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heyyyharry · 4 years ago

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Chapter 13: The Oscars

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which they attend the Oscars and Y/N almost misses it.

Word count: 5k

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Song in the kitchen scene: A Million Times - Alice Kristiansen ft. Julian Lamadrid

Wattpad link (Thea as Y/N)

“And the Oscar goes toooooooo...HARRY STYLES!”

“Stop making fun of me!”

“I’m not!” Y/N plumped down on to the treehouse floor, sitting with her legs crossed as she shook Harry’s arm gently. “Come on. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I’m not being hard on myself. I’m being realistic,” he replied, toying with a yellow leaf he’d found on the floor just to avoid making eye contact as they spoke. Y/N didn’t get why he was embarrassed and so doubtful of himself. She had seen him on stage when he’d been Romeo last year. He was one of the best kid actors and no one could convince her otherwise.

“Your new drama teacher was a meanie,” she huffed, arms folded across her chest.

Harry finally cast her a glance as the corners of his mouth turned up. “You’re not being objective. Mrs Berry was.”

“You’re a kid! Kids are allowed to make mistakes. That’s the only way they can learn and improve. My writing sucks but you don’t see me giving up.”

“Has anyone ever told you your writing sucks?”

“Celine’s brother.”

“He’s an arsehole.”

“Harry!”

“Sorry,” Harry chuckled, lifting both hands. “He’s a bum.”

Y/N didn’t laugh when he did. If her mum and dad knew he cursed all the time, they wouldn’t let her hang out with him anymore. “Well,” she exhaled. “I feel sorry for your teacher. She probably has nothing better to do with her life than crushing kids’ dreams because her dreams had died with her talent when she became a teacher instead of an actress.”

“Are you sure you’re ten years old?” Harry smiled, giving her a look that could be interpreted as either amazed or amused or both.

She’d never told him, but he had one of the best smiles she’d ever seen, which was why she was sure he would become successful. Having a great smile was a great quality for every actor. At least that was what her best friend Celine had told her.

“Are you sure you’re older than me?” she rebutted.

He lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. “I’m gonna listen to you because you’re a know-it-all.”

She said nothing and launched herself to her feet, clearing her throat. He watched with a confused look on his face when she picked up his water bottle and held it with both hands like the way an actor would hold the Oscar statue.

“Harry is too shy to come on stage and accept this Academy Award,” she said, “so I’m gonna accept it on his behalf. He’d like to thank his family, his drama teacher Mrs Berry, and his biggest fan Y/N aka Bambi. These are the people who helped shape his career.” Harry doubled over laughing as she lifted the water bottle above her head. “Thank you so much for this award. Have a good night, Los Angeles!”

Y/N contemplated her reflection in the full-length mirror while Harry was watching her from the couch on the side. She cast him a sideways glance, to which he responded with a thumbs-up and a grin.

She sucked in a breath, looking back at herself. She looked different. She felt different. She had worn plenty of expensive gowns that didn’t belong to her and attended countless exclusive events with Harry before. But this. This was the Academy Awards. And she was wearing the kind of dress that was meant to turn heads on the red carpet, the kind of dress that models wore on the runway. She used to watch award shows with her best friends all the time, and could never imagine herself pulling off such elegant outfits. But now, she almost looked like she belonged at the Oscars.

She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her hair was in a simple low ponytail, so she knew the dress had done all the work to make her look desirable. Harry’s designer had taken the inspiration from the iconic silver dress in The Little Mermaid, when Ariel returned from the sea and reunited with Prince Eric. Harry had joked that Y/N resembled a fawn more than a princess, and she had smacked him hard on the arm, proving that she was neither.

“Is it too tight?” asked Meili – the designer. She was so kind that Y/N felt like they’d been friends forever. But on second thought, being a professional, it was Meili’s job to make her clients feel most comfortable in and out of her designs.

“No, this is perfect,” Y/N said.

“Are you sure?” She confirmed with a nod. “All right.” Meili patted her gently on the back. “How about we try walking?”

And so Y/N descended the steps and sauntered about the fitting area to make sure she was comfortable and able to breathe normally. Harry had risen from the sofa and come to stand beside Meili, his eyes dancing with amusement as he watched Y/N strike a silly pose.

“What do you think?” she asked him.

Instead of answering the question, he turned to Meili. “Can you show me how to take it off?”

Meili had quite a good laugh watching Harry with his hands up in defence as Y/N tried to hit him without hurting the dress. It was then that the sound of her ringtone from her bag came for his rescue.

He pecked her cheek and stayed to chat with Meili about his outfit while Y/N answered the call from her agent.

“Y/N!” Laura said before Y/N could speak. “What are you doing, babe?”

“I’m at the fitting for the Oscars.”

There was a pause followed by a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I nearly forgot that you’re attending the Oscars. Are you nervous?”

“Kind of.” Y/N giggled. “But I suppose you’re not calling me to ask what I’m doing, are you, Laura?”

“Of course not! I’d like to remind you that we’re having a party next Saturday!”

“Right, right, party–No!”

Both Harry and Meili whipped their heads back to gape at Y/N.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “I thought it was a brilliant idea–”

Y/N shushed her boyfriend as she indicated the phone to let him know she wasn’t talking to him.

“Hi, Laura!” he shouted, and Laura, who obviously had heard it, squealed like a schoolgirl and demanded to be put on speaker.

Y/N tapped the speaker icon as she slumped into the couch where Harry soon joined her, sitting with an arm around her shoulders. “Hi, Laura,” he repeated.

Laura laughed excitedly. “Hi, Harry! We’ve never met before but I’ve heard so much about you!”

“And I’ve heard so much about you!”

“I’m your client, Laura. Not him,” Y/N snorted as Harry kissed her temple.

“Oh, yes, right.” Laura cleared her throat to compose herself. “So what’s the matter? I thought–”

“The Oscars is next Sunday night, Laura. I have to catch the plane on Saturday morning. I can’t go to your party.”

“Your party, Y/N.”

“What party?” Harry asked.

Y/N opened her mouth to answer but Laura was faster. “To celebrate your girl’s debut novel! It hasn’t come out yet, but everything is settled. It’s a tradition. I always throw this party for my client. Everyone at the agency will be there and there will be some guests from the publishing house and some published authors. It’ll be grand.”

Y/N sucked in a breath and pinched her temple, her eyes met Harry’s. His expression was unreadable. To Laura, she asked, “Can we push it back a few days?”

“Absolutely not! I’ve sent out the invitations. You told me any date this month would do!”

Y/N had. And she kind of regretted it now. She’d been chatting with Gemma when Laura asked her about the date. Gemma had been devastated by what had happened with Winton, so Y/N had been busy comforting her and told Laura to just pick any date she’d like. It was all her fault; she should have reminded Laura about the Oscars.

Y/N glanced back at Harry, hoping he didn’t think she’d purposely prioritized her success over his. Because why would she think her first novel was a better reason to celebrate than his first-ever Oscar nomination?

But Harry didn’t seem vexed. His dimples appeared as he traced his fingertips along the strap of her sparkling dress. “It’s okay, Laura,” he said to the phone. “You don’t have to change the date.”

Y/N’s eyes went round as Laura hissed, “Yes!”

“Baby–”

“You’ll go to your party,” he said, “and I’ll send my ride to pick you up and take you to the airport. They won’t leave without you, silly.”

Right. She’d be travelling on his private jet.

“But...I’ll be late.”

“So?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I can manage the first few hours without you. Why should your career be any less important than mine?”

“He’s right, Y/N,” Laura said.

Y/N swivelled in her seat to face him as she took his hand. “I’ll just come to say hello to the guests–”

“And give a speech!” Laura interjected, making Y/N roll her eyes and Harry chuckle.

“Fine, I’ll come to say hello and give a speech and then I’ll come to you.”

“Deal?” His lips twitched as he gave her his pinkie.

“Deal,” she said, hooking her pinkie with his.

The party was insane.

Y/N had specifically asked Laura not to overdo this, but the agent had insisted on throwing her favourite client the most Gasby party she could pull off. Y/N didn’t even know half of the faces who’d shaken her hand and congratulated her on her debut novel which hadn’t been released yet. She felt like a fraud. What if these people ended up hating her book? What if this party made her seem like a show-off? She was already dating an Oscar nominee; she didn’t want to be branded as any more privileged than that.

She kept the speech she’d promised Laura as short and simple as possible, then returned polite smiles to the guests as she made her way to the back of the room. She wouldn’t be surprised if these folks thought that she had zero personality. When it came to self-branding, she needed all the help she could get. How did Harry do it? How did he charm people into liking him before they even viewed his work? As much as she loved him, she couldn’t help but envy him sometimes.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress before getting another glass of champagne and finishing it a second before Laura came up to check on her.

“You okay? You look a bit pale,” Laura said.

“Well, I tend to get anxious at formal events,” Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “I usually attend these kinds of parties with Harry. He’d do all the talking and help me get involved in the conversation. He’s very charismatic.”

“I’m charismatic!” Laura said with a hand on her chest. Y/N responded with a smile. Laura wascharismatic. The problem was, Y/N was more comfortable with Harry. Or maybe she couldn’t help but feel guilty that she’d miss the red carpet walk with him. She hated to be the one to break a promise.

“You need to stop checking your watch like modern Cinderella at the royal ball.”

Y/N dropped her arm back to her side. “I’m so nervous, Laura.”

“About this party? People love you!”

“About...everything.” This party. Her 2 AM flight. The Oscars. Showing up late. Missing Harry’s category. Her book release. The likelihood of having people roast her book unforgivingly on the internet.

She had the tendency of freaking out over insignificant matters whenever good things kept happening to her. Because, as usual, bad luck would come for her when she was most defenceless and took away her joy. This time, she could feel it in her stomach.

Laura gripped her shoulders and squeezed them tight. “You are my superstar, Y/N. You are the shit. You are the most brilliant–”

“Okay, I get it, I get it,” she laughed, pulling Laura into a hug. “Thank you for tonight. I owe you so much, Laura.”

“Don’t be stupid. You saved my life. Literally,” Laura smirked and gently patted Y/N’s cheek. “Now, let’s go say goodbye to the guests. It’s almost time for you to go.”

Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She’d been waiting for this moment since she’d arrived. People might wonder why she seemed more energetic saying goodbye to them than when she’d welcomed them to the party. But she was just happy that she could finally leave. The last thing she wanted was to show up late for her flight (Harry had said the plane wouldn’t leave without her but she hated delays anyway) and missed more of the Oscar ceremony tomorrow than she’d allowed herself to.

The journey to LA happened in a rush. She’d slept for most of her twelve-hour flight because she’d been so exhausted. Harry’s bodyguard only woke her up when they were about to land. The next thing she knew, she was taken to his LA house. She had never been there before. It was much bigger than the one in London, but less homely, perhaps because she’d known every corner of the place that was supposed to be theirs. This one just seemed like a resort.

The hair and makeup team and Harry’s stylist were waiting upstairs to make her Oscars-ready. She’d eaten quite a lot on the plane before it took off, so she feared she wouldn’t fit in the dress. Magically, she did. And she felt so silly for feeling like she might burst into tears.

When the makeup artist asked how she’d like to have her makeup done, she told them to make her recognizable. They didn’t ask her to elaborate on that, so she hoped they knew what she meant. She didn’t want to be the centre of attention tonight, especially when she was going to show up late. The only attention she craved for was Harry’s and she was going to get it anyway, with or without this glamorous costume.

Fortunately, the makeup artist did a fantastic job. They gave her simple eye makeup and red lips and put her hair up into a classic high bun. It wasn’t until tonight that she couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror. Harry would be so impressed.

As Harry’s team did some final touches on her face, one girl showed her some clips and pictures of Harry on the red carpet. He looked dashingly handsome and comfortable, and when being interviewed, he said he loved her and couldn’t wait to see her later. The part of her that had been feeling guilty could finally let go of that breath she’d been holding. She thanked the makeup team for everything and came downstairs when her car arrived.

The chauffeur was a middle-aged man with greyish hair and a kind face. He was talking on the phone and ended the call as soon as he saw her. He looked rather tired, but before she could ask for his name and if he was feeling well, she remembered that she’d left her clutch upstairs, and so she asked him to wait while she went back to get it. He told her to take her time.

When she came downstairs for the second time, the man was on the phone again. He didn’t see her return so he didn’t hang up. Y/N couldn’t help but overhear the last part of the conversation where he told whoever he was speaking to that he would be at the hospital as soon as he finished his job.

“Is everything okay, sir?” she asked once he’d finished the call. He whipped around, seemingly startled to see her there. “You can tell me if something is wrong. I might be able to help,” she said.

The chauffeur looked hesitant at first. He worked his jaw for a moment before he could tell her, “My daughter...is sick. She’s just been taken to the hospital. I’ll go see her as soon as I take you to–”

“No! You’re going to see her now!” cried Y/N.

He squinted his eyes at her as if he thought she was testing him. “Are you...are you sure, Miss? Mr Styles told me–”

“I’ll talk to Harry for you. Don’t worry.”

Telling someone not to worry never seemed to work. The man screwed up his face as he shoved a hand in his hair. “Should I send you another car, Miss? Mr Styles said...he said that you couldn’t drive.”

“Of course I can!” Y/N blurted, then realized how defensive she’d sounded.

She could drive. However, she was afraid to sit behind the wheel.

Ever since her accident, she’d been using public transport and let Harry drive her around instead of doing it herself. He knew it wasn’t just her anxiety of getting into another accident. Her mother had died in a car crash, and Harry had seen how scared she’d been when he’d crashed his motorcycle. Those final thirty seconds after the collision and before she’d gone unconscious, Y/N had felt it all at once. Her mother’s death, her almost losing Harry, her head cracking open and the numbness when she lay on broken glass and her vision faded to black. She could only hope she would get through her fear this time.

“I’ll take one of his cars,” she reassured the man. “Don’t worry about me, sir. Your daughter needs you.”

The man thanked Y/N repeatedly and hurried back to the car parked in the drive. Y/N waited until he was gone, checked the time to make sure she’d make it, then she sucked in a deep breath and headed to the garage.

Harry was a bundle of nerves trying to act composed while the other nominations were being presented. There were cameras everywhere and they could zoom into his face at any moment so he could not look like he might throw up. He was here for his Best Actor nomination; it’d be so embarrassing if he couldn’t act like he was having the best time of his life.

Y/N should have been here a long time ago. Where the fuck was she? She’d texted him that she’d drive here by herself. He didn’t want to be pessimistic, but the last time she’d sat behind the wheel, she’d ended up in the hospital.

It’d been half a year since, but he couldn’t forget that feeling when he got the call. He was praying to God that the next time his phone buzzed, it would be her telling him she’d arrived safely. If something unpleasant was going to happen (as it always did), he would accept anything as long as she was safe.

The moment his phone sounded, he jolted so hard he might have startled the lady sitting beside him. Jeff’s words swivelled in his head: Do not check your phone during someone’s acceptance speech.Well, screw that. His girl wasn’t here and the last thing he would worry about was looking like an asshole on live television.

➣ I’m here.

When he saw those words, the lump in his throat dissolved and his body relaxed into the cushion. His fake smile had been replaced with a genuine one, so at least people who saw him texting during Brad Pitt’s speech would just assume he was texting his girlfriend, who was supposed to fill the vacancy next to him.

Good. I saved you a seat, he typed and sent.

➣ I’m staying backstage. I can’t go out there.

Harry’s smile dropped as he squirmed in his chair. Why? Are you okay?

She took a bit longer to reply.

➣ Yes, don’t worry. There’s a screen here. I can watch you.

Harry muttered a curse as he put his phone back into his pocket. After a moment of leg bouncing and lip biting, he decided to go check on her.

Y/N splashed water on her face, which was now clean of makeup and checked her pathetic reflection in the mirror one last time before she left the bathroom. She’d been sweating so hard on the way here that by the time she’d arrived, Harry’s beauty team’s two-hour of hard work had been ruined. She’d even ripped her dress by accident when she’d nearly fallen headfirst in the car park, so going out there to sit beside Harry would do so much damage to his reputation.

Besides, she was fatigued after the long flight and hadn’t rested since she got off the plane. She’d thrown up as soon as she’d texted him and found the bathroom. So it was for the best if she didn’t make an appearance tonight. It was less intimidating here backstage. She could just watch him on the screen and–

Where the fuck was he?

Her eyes frantically searched on the screen for her boyfriend.

Where had he gone?

No, he couldn’t–

“Bambi!”

She smacked him with her clutch as he rushed in for a hug. The backstage security and a few others couldn’t help the amusement as they watched them. Y/N flashed the strangers a smile before turning back to her boyfriend, who looked so stupidly happy it should be illegal. “Jeff would kill you! Go back out there!”

“But you’re here,” he said.

“I’m not nominated, you idiot!”

“I’m the idiot? You drove here!”

“I have a fucking license!”

“Then you’re an idiot with a fucking license!”

He didn’t wait for her to rebut and locked her in his arms, squeezing the air out of her like he hadn’t seen her in years. She held him back, for a second forgetting that she was sweating like a pig, her hair had fallen loose and her face weary from jetlag. She didn’t feel any less desirable, though. She knew he loved her anyway.

“Go out there with me,” he said, cupping her cheeks and kissing her nose.

“Are you crazy? Look at me!”

He pulled back to consider her appearance, his eyebrow arched. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

She glared at him as he grinned. “The world doesn’t wear rose-coloured glasses like you do.”

His face grew serious. “You’re right. Maybe I see a princess and they see a frog.”

Too familiar with his teasing, she snorted, “Your ability to go from Prince Charming to an arsehole never fails to amaze me.”

“My pleasure.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers just in time his phone chimed in his pocket. “Shit, that must be Jeff. I must go before he finds me here.” He let out a long heavy breath and then stroked her hair like she was a child. “Can you stay here by yourself, baby?”

“Keep talking like that and people might think you’re my dad,” she said.

“Daddy.” He smirked.

She hit him again, shaking with laughter. “Go!”

“Okay, love you, idiot.”

“Love you, too, idiot.”

He kissed her on the cheek and then he was gone.

Harry didn’t win.

Even though he’d said he wasn’t disappointed, and he didn’t seem disappointed at all, Y/N still suspected that he might be faking it. It wasn’t such a big loss since he’d been up against some big contenders. He was young, so there was a bigger chance for him to get an Oscar in the future. However, she knew the feeling of not expecting anything but still feeling awful when you didn’t get it. She’d known his chance was flimsy, and yet she had hoped he’d win somehow. She might have to wait until next year to hear his acceptance speech.

Exhausted (Y/N more than Harry), they skipped the after-party to have one at home by themselves. They drank champagne and danced barefoot around the kitchen in their nice clothes. The house which Y/N had compared to a resort soon became familiar with his presence.

Streetlights, stumbling home

To our very own, after party

Won't lie, when we're alone

You're my favourite poem to recite

Harry turned down the volume of the song playing on the speaker. As Y/N poured some more champagne, he climbed onto a chair, standing on one foot, the other foot resting on the kitchen island.

She watched him with lazy eyes and took another sip. “If you fall, I’ll let you fall.”

He chuckled. “I’m overwhelmed by your love, Bambi.” Then he shook his head and pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. It took her two seconds to figure out that it was his acceptance speech. She slid into a chair and gazed up at him with her chin on her knuckles.

He cleared his throat extravagantly and began by thanking the Academy, the cast and crew and the director of his movie, then his family and his team. It must be the wine that made every word he said in that posh accent extremely funny. She laughed so hard she almost fell off the chair.

Then, he took the longest pause to consider her, and the room sank to silence as he worked his jaw before he proceeded. “There’s this girl I love. She used to be my little secret but now she’s here watching me accept my first Academy Award. She’s the reason I’m here today, so I owe this one to her.”

Then he raised his glass as if it was the award and hopped off the chair. Before she could applaud, he’d pulled her to her feet and pressed his mouth against hers, kissing her as if she was the only thing he wanted. She kissed him back just as hard, hands in his hair, on his neck, his chest, his back, his face. Her whole body was on fire. It must be the wine. She needed to get out of this dress and get him out of his suit.

Went to bed without you (While you were sleeping)

Felt colder it used to (I crossed an ocean)

And I can't wait (And I can't wait)

'Till I get back to you

“It sounded better when I first wrote it. I’m kind of glad I didn’t win,” he said against her lips as he picked her up and sat her on the edge of the kitchen island.

She tipped her head back and laughed. “At least you weren’t going to propose to me on the stage.”

Suddenly, he stopped. She blinked as he pulled away, his mouth red and glossy from kissing her. She hadn’t even got a chance to feel bad for making that joke and he’d already stepped back. The next thing she knew, he was on one knee on the floor.

She slapped a hand over her open mouth. Her mind went blank, and the music in the background faded to white noise. The thundering beats in her chest made it hard for her to breathe. He wasn’t going to, was he? But if he was, was she going to say yes?

“My beautiful mermaid, frog, little deer,” he began with a straight face, and she choked out an unexpected laugh muffled by her hand. “I love you,” he said. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” Then he sucked in a breath. The suspense was killing her. “But...I don’t want to marry you–”

“Excuse me?!”

“–right now.”

She could tell he was trying his best not to guffaw at her reaction. She was confused and amused at the same time. What was going on? Was he really that drunk? He didn’t seem that drunk. She would kick his arse if he thought this was funny!

“I just want to let you know,” he went on despite the look on her face, “that I will ask you to marry me. I know you hate surprises and if I asked you unexpectedly, the chances of you saying no would be much higher. So let’s consider this as a proposal for a bigger proposal.” He wetted his lips, his eyes fixed on hers. “Y/N, my darling, will you allow me to ask you to marry me someday?”

She laughed out loud though her eyes were already filled with tears. She didn’t know why she was crying but she couldn’t stop. She blamed the wine and him and his stupid speech and whatever the fuck he thought he was doing right now. “I hate you.” She laughed through her tears. “I hate you so much.”

He got up, his eyes wide. “You hate me after I told you I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you?”

“Yes.”

He closed the distance between them, standing between her legs with his hands on her hips. “Yes, I can ask you to marry me in the future, or yes, you hate me for what I said?”

“Both.” She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his. “I love you. I hate you. I love you,” she said in between kisses. “I love you so much I hate you.”

“Tonight is the best night of my life,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “I didn’t want to win. I just wanted you to be there with me.”

“I’ll be there with you next time.” She rested her forehead against his. “And next time, and next time, and forever...”

You don't fall in love once but a million times

Waking up each morning with you by my side

When I drift away, I'll come back with the tide

I'm falling in and out again

Falling in and out again

#my girl series

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tokyoghoose · 5 years ago

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nous aimons tous les deux jours

pairing: dabi x reader

playlist: things we never say - bad bad habits*, sincerity is scary - the 1975, love love love - of monsters and men, if i go, im going - gregory alan isakov, i dont know me like you do - low hum, if i get high - nothing but thieves ( alice kristiansen cover ), i dare you - the regrettes, problems - deathbyromy, fool of you - meltt, hell and you - amigo the devil, creature - it looks sad, tongues and teeth - the crane wives, hooked ( addicted you might say ) - eleisha eagle, nothings gonna hurt you baby - cigarettes after sex, a dream of you - far caspian, so alright, cool, whatever - the happy fits, a lovely night - ryan gosling

warnings: mentions of violence, brief mentions of drugs for expression, and suggestive themes

summary: we love every other day

announcements!

this is my first try at a enemies/lover thingy! Originally it was going to be an enemy to lovers but i liked the idea that they're just on opposing sides a little more haha. Lemme know if you'd like to see the other one though!

i know there are a lot of hero x villain fics like this out there 😌 this is my take on it, so please bare with me!

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

"We really have to stop meeting like this."

An addiction. That's what it is. Either that or it's some kind of reverse psychology like you want what you can't have—because nothing else makes sense. If you knew him as a regular person, honestly you probably wouldn't have given him a second thought. If he was a hero you worked beside—or god forbid a villain—then you probably wouldn't have cared for a hookup or two, but then you'd get over it. It's not infatuation. It's an addiction. It's toxic and unhealthy and it just feels good even if it shouldn't. But the high; the high is unbeatable.

It continues on forever and more. From the moment his gaze pierces yours it's like snorting a rail of coke or taking a tab and the trip never ends. It's not even the fact you could get caught. You two are so damn obvious; anyone who stumbles into an alleyway at three in the morning would see the two of you doing more than what a fight warrants. It's just him. It's simply Dabi.

Romeo and Juliette's syndrome is probably a better term for it. But hell, it's not like he'd die for you. Right? It's not like you've known each other way longer than some days and nights and you certainly aren't teenagers and he's definitely not somebody who moves onto a girl and decides he's in love at first sight just because his 'rosaline' left him face down ass up. So maybe Romeo and Juliette is just lack of a better term.

But it's so unfair. How the hell are you supposed to escape him when it's like he's around every corner. With every breath you take, it's like he's an inch closer to crushing your chest with his. And maybe you want him to? This isn't very hero-like.

"You're the one always tracking me down, doll."

The pet name sends shivers down your spine and it makes you want him all the more.

Who am I? What has gotten into me?

You blame the pink tint to your cheeks on the brisk wind of the night, but the heat to them is a large contrast. You cross your arms over your chest and scoff, trying to look taller, stronger, and broader. Not in a threatening way, but more a warning.

This time you'll really take him out.

"In case you forgot, it's my job."

You tell yourself that every time.

And every time he gets away.

"I'm not doing anything but taking a walk."

He steps closer, the already short distance between you two getting shorter. The streetlamp that cuts the scene in half flickers, a moth flying away from the light and towards the moon. You count three squares in distance and you resist the urge to step back.

"You're a wanted criminal, Dabi."

He doesn't deny it but scoffs anyway, shoving his hands into his pockets leisurely. It's like he's never bothered. You're just a nat he's waiting to squash. You have to remind yourself of that: You're just prey.

"I think you just miss me." His tone is serious, but he's only teasing—no matter how true it is. You're starting to think that he can read minds—it's actually quite concerning.

You force a laugh past your lips, trying to show you aren't bothered by what he says. It's just a game of cat and mouse, and it's time the roles switch.

"Please. I could throw you in jail right now."

"But you wouldn't do that. Isn't that right, bunny?"

Your guard faulters and it gives him the opening he needs to corner you completely—and quite literally. It's a blink of an eye and he has you against the brick wall. It'd look rather suspicious to anyone passing, or maybe it looks endearing. But it doesn't matter, to begin with when it's a barren street. Even the crickets seem to have fled.

It's like wherever Dabi walks, everything else scatters. If it were the sea, you're sure it'd part red.

Dabi smirks, trapping you between his body and the cool, damp bricks. The mist from earlier rain seeps slowly into your hero suit, sending a violent chill down your spine. His other hand touches your hip, fingers grazing the fabric so faintly that it'd feel non-existent if it weren't for the heat radiating off them. You hitch your breath when his nose nudges your neck, his hot breath causes shivers and his eyes bore into your own with something mischievous.

"I-"

His lips ghost the skin of your neck and you subconsciously pull it taut, tilting your head to the side. You're beginning to hate how your body arches into his and how it reacts to the simplest of touches.

Like a brick to a window, your dissolve shattered easily.

Dabi quirks a brow, challenging you to continue as you sputter about. It's embarrassing. You can hear him say it now, just like so many times before: "Oh? A big hero like you getting flustered by a big bad villain like me? How cute."

Your walkie talkie comes alive with static and a voice cuts in asking for help to take down a gang of criminals a few cities over.

My saving grace.

"I-I have to go." You push him away by the shoulders with sudden confidence, but he doesn't seem to put up much resistance.

God, you want to wipe the smug smirk off his face.

He backs off and turns with an unbothered wave, proving his point that you wouldn't- couldn't touch him, much less win against him in any sort of battle. The untouchable.

"Until next time, right?"

———

It's like a new tide from the moon—how fast your feelings towards him change. He's awful. A criminal, a villain, a murderer. He's the literal icon of everything your against.. or of what you're supposed to be against.

But you understand him. You get his whys and you feel his emotion like you're apart of them. You empathize with him and it makes you so fucking angry at yourself because you know—as a hero—you should never side with a villain like him, no matter how much sense he starts to make.

Blame it on his tone and the smoothness of his words. He's just a swindler.

The next time isn't even a full week later. He technically protects you from some randoms in an alleyway and you catch him in the act of it all, turning to catch whoever was following you, only to be met with cold blue eyes and a pile of ashes in front of you.

Of course, it ultimately ends in the same place it always does; his bed.

His scent and touch linger a little too long after these meetings and you decide once again that this is the last time.

It's a real shame you have to blame it on his body heat and not the undeniable attraction you feel towards him. But you suppose that could count towards it.

His hands are anywhere—everywhere—and they leave a fire in their wake. It's too much and still not enough. All you want is to be closer. Fingers in his hair, pulling him into you until you can't, and then pulling him in more. It's like air, the way you breathe him in. When you finally give into dabi it no longer becomes a crime, but a necessity.

It's overbearing and messy and awful, but you can't help but slip into his embrace and into his warmth.

It's freezing and he's the sun.

Tangled in between cotton sheets, you feel him rub circles into your shoulder and you hear his heartbeat. It's reassuring to know someone like him even has one. Then again, he probably wouldn't have protected you if he didn't have one. How many times has he saved you from harm's way? Honestly, one time is too many.

It almost makes this fling of yours respectable. It almost makes you want to admit you're falling for that smug face and bad attitude.

"We talked about what we'd do if we ran into your league again, you know?"

Why on earth would you bring that up of all things, y/n?

He doesn't need to know anything about your career, much less your plans to take his team down.

"Hmm.. is that so?" Dabi's fingers move up to draw languid circles into your collarbone before shifting slightly to loom over you. His other hand comes to rest on your hip, sending a searing, but welcomed heat to the flesh. You hiss quietly at the sensation, already knowing there's a bruise forming from the activities not too long ago. His lips replace his hand on your neck and he removes his arm from under your head to hold himself up.

Your hand finds his messy hair, fingers delving into the raven locks and tugging gently as he makes his way to the column of your throat and to your ear. He nips at it, nose brushing against your jaw; his hot breath creating goosebumps that rise to your flesh.

"I like knowing you think of me when I'm not around, Angel."

The tone and raspiness of his voice makes you groan, feeling him kiss beneath your jaw. You just know he's smirking at the reactions he elicits from you because you can feel it. He enjoys watching your internal struggle. You can't act like you didn't choose to form whatever this is with him.

You tug his hair to look at him, bringing his face up and he almost looks annoyed that you disrupted his path heading down towards your chest. Your lips ghost over each other's and you lean in for a kiss, only for him to pull away and leave you chasing.

"I also like when you call my name."

Your hand falls from his hair to cup his jaw, practically pulling him forward into a kiss. It's rough to cover up the intimacy and need behind it. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip, thumb pressed into your stomach before his hand goes upward with an ulterior motive.

Pulling away from him before he can initiate anything more, you run your thumb across his lips and the silver bands that adore the lower half of his face. Surprisingly enough, it didn't take long to adjust to the different textures

"And I like how you kiss me."

This almost feels too domestic—not that you mind, but you're positive he knows you're wrapped around his finger, in the palm of his hand. It's impossible to hide it now. Your actions speak louder than the three words on the tip of your tongue, poisoning your mind.

It makes you cringe when you think about it all. How easily he can get into your head and twist your arm. Some nights you catch yourself thinking that maybe you'll be able to convince him to open his eyes a little wider to see your point of view, especially when you've begun to see his. They're horrible—the villains you go against, but he makes them seem so different. You hate how he makes you double think everything.

He playfully nips at your thumb when you push it gently between his lips, teasingly. His hands trail up your arms, pulling them off of him and above your head. You're the one who makes the move to intertwine fingers as he pushes them down harshly on the pillow underneath you. Insatiable. That's what he is. Is it so wrong to keep wanting more?

The sun beginning to rise over the horizon and spilling in through the window doesn't seem to stir him as he makes his descent from your lips.

You already know that by the next morning you'll hate him and that surrounds him. You'll hate yourself for listening to your heart instead of your head simply because it just 'feels so right.' It's a constant cycle between the two of you, and you're sure he feels the same. He doesn't agree with anything you stand by like a hero, but there's something that keeps him close enough.

There's only so much you can expect, even when you deny it over and over.

But god, you have to stop meeting like this.

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