting his bottom lip, he took a step closer, hesitating for a second, then threw his arms around Vegas, hiding his face in the collar of Vegas’ silk shirt.

“I was so worried,” he mumbled against the other’s skin. “Never do that again.”

“Sorry,” Vegas replied a bit sheepishly, then winced as Pete’s arms tightened around him, pressing them closer together. Of course Pete noticed and immediately took a step back, his arms now looped loosely around Vegas’ neck.

“What’s wrong?”, he demanded, but Vegas shook his head. Raising a single eyebrow, Pete paused for a moment, then trailed a hand slowly down Vegas’ chest, his ribs, then stilled as he felt the plastic wrapper underneath the shirt. With a searching look at the other’s face, he slowly, carefully pulled the hem out of Vegas’ pants, then paused again, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.

“You got a tattoo?”, he asked, incredulous. “You ditched your bodyguards to get a tattoo?”

Vegas inhaled deeply, then took Pete’s hands in his. “I did,” he said simply, “because it was important.”

Pete looked up at him, then back down at his hip. “What does it even say?”

Vegas turned slightly into the kitchen light so Pete could read the single line in English, etched into his skin.

No legacy is so rich as honesty.

Pete went very still, his breathing hitching as he recognised the quote. “But... But why...,” he whispered, then faltered, breaths still uneven.

Vegas pulled him close, closer, then pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Because it is important to you,” he said softly, “and you are very important to me.” Another kiss, this time to Pete’s cheek. “You are my most important person, and if this is what you want in life, then I want it too.”

Pete opened his mouth a few times, closing it again, not finding anything to respond, until he finally surged up to capture Vegas’ lips, throwing his arms around the other man’s shoulders as he melted into the kiss.

- 3 -

Vegas loved Macau. He really did. He was happy that the little brat had gotten over their father’s death (and the following nightmare of carefully concealed threats against them) relatively unscathed, he loved that Macau had taken to Pete like a puppy to a guard dog, looking at him like he hung the moon, he even accepted that Macau’s way of forgiving him for the attempted suicide-by-being-shot-by-your-cousin–because-you-raided-his-home was being extra snarky and demanding attention almost non-stop. No, he really was grateful he still had a brother to torment, but right now he wished nothing more than for Macau to vanish.

They had been living in the former safehouse for almost four months now, and the majority of this time was spent on simply living: doing mundane chores, going grocery shopping, reading, cooking, playing video games. It was everything Vegas – and Macau – had never experienced in their lives and so they both revelled in it, but that also meant that Vegas hadn’t had a prolonged period of time alone with Pete, and it showed. Right now, as they were sitting on the living room floor playing a board game, Pete’s hair mussed and fluffy from his earlier shower, his cheeks flushed with excitement, grinning widely, Vegas wanted nothing more than tear his clothes off with his teeth and ravish him right there on the carpet.

But he couldn’t, and so he endured yet another round of Macau cheerfully eliminating them in the game. Pete cried out in mock-despair, while Macau gave an evil laugh and collected his in-game money, when his phone buzzed behind him on the couch. With a start, he dropped his spoils and scrambled for his phone, reading the text, then levelled a careful glance at Vegas.

“Hia,” he began, sounding unsure, “would you be okay if I stayed the night at a friend’s? I know it’s still not perfectly safe, but I’ll take a bodyguard and–”

“Yes,” blurted Vegas, cutting Macau’s explanation short. Both his brother and his boyfriend had an amused expression on their faces as the former cleared his throat. “Alright then, I’ll grab a bag and call Jay.” He gave his brother another calculating look. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, yes,” Vegas waved a hand, “Text me when something comes up.”

With a nod and a badly hidden grin Macau left for his room. After a while they heard a car pull up, then Macau’s steps as he left in a hurry. Pete still hadn’t moved, looking at Vegas with an unreadable expression.

“What,” Vegas snapped, harsher than intended. Pete grinned knowingly.

“Nothing,” he said, shifting slightly in his seat. “It’s just, normally you would insist on our safety and–”

He was interrupted as Vegas pounced on him, cushioning his fall with a hand on the back of Pete’s head, capturing his mouth in a bruising kiss. Pete huffed a laugh, then yielded into Vegas’ touch, who busied himself with rucking up Pete’s shirt to, finally, finally, touch his naked skin. Pete seemed equally impatient, hastily pulling his own shirt over his head to reveal his toned chest. Vegas leaned down to press a kiss to his clavicle, then stilled. Right in front of his nose, crossing one of the silvery scars he had left there...

“What,” he croaked hoarsely,” is that?”

Pete grinned. “A hedgehog. Do you like him?”

Vegas felt as if his brain had melted. Of all the things Pete could have chosen, of all the places he could have put that... Between the scars, tucked under Pete’s collarbone, sat a tiny hedgehog tattoo, nothing more than a smudge of ink in the living room's dim light. Pete watched him, looking for all the world like a satisfied cat, a pleased grin on his lips.

When Vegas couldn’t respond, he explained, “I thought, your hedgehog brought us together, in a way, so I wanted to commemorate him, and I know that you don’t like the scars, so I thought I’d add something else for you to focus on.”

Vegas swallowed hard. He didn’t like those scars, but only because he was the one who inflicted them, who caused Pete so much pain that he sometimes felt crushed by the guilt. Pete had forgiven him a long time ago, had said that Vegas hadn’t known what they would become for each other, that he was sure Vegas would never hurt him again, that he trusted him. And Vegas had cried, had apologised, had cried some more and wondered if he could forgive himself some day.

But now there was a little cartoon hedgehog, drawing his attention every time his eyes wanted to follow one of the silvery lines, and with a sob Vegas threw his arms around Pete, crushing his face into the other’s neck.

“Thank you,” he whispered, muffled by Pete’s skin. “Thank you so much.”

Pete smiled against his temple, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I love you.”

- 4 -

The day had started like countless others, but by noon Vegas felt like crawling out of his skin. He was restless, his mind whirring, convinced there was something wrong, with Pete, with Macau, with both of them. After almost an hour of pacing the living area from the kitchen counter to the coffee table and back again, he caved and called Macau. Hearing his brother’s annoyed “What?” was a relief, even when he couldn’t quite explain why he had called, and so Macau had ended the call with a curse and a mumbled “Get a hobby.”

Pete had gone to the main family’s compound earlier and although he didn’t have to leave his phone anymore, he mostly was far too occupied with Khun’s antics and his former coworkers to respond to any text. Still, Vegas felt far too wired, so with a sigh he dialled Pete’s number. The call connected after two rings, a noise like static so loud Vegas had to hastily remove the phone from his ear, then the connection went out. A second try only reached Pete’s voicemail. Vegas stared at his phone, trying to breathe evenly despite his growing panic. Forcing himself to keep calm, he tried Kinn’s number, then Porsche’s, even Khun’s – all with the same result, the call going straight to voicemail.

Vegas took a stumbling step back, collapsing onto the sofa. No. No, no, no. It couldn’t be, not now, not when...

His ringing phone interrupted his spiralling thoughts, and he scrambled to accept the call. Pete’s voice sounded distorted through the line, but Vegas felt a wave of relief sweep over him at the sound.

“Hey, love,” he heard, “we, um, we had an incident at the compound. Some idiots thought it was a good idea to scale the garden wall and open fire at the people sitting at the table.” He paused, obviously listening to something being said at his end that Vegas couldn’t understand, then continued, “Nobody was hurt, at least not on our side,” he huffed a dry laugh, “but Khun Korn is pissed and even Khun Tankhun is up in arms, it took a while to calm him down.” He paused again, and in the silence Vegas could hear his own racing heart. “I’ll be home in twenty minutes,” he said then, “Pol is driving me. We’re better not taking any risks at this point, even when Khun Kinn said it was the Italians.”

Vegas croaked an affirmation, then ended the call. He sat on the sofa in silence, until he heard the front door open, then Pete’s cheerful “See you later!”, before he walked into the living room. At the sight of Vegas he paused, then rushed towards him, kneeling in front of the sofa.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said softly, brushing a strand of Vegas’ hair behind his ear. “I tried to call you immediately, but my phone broke when I dove for cover, and....” He trailed off as he saw Vegas wince and avert his gaze. With two fingers under his chin, he turned his face upwards again so their eyes met. “I’m alright,” he said, very carefully enunciating the words. “I wasn’t hurt. They didn’t even come for me,” he added with a note of wry amusement that Vegas didn’t feel. He still felt numb from the shock, all possibilities happening at the same time in his head, providing him with one horrible scenario after the other.

“I know,” he said eventually, “it’s just... If I hadn’t let you go there, then–”

“That wasn’t your call to make,” Pete interrupted him, voice still soft but with a hint of steel. “You don’t decide where I go, Vegas. Not anymore.”

That last part hit home, and Vegas suddenly found himself clutching at Pete’s shoulders, burying his face in his neck, breathing harshly.

“I know,” he rasped, “I know, but sometimes all I can think about is how I want to tie you to myself so you can never leave again, because one day you will, and it will kill me and–”

Pete’s grip on him tightened. “I won’t,” he said firmly, “never. I will never leave you, but I need you to trust me. You don’t need chains to keep me by your side, love.”

Vegas nodded, still desperately holding on to Pete.

After they both had calmed down, they had settled more comfortably onto the sofa, Vegas drawing something as Pete absently caressed his hair while reading a book. Vegas was so immersed in his little project that he didn’t notice at first that Pete’s ministrations had stopped, the other watching him intently.

“What are you drawing,” Pete asked after a while.

Vegas hummed, then showed him the paper. Pete stayed quiet for so long that Vegas turned around.

“It’s a tattoo idea I had,” he tried to explain, but Pete still didn’t reply. “It’s a chain,” he said eventually, making Pete frown.

“I can see that, but why...” He trailed off, looking conflicted and hurt.

Vegas hurried to explain, almost shoving the drawing in Pete’s face in his haste. “But it’s broken,” he said, pointing to the missing link. “It’s broken, because I will never put any kind of chains on you again.” Pete inhaled deeply, but didn’t say anything, so Vegas continued, “Also, it’s my chain. Because I was chained to my father’s legacy before I met you. You freed me, in a way, so this is a symbol for this.” He smiled slightly at Pete. “Also, look closely. There is a red thread replacing the missing link, because you were what I was missing. So, yeah, it’s a chain, but–”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Pete smiled radiantly at him, then leaned in to kiss him, his whole body melting into Vegas’ embrace.

- 5 -

If someone would have told Vegas a year ago that one day he would live with his brother and his boyfriend, raising a kid together, he probably would have laughed himself silly, then shot them for being insane. But here he was, rocking the freshly changed baby on one arm, while he tried to stir the pan with the other, softly cursing in the process. Macau was on his way home and he had excelled in a test the day before, so Vegas wanted to reward him with his favourite dish. That had been a good plan in theory, at least until Venice had woken up and begun to wail when he couldn’t find his favourite person – Vegas silently agreed that Pete deserved all the love – but that had put them in the kitchen together, since Pete had gone for a quick errand half an hour ago. So, with a still sniffling infant in his arms, Vegas tried to remember if the recipe required lemongrass or lime juice, as the door swung open to reveal a slightly dishevelled Pete and a red-cheeked Macau.

Recognising his favourite dad, Venice gave a deafening squeal, trying to wriggle out of Vegas’ hold to get to his other parent faster. With a huff of dry laugh Vegas handed the delighted baby over.

“Nobody appreciates me here,” he complained good-naturedly as he pressed a kiss to Pete’s grinning mouth. From the door, he heard Macau make a gagging sound, and so he deepened the kiss, just to annoy his brother a little. As he pulled back, Pete was fully laughing, shaking his head at their antics, as he parked the baby on his hip.

“Are you finished with lunch?”, he asked, “Macau has something to show you.”

Vegas raised an eyebrow, then looked expectantly at his brother, who just shrugged, then grinned. With a shrug of his own Vegas turned back towards the kitchen to finish their meal.

After they had eaten their fill, with Macau’s loudly voiced appreciation, Vegas put down his chopsticks with emphasis, levelling a look at Macau, then Pete.

“So?”, he prompted, when nobody made a move.

Macau cleared his throat, looking to Pete, who in turn looked at Vegas, his expression soft and so fond Vegas had to avert his eyes for a moment.

“I have something for you,” Macau said finally, shifting in his chair. “I got it before you took Venice home, in the hospital, when...” He broke off, seeking Pete’s help.

Pete nodded at him. “Maybe just show him.”

Macau inhaled, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small sheet of paper, sliding it over the table to his brother. Vegas took a look at it – and stopped breathing. In front of him, on a crumpled piece of notebook paper was a footprint. A tiny one, not longer than his index finger, printed in dark blue ink, showing every crease. There was a little smudge in one corner, as if the child had moved too early, and Vegas found himself stroking a tentative finger over the stain. His throat was tight, his eyes dangerously wet, so he hid his expression and didn’t look up.

Macau cleared his throat again, but this time Pete was the one to speak. “We thought,” he said slowly, “if you want, maybe we could get this tattooed. All of us,” he added after a pause. Vegas' gaze shot up, fixating him.

Pete smiled brightly at him, nudging Macau’s shoulder as he stage-whispered, “I think he likes it.” Macau snorted, smiling equally widely. “I think he does,” he replied in the same tone.

Vegas stood up, closing the distance between them in two steps, pulling them both into a crushing hug. Into Macau’s hair he said, “He does.” and felt both their arms tighten around his shoulders.

- - - - -

I have Opinions about the fact that Pete's tattoo is a quote from Shakespeare's All's Well That Ends Well and the whole line is "The honour of a maid is her name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty."

That is the same play that gave us

- Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none. - That I should love a bright particular star, he is so above me. - The hind that would be mated by the lion must die for love. - Service is no heritage. - The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. (which is the source of Pete's "there is no evil" speech imo)

Conclusion: Pete has canonically read Shakespeare and I will die on this hill 😂

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #vegaspete #vegaspetemacau #vegas theerapanyakul #macau theerapanyakul #pete phongsakorn #my writing #fluff

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