#i want him to meet michael. and i want him to be a fan of foxy. and its gotta be a place that requires a cleaner
Note
Hi, I follow your blog only recently and I find it very interesting. Thank you for your work and the information you give us. I've tried to reconstruct the facts you're talking about, but I can't quite understand what happened to the Oliviers in detail. Can you explain it better? If you have the time and desire, of course. Thank you!
Hi! Thank you so much!
So everything that happened around Oliviers was a lot of PR panic.
This is going to be LONG:
DT with family went to Cali for three weeks. That’s where all the weird far away pap shots and hidden videos were taken by GT. And the miserable pic of DT on the boat at Disneyland. If this was meant to prove that they’re *happily married* then it went down like a lead balloon. DT has never been this done before.
MS with family were sent to Disneyland at the same time, just a different one, and AL started her sudden “we are HAPPY!!!!!” attack - the thing about AL is that she always busts herself before anyone even says anything, excuses stuff before anyone blinks - so we were ready for something to go down because there was a sudden push from PR to show both families separate and “happy” (fucking idiots sent both to Disneyland though lmao).
And then we found out why.
Assembly was released, where Michael looked like he wanted to die as he was pushed, for the first time, to talk about AL. Well. It didn’t go great. He focused on the age difference and basically made it sound like they fucked up and had to make it work. The word “happy” was pushed in his mouth so he said it. Which linked us to AL’s “happy!!!!” theme and made sense of why she pushed it - PR knew MS wasn’t convincing especially since… automatically Michael switched the conversation to David. Again. And again. And again. And brightened up like a sunshine the second he did.
After that, a blind was released, talking about how the women are trying to sell a perfect Disney image while the men look happier when together or talking about each other. Blinds usually end up with huge damage control so all the drama was making sense.
AL lost her mind, she was suddenly shoving the relationship into everyone’s faces, answering fans about old photos, fighting with those who didn’t agree, fighting with Swedish media(!). It was embarrassing. MS as you can guess wasn’t involved at all. She was basically screaming on socials how they’re totally happy - because she said so.
DT and family came back from Cali. GT lost her mind too, suddenly doubling on her nastiness towards DT, to the point of promoting articles that were calling his expressions deranged and continuously crapping on the good articles. It was like she was taking all her frustration out on him publicly.
Then Oliviers happened.
The men didn’t meet on the red carpet. David was suddenly highly photographed sharing a hug with another man, of course not MS, this one was kept far away from him. The hug was photographed from every side, with all agents around them, and promoted on social media as bromance within three seconds. Damn not even antis bought this bullshit. David wanted to turn and go back but he was stopped and ushered inside, and there is a photo of him and GT sitting inside when it’s practically empty… with the agent talking to them.
MS arrived with AL after, her in a wannabe bride dress, him looking ready to slap some bitch.
At the end of the night there is a selfie GT posted of her and DT, there is also one of him with a fan - he looks unwell on both.
The ladies made the whole thing about themselves. GT called DT a loser. The next day, women angrily posted a group pic because fans reminded them that they’re here for the men.
A blurry video was released. Four of them standing together, DT pointing at MS, GT slapping her hand at him making his head snap towards her. MS looked aggravated.
GT’s nastiness continued online.
DT disappeared right after Oliviers. On his birthday, she posted a cold story with an old pic, which she followed with wishing another actress a happy birthday and saying she’s the fav tv wife for him, which was… questionable because her role was a toxic social media obsessed wife and his character was miserable in that movie. And funnily he said he related to this role a lot. She also added to not tell MS.
Well, the response came quick. A pic popped up on AL’s instagram wishing David a happy birthday and calling him Michael’s husband. The picture included Michael standing between cardboard cut outs of David and GT. And AL was holding a sign saying “winner” (not a loser).
Michael was seen prancing back to NT after that. He added a romantic song “Alone Together” to his playlist that day.
He also started missing stage door.
GT hasn’t posted anything suggesting any Birthday celebrations.
David remained nowhere to be seen. Michael suddenly stopped doing Nye too. They both disappeared.
A week later they re appeared together. At National Theatre.
DT took a pic with MS poster. Called himself a fanboy. Used a very telling song. Posted on GT insta. AL (Michael) reposted it saying “the best group pic we’ve ever taken ❤️”. Quite a dig at the shitshow of Oliviers and ladies withholding that group pic as the men came back with a bang. To me, they rebelled and that’s why they both disappeared until they could come back together, triumphant. GT is allowed barely any content of DT since and everything seems very calculated. AL is acting very reserved too. The ladies are mostly ignoring each other now.
And ever since the NT come back, both men have been more open about each other than ever before. DT talking about MS being in his life now, wearing matching bracelets, wanting to do GO until he dies… MS excluded AL from his interviews and podcasts entirely and talks about DT like everyone knows they’re together already. DT walks around NT wanting to be spotted, keeps on taking pics with all the posters. They’ve never been this free.
In my opinion, when PR tried to shove them in a closet, they disappeared because they rebelled. And triumphant came back together after negotiations that it seems they have won. And things have been very different and better for the men ever since.
Now these are my opinions so of course please feel free to look at these events and make your own judgment.
Phew!
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
I do a sneaky little fnaf oc 🧡
#i dont have a name or a location yet but he's gonna be a nightshift cleaner#i want him to meet michael. and i want him to be a fan of foxy. and its gotta be a place that requires a cleaner#the cleaner alone leaves out security breach and 3 bc they have bots and messy aesthetic#micheal isn't in security breach either#and sister location doesn't have a red foxy or much opportunity for whump (which is like the best part) aside from the scooping room#so its kinda a split between 1 or 2 or pizza sim? leaning towards pizza sim tho#or! 2#those are my mains rn#ahhhh this is so fun
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
i dont know when michael became so naive but he has always been so disrespectful to tommy even tho he literally built the current shelby empire from the ground! michael calls tommy old fashioned and vulgar but what does he know about getting his hands dirty? about death?? about sacrificing his own soul so they all have pretty houses and expensive cars?
#im finishing s5#that family meeting had me screaming#michael is smart i wont deny that but he is so naive to everything tommy has done and lost for the company#peaky blinders#also he is family but certainly does not act like it#michael doesn't want to help tommy and ease his burdens he just wants to be the one handling everything#pushing tommy aside like he needs to be discarded for his mental issues#UNBELIEVABLE STUFF GOING ON#claritalks#there is always michael slander in my blod i've never been a fan of him
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
when you call them "husband" - part. 2
how the blue lock boyfriends react when you call them "husband" - part 2
pairings: itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo x fem!reader (no descriptions tho, just the words "wife" on rin's part) (separate) | warnings: established relationship, fluff, lovesick boys
notes: I'M ALIVE! i cant believe how long it's been since i had time/energy/creativity to write something, ohmy goddddddd. i'm so sorry for all the time it took to post this, but i wanna ty all so much for all the love on part 1 and all the requests for part 2! hopefully this will meet your expectations ♥ as always, i went a lil' overboard with rin's part. enjoy!
part 1 / masterlist
Itoshi Rin
rin was not a fan of social media. it was clear with the way his instagram only had 8 pictures despite being years since his career started, and even more so by the fact he had no other social media besides that. if he wasn’t so famous, people would say itoshi rin was a ghost or some artificial intelligence invention.
it was one of the reasons people were very shocked when he started dating you, an influencer with millions of followers on every platform. rin was a private person, and you… well, you shared your life on the internet for everyone to see. to say you were polar opposites was an understatement.
however, you never forced your boyfriend to appear in any of your socials, only recording things for your own fun and memories and posting only what he allowed. rin was glad for that. he didn’t mind doing dumb things with you to see you smile, as long as the rest of the world couldn’t see how whipped he was for you.
also, you were kind of glad the professional athlete was so unaware of social media, because it meant you could do a lot of tiktok trends without the risk of him already knowing what was coming — which made everything more satisfying.
and the trend you chose that day was especially good.
“hey everyone, it’s y/n here!” you chirped, waving your hands in front of your phone. however, you were actually recording rin, who was at the other side waiting for your sign to appear on the screen.
you continued speaking. “today i have a very special guest, who i’m sure you’re all very familiar with.” you gave the camera a little cheeky wink, and your boyfriend rolled his eyes with all your theatrics. “please welcome itoshi rin, my handsome husband!”
rin gave a step forward to start his way to you, but suddenly, his whole body froze, brows furrowing in what you could only call utmost confusion. silence took over the room for what felt like an eternity, and you had to suppress your laugh seeing the imaginary ‘loading’ wheel on his head.
rin.exe stopped working.
“baby?” you decided to intervene, honestly a little scared of how immobile rin was.
“you— i’m— did you just— did we—”
you could no longer hold your laughter, and rin’s favorite melody echoing through the walls of your shared apartment was probably what snapped him out of his trance. he immediately scowled and crossed his arms, cheeks burning red from his pathetic stutter.
“i am never doing these dumb videos with you again.”
“no, no, i’m sorry!” your giggles kept going, and you approached your pouty boyfriend, squishing his cheeks between your hands. the smooch you gave him was almost enough to make him melt. almost. rin still had some self respect.
he also didn’t want to admit how abnormally fast his stone heart was beating with the mere thought of being referred to as your husband — and, even better, referring to you as his wife.
fuck. that certainly did make him feel lots of things. those stupid butterflies that were born the minute you met were roaming freely in his stomach, soaring with all the love he had harbored just for you.
“i’m sorry, baby,” you said again, smiling like you swallowed the sun and all things good in this world. you might as well have. how else could rin explain the way you were his everything? “it was a prank i saw on tiktok.”
he arched his eyebrow, arms uncrossing to put his hands on your waist. “oh? so you don’t want me to be your husband?”
the itoshi was satisfied to see you flushing this time. “i— w-well, you see…”
and then you started rambling, just like you did every time something made you nervous. and rin could only look at you as if nothing else was worth looking at, because really, to him, it wasn’t.
…well, maybe the sight of you walking down the aisle would get the cake. he might have to find out soon.
Michael Kaiser
once you started dating bastard munchen’s star, michael kaiser, it was natural to have his world collide with yours. everything from football to blue hair dye to weird sleeping habits became a part of you as well, and you nourished every expanse of your world his presence alone was able to give.
your favorite part, besides learning all of him — his little habits, quirks and love languages that seemed to be crafted solely for you — was definitely immersing yourself in his culture. germany always seemed distant and quite detached from your life, and you loved to learn new things from different perspectives.
food, traditions, language… michael loved teaching you things, giddy and secretly grateful for your excitement. it was his sparkly eyes that prompted you to learn a few things by yourself to surprise him and make him happy.
the tiktok trend was just a nice coincidence.
you phone was hidden on the kitchen balcony, camera recording and waiting for the moment your boyfriend would arrive in your shared apartment. luckily, kaiser was very punctual, and you didn’t have to wait much longer.
“liebling, i’m home!” you heard him scream from the front door, and you giggled to yourself, pretending to be busy chopping vegetables for dinner.
you waited for his footsteps to near where you were, and, as soon as you felt he entered the camera frame, you answered:
“welcome home, ehemann!”
you didn’t have to turn around to see the way kaiser completely froze; arms stopping just before reaching your waist as if your figure was an illusion created by his tired mind. you fought hard to suppress your grin.
“what… did you say…?” his voice was low and uncertain, but there was no annoyance in it; just pure confusion.
turning your head around to finally look at him, you were pleased to find your mikka with rosy cheeks and a bashful expression, so extremely unusual for a guy like him you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter on your chest.
you gave him your best innocent look. “huh? isn’t that how you say boyfriend?”
“i-it’s husband, liebe. you called me husband,” his tone was still incredulous, and this time, you couldn’t keep your smile off your face.
“oh, did i?”
your countenance seemed to finally snap him out of his trance, and michael’s eyebrows shot up, scoffing slightly — albeit still endearingly. his arms circled your waist and he pressed a kiss on the side of your neck.
“how mean of you, baby. playing with my heart like that.” he trailed more kisses on your neck and jaw, making you squirm. “you tryin’ to kill me or something?”
you giggled again, both from the ticklish kisses he was giving you and the huge amount of love you had harbored just for him. “of course not, baby. i need you alive to make you my husband,” you jested.
“oh, yeah? you wanna make me your husband?”
“yes.” you shifted, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. kaiser hugged you a little tighter, feeling something fuzzy inside his chest. “is that a problem?”
“never,” he answered immediately. because it was true.
boyfriend, fiancé, partner, husband… michael didn’t mind what title would be bestowed to him — as long as he could keep being yours.
Mikage Reo
being the heir of one of the biggest corporations of the country and a professional football player made your boyfriend’s schedule pretty busy. therefore, thursdays like these, where you and him could have a nice walk around the park under the warm sunlight, hand in hand, were extremely rare — hence why they were so appreciated.
reo knew how much his frenetic agenda was a hard toll on your relationship, affecting both of you with distance, longing and short periods of time together. and, well, everyone knew how much of a goner he was for you, so it wasn’t surprising to see him give in whatever spare time he had in his hands — even going as far as making such time exist if there wasn’t any — to be with you for as long as he possibly could.
how could he deny your pretty little eyes pleading to have a stroll in the park with him ‘just for a few minutes?’
god, you were so selfless. he wanted to give you all of his minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years. and for all that’s worth, reo would never deny you of such a thing — he’d rather shoot himself than make you think you weren’t loved with every fiber of his being.
the weather was nice; a gentle breeze kissing both of your faces and making everything more pleasant. you were both chatting and appreciating the calm environment when you spotted an old lady a few feet ahead, selling different colored roses for the passersby. a smile was etched onto your lips, and you impulsively let go of reo’s hand to run towards her.
“why hello, dear. would you like to buy a rose?”
your boyfriend watched you beam to the lady and slowly approached you, though still keeping his distance and trying hard not to intervene and buy all the roses for you.
“yes, please! a red one would be perfect.”
“oh, who will you give it to?” asked the woman, already taking one flower from the bunch to hand it to you.
your smile became slightly more bashful, “it’s for my husband!”
and fuck, if reo wasn’t already completely in love with you and thoroughly believed you were his soulmate until then, he certainly would after that very moment. he could feel his cheeks burning and his tongue rolling inside his mouth with how speechless he became. his heart soared with your words, excitement coursing through his veins with a love so overwhelming he nearly fell on his knees right there.
heavens, he loved you so fucking much. and you made him realize it was about time he proved it to you (once again).
his hands easily found his phone in his pocket, and a quick call to the jewelry store was made while you busied yourself with paying for the flower. reo couldn’t stop smiling like a lovesick fool, but he didn’t mind.
“hey, mr. fuji, it’s mikage! you know, i think it’s time for that visit i mentioned a while ago…”
he might not fall to his knees right there, but he would drop at one knee very soon.
#blue lock x reader#bllk x reader#bllk imagines#blue lock#blue lock fanfiction#blue lock drabbles#blue lock fluff#blue lock x y/n#blue lock x you#blue lock scenarios#blue lock rin#itoshi rin#bllk#itoshi rin x y/n#itoshi rin x reader#itoshi rin x you#rin itoshi x y/n#rin itoshi x reader#rin itoshi x you#michael kaiser x reader#michael kaiser x you#michael kaiser x y/n#mikage reo x you#mikage reo x reader#mikage reo x y/n#reo mikage x you#reo mikage x reader#reo mikage fluff
737 notes
·
View notes
Note
picture this. you're michael sheen, beloved queer-friendly welsh actor and recent twilight saga vampire. you want your favorite book to become a tv show, and you want to be the lead. so what do you do? you befriend the author. he wines and dines you, you become a confidant in the scriptwriting phase. and in the process of the GO script you decide you don't want to be crowley, actually, you want to be aziraphale. you put in the work for months to influence the author to the same conclusion. so when neil gaiman comes to you one day saying, "i know you joined on to be crowley... but how would you feel about playing aziraphale?" you say, what a novel idea! i was feeling the same way, i just didn't want to say anything! let's do it.
you're michael sheen, the lead in the adaptation of your favorite book. you meet david tennant as your leading man, a rising star (and vocal fan of yours) you've had a few vague interactions with in the past. on set you immediately find the closest friend you have ever and will ever find in your life, and you know this. the romance you have in your (yes, your) show is ambiguous, but you're michael sheen. you think that romance needs to be explicit. so what do you do? you become a nightmare on set. you get really hands-on; you make costume choices, you make story decisions, you tell your author friend at the very end of filming: aziraphale is in love with crowley and realizes it in 1941. now go do it again.
so the author goes and does it again. you get a season 2. you get 1941 part 2. you're michael sheen, and you are the lead of the adaptation of your favorite book, and the romance you littered into the character you built from the ground up has become unambiguous. everything goes according to plan. but, you see, you have a problem: the author you have baby trapped is acting a FIEND on twitter and tumblr. he's saying everything he can to imply aziraphale and crowley aren't sexually attracted to each other. he's getting a bit too bold with his character assumptions, is all i'm saying. so here's what you're going to do: you play it up with your pal david tennant. you made a show with him during lockdown. you're going to depict your lives as even more intertwined and homoerotically codependent as previously possible. you grow even closer. your wives become best friends, too, because how could they not? this has been the plan since the beginning, too. your lockdown show ends. it wasn't enough.
so you, michael sheen, of course you put in the work. if david tennant's there, you're damn sure you're there physically, spiritually, biblically, in whatever capacity you can be. it's not hard. david tennant is a big fan of yours, after all, so he MAKES SURE you're always in the conversation. you have him wrapped around your little finger, this lovely little boy, and so you know what you do next? you become neighbors. you make your directorial debut casting your best friend's wife watching her husband and male neighbor initiate sex with each other. you play into the swinging rumors (that you, michael sheen, had started). you create a narrative that you and david tennant are two homoerotic besties, and is there more going on in the background there? any deeper conspiracy? who really knows, but what you do know is that the world is talking about it.
and you, michael sheen, your entire acting career has led to this moment, your gay quips, your oscar wilde sex scene (and the interviews following), all of your queer roles, EVERYTHING has brought us to this conclusion. you have created the lab perfect conditions where season 3 must have an explicit gay sex scene. i'm sorry neil, my hands are tied! the people are clamoring for me and david tennant to have sex-- i mean aziraphale and crowley to have sex, the public decided this all on their own! i really don't think you have much choice. but of course, i would never deign to tell an author how to practice his veritable craft. i concede to whatever version of series 3 you create, and i will happy to bring this beloved character to his deserved ending.
and why do you say this? because you're michael sheen. you're just an actor who incidentally stumbled his way into leading the queer romance adaptation of your favorite book that wasn't a romance, and you just read the script the way that it was given to you. and if series 3 means an explicit sex scene between you and your best friend david tennant, then what a lovely coincidence that you had absolutely no part in making happen. because what power do you really have?
This is my favorite book I’ve read so far this year. A rare occasion where the author pulls off use of the second person pov. I really felt like I was a beloved welsh actor crossed with Machiavelli when I read this
762 notes
·
View notes
Text
the schumacher problem * femdriver
pairings: mick schumacher x femdriver, logan sargeant x femdriver, oscar piastri x femdriver
notes: hi i skipped 2022 cause i was too lazy to write it <3
-> 2020
“come here, we need to introduce you to some people.”
“if you’re gonna jump scare me like that one time with david beckham. i’m not going to stand there like an idiot again. i’ve practiced and grown.”
“no, fuck face. we’re introducing you to your team next year. you know… prema? the team giving you a fighting chance in motorsport?”
“i will kick you out of my house, you know.”
“guys, this is the best friend we keep talking about!” oscar beams, jumping over to grab her wrist. he pulls her away from logan and puts a hand on her back, urging her to step forward. “she’s joining prema next year for her f3 career.”
“right, hi,” she smiles with a small nod. she takes a step back and one more towards oscar. “i’m really excited to work with you guys.”
“oh, hey! we’ve met before.” frederik steps forward and smiles. “at one of oscar and logan’s races.”
“how come i’ve never met her before?” a disembodied voice makes her lean slightly forward to peek over oscar’s shoulder. a wide smile and a pair of blue eyes are now looking at her. “you guys are hiding her from me or something?”
“yeah, mate. because we totally keep her in a dungeon cause she's not allowed other friends but us,” logan scoffs. he puts a hand on her back and pushes her a step forward. “you know mick, don’t you, (y/n)? schumacher.”
her back straightens. “oh. the schumacher?” she whispers, turning to logan with wide eyes. “like the man, the myth, the legend: michael schumacher’s son? mick schumacher?”
oscar raises an eyebrow. “i told you we were in prema with mick. what is wrong with you?”
“i don’t know. what do i say to him?”
“mate, i thought you said you practiced?” logan snorts, one hand over his mouth to contain his laughter. “why are you freezing up now?”
“nepotism goes kinda hard. i’m a big fan of him and his dad. this is not the same as the david beckham situation.”
“you’re kinda cute, aren’t you?”
simultaneously, the three best friends turn their head to the german with his head tilted to the side. “me?” she asks, pointing a finger to her chest. she looks around for any other person he could be talking about before settling to look at him again. “you think i’m cute?”
“pretty sure,” frederik smiles with a nod. “it would be kind of awkward if he was talking about oscar, right?”
oscar shrugs. “my girlfriend tells me i’m pretty cute.”
“not the same, dude,” logan mutters. he looks down at her and smacks her shoulder. “hey, snap out of it!”
frederik glances at mick, whose smile has grown a lot more since the redness on her cheeks crept up and she’s resigned to hiding behind oscar’s shoulder. he’s just about to say something when another figure walking into the room catches his attention.
frederik beams and throws his arm up into the air. he grabs her shoulders and forces her to turn around. “oh, robert’s over there! robert! we want you to meet somebody!”
“hey, great qualifying run.” she turns around and unclips her helmet.
“oh, mick,” she smiles with a nod. she puts her helmet between her legs and fixes her hair. “thank you. i didn’t know you were watching — i thought you were preparing for your own race.”
“i had some extra time,” mick smiles at her. he points to the helmet. “do you need some help? i can help you with that.”
“no, it’s ok-“ she smiles when mick presses his lips into a thin line. “yeah, i need some help. thank you.”
she reaches between her legs and offers mick her helmet. he takes into her hands and steps back, gesturing towards the end of parc ferme.
“so, uh,” she sighs, looking around. “where’s oscar?”
“getting ready for the race.”
“so why aren’t you doing the same?” she shrieks, brushing her hands through her hair. she tries to untangle her hair as they walk. “complacent?”
“not complacent. i know i’m good,” mick grins with a soft giggle. “anyway, are you doing anything tonight? um, after the race?”
she hums, brushing all of her hair over to one shoulder. “ice cream with logan and oscar.”
“you quite like your ice cream, it seems. i heard you guys always get ice cream after your races,” mick grins. “what’s your favourite flavour?
“rocky road with marshmallows.”
“but doesn’t rocky road already have marshmallows?”
“yeah.”
“interesting.”
“it’s really good. if you want, you can join us tonight. i’m sure they don’t mind.”
"really? are you sure?"
"yeah! then tell me your verdict on my favourite ice cream pairing. you'll love it, i swear."
"good luck on your race!"
logan looks up from his phone, scowling slightly at the driver in red standing outside the garage. he raises an eyebrow, watching her beam and walk over towards the entrance.
"hey, mick," she laughs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "wow, i'm starting to see you a lot in my garage. i'd say it's becoming a habit."
"just wanted to wish you luck in person," mick smiles, leaning against the wall. he folds his arms over his chest and leans his weight on one leg as he looks down at her. "confident to make it into the top 10?"
"hopefully. i'm feeling good today," she nods, wide eyes staring up at mick. she has her hands clasped behind her back as she converses with the older driver. "who knows? i might even win the race."
"oh, definitely. i'll be rooting for you."
"thanks, i need that." she takes a step back. "i need to finish my race prep. i'll see you right before your race? the least i can do is wish you luck in person too, since you came all this way."
"okay. make sure you're there - else, i won't start my race without your luck."
she laughs, stepping back and waving as the german walks away. she turns around with a roll of her eyes and a giddy grin on her face. logan, having watched the entire interaction not too far from them, has put his phone down on his lap.
"you know he likes you," logan says, pointing a finger at her. she looks down at him, clueless clearly written all over her face. "you know that, right? there's no way you don't know that."
she hums, raising her eyebrows and then furrowing them. "what are you talking about?"
"he literally has an f2 race to prep for and he walked all the way here to wish you luck," logan explains, unsure of how she's oblivious to the fact. "he could have just texted you. he has your number, doesn't he?"
"i don't think it's as deep as you make it out to be, logan," she shrugs. "you would've done the same."
"yeah, but we literally have been racing against one another for years. we live together!" logan throws his head back, smacking his forehead in frustration. "that's different!"
she presses her lips together and looks off into the distance. "i don't think it's that serious, mate."
logan just shrugs, sinking into his seat as he rolls his eyes. "whatever you wanna believe."
"hey, wait up!"
oscar turns his head before her, raising an eyebrow as he watches mick run towards them with something in his hands. "hey?" oscar mutters in confusion.
"hi," mick greets him quickly, before turning to the girl standing next to him. "i was at the interview table and they were giving out popsicles. i thought you might appreciate it more than me."
she looks down at it. "oh, thank you. are you sure? i mean... mick... this is yours."
"i don't really like popsicles," mick shrugs, continuing to offer her the cold refreshment. "it's grape. it's really good."
"if it's really go-"
"just take it."
"alright," she nods, taking the popsicle into her hands hesitantly. "do you want something in return? i've got a twix bar in my bag, but it's-"
"i'll see you later! i have an interview i'm late for, actually. just wanted to give you that," mick says hurriedly. he pats her shoulder before he turns and darts off from the direction he initially came from.
she slowly turns to look at oscar, who's got an equally confused stare, looking down at her with a small scowl on his face. "what was that about?"
oscar shrugs. "i don't know, but you should eat that popsicle before it starts melting."
the resume their walk in silence, not fully processing the event that happened too quick for them to consume. she's eating the popsicle now, eyes still squinted in confusion.
"i've been looking for popsicles everywhere and no one can tell me where to get one! everyone in the prema garage has one for some reason," logan screams, approaching her with his hands on his hips. "where did you get yours? why do you have one? is this a sick prank someone is pulling on me?"
she shrugs. "mick gave this to me."
logan slumps his shoulders. "mick gave that to you?"
"yeah," she nods. "interview table or something, he said."
"i was just there! there were no popsicles there!"
oscar looks between his best friends as he sports a growing smile. slowly, he starts bubbling with laughter, clutching his stomach as he points at her. "oh, my god! you're so stupid!"
"what?"
"mick has a crush on you!" oscar screams. "you've got the epitome of nepotism crushing on you! that's so cute!"
"that's what i told her like weeks ago!" logan points out. "give me that popsicle - i deserve it more than you do."
"oh, piss off!" she screams, swiftly running behind oscar and swatting logan's hands away from her. "i'm sure there's a freezer filled with popsicles in the garage somewhere. you'll find yours."
"no way! mick definitely has a stash dedicated for you! i've only seen red popsicles. i want the grape one!" logan runs around oscar, eager to take the popsicle in the younger girl's hands. "give it to me - he'll give you another one!"
-> 2021
"hey, congrats on the podium."
"thank you- oh, mick! don't you have your debut race to be preparing for?"
"i just wanted to drop by and congratulate you," mick grins. he steps back, scanning her new look in the red race suit he used to sport as well. "red looks good on you."
"it does, doesn't it?" she smiles, twirling with her arms stretched out. "i have to admit - i'm not sure haas colours are yours."
"hey. that's mean."
"maybe i'm just not used to it," she shrugs. she swings her helmet in her hands. "can i watch the race from your garage? you reckon gunther would let me?"
mick laughs, waving off her concerns. "of course, he loves you! just meet me in the garage when you're done? i'll get you a spot."
"okay!"
she waves as he turns to walk away, making one last comment about how he'll be waiting for her before disappearing into the crowd.
"oi, fuck face."
"will it kill you to be nice to me for once, logan?"
"are you sure about this?" she raises her eyebrows, looking down at the white car with her lips pressed together. "what if i crash this? it's your car."
"don't think so much about it," mick shrugs, hands on his hips as he watches her clutch onto her helmet for dear life. "it's just another car. you've driven an f1 car before, haven't you?"
"once during crash testing. that's not the same!"
"not much of a difference." mick pushes her towards the car and grins. "come on, free practice is about to start. get inside - i didn't beg gunther for nothing."
she looks at him from the corner of her eyes. "okay, but if i crash, don't hold it against me."
"i did kinda force you to test drive my car. no hard feelings if you crash," mick shrugs. "just don't die."
"oh, we'll see about that last part," she sighs, pulling her helmet down her head. "i think about that often - you know, cause i've lived with oscar and logan for like almost half of my life at this point."
"oh, you're leaving the paddocks alone tonight? did the powerpuff trio get into a fight or something?" mick teases, catching up to her as she taps her card against the reader.
"no, um," she laughs, "lily is in town for oscar and logan's got a date. no way i'm third-wheeling oscar and lily tonight."
mick nods, pressing his lips together. in his head, gears are already turning in his head. true, he finds her cute. but it's not like he can do anything.
she seems very dead set on her racing career.
"i don't actually have anything planned for tonight," he clears his throat. he takes a deep breath, unsure of how she will take his offer. "do you maybe wanna grab some dinner? there's this restaurant nearby that seb always raves about."
he sighs in relief when her face lights up. "really? can we get ice cream too? i was gonna drop by this store near my hotel and eat it while i watch a show - i always have ice cream after my race. i'm not stopping today."
"yeah, there's this ice cream parlour close by," mick nods. actually, he looked into spots in the area when he saw oscar leaving the paddocks with lily and logan rushing to leave by himself 20 minutes ago.
he had it all planned out. "so, what do you say?" he lifts up his car keys. "you can drive if you want."
she gasps, reaching out for the car keys in his hands. "seriously? i get to drive your super expensive car that i know, for a fact, you never let anyone else drive?"
mick nods. "is that a yes?"
she nods excitedly, hopping slightly as she follows him towards where his car is parked. she puts her hand on the door handle right before she goes in. "you must like me if you're letting me drive your car."
he laughs nervously, eyes widening as he opens the door from the passenger side. it seems that she's catching on somehow. "get in before i change my mind."
"what the hell are you guys doing?"
her and mick, sitting with their backs against the bed frame, merely inches away from the small screen of her nintendo switch in the cramped hotel room turns to the kiwi at the entryway of her hotel room. they've got controllers in their hands, focused on the game on the tiny screen.
"i'm beating mick at mario kart."
"not true," mick mutters. "i'm letting her win after she cried about retiring from her race today."
"you cried?" logan throws his head back, pushing past liam and oscar who are further into the room. he slips his shoes off before jumping on her bed. "are you okay?"
"i didn't cry. i had something in my eye and now mick is telling everyone i cried," she scoffs. "also, i'm beating him fair and square."
"well, uh," liam trails off, holding up two bags. "we got the alcohol you asked us to get on the way back from the track. sorry for your dnf, mate."
"yeah, whatever," she mutters.
"i was talking to mick."
"oh, ok."
"i'm used to it," mick shakes his head. "hey, stop pushing me! you're cheating!"
"it's a power-up!"
"you're pushing me in real life, mate!"
oscar has already hopped over her bed, rummaging her suitcase in silence. "where's the extra controllers? i wanna play too."
liam looks at logan with a small smile, seeing that their friends would be busy with other matters. "tequila?"
logan glances at the pair sitting with their shoulders touching, shoving each other periodically to throw one another off from their game. he looks at liam. "a full shot."
-> 2023
"don't you have a mercedes to be with?" she teases as the door opens, chewing on the inside of her cheek as the german stands at the door. "what are you doing here?"
mick raises an eyebrow. "you literally crashed. i just wanted to see if you're okay."
she smiles. "thank you. i'm okay." she looks down and chomps down on her twix bar as mick takes the empty spot next to sebastian on the couch. "isn't toto looking for you?"
"no, he was asking me to check in on you," mick grins. "is there anything i can help you with? food, drinks, anything?"
"look at the food surrounding her," sebastian laughs, gesturing at the packets of snacks and drinks by her thighs. "i don't think she needs any more food than this."
mick looks at the older man. "i didn't ask you."
she giggles, rolling her eyes. "i'm okay, thank you." she grabs a packet of doritos not too far from her and extends her arm towards them. "snack while we wait for the doctor to come back with my results?"
mick nods, cupping his hands as he awaits the packet. "have oscar and logan come around to find you yet?"
"not yet. these are the ones sebastian brought me from my emergency stash in my garage."
"your what in your garage?"
sebastian sighs, nodding. "she has an emergency stash of snacks in the garage for emergencies. i guess she had a point when she did that because i didn't have to look far for those."
"interesting."
"what are you two kids whispering about over there?"
she straightens her back from her hunched position in the corner, turning to sebastian with a small and guilty grin. the man in white next to her, also turns to him with wide eyes.
"hi, seb."
"what are you doing in our garage? shouldn't you be in mercedes with toto and susie?"
"i'm on my lunch break," mick smiles, wiping his lips from the brown residue of the chocolate they'd been indulging in previously. "i just brought her something."
sebastian narrows his eyes. "then why are you hiding it from me?"
"no reason," she shrugs, moving slightly towards mick to hide what's behind them from sebastian's sight. "you should go for your meeting, seb."
"you're being very suspicious. what's behind you?"
she shakes her head. "nothing." she looks up at mick and taps his hand. "tell him it's nothing."
"nothing," mick says immediately, pressing his lips into a thin line. "you don't wanna find out."
sebastian sighs. "you didn't bring her rocky road ice cream, did you?"
mick's eyes widen, a confession almost spilling past his lips at his guess. she quickly cuts him off and shakes her head profusely. "of course not! you and noah told me to stop eating ice cream before my races, so of course i'm not eating ice cream."
"i literally see chocolate at the corner of your lips."
"i'm sorry! she wouldn't stop texting me about craving for rocky road and marshmallows!" mick sighs in shame, dropping his head to avoid sebastian's stern stare.
"i told you to stop eating ice cream before a race! it gives you a tummy ache every time! what makes you think this time will be different?"
mick lifts his head with a proud smile. "it's lactose intolerant friendly."
"really?" she coos, turning to him with a bright smile. "that's so nice - where did you get that?"
"i found it in the store when george and i were-"
"stop giving her ice cream before her race!"
she follows sebastian through the crowd, keeping her head low to avoid getting spotted by the cameras. she's got one last media commitment to head to before she can follow carlos and lando to the nightclub nearby.
hands grabs her shoulders, prompting her look up. "mick!"
"i've been looking for you everywhere!" mick smiles. "congrats on the podium!"
"thank you!" she smiles, wrapping her arms around him for a hug immediately. "you're joining us at the club after, right?"
"of course. congrats again, mate." he wraps his arms around her, squeezing her and twirling her around.
"kid, come on! we don't have time!" sebastian grunts, turning around to tug her out of mick's grasp. "talk to mick later!"
"okay, okay!" she shrieks, letting sebastian pull her away. she turns around to wave at mick. "i'll see you in the club! get me a drink, okay!"
"i don't get it!" she shrieks, thumbs spamming the buttons of her controller as her eyes fill with tears. "what am i supposed to do?"
"no, just wash the dishes. i'm making the food," mick says calmly, jaw locked as he focuses on the item on the screen. "just wash the dishes."
"mate, are you stupid?" liam screams, one thumb pressing a button as he smacks oscar on the back. "we're losing to mick and (y/n)! we can't let that happen!"
"how about instead of screaming at me, mate, you actually chop up some stupid potatoes! this is why we're losing - you keep micromanaging me!" oscar screams at liam, finally losing his cool.
he had tried to play overcooked as calmly as mick, but it clearly isn't working when he is paired up with liam. logan, sitting at the table, fingers covered in glue with small tears of paper laid around him scoffs.
"thanks for the help, guys. i really appreciate that we're all working on the trophy for the race we're having this weekend," logan speaks monotonously.
"i'm not participating," oscar says.
"in a bit, lo," she mutters, smiling at him momentarily before returning her attention to the screen. "oh, mick, there's a fucking fire! did i cause that? how do i put it out?"
"calm down," mick laughs, his character running around to find the fire extinguisher. "i've got it. just keep washing the dishes."
"oscar! the fucking potatoes!"
"liam, you cunt, you haven't even thrown me a fucking potato! where is the potato? oh, would you look at that? it's in your hands!"
"yeah, i was gonna cut them myself cause you're as good as nothing in this stupid game! next game, i wanna be paired up with mick!"
"no way. i'm having the time of my life," mick scoffs, rolling his eyes as he sends in another order. "we're having so much fun, aren't we, (y/n)?"
"sure."
"what if we just didn't have a trophy for the scooter race?"
liam and her turn to the american, frowning. "no!"
taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @leilanixx @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @sadg3 @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @inejismywife @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @love4lando
honourable mention: @localwhoore
#fem!driver#female driver#f1 fem!driver#f1 female driver#vettel reincarnate#disneyprincemuke#disneyprincemuke imagine#disneyprincemuke imagines#disneyprincemuke f1#disneyprincemuke vr#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#f1 grid x reader#logan sargeant x reader#mick schumacher x reader
690 notes
·
View notes
Text
don't know where we're going
Harry invites Y/N on tour as his opening artist...he wasn't expecting to fall in love
Word count: 26,709
A/N: hola mis amores 💜 here is this new story for you. it might have been a long time but I promise I will always come back. come talk to me about the new story
Warnings: smut (female pleasure)
+
Love on Tour had come to an end. The final show was here tonight in Italy, and Y/N was excited. Her band had shared they couldn’t sleep or eat from their nerves, but Y/N felt at ease. She had always felt at home on stage. Tonight would be no different.
When Y/N’s mother realized her daughter loved to sing, she put on even more musicals for her to watch and sing along to. Y/N’s mother, Reina, never got tired of her daughter’s voice, and with her encouragement, Y/N began to play in bars, anywhere that would give her the time and space. A producer one day approached her after doing two songs in a coffee shop, telling her she had a chance to make it. He handed her a card and made her promise she’d call. She almost didn’t.
Her mother gave her the courage to call, and her life changed. They got her time in the studio, where she got to present her ideas and songs. The team supported her, and from then on, Y/N Y/LN became a person to be on the lookout for. She had writing sessions with Julia Michaels that allowed her to learn that not only did she have the liberty to write everything she felt but that with experience comes inspiration. As she began to record, she knew she had to think about the future of a tour. Not soon after, she met her guitarist Felix at a sports bar, where they bonded over their mutual love for Formula One. Felix introduced her to June, who became her drummer, and their bassist is Quinn, June’s brother.
The venues Y/N had booked out always surprised her because, despite its small capacity, every show was always sold out. Her first single blew through the charts; it got her name out there. Her first tour around the UK was a success and allowed her to begin playing festivals. Y/N was happy with how her life turned out and had no idea it could improve.
Y/N loved her job. She loved being on stage and connecting with fans. She loved touring with her favorite people. She lived a comfortable life doing what she loved. Y/N had a large fanbase, not popstar sensation fame, but it’s not what she was searching for. It was why she had to think about her answer when she found out the biggest pop star of her generation wanted her to open up for his final leg in Europe. It didn’t make sense because Y/N clearly knew about Harry Styles. She didn’t know he knew about her.
He’s a big fan.
Zane Lowe played him a song, and he was hooked.
Harry saw you play one night and has followed you ever since.
The exposure would be good for you.
Harry would like to meet with you before you make a choice.
The choice was clear for everyone but Y/N. She had never met the man, and while the pay would be incredible, she wasn’t willing to go on tour with someone she did not get on with. The meeting with Harry turns out to be a success. He comes in full of smiles, a bit bashful when his manager points out how big a fan he is. Harry doesn’t deny it; it makes her trust him because he’s genuinely a fan of her music, and she admires that. Y/N returns the compliment, stating that she learned to play “Fine Line” on the piano because it was her favorite. Her manager Zahra shared that she cried when she first heard it because she wished she had written the song. Harry blushed at the compliment while Y/N tried to brush past it. Thankfully, Harry was polite and thanked her. While everyone got to work on paperwork, it gave Y/N a moment to speak with Harry alone. Y/N started the conversation because Harry sat there quietly, simply enjoying observing her.
“Thank you for the opportunity. My band and I are excited,” she expressed.
Harry grins, “thank you for agreeing.”
“I hear stadiums are what you’ll likely be sticking to.”
“Scared,” he teased.
Y/N shrugs, “I never imagined singing in front of that capacity if I’m honest. I think it’s easier because no one will be there for me.”
“I will be. Will watch every night,” he promises.
Y/N waves him off, “wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”
“Didn’t think you were. I hope we share the stage one day, maybe sing a song together.”
“If we make it to the end of this, you can come out during my set,” she teases.
“It would be my honor.”
That was the start of Harry and Y/N’s friendship.
+
Y/N loved playing dress up. On stage, she got to wear whatever she wanted. It’s a big reason she enjoyed seeing what Harry would pick each night. Y/N loved spinning, and the perfect accessory to do so was a skirt, specifically a mini skirt. She remembers thrifting in a little shop in Dublin, where she found the perfect pink mini, and from there, it became part of who she was. From baby tees to oversized cargo pants to skirts, the one constant was the platforms that always gave her that extra height.
Y/N knew she had to honor her mother each night she was on stage, and because the earliest memory Y/N has is sitting in front of the mirror as her mother tied ribbons and bows in her hair, she made it a tradition to keep them in. Y/N swore she had one that fit all of her outfits, and if it didn’t, she didn’t mind getting her scissors and cutting up a bit of clothing.
She is now a few shows in and is having the time of her life. Y/N gets to play her music every night and enjoys seeing Harry perform. Then, she ends each night by discussing her favorite parts with Harry. Y/N doesn’t remember how it happened, but Y/N doesn’t go to sleep unless she has spoken to Harry; by now, it’s part of her routine. The friendship she is building with him makes her feel at ease on stage each night. One night, they talked about their inspiration, and Y/N told him she was inspired by all around her. From her friends to movies to even books she has read. She wrote “Another Love” based on Gus and January, a couple from a book she read. It’s easy to be inspired because she lets every bit of emotion change her.
“Your music is sad,” Harry tells her one night.
Y/N frowns, “excuse me.”
“It’s not a bad thing.”
“I’m leaving,” she goes to stand up, but he stops her by holding onto her wrist.
“Hear me out,” he pleads. She settles deeper into her seat. “I enjoy it. I think it’s the best music I have ever heard, and it’s so sad because it’s your real emotions and reactions. You’re putting your heart out there; sometimes the sadness wins out.”
Y/N knows he’s right, but that doesn’t mean she has to say that. “Well, you’re always horny.”
Harry burst out laughing, “fair.”
“I’d never sing about watermelons with you,” she fakes disgust.
Harry’s interest has now peaked. “What would you sing?”
“Fine line, but not with you. I’d add it to my setlist if I was on tour now.”
Harry didn’t know she really loved a song like that. “That’s–wow. Thank you.”
“Realistically, I’d do Daylight. She's a bop.”
Y/N laughs when she sees Harry nodding. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he promises.
At the following show, Y/N kept thinking back to what Harry said about how her music carries a sadness. She doesn’t mean to, but it’s the type of melodies that soothe her. It’s clear from the fanbase she has created that her fans also like it.
“Mr. Styles says I have sad music as if he didn’t write Matilda,” she teases. “Kidding, we all know Cherry is his saddest song. While some songs are sad, you can still dance to them, so this is “Sorry.” Please sing if you know it. If not, that’s okay too.”
Harry greets her when she walks off stage. “Did you enjoy that, boss man?” Y/N’s running on a high; all she wants to do is spend time with Harry, but he has to get ready.
“You’re my favorite part of every show,” he tells her genuinely.
Y/N feels her face heat up, but she knows where this could head and decides to stay clear. She pats his shoulder and walks away. “Good luck, Harry,” she calls out as she turns the corner, leaving Harry standing alone, wondering how he’d work up the courage to ask Y/N out.
+
Another day, another show. Except today, Y/N saw a familiar face and had to bring it up.
“I’ve seen you before. You look very pretty.” Y/N compliments the fan with a black baby tee with bedazzled cherries and glitter pants. “You’re coming to the shows because of me,” Y/N repeated, shocked. “But it’s the Harry Styles show!” Y/N leans closer, listening to the fan share that she’s their favorite artist. The fan had traveled from Iceland to be here tonight because it’s the only place she managed to get tickets. Then, she decided to try attending as many shows as possible before returning home. Y/N felt so much gratitude, making her want to hug this person. While Y/N couldn’t jump down, she thought of the next best thing. “Do you want to sing this one with me? Can we do that?” Y/N looks side-stage at her tour manager, and she’s shaking her head in disappointment, but no one is stopping her. “Come on up.” The fan is helped over the barricade and guided upstairs to meet her. Y/N hugs the fan tightly, thanking her for everything, and Y/N tells her she hopes to see her in the crowd again. “Everyone, this is Sasha! She’s part of the band tonight. Now, Sasha, do you know ‘The Band and I,’” Y/N checks.
“Word for word,” Sasha assures her.
“Wonderful, you’re all in for a treat. Hit it, Junie!” Y/N shouts.
Walking off the stage that night, Y/N is flying on a high. She smiles with the band; she sees Harry leaning against a wall with a smirk. “Breaking all the rules, huh, almost gave Jeff a heart attack.”
Y/N grimaces, “am I in trouble?”
Harry rolls his eyes, “I enjoyed it, and I'm the boss. So no.”
She sighs in relief, “I-I just felt grateful. This is your tour,” she emphasizes. “And for the fan to enjoy my music and know the lyrics to a song I wrote, which I haven’t officially released yet, overwhelmed me. Playing in front of an audience has always been my dream, but having my lyrics sung back to me is not something I ever let myself imagine.”
Harry smiles, and she knows he understands. He doesn’t have to say a word. His eyes say it all for her. Y/N is thankful she joined this tour, and while she admires Harry, she knows she can’t forget to keep her boundaries up because she knows they will only begin to fall with time.
+
It was early March when Harry changed their relationship. Y/N enjoyed time with her band, but sometimes she needed to be alone. She used the time to write or simply enjoy the silence, even for a few minutes. Harry offered her a private space where he kept his piano. He traveled everywhere with it, and while Y/N thought it was a hassle, she was grateful because it allowed her to play with melodies she had stuck in her head.
Today was no different. She had spent an hour alone when Harry walked in on her, seemingly just as lost in his head. He was startled when he looked up and found her sitting in an old hoodie of her first merch ever created.
“Cute,” he comments.
Y/N shrugs, “I know you want one.”
“Desperately.”
She doesn’t know if he’s continuing the bit but decides she will have her mother bring one to her at Wembley for him. It would be her home show, so her mother would be in attendance.
“Anything new?” He gestures to the piano and her open notebook. Y/N hands it to him, allowing him to have a look inside. There are more music notes than there are lyrics. She has the perfect melody, but words seem hard to find right now. “Care to play it for me?”
Y/N loves that he always asks. They both know how private the writing process can be, but with Harry, it’s clear they have built a level of trust. Y/N starts slow on the keys before building up until, by the end reaches the slow start. Harry grins at her, and Y/N can see he likes it. She knows he plays the piano, but she’s never had the chance to watch him play; he’s more reserved compared to her. It’s not something she minds. It just means they both have boundaries they won’t cross and respects that.
“It was beautiful,” he tells her after a few seconds. She thanks him softly, shutting her notebook and knows she has to head out to get ready.
“Y/N, I-I really like having you on tour.”
“Thank you for inviting me. It’s truly an amazing environment to work in. Even if you do need a few more ladies in your crew.”
Harry laughs but agrees. He knows she speaks from experience where most of his technicians are men. Y/N has a more diverse crew. It is an industry that works to break down women. It's nice to see how she always lifts everyone up. He didn’t realize how, over time, his feelings grew for Y/N. He went from seeing her every few days to speaking to her every night before bed. She brings him a comfort he did not know he was missing. Y/N had become the best part of his day, from watching her perform on stage to their nightly talks. He wanted to spend all his free time with her, so he chose to be honest with her about his feelings.
“Can I tell you something, Y/N?” Harry asked softly.
Y/N turned to him, a gentle smile on her face that helped calm his nerves the tiniest bit. He was worried it would not go his way because there were times he gave her a compliment, and she always brushed it away. He always greeted her with a hug, but she always turned it into a one-second side hug. He didn’t know if that was because he made her nervous or she simply didn’t like hugs, although he’d seen her hug her bandmates. Heck, he’s seen them all squished on a couch together.
Harry takes a deep breath; he wants to look away from her, her gaze making him nervous, but the comfort he finds in her gorgeous orbs allows him to push forward. “I-I like you, Y/N.”
Y/N thought her heart was going to burst out of her chest. She did not expect a confession of this kind from Harry. It leaves her frozen for a second because while Y/N reciprocates those feelings, she’s not at liberty to act on them, not when working on the largest tour of her life. Y/N doesn’t care what people think. It’s a big reason she doesn’t look at tabloids or use her social media accounts, but this–thinking of pursuing a relationship with Harry is not something she can allow herself to give in.
“You’re sweet, Harry. I think you’re great too.”
Harry grimaces because he realizes she doesn’t understand what he is saying. Before he can explain what he means, June, Y/N’s drummer, rushes in, telling her Felix was having an issue and it was bad. Y/N patted his shoulder and excused herself.
Well, it went nothing like he expected. Harry held out for her to say she felt the same, but she clearly didn’t. Harry knows many would tell him to move on, but he knows Y/N is special. While he wouldn’t pursue her, he knew he still wanted her in his life.
+
As much as Y/N hated to admit it, after Harry’s confession, there has been an awkwardness in their conversations. It’s been too much because they no longer spend time alone. Y/N decided to treat their relationship the same, but when she went to his room that night, she found Mitch with him. Y/N knew that she messed up. She also knew she was being selfish by wanting to keep it all the same when he had put himself out there only for her to brush him off.
A few shows go by, and Y/N feels better because Harry still seeks her out to have lunch together. He invites her to join his workouts, which she regrets because Brad is honestly insane. Brad had promised to make a routine that best fit her needs. Harry did not change much; he kept flirting, offering her compliments and daily hugs. A rush went through her each night, knowing he was watching her.
Tonight was no different. He offered her a short hug, and off she went to play to his fans. Y/N felt off from the moment she got on stage but had no idea why. Quinn stepped close, wanting to know if she was feeling okay, but Y/N couldn’t describe it other than a pit in her stomach. It was as if she sensed something was coming. Y/N promised she was fine and pushed through.
Halfway through the set, Y/N looked over and saw Harry staring at her with a fond smile. Y/N didn’t want to look away but had a show to play. Her feelings were winning, and Y/N knew she wouldn’t care about the aftermath if she decided to date Harry. She wanted to bask in the feeling of liking him and hopefully loving him one day. So, she decided to do something different to let him know she was ready to have that conversation.
“Right, this is a little different tonight. I-I have a friend who loves this song, and we haven’t played it in some time, but I thought they might enjoy it and hopefully you as well. This is ‘Crystal Clear.’”
This song is one she wrote when she was wishing for a happy future with a partner who loves and respects her, showing them that she won’t give in to her fears and wants to be together. It was one of Quinn’s favorites to play, but all collectively agreed it didn’t fit the setlist. Y/N knew she’d get endless questions for adding it so suddenly, but she’d deal with that after speaking with Harry. They played a few more songs, and once she gave her final bow, she hurried off stage. Y/N expected to find Harry waiting for her there but instead ran into Mitch, who looked at her, startled.
“Where’s Harry?” Y/N asked impatiently.
“Piano room, but–”
She hurried down the hall, ignoring Mitch, who tried telling her to stop. She didn’t realize he was following her down.
“Y/N don’t–” She walks into the piano room even as Mitch tries to stop her to find Harry hugging a woman. Y/N knew it wasn’t a friend because the grip the woman had on Harry was one of possession. Harry was looking at her, but his face was hard to read. It was as if all the walls she had broken down were now standing higher and stronger. Y/N didn’t move her eyes away from him; her eyes landed on his swollen lips. It’s clear she interrupted a private moment. Y/N grimaces because she knows she would never be able to think about this piano without the tainted memory of Harry wrapped in the arms of another.
“I’m sorry,” she sends them a grim look and walks out, closing the door behind her. She finds Mitch and Sarah staring at her, unsure what to do; they must be aware of the situation between her and Harry.
“Is that his…” She couldn’t even say the word.
Sarah frowned, “she’s uh kind of friend.”
Y/N didn’t need to hear anymore. Sure, Harry said he liked her, but when she didn’t give him the answer he wanted, what did she want him to do, beg and make her open her eyes. No, she needed to figure it out on her own, and now that she did, it was too late.
It’s not like she had a reason to be jealous. She never told Harry she liked him. All she did was pat his shoulder and move on like nothing had ever been said. Y/N bid Mitch and Sarah good luck for the night and walked to her green room. Y/N’s tears began to fall as soon as the door closed behind her. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. Nothing was going on between them, yet why did she feel like nothing would be the same anymore. Maybe it was hurting because he had promised to watch her set each night, and she sang a different song tonight because he had said it was his favorite. Y/N knew she wasn’t being fair, sending him mixed signals, but Y/N didn’t deserve to feel this either. It made her feel as if his feelings weren’t even real. She was blinded by her tears to notice June was on the couch, book in hand, but was thankful she was there because she got to break down in the comfort of arms she was familiar with.
Y/N wasn’t okay, but she would be. It was only a crush.
+
Y/N could not sleep that night. She tossed and turned until she gave up and decided to go to her balcony to watch the sunrise. Time moved slowly, and it allowed her to regroup. By eight o’clock, she was all packed up and waiting in the lobby. Y/N rode to the airport with her friends, where they would all get on separate flights and reunite in May for rehearsals and more love on tour. Y/N was ready to go home and enjoy a home-cooked meal with her mother. She had said goodbye to everyone except for one person. He was quieter today; it allowed him to blend in. Harry had a “Damn” sweater on, the hood up, and a claw clip in the jumper's pocket. Y/N starts walking his way before she can change her mind.
“Harry,” she calls out softly.
He looks up, offering her the tiniest smile. “Y/N.”
“Have a good break.” She offers awkwardly.
He nods. They make no move, and Y/N knows they have no idea where they stand, but Y/N would never start something if Harry had someone else, so she knew she had to come back from the break clear-headed and with these feelings gone and, if not at least tucked away.
Y/N opened her arms and shrugged, telling him it was up to him. Harry didn’t even have to think about it; he wrapped her in a tight hug, breathing her in for one last time.
“Have a safe flight,” he whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”
She walks away with a heavy heart and hopes a month and a half is enough to lose these feelings.
+
While home, Y/N tries to deal with her feelings, and for the most part, it works. Y/N got in the routine of going on morning walks followed by an hour of yoga. She found it helpful in clearing her thoughts and starting her day without a clouded mind. Y/N had not talked to Harry since that morning in the airport; he had sent texts, but they had all gone unread. Her mother tried to convince her to answer him, but she knew it would only hurt more if she found out he was dating that person. The only good thing about this is that Y/N had written five new songs. It seemed heartbreak and love were always a good sign of inspiration. Y/N played her favorite to her mum, and she was told it was okay. Felix told her that the new song was the heart of the new album she was working on. Through the years, she had learned to take what her mother says with a grain of salt.
Her mother was also tired of her moping. Y/N, when on break, would go to her own flat and visit her mother occasionally but so far spent her entire holiday there. Her mother assured Y/N she enjoyed having her home, but it did worry her that she had not left the house. So, as any mother would do, she set Y/N up for a blind date. Y/N said no, time and time again, but Reina promised it would only be coffee. Y/N knew she didn’t have to go, but some of her was tempted because while she knew she had friends to call up, this wasn’t something she wanted to discuss. Going out and talking with a stranger would be awkward but would be a change in topic.
Y/N was told he’d find her as he received a photo of her. She got there early, deciding to use the time to read a book. Quinn told her “One Last Stop” would change her life and, so far, hadn’t disappointed. Y/N was lost in the story that she jumped up when someone lightly touched her shoulder.
“Shit, sorry,” she looked up, hoping the person hadn’t spilled any coffee, and to her surprise, they were empty-handed. His chocolate eyes were filled with concern, but Y/N brushed it off by offering him a timid smile. “Hi, are you Miles?”
“Yes, and you’re Y/N,” he stated.
“Mhm…it’s nice to meet you.”
Miles nods, “you’re prettier than the picture I was sent.”
Y/N feels her face warm in embarrassment and doesn’t even dare ask to see the photo they showed him. If she knew her mother, it had to be the time she jumped into Glacier Lake and came out looking like a wet dog. Her mother always made sure to keep her humble. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
He gestures for her to sit down and follows after her. She tucks her book back into her bag, ready to give him her full attention. “Do you want something to drink? Heard they have an amazing lavender latte.”
Y/N gestures to her cup before her, “already got something.”
Miles nods, “a pastry, then?”
Now that she would never say no to. “I’ll take a muffin please.”
“You got it.”
Miles walks over to the counter, and while he’s away, she allows herself to look him over. He’s cute, wearing black trousers and a baby blue cardigan. It’s clear he’s comfortable with his style by how he carries himself. Y/N knows if she wasn’t trying to get over her feelings, she would have given him a chance, but with her going back on tour, she isn’t ready for that.
When Miles returns to the table with his drink and two muffins, she asks him about his work and family. She discovers he’s an art curator and is working on his next collection. He shares he has two older siblings and two younger, making him the middle child. His mother tries to make it up by having lunch with him each week, but it’s easy to be overlooked as a middle child. Y/N is intrigued with him and knows Miles would be a good friend; if anything, she thinks Felix would get on with him better than she did.
Y/N realized it was her turn to talk about herself, but she didn’t really like stating her job. Sometimes, people judged her, and she honestly didn’t want things to get worse with Miles, but it seemed Y/N’s luck would not improve because when the door opened, a familiar face walked in. Familiar brown curls sticking out from his trucker hat, Harry’s casual wear had always been comfortable but stylish. He always tended to run cold, so he wore an oversized green coat that reminded her of the time he threw it over her when he saw she fell asleep in his green room after his soundcheck. Y/N looked away before he could see her, but Y/N was right by an open space, easy to view by the counter. Harry could spot anything and everyone, and he was never one to be rude and ignore someone, but she hoped that would change today.
She turned back to her conversation, but in the corner of her eye, she saw someone approaching. Y/N held her breath, hoping he would walk past her, but stopped right in front of her.
“Y/N.” Oh, how she missed hearing her name falling from his lips.
She looks up and finds him staring at her with a timid smile. Y/N gets up and offers him a hug that he quickly accepts. They keep it short, though she feels his hand linger at the small of her back, almost like he didn’t want her to move away, but she wasn’t alone.
“Harry, this is uh…Miles. Miles, this is Harry.”
Harry doesn’t ask anything. He simply tells Miles it’s great to meet him. Miles looks at Y/N in confusion, but she brushes him off. “How’d you meet?” Harry asks, intrigued.
“Our mum’s set us up on a date,” Miles explains for her. “It’s actually our first time meeting.”
Y/N isn’t sure why Miles shared that with Harry, but she can’t blame it. Harry has this trusting aura that makes people want to tell him all their darkest secrets. Y/N would know, seeing as she has shared parts of herself with Harry that no one else has seen, not even her best friends.
Harry nods. She can’t seem to read him at all. His pseudonym name is called, and he uses that as his exit. “Well, it was good to see you.”
“You too, H. I’ll see you soon.”
He nods, giving his goodbye to Miles as well. Y/N watches him until he’s out of the coffee shop and no longer in her view from the mirrors. She finds Miles studying her and knows he might have been able to pick up on the tension between her and Harry.
“Do you want to tell me about that? You don’t have to.”
Y/N sighs, letting her shoulders drop. “To start, I kinda have a crush on him, but he’s my boss.”
Miles' eyes widened in shock, “Harry Styles is your boss!” He was not expecting that, but she could tell he was intrigued. His response sends her into a laughing fit, and knows that while she won’t be dating Miles, he will make a good friend.
+
Y/N felt her break was long and too short at the same time. While she was able to use the time to re-energize, she also wrote a few more songs she wanted to share with her band before booking time for studio sessions. Y/N knew studio time would be hard to find, but she was determined to do it between breaks, even if all she got was two hours.
They had been rehearsing on the stage when she heard a clap from their final song for the set. Y/N turned and spotted the Love Band. She set down her guitar and rushed into Pauli’s arms. They spun her around, laughing as she blubbered on how she missed them. Pauli set her down, giving everyone a chance to say hello. Hanging in the back of the group were Mitch and Harry. Y/N knew she would need to have a conversation with Harry soon, but for now, she would bask in the joy of being back on tour and sharing the stage with him.
“Harry! Mitch!”
Harry looked surprised to see her look happy, calling for him. He sent her a small wave, but Y/N was going in for the hug. He basked in the warmth she had to share with him. Being back in the same space with Y/N was comforting after seeing her out on a date a few weeks ago. It made him feel awful, and he couldn’t help that he made Y/N feel the same with his last fling.
She let go of him, moving on to Mitch. Y/N was chatting away, telling them she had gotten a new guitar and was excited to play it tonight. Soon enough, Mitch and her were lost in their own conversation about lyrics she had written and how she was stuck on finding a melody that would work. Mitch promised to have a look and give her any ideas that would come up.
“You’re still welcome to use the piano, Y/N. I know how much that helped before,” Harry offered.
Y/N fell quiet because while she knew Harry was still there, she didn’t feel overwhelmed because she wasn’t conversing with him, but now all his attention was on her. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” she mumbles, knowing she wouldn’t take him up on it.
Harry nods, and he thinks better of it while he’s about to excuse himself. “Y/N, do you—would it be okay if we talked in private.”
Mitch excuses himself, leaving it all up to Y/N. She has no idea what this conversation will entail but owes it to herself to hear him out. “Lead the way, boss.”
Harry looks pleased and walks off the stage, leading them down some stairs and into the pit, but he doesn’t stop there. He makes her climb a few more stairs, landing them in tonight's lower bowl section of the venue.
Y/N whistles, taking in the view from the distance. “Quite a view. I might have to watch the show from here one night.”
He laughs, “you let me know, and we can make it happen. We’ll make sure you’re not mobbed.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, “please, your fans wouldn’t be able to recognize me.”
“Beg to differ. There are more signs for you each night.” Y/N waves him off. “They’ve started to make Tik Tok edits about you.” Harry doesn’t share how he knows, but some nights over the break, he spent time watching them. It made him miss her more, seeing her running around the stage like it was hers. She had the crowd in the palm of her hand, and she didn’t even know it.
“Please, stop!” Y/N laughs. “My ego can only take so much.”
Y/N had forgotten how easy it was with Harry, but being with him now made her wish things hadn’t changed. She had to go an entire month without hearing from him because her feelings were hurt over something that should not have bothered her.
“Y/N, I am sorry for how we left things in Japan.”
She grimaces, “me too.” Harry quickly disagrees, but Y/N reminds him of all his unanswered texts.
“You’re forgiven,” he tells her.
While Y/N appreciates it, a big topic needs to be addressed.
Harry takes a deep breath before turning his body to look at her. “I know my actions and words might have confused you, but I’m here to be honest. I won’t lie to you, not now, not ever. Do you understand?”
She nods.
“Words Y/N. I need to hear you say it.”
“I understand. You won’t lie to me. I trust you,” Y/N truly believes her words.
He dips his head in acknowledgment. “I like you, and I went on to do something stupid. The girl you saw me with is named Victoria. She–well, to put it lightly, she was a hookup, and she’d join me from time to time. When you saw me that night, she was surprising me because she was going through a breakup and needed comfort, and well–I felt rejected and fell into her. I’m not blaming you–I know I could have said no, but I was too overwhelmed that I preferred to do something to disappoint myself and you. My therapist said if I had talked about it with someone–anyone, this wouldn’t have happened, but I’m not too good with words most times.”
Y/N offers him a smile, “doing pretty good now.”
Harry reaches for her hand, and Y/N lets him take it. She can see he needs the support. “I got a lot to work through, but I’m better and want to be a better partner and person. I want to be someone worthy of you.”
“Harry,” Y/N breathes out. “That's–you’re…that’s not why I didn’t confess my feelings. You’re amazing. I would be so lucky to explore a relationship with you.”
He looks at her, confused, “then what is it?”
“You’re my boss. You can say under technicalities you aren’t, but this is your sold-out world tour. I’m making a name for myself, doing what I love. While being an opening act for you has been a dream come true, being tied to you as your girlfriend will put my name out there, but not how I want. Do you understand?” Y/N hopes she got her point across, never wanting Harry to think he wasn’t enough.
Harry sighs because he knows where she is coming from. He wished he didn’t; he wished he could beg her to say yes to dating him to see where it could lead, but Harry knows how much she loves being on stage, and he would never dare threaten to take that from her or anything that comes with it.
“I understand. I do. I like you, I do. While it sucked seeing you dating someone else, I respect you. I still want to be your friend.” Harry rubs a hand under his scuffed jaw. “I miss talking with you about each show at night.”
Y/N squeezes his hands. “Friends, we’re friends. I hope you’re okay with me being in your life, even as a friend.”
Harry stands up, bringing her with him, and wraps her in a tight hug. He breathes her in. She has a distinct smell of roses and vanilla. It’s perfectly her. He wished he could bottle up the scent and take it with him wherever he went so that it hopefully would make missing her easier.
“I’ll always be your friend,” he assures her.
He can be friends with her. Harry knows it could lead him to heartbreak, but it would be worth it for Y/N.
+
The next few shows fly by, and Y/N and Harry easily fall into a routine again. Y/N joins Harry for his morning workouts, but Brad made her a workout to suit her likes. While Harry loves intense core workout, Y/N loves to stretch. There are days when all three go off to do a Pilates class. Mainly, Y/N does her yoga in a corner and joins Harry for his core sets.
From there, they’ll do breakfast with their bandmates, sometimes together, and sometimes go their separate ways. They have limited their time together alone because Y/N knows her feelings for Harry are only growing, and Harry wants to respect Y/N and her boundaries. Y/N shared with her bandmates how she felt, and they understood, except Quinn, who told her she should go for it. Everyone looked at Quinn, shocked, but he just shook his head, telling her to really think about this because, from his point of view, Y/N and Harry were perfect for each other. Y/N let Quinn’s words ring through her mind for some time, but Y/N was nervous about taking that next step. She wasn’t sure how it would work. She loves working with Harry, and she knows he’s taking a break after, but what if he doesn’t like that his partner is never home, just like him. Y/N loves being with her family, but she’s never happier than when she is on stage. Y/N can’t seem to take that step just yet.
In Scotland, Y/N finally decided to return to using Harry’s piano. She initially felt strange but realized she had been missing it for some time. Y/N walks in and is happy to find it open. Y/N runs a hand over the smooth wood before taking a seat. She sets down her old journal and opens it up to the last page she wrote.
Y/N lets her hands rest on the keys before going into C major. She repeats it a few times until she feels ready. It was a slow melody that went hand in hand with her lyrics. She began to sing in the room with only the sound of the piano.
Look at me. I feel homesick
Want my dog in the door
And the light in the kitchen
A creek behind her made her jump up suddenly, hands shooting out to grab her notebook to her chest. Harry steps back, hands up in defense. There is an apologetic look on his face.
“I knocked, but don’t think you heard.”
Y/N feels her face heat up and knows she tends to get lost in her music. “Sorry, it was empty when I came in. Did not expect you to come in. I can leave if you are planning to use the space. It is yours, after all.”
Harry brushes her off, walks into the room, and gestures for her to sit back on the bench with him. He scoots in close, wanting no space between them. “What did you play just now? I’ve never heard a tune so mellow yet sad.”
“Think I wrote my album closer,” she confesses.
The joy on Harry’s face is apparent. “Shit, really! That’s wonderful.”
“It’s--gosh, how I explain it. I felt like floating, and this melody really carried me through. You can find an underlying of it through a few of the other songs,” she can’t help but express to him
Harry sits back, impressed, “is the album complete?”
“Think so. I need to go into the studio and finish a few, maybe decide on one or two. Then, all good to go. Think all that’s missing is a name.”
“Y/N’s house,” he jokes.
“Ah, wouldn’t that be nice. I have an idea, but I need to be sure.”
“Will you play it for me?”
Y/N knows what he’s asking, and part of her wants to say no, but no one has heard the song. Not her bandmates, not her co-writers, not her producer, and certainly not her mother. Y/N knows if she shares this with Harry, it will change the entire album for her. When she thinks back on this song, it will now have a whole new meaning.
“It’s six minutes.”
“I have all the time in the world,” he promises her.
While they both know it’s not true, she appreciates the sentiment as they’re both set to perform tonight. Y/N takes a deep breath and, with trembling hands, begins to play her song for him. Y/N drags the intro out for a little longer before letting herself sing these lyrics she’s been carrying around for weeks. Y/N has her eyes closed, swaying as she lets herself tell this story of being exhausted and lonely for being away from everything she loves while feeling at home and her most genuine self. It tells the story of how she can grow even when experiencing so much change while being entirely on her own.
I feel like myself right now.
I feel like myself right now.
I feel like myself right now.
I feel like myself right now
Mmm.
Y/N opens her eyes, looks at Harry, and finds him crying. She sits up straight, practically pushing herself to sit in his lap as she wipes away his tears. “No, no, what are you doing? Please don’t cry.”
“You made me cry,” he mumbles while Y/N keeps her hands on his cheeks, brushing away his tears with her thumbs. “It was a fucking brilliant song.”
Y/N feels her face warm, “you think so?”
He nods, “think my tears say enough.”
“You could have cried because it was awful.”
Harry bursts out laughing, “absolutely not.”
Y/N wants to lean in and kiss him to thank him for his kind words, but he doesn’t deserve her confusion. “It’s the perfect way to end my album.”
“I agree.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, “you haven’t heard the whole thing.”
Harry shrugs, “don’t have to.” The flattery is becoming too much, but she doesn’t want to move away from him. “You’ll remember this moment when you win album of the year next awards season.”
“Shut up, those are stupid.”
“Hey now! I happen to own a few.”
Her hands are still on his face, his tears now dried up, but she doesn’t move away. Y/N is enjoying this too much, and a part of her knows Harry is, too. “I don’t do it for the awards. Music is something I’ve always had, and if I can share it with a few others and they find some type of meaning from it, then it means I’ve done a job well done.”
“Fucking well said, Y/N.”
Y/N giggles, “You can open for me on my tour after I win my Grammy,” she teases.
Harry places a hand over his heart, “it would be my greatest honor.”
“Shut up, you dork.”
Y/N finally lets her hands drop, and Harry takes a second to hide his disappointment.
“Does this mean we can hang out with a buffer now?”
Y/N furrows her eyebrows, cocking her head to the side. “Sorry?”
Harry pinches her thigh lightly, making her jump closer to him, almost losing her balance. He wraps his hand around her waist, holding her tight against his chest. “Come on, we’ve been hanging out together, but someone always seems to be with us. If it’s not Brad, it’s Anthony; if it’s not Pauli, it’s Quinn. It’s been never-ending.”
They didn’t mean to do it, but Y/N knows she’s missed their inside jokes and private late-night talks when Harry tells everyone he goes to bed early when, in reality, he’s chatting Y/N’s ear off.
“I guess we can go back to late-night pillow talks.”
“And exploring the city?”
“Course, I missed your Google facts.”
“Heey,” he yells, offended.
“Can’t deny it. I saw you do it many times.”
“Trying to impress you,” he mutters. “Clearly, all I do is fail.”
“Stick to music. You’ll go far in life,” Y/N laughs as he rolls his eyes at her.
“Haha, it means we start right now. Found this old thrift shop nearby.” He pulls her with him as he drags her out, careful to ensure they aren’t caught because if word is out Harry has gone without security, it could be madness.
“We’ve got a show in a few hours.”
“They’ve got beautiful skirts. I called and got pictures sent over.”
Y/N sighs. He knows her too well. “Lead the way, H.”
Harry shoots her a charming smile, and Y/N knows she would have followed him wherever he asked her to without a second thought. She knew she was in safe hands with him.
+
Harry and Y/N had fun exploring Amsterdam for a few days before heading to Ireland. They had each planned an activity and a place they wanted to eat. Sometimes, they disagreed on food because of Harry’s eating choices, while Y/N would eat anything and everything as long as dessert was always included. Harry thought it was too much, but when he found out how much Y/N enjoyed it, he said yes and ensured she had something sweet, even if he didn’t get anything.
Jeff would tell Harry off for going without security or someone for the team but brushed him off because he didn’t need anyone intruding on his time with Y/N. He loved spending hours with her uninterrupted, touring cities he had never once had the chance to explore. While he enjoyed those days, Harry also loved show days because he got to see Y/N dance around on stage. She went from singing in sweats to her favorite mini skirts for showtime, and when Y/N decided to pair it with a baby tee, Harry had to think of world hunger and puppies to make his hard-on go away. He knows he should look away, but she captivates him every time she’s on stage, dancing and spinning around to sitting on the edge of the stage. Y/N occasionally brought fans on stage, but when that happened, he would be taken further backstage for his safety; he knew those fans were there for her at that time while he was forgotten.
Tonight was a big night. Harry would be playing at Slane Castle. Harry knew it would be special because not everyone is asked to perform here. Harry had spent most of his time today with his crew, psyching Mitch up for his debut performance. Many didn’t know Mitch had created an album and were even more surprised when he was announced as another opener for tonight. Y/N was still at the forefront of his mind, knowing he had to wish her luck for tonight. He’d be deeper in the audience tonight to watch all his friends open this monumental show for him.
Y/N would be a fool to not know what it means to be playing Slane Castle in Ireland today. Y/N’s nerves were insane today. She knew she wasn’t nervous. No, she was anxious. When she was younger, her biggest fear was disappointing her mother. Y/N hated failing others, while her mom did an excellent job of assuring she didn’t have to carry all that pressure on her shoulders. Sometimes, it came back, and she couldn’t shake it.
She had spent thirty minutes on the phone with her mother, and nothing helped. Y/N wasn’t worried about disappointing herself. No, this–tonight was bigger than her. Quinn and Felix could tell something was up, but they couldn’t help, not when June kept taking off a piece of clothing when she saw the time move closer to when they were meant to take the stage.
June was on a clothes removal band and couldn’t go to the restroom alone or even for a snack. It was honestly quite funny. It allowed Y/N to momentarily take her mind off the anxiety lingering in her body. When Y/N saw she had half an hour and her handshake got worse, she felt her throat swell up and excused herself. Y/N had no idea where to go or where to hide. She simply walked and ended up in a secluded corner where she tried to center herself before going on stage.
Harry walks into Y/N’s green room excited to see her, but all he finds are her three bandmates playing cards while June sits in a robe. He doesn’t bother questioning it and instead asks for Y/N.
They all turn to look at each other before Quinn answers. “She left like ten minutes ago. She said she needed a breather.”
That makes sense; he hates that he doesn’t know where exactly she went. Felix pulls her phone out and airdrops a location to Harry. “That’s her exact location. You should have her share her location with you. We can always see where she is.”
Not a bad idea at all. He wouldn’t mind Y/N knowing where he was, especially if seeing where she was on a map could bring him the smallest of comfort. Harry thanks them and walks back out. He walks for around ten minutes until he reaches a secluded corner in the grass. Y/N is sitting on an oversized denim jacket while she stares at her hands.
“Y/N,” he calls out softly to not startle her. She lifts her head and offers him a shaky grin. He can instantly tell something’s wrong. “Hi, love. Been looking for you.”
She shrugs as if to say she’s here. Harry steps closer but is careful not to invade her space. “Came by to wish you luck.”
Harry regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth because Y/N looked away from him, burying her face in her hands. He heard her cries, hurried to sit down, and scooped her in his lap. He rocked her back and forth as he tried to get her to stop. He hated seeing her upset. Y/N was always the epitome of strength, and this had him worried. Y/N expressed that she had a hard time going on stage, but she said it was ages ago.
He whispered sweet nothings, hoping to calm her down, but it wasn’t working. “Please tell me how I can help. Please,” he begged.
“I-I-I don’t w-want to disappoint you,” she cries out. Her tears keep falling, and seeing her like this breaks his heart.
“Hey, hey. I got you.” Harry brings her close, letting her rest her head on his chest. “You’re okay. I got you.”
“It’s a big night for you, and I want to make you proud. I-I can’t disappoint you,” she repeats.
Harry hates that she thinks she can do anything to disappoint him. He pulls her away from his chest because he needs her to understand that she can do no wrong in his eyes. “Love, will you look at me?”
Y/N lifts her head, and her teary eyes meet his warm ones. He hates that she’s doubting herself. “Tonight is the same as any other.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not. No–”
“Shh—yes, it is. Do you want to know why?”
“Why?” She mumbles.
Harry brushes her loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Because I’ll still be watching. I will be cheering you on as I do every night. You make every night special, and I know tonight will be no different.”
“You have too much faith in me,” she mutters against his shirt.
“I always will. I’m a big fan of you, Y/N, not only as a person but also as an artist. I’ve seen how hard you work. How you constantly want to improve each song and each set. You want everyone in that audience to have fun even if they aren’t here for you. This is a large crowd, but if you close your eyes, it’s just you and the band. That is what you can control. So, tonight, when you get on stage, whether you sing one song or five or if you mess up a guitar note or you change your setlist. I can promise you I will be proud.”
Y/N sniffles; her tears have dried up. “Harry,” she whines. Y/N can’t find any words and throws her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Harry wraps his arms around her waist and holds her tight. It’s a comfort they have been both seeking all day. Y/N then realized that all the anxiety she faced was because of Harry. She admires and respects him and wouldn’t dare want to mess up his big night.
“Every night is special. Tonight is slightly different only because Mitch is also performing,” Harry teases, hoping to make her laugh, and it works. He feels her laugh move through his chest and settle deep in his heart. “It’s another stop of Love on Tour, and then it’s home shows. Now that should scare you,” he jokes. “My family will be there.”
Y/N knows those words should frighten her, but if anything, it brings her comfort. Harry’s family and hers will meet for the first time, which she had been looking forward to. Honestly, if her mum gives the seal of approval to Harry, it might indeed be over for her. Although that’s something to worry about in a few days, for now, her focus is on putting on a show to remember the thousands of people at Slane Castle.
“Do you want to pick my outfit tonight?” Y/N offers, in exchange for him helping her avoid a panic attack, her hands playing with the ends of his hair.
Harry lights up, “you mean it?”
Y/N laughs, “it’s got to match my ribbons for tonight.”
Harry pouts, “what do you take me for?”
She shrugs.
“I’ll have you know I co-hosted the Met Gala.”
Y/N wags her eyebrows, “fancy.”
“Shoes?”
“Not up for debate.”
Harry waves her off, “good enough for me.”
They walk back together, hand in hand, as Harry goes over possible outfit combinations he has in mind for her. He really wants to see her in leather pants because he knows it will hug her nicely. Her black bows sit nicely in her hair as she does her makeup. June made her do an eye mask for ten minutes to bring down the puffiness in her eyes. It worked, mostly. Y/N did a shimmery eyeshadow and her eyeliner. All that was left was her outfit.
Y/N walked into the bathroom, where Harry told her it was all laid out. She shimmied into her sequined flares and slipped on the simple black baby tee. She ruffled her hair a bit, and overall, Y/N was happy with the look for tonight. She walked out to find everyone waiting for her. She did a spin and got lots of whistles and claps. Y/N told them all to shut up and to get to the stage. She lingered behind with Harry. The look he was giving her was anything but friendly.
“You look beautiful.”
“Might have to hire you as my stylist,” she jokes.
“No, I’d have you wear skirts every night.”
“But not tonight?” Y/N asks confused.
“Wanted something different tonight.”
Y/N doesn’t argue with him. She did give him a full range of her clothes. Y/N hears her name being called and knows she needs to get her mic pack.
“I’ll see you after?” Y/N checks.
“Of course.”
They stand there staring at each other. Y/N, for a moment, thinks Harry will kiss her, and she knows she will let him. Instead, he does something that makes her catch her breath. He steps close and leans down to press a kiss on her forehead. “Good luck, Y/N.”
It’s a simple gesture, but it has her heart racing. “Thank you, H.”
Y/N hurries off after and thanks her engineer for her mic. They hook it to the side of her pants, and Y/N jumps to test its security. So far, so good. Y/N looks behind her one last time and finds Harry giving her a thumbs-up. She could do this. Y/N would go on stage and have fun.
From the moment Y/N got on stage to when she got off, Y/N could not stop smiling. The crowd was incredible, singing her most popular songs back to her. She could not stop thanking them for a fantastic night.
“Before I play you one last song and finally leave this stage, there is one last thank you. To Harry, thank you for asking me to be a part of such a special day. It’s one I will never forget. Thank you for the kindness, but most importantly, thank you for sharing your fans. They have been the best crowds to play to. This one's for you.”
Y/N had never done a dedication before, but it felt right tonight.
In the crowd, Harry was watching Y/N’s set, and while he didn’t need a thank you, it meant a lot coming from Y/N. Harry had no idea Brad was recording him or that he caught Harry blushing as Y/N dedicated the night's final song to him. His friends knew teasing was always okay with Harry, but he looked transfixed, staring at Y/N serenading the crowd they knew could wait until later.
Y/N had the time of her life dancing with Felix, Quinn, and June to Harry’s set. She laughed loudly when he got called a slag, cheered when he thanked his band, tried to hide when he thanked her and the other openers and cried as he played “Fine Line.” It was a perfect show, everything Harry deserved.
While it was late, Y/N and Harry still hung out, talking about their favorite bits when they reached their hotel rooms. Y/N loved it when a fan shouted they loved her during a song transition. Harry thought “Kiwi” went insane tonight. Y/N recounted the slag story, and Harry let her laugh it up. He teased her, saying he noticed when she tripped over her words when introducing her band. It was every moment that made the night special. While they had a few days off before Wembley, Y/N knew it was time to head for bed as it would be a travel day. Y/N couldn’t wait to hug her mum and knew Harry felt the same.
Harry lingered outside her door as if he didn’t want to leave. Y/N wanted him to stay, but it would be crossing the boundaries they set for each other. Y/N knew she had a lot to figure out, but day by day, everything became more apparent.
“Good night, Y/N love.”
Y/N steps on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss on Harry’s cheek. “Sweet dreams, H.” Harry walked away from her with a cheesy grin on her face. As Y/N closed the door, she knew one thing: that she liked Harry.
She is head over heels for him. Y/N knew the ball was in her court. She had to make a move if she wanted anything to happen. It seemed the hometown shows were about to get interesting.
+
Y/N had dreamed about playing at Wembley Stadium. While it technically wasn’t for her, she would play in a sold-out stadium. Y/N would open the show for four nights. She’d get to play here and dream of a future where she sold out her favorite stadium in her hometown.
She was in the middle of the walkway, where Harry sings “Matilda” each night. Y/N doesn’t hear the camera shutter or the footsteps approaching her. Y/N is simply taking it all in, wanting to remember the stadium empty before she sees it filled up.
“Do you still dream about nights like tonight?” Y/N turns her head when she hears her mother’s gentle voice.
“Mum!” Y/N shoots up from where she’s sitting and runs into her open arms. Y/N stands taller than her mother but never feels smaller than being wrapped tightly in her familiar embrace. “Thought you were coming until later.”
Reina laughed, “Wanted to spend the day with you, oh, and Quinn promised we’d catch up on gossip.”
Y/N shook her head, “did he bring you out here?”
“Sure did. I needed to say hi to my girl before gossiping my life away.”
“Is it book club?”
Reina sighs dramatically, “it always is.”
Y/N and her mum chatter as they make their way backstage. She’s got family members and friends coming over the four days, but her mum promised to be at all four. Her childhood best friends, Tiffany and Elena. Her cousins and nephews were coming, even her Aunt and Uncles. Y/N reminded everyone she was simply the opening act, but no one cared; they were all proud of her.
She had introduced her mother to nearly everyone except her favorite person. Y/N found Harry with his headphones in but took them off when he noticed her.
“Y/N,” he greets with a cheerful smile. He quickly notices the woman beside her and introduces himself as Harry, a friend of Y/N’s.
“My mum, Reina,” Y/N tells him.
Harry grins, “I see the resemblance. We know Y/N will look just as amazing as you in the future.”
Reina can’t stop smiling, “dear, you didn’t tell me how cheeky this one is.”
“He’s a flirt, Mumma. Nothing is stopping him.”
“Oi, you see what I have to deal with,” Harry teases. “I only flirt with pretty girls named Y/N.”
“And who’s from London,” her mum adds.
Harry points a finger at Reina before turning to look at Y/N, “I like her. I really do.”
“Keep her,” Y/N tells him. “I can only take so much teasing.”
“Oh, darling. You can never get rid of me.”
Harry throws a hand over her shoulder, bringing her close to his side. “Like you too much to go through life without you.” Y/N rolls her eyes, but her Mumma can see how flustered she has become. “Come on, I’ll take you to meet my Mum and sister. They were set to arrive any minute now.”
It’s Y/N's turn to perk up, “your Mum’s here.”
Harry feels his heart swell at her excitement to meet his mother. He has no idea what he and Y/N are, but they’re certainly more than friends.
+
Y/N spent the entire afternoon chatting with Anne and Gemma. She didn’t mean to monopolize her time, but Anne would keep the conversation going, and Y/N was enjoying it too much to remember she had a different job to do.
“Y/N, babe, we’ve got sound check,” Felix interrupted, apologizing to Anne.
Harry slipped into the spot next to Anne, “yeah, Y/N, leave my mum alone and go work.”
Before Y/N could rebuttal, Anne slapped his knee lightly, chastising him to be polite. Harry winked in Y/N’s direction. She excused herself and promised Anne she’d see her around for the next few days. Y/N walked out to find the band waiting for her. Y/N looked back one last time to check in on her mother and was happy to see her wrapped up in a conversation with Pauli and Mitch.
Quinn smirked when she made her way towards them. “Take it your mother-in-law likes you.”
Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. She slapped his shoulder, telling him to shut up.
“Wembley, Wembley, I don’t know if you know this, but London is where I grew up. So, boss man, these are all my hometown shows, too.” Y/N laughed when the crowd cheered. “My mom took me to concerts with her because she preferred to take me with her to create these beautiful memories together instead of me staying home with a relative. So, if you enjoy my music and are happy I pursued this dream, you can thank Reina. Mum, you’re my best friend and my number one supporter. Thank you for everything. I love you.”
Y/N turned to see the screens where her mother was shown wiping her tears and blowing kisses to the screen. Y/N saw Tiffany reach over and give her a cuddle and knew she’d be in trouble for making her cry, but it was worth it.
“My name is Y/N, and it’s been a pleasure playing for you. Here’s one last song. Good night, Wembley. You’re in for a hell of a show with Harry Styles, I promise.”
Y/N ran off stage and straight into the arms of the first person she saw, which happened to be Harry. While she didn’t see him before going on stage because he had been out cheering on Madi, he was now looking at her proudly. Harry spun her around, and all Y/N wanted to do was reach down and give him a kiss. It took everything in her not to do it, especially when surrounded by hundreds of people.
“You were amazing,” he breathed as he set her down.
“They’re fucking amazing,” Y/N told him, pointing out to the crowd. Y/N rambled on about how the crowd was like no other, that the energy they brought was nothing she had ever felt. “I didn’t want to leave the stage.”
Harry laughs loudly, “should have stayed there think I could have watched you all night.”
“Awe, afraid you can’t surpass my amazingness,” she playfully mocks, knowing very well he’d knock this out of the park. Harry made a sold-out stadium feel like the most intimate show each night.
Harry can’t stop looking away from her beaming face. It brings him so much joy to see her like this each night. All he wants to do is celebrate with her, showering her with kisses and telling her how proud he is of her. Instead, he lets her go and tells her he'll see her at the end of the night. There would be no late-night talks tonight as they’d be going to their respective home. “Best of luck, H.”
He watches her walk away and mentally prepares for his first night of four in Wembley.
+
Wembley had been perfect each night. His family and Y/N are getting on swimmingly. He hoped for it, but seeing it in person gave him hope that he and Y/N could pursue something. With a day off in between, he was back. He knew the end of the tour was nearing, and his time with Y/N was limited, but watching her on stage each night stopped him from doing anything because he preferred to have her as a friend rather than nothing at all.
Y/N was in a red skirt tonight with a white top with embezzled cherries scattered around. He remembered her mentioning it was his saddest song. It’s not one he would sing again, but he wondered if she was ever in his show's audience to hear it live. The ribbons were cherry red and long. Slowly, as she danced around, they were coming undone. One moment, she was in front of the stage, and the next, she was dancing her way down his long catwalk. She usually kept to the stage but used more and more over time. Tonight, she sang an entire song to his fans, who sang her songs right back to her. Harry knew having Y/N as an opener would be nice, but it’s nothing he ever imagined.
“Wembley, I know you didn’t come here to see me, but thank you to those who sang along. I have one last song, and soon enough, the man of the hour will grace you with his presence. A thank you to my wonderful band. They truly are my best friends. Give it up for Quinny Quinn Quinn on bass. He truly loves all the edits you’ve tagged him in. There is Felix on guitar and the occasional tambourine. Felix always has a new hair color and keeps us whole. Lastly, this band’s hero is Junie. Junie loves the drums and loves me the most,” Y/N teases as Quinn rolls his eyes at her. “Alright, this is–for me?” Y/N asks confused. She bends down, and the security hands her the bouquet of flowers. It’s a mix of pinks and yellows. It makes her tear up. “You sure?” The fan nods, telling her she brought them specially for her. Y/N holds them close to her chest. “I love you. This has made my entire night.” Y/N shows them off to her bandmates, who are all awed by the kind gesture. She places them by her water so she doesn’t forget them. “Alright, one last thank you to you all. This is the Band and I. Good night, Wembley. I love you!”
She hurries off stage with her bouquet in hand. June commented it was a kind gesture. It reminded Y/N how fans travel to see their artist live in concert. Y/N knows she had a sold-out tour when she finished Love on tour, and while it won’t start for a few months, this time is something she won’t ever forget. She’s grateful for the experience, grateful she gets to observe how the crew is treated, and how much comradery there is on this tour. She’s heard the stories of friendship blossoming. It’s beautiful, and now that she’s gotten a glimpse, she’s happy to be a part of but something she wants to take forward with her.
Y/N drops off her flowers and goes in search of Harry.
Y/N likes Harry.
She likes spending time with him and likes to sit in silence with him, but mostly, she likes hearing him talk and tell stories. Y/N has never felt at peace with a partner or felt the infamous belly full of butterflies, but she feels them both with Harry. She doesn’t even know when she began falling. All she knows is that she’s ready to tell Harry.
While she wants to share how she feels, she’s mostly dying to kiss him. Their tension is thick, and Y/N is ready to cut through it. She did not think Love on Tour would bring her love, but after hearing Mitch and Sarah’s story, she knows anything is possible and that Harry loves playing matchmaker. He’s a big romantic, which is something everyone has told her.
She finds him in the piano room, playing an all too familiar melody. “You know, some would call that plagiarism.”
Harry’s hands fall away from the keys, but he doesn’t turn to look at her. “It’s my favorite song.”
“Not even released. I barely named it,” she tells him truthfully.
He shrugs, “special enough to me.”
“Should have named it Harry’s song instead.”
That gets him a look; his cheeks are red from her comment, and it settles Y/N’s nerves. Harry stands up, and she knows he wants to hug her. While she usually is eager to be wrapped in his warm embrace, she didn’t change coming off stage today and fears she might smell. “Think I might stink.”
Harry rolls his eyes, “stop it and get in here.”
It is no use fighting it when she only wants to be in his arms. Y/N let herself melt against him, her hands resting around his waist.
“Quite incredible out there. Almost got jealous when you got handed those flowers.”
Y/N smirks and pulls back the tiniest bit to see the pout on his lips. “Almost?”
Harry huffs out a sigh. “Fine, I did.”
She grins, “There’s no need to.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re the only person who’s got my eye,” she tells him honestly.
Harry’s face turns red, but he doesn’t press further. Instead, he pulls her in closer, resting his chin on her head. Y/N struggles to work up the courage to say those three words. She didn’t realize that the fear of rejection could win out when she really liked someone.
She decides to go for it.
“Harry, will you do something for me if I ask?”
“Only if you ask nicely,” he rebuttals.
Y/N pulls away from him, and he lets her. Her hands stay rooted on his waist, letting him know she doesn’t want him to go far.
“Kiss me, please,” Y/N whispers out into the room. Harry was shocked at her request. He stayed staring at her, unsure if he had misheard, but Y/N repeated herself one more time. “Will you please kiss me?”
He had been waiting for this moment when everything would shift for them, and now that it was here, he was overwhelmed. Harry wanted to kiss her but didn’t know what it would mean for her because he knew what it meant to him. There was a part of him that knew how she felt, but he was dying to hear it.
Instead of questioning it, Harry decides to lean in Y/N, lifting her head to allow their lips to touch, but Harry keeps just enough distance between them to see if she really wants this. Harry lets their lips brush, leaving the ball in her court. He was tempted to go all in but needed to know she wanted him. Y/N was in a daze; she had never felt like she could pass out from a simple touch, but with Harry, it had been like that from the start, from small touches to holding hands. Y/N knew precisely what he was doing and knew exactly what she wanted.
Y/N connected their lips, and she felt fireworks go off. She doesn’t know why she stayed away for so long. Now, she never wants to go without him. Harry raises his hands to cup her face, taking control of the kiss. It is gentle and full of care. She never wanted it to end, and it seemed neither did Harry. Harry was getting lost in the taste of Y/N. He knew he didn’t care what happened as long as he got to keep her in the end.
He pulled away breathless, but Y/N pulled him back in for another kiss before he could say anything. It went on for what felt like hours but could have only been a few minutes. There was a loud pounding on the door that made the spring apart. Y/N gazed at his swollen lips and knew she must look the same, if not worse.
“Y/N–” He shakes his head, not able to wrap everything around his head
“Shh…” Y/N doesn’t want this moment to end, although she knows it must. “We’ll talk later, I promise.”
Harry frowns. He doesn’t want to give her the chance to change her mind and reject him. He wants her, simple as that. “But–”
“I promise I won’t change my mind. I’d tell you right now, but I wouldn’t let you go for the rest of the night if I did.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” he confesses.
Y/N chuckles and presses a final kiss to his lips. “I’ll be cheering you on, popstar.”
Harry smirks, “dedicating tonight to you.”
“Menace.”
The show is a beautiful success. Harry spots Y/N in the crowd tonight and spends too much time singing to her. Not that many fans pick up on it. He wouldn’t mind anyone finding out, but she’s all his right now. He runs off stage and straight into his dressing room. He’s got a car waiting for him, but he doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Y/N. His mom trails in, followed by Jeff and a few others. Harry keeps his door open to keep an eye on her. Harry packs up a few of his belongings, knowing he’ll return tomorrow for a final night. Harry is listening to Jeff drone on about tomorrow and the surprises he has planned when he catches sight of Y/N’s purple bow breezing by. He doesn’t even apologize to Jeff; he runs out after her.
“Y/N!” He calls out.
Y/N stops and smiles. “Hi you! Nice job out there.”
Harry blushes because, as confident as he was on stage dancing for her, there’s a difference between being dressed down and having his crush tell him he did amazing on stage. It means everything knowing she enjoys the shows each night. Harry loves seeing her sing on stage each night and is thankful he gets to enjoy it for a few more weeks.
“I–I’ve got to get going but wanted to see you.”
Y/N reaches up and cups his cheek. Harry leans into her touch, neither caring if someone spots them nor knowing they are in safe hands with the crew around them. “I hope you have a good night. I’ll see you here tomorrow, ready for one final show. I hear it’s going to be the best one yet.”
“Is there something you want to see me play?”
Y/N offers him a soft smile, shaking her head. “All I want is to see you happy on stage.”
While the sentiment is appreciated, Harry knows her words will be on repeat as he falls asleep tonight. He wants to give her something special tomorrow. “I’ll find out your favorite song,” he promises.
Y/N rolls her eyes. “H, I mean it. You being happy on stage is all I could ask for.”
Harry turns his head and kisses the palm of her hand. “I’ll figure it out, sweetheart.”
She stares at him lovingly, knowing they both have to go and get a good night's rest. They’ll be apart for a few hours, and tomorrow, be back together to share a few more kisses.
“Good night, you.”
Harry leans in and kisses her cheek. “Night, sweetheart.”
+
The final night at Wembley had arrived, and she was ready. Y/N knew Harry had most of his family and friends here, which made her slightly nervous because she knew he would want her to meet them but also knew most of them wouldn’t show up for lil ol’ her as an opener. Y/N, when she arrived at the arena, was separated from her band and found at Harry’s side. Harry selfishly wanted her to stay with him; he even sneaked them off to a hidden corner of the stadium, where he kissed her breathless. He promised only a few minutes, which turned out to be thirty. Y/N showed up to her soundcheck with bruised lips and a wide smile. The band decided to tease her later when Harry wasn’t around, seeing they also had lots of questions.
“Yo–you look gorgeous,” Harry expressed as he walked into her dressing room and saw her dressed in a black maxi dress with embroidered flowers instead of her signature mini skirt.
Y/N did a twirl for him, “you like? My mum found it at this shop we love to visit together. Altered it to perfection. The extra fabric she used for my bows,” Y/N points out. Harry admires her loose curls, a massive bow holding half up in a messy updo. She looked effortlessly beautiful.
“It’s wonderful.”
“I got a wardrobe upgrade for the next few weeks. Leaving a lot at home and packing a ton of new outfits. Think it’s time to play dress up,” Y/N laughs, knowing she will have a fun time and lots of new looks to explore.
“Can you dance in it?”
Y/N smirks, “don’t worry, Felix made me practice shaking my ass already.”
“Oh darn,” he jokes. “Have a lovely show.”
Harry brings her in for a hug, and Y/N sags against him, loving the comfort he brings her. As she goes to pull away, Harry leans in for a kiss but waits for her permission; with a simple nod, he connects their lips and captures her heart. The kiss is perfect. It’s slow and gentle but filled with passion and yearning. Yearning for more time together, longing for all they have yet to explore. Harry backs away, his lips shining from her strawberry lip gloss.
With a final wave, he’s gone, and Y/N takes the stage.
“Welcome to the final night of Wembley! Promise you’re in for a hell of a show. I-I’ve never been happier.” Y/N thinks back to minutes before she walked on stage and knows her words have never been more accurate. “Let’s dance!”
The show passes in a breeze, and before she knows it, she’s reached the end of her set, having one final song left to perform. She never seems to feel time passing when she’s on stage. While Y/N loves playing for Harry’s fans, she’s excited to get back on the road for herself soon enough.
“Wembley, Wembley. You are a beautiful crowd. I’ve got one last song for you.” The crowd cheers. “Ouch,” she feigns hurt, placing a hand over her heart. “I won’t take offense only because I’m also excited for Harry.” Y/N steps towards the stage with her microphone. “Thank you for receiving me with open arms, Wembley. I love performing and singing all my songs for you. I hope you come out to a show of mine in the future. It would be lovely to see familiar faces in the crowd. Before I continue, there are some people I need to thank. My mum Reina is in the crowd.” Y/N cheers when the crowd screams and chants for her mother. “She’s going to love that. There is someone special who is not here but has a special place in my heart and made me fall in love with singing: my Dad. While it feels like it has always been my mum and I, he’s never forgotten. My mom gave me all his records and always played music he loved. It led me to finding my dream and making it come true. Mumma, thank you for everything. I love you. Lastly, Harry Styles, it has been my greatest honor to join you on tour, but tonight, I feel extra thankful to be here with you. You’ve become a great inspiration throughout this tour, and I’m grateful for you.”
Y/N wipes her tears, laughing to herself for getting emotional. One last song to sing. She looks at the sky and whispers, “this is for you, Pops.” When she finishes, Y/N blows kisses to the crowd and rushes off stage and straight into her mother’s waiting arms.
“He would be so proud,” Reina whispers, making Y/N shed a few more tears. “I’m proud of you, my angel.”
Y/N squeezes her mother tighter. “Thanks, Mumma.” After her mother finishes showering her in kisses, Y/N heads to her dressing room, wanting to change and shower, except when she walks in, she finds Harry reading her lyric journal.
“Harry?” She looks at him, confused.
He stands up quickly, setting the book down on the couch. “I-I didn’t mean to. But it was flipped open to
‘Right Now’ it’s the song you played me on the piano. I still shouldn’t have done it, but I was curious. I–I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”
Y/N wishes he wasn’t so panicked. “It’s okay. I think you’ve heard all about these songs. Very comfortable with you reading it. Only June gets a kick at reading the notebook. Think she left it out.”
Harry sighs. She opens her arms for him, and he falls right in. “You were wonderful! Love seeing you so happy,” he mutters.
“Special crowd. Don’t know if it’s possible, but it feels like there's more people than the other nights,” she confesses. She wouldn't be surprised if that was the truth; fans sneaking into the pit are much more common when workers are distracted, even if they try their best.
He laughs, “guess we’ll see, all I know is tonight will be special.”
Y/N enjoyed this downtime with Harry. While they knew a conversation was waiting to happen, they simply chose to enjoy this final night in London before continuing on the road for the next few weeks. Y/N knew how she felt, but this was not the time or place to have this discussion. It’s one she would be waiting for in the days to come.
“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. Got a surprise for tonight.” Harry stole a kiss and backed away from her. Y/N could see a twinkle in his eye and knew he had found her favorite song. Y/N knows he went to her Mum. She was the only one who knew. While ‘Fine Line’ was special and he played it every night, she wondered if he would play it for her.
Y/N doesn’t always watch the show in the audience; sometimes, she is side-stage dancing with Felix and playing air guitar. Then there are times they’re in the green room eating while watching Harry play through the TV in their room, but tonight, Y/N joins his family and watches from the right side of the stage. Anne said they’re close enough that he can spot them but not enough to distract him. For the last week here, Y/N had met most of his friends and family; there would even be a celebration at the end of the night where more people would attend. Y/N knew Harry would be the man of the hour and had decided she’d hang for an hour before heading home. While she selfishly wanted to monopolize all his time, Y/N knew she couldn’t. She’d see him on their flight to Wales in a few days.
“He’s got quite a big crush on you,” Gemma nudges her shoulder. “I would know I’m his older sister.”
Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “Then I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“My brother’s a shy guy. When he’s onstage, he shines so bright, but when he walks off, he’s back to being my shy brother who, for the life of me, is awful at starting conversations. He cares so much for everyone in his life. Once you’re in, you have a friend with him for life.” Gemma tells Y/N, and she knows it���s as much a welcoming as it is a warning.
“I-I think he’s amazing. Fuck, I’ve kept a distance for a while only because I wasn’t certain if he was genuine. But repeatedly, he proves to go above and beyond for anyone. Being home puts many things in perspective for me,” Y/N sighs and offers Gemma a timid smile. “I’d be lucky to be given any relationship with Harry.”
Gemma’s laugh rings loud, causing their mums to look over at them, but Gemma waves them off. Gemma links her arm with Y/N and declares them dance partners for the night. “You’re a good person, I can tell. And even if I couldn't, my mum could, she adores you already. Think she plays your music more than Harry.”
Y/N gasps in surprise, “please tell me Harry knows!” Gemma shakes her head. “Oh my gosh, he said I write sad music.”
“Well, he writes horny pop songs,” Gemma chips in.
Y/N falls into a fit of giggles, “he does!”
“You write rock mixed with sadness and a few pop influences.”
Y/N feels her face heat up, knowing Gemma is clearly a fan of her music. It always overwhelms her, but knowing that Gemma, Harry’s sister, enjoys her music is a big win for her. It brings her a lot of joy. Y/N always had an easy time conversing with people, but she feared making relationships and connections. It’s a reason her circle is tight-knit, but chatting with Gemma makes her hope that a new friendship could start here.
The night is spent dancing and singing at the top of their lungs or as loud as Y/N knows she’s allowed without messing up her voice. After Mitch’s incredible solo for ‘She,’ Harry walked to the middle of the catwalk with the ladies of his band. It seemed as if every fan knew what song was coming as Y/N saw friends embrace each other. Y/N walked over to her mother, knowing her Mumma related a little too closely to the song. However, the familiar notes to ‘Matilda didn’t start; instead, it was a soft guitar intro. Reina pulled Y/N tight into her arms. This was the surprise Harry had mentioned.
Harry finds his mum and sister hugging as he sings, but he keeps searching until his eyes land on Y/N, who is being embraced by her mother as she sings along to every word of “Sweet Creature” while Harry has no idea what this song means to her, she knows what it means to him and his sister. There are many ways to interpret his songs, and he’s glad Y/N connected with this one. He’s happy he could give Y/N and her mother this moment for it to become theirs.
It’s hard keeping his emotions under control for the entire show, but he does his best. He remembers to thank his family and promises Wembley he’ll see them soon. When Harry runs off the stage that night, he knows he left his heart out there for every single person. It’s something he knows he is going to get back with a lot more love-filled into it.
There is a celebration that Jeff hosted for everyone wanting a perfect end to four sold-out nights in the city that changed his life and has now become his home. Harry sees his crew mingling. He sees Y/N’s band mixing with his band. It’s nice to see how connected everyone has become over the last few months. The person he is searching for is talking to Glenne. He sees them laughing, and as he makes his way over to them, he is intercepted by Ben, a long-time friend. Harry bounces around the room, converses with everyone, and occasionally drinks with them. Harry had managed to keep an eye on Y/N all night until he was saying goodbye to someone, and when he turned back, he could no longer spot Y/N. Harry knows he’ll see her soon and has her number to call her, but he really wanted to hear her thoughts about tonight’s show.
Harry pulls out his phone to call her when he finds a text from her.
Y/N
Thank you for the surprise. Tonight truly was magical.
Did you enjoy the rain? Think the heavens opened up from how emotional you made everyone. I’ll see you soon. Give me a call tomorrow. xx
He pockets his phone with a smile and knows what he has with Y/N is good, and he’ll do everything in his power to make her happy for a long time.
+
In Wales, Y/N and Harry did not go a moment apart as if they had become each other’s shadows. Where one went, the other followed. No one questioned it because it was bound for something to happen, but what happened? No one knew. Y/N and Harry shared kisses behind closed doors, and it was theirs. It was the time to brush everything away and simply be together.
Belgium came much too soon, and there is something Harry has been meaning to ask. He’s lying on Y/N’s hotel bed, knowing they have a few days before their show, and Harry’s dying to take Y/N out on a date.
“Sweetheart,” Harry calls out for her.
“In a minute.”
She walks out of the bathroom a minute later, her skincare finished for the night. They had arrived a few hours ago, and Harry quickly approached her.
“Beautiful.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t stop her face from heating up at the compliment. “Sweet talker.”
“Only yours,” Harry sing-songs.
She lies down with him. “Any big plans in Belgium, H?”
“A sold-out show,” he teases.
“Well, obviously.” She plays with a loose thread on her shirt. “Meant sightseeing.”
Harry shrugs and scoots closer, reaching down to take her hand in his. “Not really sure. Thought sleeping would be a good start.”
“Don’t be silly. You and Brad love an early morning workout.”
Harry reaches out and pokes her nose, making her scrunch her face in surprise. “No need to be jealous. Early days with Brad mean free days with you, sweets.”
He had a point. Y/N deflates because while Belgium is famously known for its waffles, she doesn’t want to explore alone. She also knows it is harder for Harry to simply be out. “It’s simply we have time to explore cities I’ve never visited before, and while I selfishly want to ask you to roam the city with me, I know it’s not possible.”
“Hey,” he speaks softly. Her hand stays cradled to his chest, all his attention Y/N. His eyes say everything he hasn’t voiced yet. “We can walk around any city aimlessly. You don’t have to worry about anything else.”
“Harry,” she breathes out. “You–”
“Why can’t I? Simply because others will look or because I’m this big name. Don’t I deserve the same respect as others to simply be.”
“You do. Of course, you do.”
“Then, don’t worry about anything else. I promise I will be there if you ask me to be somewhere or want to go to a chocolate-making class.” Harry’s words fill her with hope. Hope that whatever this is will turn into something more, something special.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I-I don’t want to go to a chocolate class.”
Harry falls into a fit of giggles, leaning in close to press kisses to her cheeks, not caring that she tries to push him away because he knows she likes it, knows she craves his touch as much as he does hers. “Would you go on a date with me, Y/N?”
Y/N freezes, not having expected him to ask her. She always kept it at the back of her mind, but now he’s here asking for more. “A date?” She repeats. “With me?”
Harry’s laugh rings loud, “you’re kind of who I’m asking.”
She wants to blurt out yes, it’s on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it back. Instead, he thinks about it for a second, wanting to make Harry sweat for a second. “I’d like that.”
“Tomorrow? I can plan a whole day out for us.”
Y/N breaks out a huge smile; dates usually last an hour or two, but she has Harry wanting to spend the entire day with her. She knows this is unconventional and that they have already spent so much time together that it will now only be outside the four walls of a hotel room.
“Tomorrow is perfect,” she agrees.
Harry bids her goodnight and promises to be here at eight with a coffee for her to start the day.
True to his word, the following morning, Harry is there with two cups of coffee and a paper bag. The smell of fresh bread reaches her, and Y/N knows this is a fantastic start. Harry leads them out of the hotel room and onto the street, promising walking would be better.
Making it to their first destination, it’s a Botanical Garden, and Y/N practically shines with happiness. From the moment they walk in, they are met with blooming plants. They find out it’s pretty empty, not many people picking a garden for their first visit of the day. Y/N roams around, with Harry trailing close behind. She doesn’t realize Harry is taking photos of her every few minutes. Harry wanted to capture the entire day, and seeing her beauty through his eyes was something to behold.
“H, come on!” Y/N turns to him with a stretched-out hand, and he’d be a fool not to take it. They spend a few hours roaming around, stopping to take pictures and sitting on benches as they take in all the beauty, never letting go of each other’s hands.
Y/N knew it was always easy with Harry, but she let every touch linger a bit longer in this new context of being on a date. Harry told her it was time for the next destination, and while she didn’t know what it was, she knew the day would only get better.
“Did you know fries are actually Belgian and not French?” Harry tells Y/N as they share a small plate outside a shop.
Y/N chews a fry, tilting her head, thinking his words over. “Weird to call them French.”
It turns out Harry had no real plan for them besides the gardens, but was too worried to tell Y/N. She laughed and promised him she didn’t mind. Spending time with him was more than enough. Aimlessly walking is her favorite pastime when she’s in a new city, but doing it here with Harry, she knows it will never be the same again.
They walked in and out of shops for the next few hours, laughing at shared stories and buying knickknacks for family members. Harry dragged Y/N into a chocolate shop, where the worker was kind enough to offer them samples. After buying too much, Y/N promised to share it with the crew. It was too good for them not to share.
After some time, Harry pulled Y/N to sit on a bench with him. It gave them a beautiful view of the sun that was beginning to set. They sat in silence for a while, comfortable enough to enjoy each other’s company without saying anything.
“Did you know I once wrote a song about Rapunzel?”
“The princess?” Harry asks.
“Mhm…I loved the film, and I thought Rapunzel had lost so much time being trapped that, being free, she didn’t know where to start. It was not my best.”
Harry nudges her shoulder, “doubt that.”
She shrugs, “who knows, maybe it was amazing, but I’ll never know, never thought to record it.”
“What made you want to pursue music?” Harry asks. He has her hand in his lap, twisting the ring she wears on her pinky finger with her father’s initials.
Her father comes to mind, “I was really young when we lost my dad. He loved music; he was the type to love it all, from Metal to pop to Spanish. He worked as a producer exclusively in London and with close artists, he had never wanted anything to take him from home. He loved my mum too much to ever want to part with her for long. My dad always had music playing. My mum said it was the first thing I reacted to when she was pregnant with me. By the time I was born, music lulled me to sleep and was the first thing I heard when I woke up. By the time we lost him, my Mumma played his records to keep his memory alive. She only bought new ones on his birthday and anniversary. I didn’t realize until I was much older that it also connected them.” Y/N pauses to send Harry a smile, and he answers by squeezing her hand. “My mum knew I had a good pair of lungs during my theater days and pushed me to pursue more if I wanted. I taught myself guitar and took piano lessons because I wanted to improve. It wasn’t always easy, but I loved learning, so it only motivated me. I wanted to share music because I wanted to connect with others and proudly say I’m doing that.” Y/N feels overwhelmed but is happy she shared this with Harry. She can’t remember the last time she was this honest with anyone.
“Thank you, Y/N.” Harry kisses her cheek. “I-I love seeing you on stage. You radiate this energy that—” he shakes his head. “I don’t know how to describe it, but it makes you want to be part of it. I think you’re one of the most amazing songwriters we have in our generation.”
“Harry,” she shakes her head to get him to stop, but it urges him on.
“I mean it. You’re incredible, and I’ll forever scream it from the rooftops if you want me to.”
Y/N feels her face flush and turns to pull Harry in for a hug. She breathes him in for a long moment, “I–thank you.”
After the sunset, they walk back to their hotel. They linger outside Y/N’s door, not ready to say goodbye even after a long day together.
“We–”
“I–”
“You first,” they reply in unison.
Harry gestures for her to go first.
“I was going to say if you want, we can freshen up and have dinner in my room, maybe watch a movie,” she asks nervously.
He nods eagerly, “yes, please.”
“Good, good. Say an hour?”
“Perfect.”
Harry lets her open her hotel room, but before she can wave goodbye, he pushes her against the entrance and leans in to kiss her. Y/N sighs against his lips. She has wanted to do all this all day. His hands hold her waist firmly while Y/N fists his shirt to keep him close.
Y/N pulls back to catch her breath, “been wanting to do that all day.”
Harry smirks, “well, here’s another one.”
His lips are soft, but the kiss is fast and needy. There has been a build-up to this moment all day. Y/N lets him guide her as he explores her mouth. She moans as he nips her bottom lip. Y/N pulls him closer, needing to feel him against her. She’s so lost in the kiss she jumps back in surprise when the door slams shut. Harry rests his forehead against hers, his breath heavy. “Maybe not the smartest thing we’ve done.”
Y/N bites her lip, “probably not.”
Harry thumbs at her bottom lip, and she releases it. “Please stop, or I’m going to kiss you again.”
“I don’t mind,” she confesses.
“Y/N,” Harry groans. “I’m going to go.”
“But you’ll be back?” She asks softly.
“In an hour,” he assures her. “Pick a movie for us.”
“Bye Harry.”
Harry kisses her cheek, knowing that if he gets another taste of her, it will lead to more kissing, which they clearly do not want to rush. “Bye, sweetheart.”
Y/N shuts the door behind him, a large grin on her face. She’s falling hard, and she’s falling fast.
+
“Vienna is probably one of the most beautiful songs ever created,” June tells Y/N, who’s lying on the floor of Harry’s stage. “The beauty of getting older.”
“June, you hated that song when you were younger,” Quinn chimes in.
“Am I not allowed to change my opinion?” She yells. Quinn simply puts his hands up, deciding it is not worth defending.
“City of Music is nothing I thought it would be,” Felix shares.
“What were you expecting?” Y/N asks curiously.
Felix laughs, “definitely fewer parks.”
“Oi, is this what we pay you to do?” Harry shouts as he walks over to them dressed in blue jeans and a “Pleasing” sweater.
“Y/N, save us, please!” They all collectively yell.
Harry snickers at her, knowing they might not have told anyone about the dates they’ve been having in every city that usually end in one of them staying the night in the other’s room. It started off with neither of them wanting to say goodnight. Harry laid on her blankets while she tucked herself, holding hands; they dozed off to sleep. It was a no-brainer after that because they both enjoyed waking up to one another. Nothing goes on except a bit of kissing. She can’t say she hasn’t been craving something more but knows there is no need to rush her time with Harry.
“It’s chisme time,” Y/N tells him. “Anything to share.”
“I love Gossip.” Harry takes a seat next to Y/N, leaving not a single space between them. “Did you know we’re not having soup for lunch?”
Everyone collectively groans, “banished, you’re no longer welcome,” Quinn shooed him away.
“Hey now, I got a better one,” Harry leans in closer. He glances at Y/N before telling the others to get close, leaving Y/N out of their makeshift circle.
Y/N sits back, relaxed; with Harry, there is no need to worry about anything. June and Felix lean back, “Oh,” at the news while Quinn looks confused. He looks at Y/N, then back to Harry, then again to Y/N.
“Lies. Not real. She doesn’t have the game,” Quinn says while looking at her.
While Y/N has no idea what Harry whispered to them, June’s grin says it all. She knows it has to do with the dates they’ve been going on. Y/N had mentioned she liked Harry, but they all assumed she would do nothing about it.
“H, what did you do? It seems like they’re broken now.” Y/N points out to her two loudest bandmates, who have not said a single word, and Quinn, who has started to pace around on stage.
Harry leans back on his arms as he takes in the scene before him. “Simply told them I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend. Had no idea you were keeping me as your dirty little secret.”
Y/N quickly shakes her head, “no, never, it’s ju—” she cuts herself off, seeing that his dimples are on display and not an ounce of sadness or pain. “You’re annoying.”
“But you like me!”
“Whatever.”
“You brushed of my question.”
“More like a statement,” she rebuttals. “Clearly not how you’re going to ask me.”
Harry sends her a cheeky wink, “course not.”
“Then you’ll have to wait for my answer until then. Now shoo, I’ve got to rehearse and answer all their dumb questions.”
Harry kissed her cheek with a loud “muah” and promised to head to her room tonight.
There was a sense of anxiety that had been with Y/N all day. Harry had made a bold statement tonight, and she wondered if he did it to give her the time to see if that was what she wanted. Harry was not like someone she had ever been with. She never had to speak on her emotions; she always went with the flow, but Harry is giving her the choice here. Y/N is nowhere near ready for the conversation, and it seems Harry knows because when he arrives in her room and sees the stress in her eyes, he takes her in his arms and tells her it’s time for bed.
Harry takes a shower while Y/N changes into an old tour shirt and boxers. Harry enters the bedroom to find her lying in the middle of the king-sized bed.
“You look adorable.”
“Cute enough for cuddles?”
Harry laughs, “always.”
He makes his way to her after double-checking the lock on her door and ensuring his phone is off. He lifts the blankets and settles behind Y/N, his hands slipping under her shirt and pulling her towards him. Y/N sighs and melts against him.
“There’s no pressure to have this conversation. I want you to know where I stand. I know I might not have gone about it the best way, but I want you to know you have as much control over this relationship as I do.”
With Harry’s reassuring words, Y/N felt at ease. She knew she was overthinking everything, but Harry understood her like no one else had.
“I like you, Harry,” she confessed. “I like you a lot. I-I-how you manage to always have the right words escapes me, but I’m thankful. I like you, and I like where this is going.”
Harry squeezed her tight, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I like you too. Promise, I’m sticking around.”
Y/N knows she’s lucky to have Harry.
+
“¡Hola Barcelona! Yo me llamo Y/N, gracias por acompañarnos esta noche.” The crowd cheers after hearing her Spanish. “I know, right, pretty good. My grandpa taught me a living legend he still is. Think he’ll be proud. Let’s have some fun tonight.”
Y/N, as soon as she gets off stage, feels a heaviness in her heart because, after tonight, there are only three shows left. It means not seeing her friends and the new friends she has made for a long time. Y/N is jumping straight into a tour in two months, meaning she’s got to start rehearsals in a month. While she doesn’t know what comes next, she does hope to finish her album before she heads out on tour. Harry had accompanied her to the studio, and even Mitch had tagged along, wanting to see her process. It led to them playing guitar in a few of her songs. These memories she’s made throughout this tour will live within her new album.
Y/N didn’t know how much her life would change by accepting to be Harry’s opening act. She knows she should bask in the happiness while she can, but the reminder lingers in her mind. Y/N finds Harry and is not surprised to find him with Mitch. They’re speaking about Mitch’s album while Sarah is lying on the couch with her son, who’s napping. There has been so much to happen since this tour started, and Y/N never gets tired of hearing the stories.
“Dinner?” Harry raises his head when he hears her voice. Mitch waves at her but doesn’t offer her a word; instead focuses on Sarah.
Harry rushes over to her, wrapping her in a hug. “Promise I watched. Mitch stole me away quickly.”
Y/N laughs. Harry not watching didn’t even cross her mind. “You’re fine. Wouldn’t blame you, boring for you with the same ol’ setlist each night.”
“Hey now,” Harry defends. “That’s my favorite singer, you're insulting.”
“Oh, Stevie Nicks is not going to like that,” Mitch comments.
“Wanker!” Harry gives Mitch the middle finger and guides them to get soup, Harry’s favorite food, before a show. It’s known to settle his nerves.
“That’s okay, Hozier is mine,” Y/N chirps, sharing a laugh with Mitch.
“Irish tend to be superior,” Mitch agrees.
Harry walks out with Y/N, sending Mitch a wave. Harry walked them to his green room, requesting his soup and Y/N’s sandwich to be sent. She told him she’d pick it up, but Harry shared he wanted a minute alone with her. Y/N hadn’t technically been with Harry long; it’s only been two weeks, give or take a few hours, but she’d known him for months. There was no need to talk as Y/N settled on the couch with him. She felt tired after her set, all the adrenaline gone. Harry asked her for dinner, and then she’d watch Harry from her dressing room with the rest of her band. The final days were approaching, and Y/N knew she’d prepare to say goodbye to them, too, even if it was for a few weeks.
They settled in the silence, no need for conversation. Y/N was content to be wrapped in Harry’s arms as he closed his eyes, breathing her in. Y/N had not let herself think about the end of the tour because she wanted to enjoy every moment, and now, with the end so close, she honestly never pictured herself falling in love with Harry. She knows she wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. She had him and would protect this relationship for as long as she was allowed to have him and even long after.
After a successful show, Harry came to sleep in Y/N’s room with the promise he wanted to be close to her. Y/N was not one to deny him of any request, not when he kept her safe. Y/N woke up feeling too warm with Harry’s hand flat against her warm skin. He loved physical touch and kept his hold on her even in his sleep. Y/N shimmied behind him but stopped when she felt how hard he was. She knew it was normal, but a part of her wanted to take care of it and take the next step with him.
“Baby, you got to stop moving,” Harry groaned in her ear. Y/N paused, thinking he might not be on the same page but as if he could read her mind, “unless you want me to take care of you.”
Y/N stayed frozen because her mind was running wild on the possibilities that could happen. She had dreamed about Harry taking care of her, but now, making it happen, Y/N was at a loss for words.
Harry turned Y/N, making her lay on her back, and he shifted above her with a gentle smile. “Morning, pretty girl.”
“Morning,” she breathed out.
Y/N knew she didn’t look her best, with tired eyes and crazy hair, not even mentioning she hadn’t brushed her teeth, but by the way, Harry was gazing at her, it was clear he wasn’t thinking the same.
“You’re beautiful. Thought you were a figment of my imagination, but here you are, spread out under me.”
She feels her face heat up, loving how warm his words make her feel.
“Tell me what you want. I’ll give you whatever you ask for.” She knows he means it. He’s a giver. It’s what brings him the most joy.
“Want you to touch me,” she spoke softly.
Harry kneeled over her, careful not to let his entire body sit on her. He ran his fingers up her arm, biting back a smile at the goosebumps that raised over her body. Y/N’s breathing slowed down as her eyes never left his. “Where, baby?”
Y/N shimmied, her face burning. She couldn’t, but she knew he’d continue to play with her if she didn't. His hands now tracing over her stomach and up to her breast. Y/N pushed against his hand, but he pulled away, tutting at her greediness.
She didn’t have the words, but Y/N guided his hand, resting on her stomach to her wet pussy. Harry moaned when he felt how ready she was for him. “Here, baby. Need me here?”
“Please, Harry. Need you to take care of me,” she begs.
“Are you sure about this, Y/N?”
Consent had never felt so sexy.
“Yes, please, Harry.”
“You’re not wearing panties.”
Y/N has to hold back a laugh because she is begging him to make her come, and he is focused on her having no panties. “I run hot, you know that.”
He glided his fingers around her pussy, spreading around her wetness. She let out a needy moan when he slid his fingers inside her. The feel of her clenching around his fingers made him eager to add another. Harry loved seeing her like this. It made him want to give her everything. In and out, he moved his fingers inside her, rubbing and stroking her swollen lips. She laid their legs spread out, head back, taking it all. Harry knew she was close, but he was greedy for a taste.
Harry lowered his mouth to her stomach, pushing her shirt up, allowing him to kiss her breasts before continuing down the path calling for him. He kissed along her thighs, and Y/N felt her breathing slow down. He continued with his slow kisses along her hips up to her belly and back down again. Sliding his hands under her ass, he pulled her closer.
“Oh baby, I need to taste you.” His warm breath tickled my skin as he lowered his mouth and bit into the inside of her thigh. Y/N let out a loud moan, urging him to continue. He kissed her repeatedly, knowing it would bruise. He was glad to mark her his.
Y/N let out a soft cry as his tongue licked up her thigh. She needed everything as he moved closer to where she was ready for him. He slowly dragged his tongue through her folds.
Fuck.
“Harry, Harry,” she chanted his name.
Y/N could only beg for more as Harry muttered something about how delicious she tasted. As he licked into her, he slid one finger into her as his thumb rubbed against her clit. In seconds, Y/N was lifting to meet each thrust of his finger.
“You sound so beautiful with my name on your lips,” he dived back in. “Want me to make you mine?”
“Yes,” Y/N moaned. “All yours. Only yours.”
Y/N was writhing and wiggling anything to keep him pressed against her clit as his tongue thrust inside her. Everything was on fire; every nerve in her body was firing off. He slipped another finger, and Y/N exploded. It all became so much, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her as she felt her orgasm rip through her. Y/N felt Harry slow down, lazily moving away from her, with no apparent rush in wanting to leave her. Harry slowly sits up; she sees hooded eyes, her eyes focused on the mess she’d made on his face. Harry raised his hand and slipped his wet fingers in his mouth, cleaning the last of her juices. Y/N knows they’d get going for a second round if he's not careful.
“Let me kiss you,” she begged, her voice rough.
Harry ran a tongue over his lips, making a show of cleaning her off him, “not ready to share yet.”
“Nasty,” she chastised before she leaned up, placing her hand on the back of his neck and pulling him for a heated kiss. “Will you come for me, Harry?” She mumbled against his lips.
She pushed away, removing her shirt, throwing it to the side, and lying back, allowing him the view of her breasts, her nipples hard as she begged him to come. Harry slid down his briefs, and Y/N gasped at how beautiful he looked hard and thick because of her. Y/N reached for him, but Harry shook his head, a clear sign this would be quick. Harry wet his hand, moving it steadily up and down his base. Y/N was mesmerized. She played with her tits as he stroked himself, knowing he loved the show.
“Come for me, Harry,” she purred. “Show me how good I helped make you feel. Show me how much you loved making me come. The feel of your tongue is something I never want to forget. How well you take care of me.”
“Fuck, baby. Didn’t know you could be so dirty.”
“Promise to take you down my throat next time. Let you use me any way you want. Please, Harry, come for me.”
That was all he needed for him to come on her skin.
“You’re a dirty girl,” he comments.
Y/N winks, “only for you.”
As they settled down from the high, Harry cleaned her up with an old shirt of his. They stayed cuddled on the large bed, sitting in silence. There was so much said between them, but they both knew they meant every word. It would be only up from here, even if only a few days were left.
+
Y/N has enjoyed meeting new people, but this tour introduced her to new friends. Harry’s band is lovely and quite large; he has his main band, but during the disco medley, as he likes to call it, he brings out the horns. She found herself overtime making her way to their dressing room, watching them get ready for the night. Throughout her time on the tour, she earned her spot in their room as she watched them get ready before her set or after.
Tonight was no different. Y/N was talking with Lorren and Parris about their plans after the tour. They shared they had shows lined up, but a break was the first thing they were looking forward to, and Y/N had to agree.
“Lorren, can I ask you something?”
Lorren turned to Y/N with a bright smile, “well, of course.”
“Well, I was wondering if you could add stars to my face. Quite good at my eyeliner but shit at anything else,” Y/N confessed.
Lorren looked thrilled. “Yes, please, yes. Thank you for asking.” Lorren stood up from her chair, giving it a pat for Y/N to make her way over. Lorren complimented Y/N’s skin and makeup, stating it was flawless. Y/N thought it better be she was religious with her skincare. She learned over time less was more and stuck with it. Sometimes, not even Y/N could escape her eyebags when she worked too long in the studio.
She sat perfectly still for Lorren, continuing to talk to Kalia about her new musical release. It was something everyone had been waiting for; they were all incredibly proud. They segway to talking about Pauli, who, thanks to him, had brought them all on from the North America tour to right here in Lisbon and a final show in Italy.
Y/N soon felt the room fall quiet. She got lost in her thoughts when a shutter made her snap her eyes open. It was only Georgia, her photographer, taking photos. “Scared me, Georgie.”
Georgie laughed, “sorry, but you did tell me to capture everything.”
Y/N wondered what she meant by that; before she could ask, Lorren declared her finished. She looked in the mirror and gasped at how perfectly they blended with the purple eyeshadow she used today. Y/N noticed Lorren added glitter to give it that extra glimmer.
She hugged Lorren, thanking her over and over again. She would have continued if Georgie didn’t remind her she had to change. Y/N wished the room luck and rushed to her dressing room, where her outfit was laid out.
One final look in the mirror, and Y/N’s ready to go. She walks out, happy to find Zahara, who came to celebrate the end of tour with her. “You made it!” Y/N cheers.
Zahara wraps her in a hug. “No thanks to stupid United. Canceled my flight twice.”
Y/N winces, “don’t even want to imagine the conversation you had.”
“It was not pretty,” Zahara shares.
Y/N stands side stage with Zahara, chatting while Ash helps secure her mic pack while Zahara makes her promise not to do anything she wouldn’t do. Zahara doesn’t even know what she’s asking of her, especially because she has no idea who Y/N has been kissing behind closed doors.
She rushes on stage; her signature mini skirt is back tonight, paired with a baby tee Harry ordered for her. It’s black and has bedazzled constellations all around, a big reason she asked Lorren for stars on her face. Y/N spent a large portion of her morning with Harry, thanking him for the gift.
Harry watches Y/N sing her heart out to the crowd. This song Harry knows Y/N wrote when she was going through a bad breakup. While it hurts him to think about her with anyone else, he also knows he’s started to write endless songs about her and knows she’s done the same. Zahara greets him courtly, and he wonders if she knows.
“Listen, Harry.” He steps closer, but Zahara never looks at him. “If you do anything–and I mean anything to smear her image, I’ll make you regret it. This girl has fought tooth and nail to be where she is.” Harry sees the fire in her eyes. “Y/N doesn’t open up easily, and I know you wormed your way in. You’re a good guy, but even a good person can break a heart. You know what it’s like to be talked about.”
Harry knows first hand how ruthless the media is. “I would never want that for her.”
Zahara sighs, “I know. She’s special, and I think she’s proved that even more because of this opportunity you gave her.”
“I-I- didn’t expect to fall for her,” Harry defends because he hadn’t, but one conversation with her, and there was no stopping it.
“She’s got that charm,” Zahara laughs. “Look at me here to watch her finish a tour when I’ve got so much to do. You’d do anything knowing you put that smile on her face.”
Harry knows Zahara is right and goes back to watching Y/N. He can’t help it when he takes out his phone to record her because he wants to remember these moments of her on stage. He knows her setlist by heart and knows she’s got three songs left. What he doesn’t expect is for her to shoot a wink towards Zahara, and then they watch her jump off the stage. She makes it look effortless, but he’s worried and moves forward to try to stop her. Zahara shoots her arm out to stop him. “Slow down, rockstar. She’s got this.”
“You’re okay with this?”
“Oh, I’m furious,” she confesses, “but she did it with me in the audience, knowing I’d keep her safe.”
Y/N walks through the barricade, serenading fans and security in front and behind her. It’s the only thing that brings him a bit of comfort. The cameras follow her around, showing her on the large screen, making him laugh because he can see how much she enjoys it. She walks the entire catwalk, hugging fans who are clearly there for her as much as they are for him. She reads a few signs, and by the time she returns to the stage, she has friendship bracelets lining her wrist, a shirt on her shoulder, and two bouquets of flowers. Y/N laughs in their direction, clearly noting the disbelief on both their faces. Y/N continues the show, giving 100% energy until she sings her final note.
She hurries off straight into Zahara’s open arms. While he can’t hear what Zahara is whispering to Y/N, he knows it has to be about him for her face to look flushed and not from her hour-long performance. Zahara pushed her towards Harry, who was waiting for his turn. Y/N settles in his embrace as he kisses her head repeatedly. “You’re mental, absolutely insane.”
Y/N giggles against his chest, “how rude.”
Harry puts his hands on her cheeks, pulling her back the slightest bit to get her to look at him. “You were brilliant! A shining star, you have the crowd in the palm of your hand.” Y/N’s smile shines at his words.
“You’ve got lovely fans. They make it easy.”
He holds back from kissing her but promises to see her later.
Y/N watches him go, not caring that Zahara and the band will tease her endlessly for it. She doesn’t mind one bit.
+
“I’ve been on tour with one of my favorite artists, Y/N Y/LN.” Harry lets the crowd cheer for her, knowing Y/N is waiting for him to call her onstage. “She’s got amazing songs, and lucky for you all, I asked her to sing a song with me for you all. So everyone welcome Y/N to the stage.” In her outfit from earlier, Y/N walks out, guitar strapped to her chest, waving to the fans. She sees hundreds of phones in the air as she stands at her mic stand. They had rehearsed today, with Harry promising he was ready. He seemed to know the entire song by heart and had his band learn it. “Let’s go!”
Y/N never imagined being on stage singing her dirtiest song with Harry to a sold-out stadium. Y/N can’t seem to look away from him; it has her bringing out all her sensual dance moves when she plays this song. It’s a reason she cut it from her setlist tonight to play it specifically with him. When it comes to an end, Y/N turns to the Love band, giving them a round of applause.
“How about one more?” Harry asks Y/N into the microphone.
She smirks, “I'd be honored.”
Y/N hands off her guitar to Chloe, waiting to pack it away for her. Then, he prances back over as Harry begins ‘Daylight.’ Y/N had always enjoyed this song, the sweetness packed in the lyrics. It's a song about a lover coming and going. While they’re home, he’s happy and full of joy, but once they’re gone, the mood falls, and he’s left missing them. It’s a feeling she’s familiar with, and she knows that Harry has lost a person due to being away for so long. It does make her think about her finished album and how it was influenced by everyone around her, romantical or not.
As she comes over to sing into Harry’s mic, not minding the closeness, the cheers get louder as they stay together. She feels Harry’s eyes burning into the side of her head, and she dances away, letting him continue. When it’s her turn again, she returns to his mic, looking straight at him. She smirks, singing his lyrics. She sees his eyes darken and knows she’s in for a fun night.
Once the song ends, Harry lets the crowd give Y/N a long applause. Harry pulls her in for a tight hug, “thank you for doing this with me.”
Y/N gives him a light kiss on the cheek, thankful her face is hidden from the crowd, “thank you for inviting me.”
“I don’t want to let you go.”
Y/N laughs because she feels the same way. “Promise, I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done. Go have fun, rockstar.”
She runs off stage straight into June’s teasing arms. Y/N doesn’t even mind not when her thoughts are running wild watching Harry continue with the show.
“Babes, we’ve got to spend the show down there,” Felix begs, pointing to the crowd of fans leaning against the barrier.
Y/N’s eyes widen, “in the pit?”
They nod. Y/N knows they won’t stop until they do, so she compromises with them. They’ll go in between the catwalk and barricade for the last songs.
“I’m down,” Quinn quickly says.
“Can you get Harry to wet us?” June asks seriously.
Dear God. What is she going to do with them?
Once they’re down watching Harry prance around, he changes it up and plays a surprise song that makes them all lose their mind. Followed by screaming their lungs to ‘As It Was,’ nothing better than yelling “Leave America” with a sold-out crowd. By the time Kiwi rolls around, Harry has spotted them and jokes for Y/N to give him her number. There are many oohs in response, but Y/N sends him a wink. The band got what they wished for, and Harry gave them a good splash, one Y/N avoided by hiding under Quinn’s jacket. Harry is about to do his signature exit when he freezes and spots the cup of beer in her hand. She offers it to him as a joke but complies when he signals for her to pass it over. He mouths, “thank you, baby,” and the next thing she knows, he’s doing the whale with her beer. Fuck, if she didn’t want to get him naked now more than ever, as she saw the beer run down his neck and bare chest.
“Fuck me, I’m glad one of us is fucking him,” June mutters to her.
Y/N doesn’t bother correcting her friend. As her friends walk her back, she’s lost in her head because she enjoys being with Harry. Y/N knows she took her time discovering her feelings and allowing herself to fall for Harry; now that she has, it’s all-consuming. She is filled with so much safety and love; she’s used to being overwhelmed, but Harry makes her feel at peace. Having these conversations about what they are to each other is stupid, but she knows she owes it to Harry to tell him how she’s feeling.
She walks to his dressing room to find him changed and has his bag swung on his shoulder, meaning he’s leaving. “Heading out?”
He turns his head when he hears her voice. “Yeah, beat traffic.”
Y/N nods and stays quiet. She knows she’ll see him back at the hotel but feels like this can’t wait.
“Harry, I—”
“H, we got to go,” Jeff interrupts, rushing in behind her.
Harry frowns but doesn’t argue. He stands in front of her, reaching for her hand. He intertwines her fingers between his and pulls her along with him. “Come with me,” he begs.
Y/N begins to tell him she can’t when Quinn swings her bag at her, telling her she’s good to go. Harry gives her a deadpan stare, waiting for her to try to provide him with a reason why she can’t, but decides to give in. “Lead the way, H.”
The car ride to their hotel is quiet. Y/N leans her head on his shoulder as Harry comes down from the night's adrenaline. Her hand rests on his lap. She knows they will leave for Italy tomorrow. While excited for the last show, she’s sad it’s all ending. Y/N and Harry walk in together through a private entrance and say goodnight to Jeff as they head into Harry’s room. Her stuff never made it to her room, and it won’t in Italy either.
Harry heads to the shower while Y/N heads to the sink to remove all her makeup. This all feels domestic to her, doing this routine with Harry as if they’ve done it for years.
“You taking my beer was pretty bold,” Y/N comments when she hears the water shut off.
He dries off before exiting. She sees a towel wrapped around his waist and laughs when she sees it fits him a bit too small. “Thought you were offering it.”
“Ever heard of a cheers,” she teases.
Harry kisses her cheek and promises to warm her side of the bed. While Y//N showers and does her skincare, she thinks of what she will say to Harry. Her mind is going crazy, and she wants to get it in order before she just spills it all to him.
“Baby, you coming?”
Y/N replies to give her a second. She finds Harry sitting in bed, his book on his lap and the blanket untucked, waiting for her to settle in. Y/N kneels on the covers facing Harry, knowing she has to get the words out tonight.
“Need to tell you something,” she breathes out.
Harry looks at her concerned but gives her his undivided attention. “Course, love.”
“I-I like you. I know I’ve said that, but I like waking up with you. I love going on dates with you. Holding hands brings the biggest smile to my face. Your hugs bring me so much love and safety. I enjoy having conversations about everything and nothing, but I also love sitting in silence with you.”
“Y/N,” Harry begins, but she shakes her head. He reaches for her hand and holds it tight.
“I feel like it’s so soon to say these words, but I hope you feel it in every action and touch. I’m head over heels for you, Harry. I-I know I made you wait; I had to figure out my feelings, but I’ve never been more sure of anything than I am of you. Will you be my boyfriend?” Y/N asks. Once those words are out, she sinks her face in her hands. “God, that’s so fucking cheesy.”
“Hey, hey,” she hears Harry moving, then feels his hands pulling her hands away. He’s careful not to pressure her but lets him see her. “There’s my pretty girl.”
Y/N shakes her head; she really said all that.
“Thank you for sharing your feelings with me. I appreciate it. I like knowing where you stand. Do you want to know how I feel?” Y/N nods her head. “Well, love. I’m crazy about you, too. I like sitting with you and watching you play the piano. I love trading books we’ve finished reading because yours always have different annotations for me to find. I like seeing you watching me perform. I love watching you perform for an audience, and I can’t wait to see a show soon where the entire audience is there for you. I’m falling in love, and I know you’ll be there to catch me.”
She feels her eyes well up with tears because Y/N has never been good at expressing her emotions, but with Harry, she’d conquer every fear to make sure she can make him feel loved and seen. She presses her lips against his and melts against the familiar taste. With a soft moan, she shifted close as his mouth opened over hers, and his tongue slid between her lips. She might have initiated the kiss, but Harry seems to be the one who always takes control. She was always okay with that. She tilted her head so he could kiss her more deeply. He didn’t need more encouragement. The kiss became intense; heat flashed through her, making her thighs clench, and while she would love to take this further, she knew they needed to rest.
His hands trailed up her nightshirt, and she broke away to let out a loud moan when she felt him squeeze her ass. “H-h-harry, not tonight,” she managed to make out.
Harry slows his hands, bringing them back to her waist. “But we can kiss,” he asks against her lips.
“All night if you want.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he teases.
Harry pats her ass and helps her get under the covers. Y/N laughs when he turns her to be facing him. He wedges himself between her legs to be close; there’s no way of knowing where she begins, and he ends.
It’s a perfect night.
+
Italy has always been perfect to Y/N, from the people to the food to the views. While Y/N knows enough Italian to get around and understand it, Harry is basically fluent. He’d been practicing his speech all morning. His only break was to give Y/N one last wake-up call that had her screaming his name.
Y/N and Harry spent a few days roaming Italy together. They were officially a couple and were enjoying it. Harry kissed her every chance he could get. Y/N always had a hold of Harry, whether it be his hand or at the small of his back. It’s clear everyone knows they’re together, not that they made an announcement but because they are always spending time together. Where one goes, the other follows.
June, Quinn, Felix, and Y/N sit together in the green room, discussing their favorite moments from the tour. Quinn said in Amsterdam, some strangers let him join their bar hopping. He ended up finding he could not hold his liquor like they could. Felix shared it was playing at Slane Castle. They heard stories of never thinking it would be them on that stage. June made them all cry by stating that every moment on stage with them was special to her. June is going on a break after this, needing to go home and be with her family, while Y/N accepted that she would miss her best friend. Y/N shared it was exploring new studios while writing her new album.
“You have to play it for us soon!” Felix expresses.
Y/N nudges her friend, “who else would I show first?”
Quinn nudges her. “Someone named Harry.”
“Promise it’s almost done. Think I’m just missing an album name,” she shares, knowing she finished recording most songs.
Before the band can start throwing names at her, there’s a knock on the door, and Harry comes in with the Love band, all holding something behind their back. June narrows her eyes at Harry, not one for surprises, but Y/N knows this will be good.
“Y/N and band, thank you for joining us on an amazing, successful tour this year. I enjoyed listening to you every night,” Harry tells them honestly. Everyone echoes his words. “That being said, we got you a gift.”
They were all presented with a bag, and June and Quinn were quick to rip into it while Felix made sure not to make a mess. Y/N held the gift close to her chest but watched her friends open their presents first. June held a black sweater to her chest. It had her name embroidered on one side and Love on tour on the other. “Shit, we get some too!” June exclaims. “I was so jealous of y’all.”
Quinn pulls out a pair of shoes, “satellite stompers,” to be exact. His smile is wide, and he quickly bounces over to pull Harry in for a hug. “Thanks, man.”
Y/N doesn’t open hers because she was the one to give Harry their sizes, so she’s not expecting anything else.
June turns to Y/N, pointing a finger, “how did he know our sizes?” Y/N grins while June gasps accusingly. “I bitched and moaned about not having one. Is this a pity gift?”
Harry quickly assures her he wanted to give them to all of them in private. Everyone in the crew got some; he meant everyone from the band to Y/N’s photographer. Every person was necessary on this tour, and Harry wanted to make it known with a gift. Harry stepped close to Y/N and gestured for her to open hers. She gives him a suspicious look but does as he asks. She removes the jacket quickly, slipping it on when she spots a bow at the bottom. Y/N looks at him surprised because when she pulls it out, she sees it’s one she had shown him a few weeks ago. It’s an intricate bow with wildflowers embroidered on it. It has unique beading to create this delicate bow.
“The meadow bow,” she whispers, delicately touching the ends.
Harry’s cheeks warm when he sees her expression. Y/N blinks away her tears because it’s unreasonable to cry, but the fact that Harry listened to her when she went on about something as silly as her bows and ribbons. Y/N doesn’t think about what she’s about to do; she only knows she wants to thank Harry. Y/N hugs Harry, but she pulls away quickly, connecting their lips in a kiss. Harry is frozen for a second but promptly responds, both easily sinking into each other. The hollers and cheers make her break away, leaning her head on his chest.
“Sorry, H,” she sighs.
“Don’t mind. Think you should do it again.”
“Not again,” June yells. “You cute together, but I don’t want to see that.”
Harry promises to let them get ready.
“Will you be watching?” Quinn asks.
Harry nods, “we wouldn’t miss it.”
“The entire family is watching,” Gemma chimes in. Harry gasped, not knowing she had arrived.
“Gems!” Harry rushes over to scoop his older sister in a hug. Y/N knows when Gemma says the entire family, she means it. They all promised to sing their hearts out for him. Y/N had met most of them during the few shows in Wembley, but she was merely an opener, and now she is Harry’s girlfriend.
“Come on, Y/N. Mum wants to say hello,” Gemma calls for her as she drags Harry out. Y/N promises not to be long, but the band brushes her off, telling her they already have good company.
Y/N has the best time with Harry and his family. They share laughs about young Harry being nervous to sing in front of a crowd and now ending a tour with over 90,000 people. Anne can’t stop her tears, which makes Harry emotional, too. He stays cuddled at her side. Anne asks Y/N about her tour, and Y/N invites them to opening night. “Don’t know if you’d be able to make it, but it’d be lovely to have you there. My mum and a few cousins are attending.”
Anne reaches over Harry to squeeze her hand, promising to be there. “Course we’ll come. Your mum is lovely. Can’t wait to catch up.”
Starting off a tour in London was the right choice for her because she wants to be in her own bed before she sleeps in a different one each night again. Y/N excused herself, needing to prepare for one final Love on Tour show.
Y/N huddled her band before going on stage. “You are my favorite people. I feel so lucky to do this with you every night. One last night with June, let’s make it unforgettable.”
“I love you,” Felix shouts. They laugh, squeezing each other tight, echoing the words to each other. And with that, Y/N and the band take the stage one final time.
“Italy, you have been an absolute dream. Each night, every crowd welcomed us with open arms, and when you sing back my lyrics, that is something I will never forget. I couldn’t do it alone, though. My amazing, amazing band. Felix, June, and Quinn are my family. Without them, I would not be where I am, and I will never forget that. June is actually taking a break after this tour. She’s going away, but she’ll be back. The spot is open if Sarah Jones is looking for a job.” The crowd laughs while June shakes her head in disbelief but also knows Y/N would never pass up a chance to work with someone at the caliber that Sarah Jones is at. “Most importantly, thank you to Harry Styles for inviting me out on tour. It’s the best choice I could have ever made. You have shown me kindness from the first moment we met. Thank you for allowing me to use your stage each night, but most importantly, thank you for showing me how music inspires you to do good and always do better. This last song is dedicated to you, H.”
Y/N hurries off stage after playing “The Last Man on Earth” and runs straight to the dressing room, where she cries into June’s shoulder. This tour has her saying goodbye to her best friends but opening new opportunities because she knows there is a conversation she’s been dodging for some time now and knowing Harry today won’t end until he gets his way.
“That was beautiful. Every night, honestly.” Y/N steps away from June, wipes away her tears and is thankful she decided not to do her eyeliner tonight, or she’d look worse than she feels. Harry had come to see them all but mostly knew his girlfriend would need a bit of comfort.
“Harry, my man. Thank you,” Quinn answers, pulling him into a hug. Everyone does the same, but Y/N stands frozen. It seems everyone can pick up on the tension and give her a moment alone with him.
Harry hurries over and takes her in his arms. Y/N relaxes in his hold because he’s always had that calming effect on her. “You were wonderful. Had me in tears.”
Y/N giggles against his chest, “stop it.”
“Seriously,” he laughs, and Y/N feels it go through her. “Jeff was recording me, laughing at my tears.”
“Thank you, H. I know you said you’d watch, but knowing you were in the crowd made tonight even more special.”
Harry kisses the top of her head. “It was all you. Don’t know how I will survive without seeing you every day.”
“You can follow me on tour,” Y/N offers.
“Now that’s a thought.”
They settle in silence, neither one having anything to say. Simply enjoying their time together. Y/N doesn’t know how much time passes, but she knows he’s got to get dressed.
“I really like you, Y/N,” Harry whispers into the quiet of the room.
“Harry,” Y/N pulls back to look at him. Those emerald eyes are full of love, and Y/N knows it for her. She has to let herself be happy, and it’s clear Harry is a big part of bringing that joy to her life.
“I like you,” he repeats. “And I’ll keep liking you tomorrow and every day that is to come. I’m letting you know how I feel. We’ve discussed it, but it doesn’t mean I can’t remind you. Will forever be crazy about you.”
“I’m crazy about you, too,” Y/N breathes out. “You fill me with so much happiness.”
Harry smirks, “enough to join me on holiday for a few more days?”
She looks at him, confused.
“My family and a few friends are spending time in my home here. If you’d like to join us–join me,” he offers timidly.
“You mean it?”
Harry nods, “nothing better than you in a bikini,” he teases.
She slaps his shoulder, “I’m there.”
“Good.”
Harry kisses Y/N. She is quick to soften beneath him and eagerly reciprocates the kiss. Y/N loves his touch, and with each kiss, she feels herself heat up and knows where this could lead, but there is just no time. “Harry,” she mutters against him. “You’ve got to get ready.”
He sighs against her, “one more.”
Y/N happily agrees.
+
Y/N can’t stop her hands from shaking. She’s done everything she could think of, from doing math problems in her head to focusing on her breathing, yet nothing is working as she waits for Harry to introduce her.
“I don’t know if many of you know, but I personally requested for Y/N to join us on tour. I didn’t know if she would be available, but my manager told me to have hope, and here we are now. I-I-honestly know she’s one of our generation's best writers and singers. I feel fortunate to have shared this time with her. Something none of you know is that Y/N loves playing my piano. She’s written a lot of her second album on it. So I thought it would be fitting to bring it out and sing with her. Everyone, please welcome Y/N!”
She walks out from behind the stage. Y/N waves at the crowd she had greeted an hour earlier. Y/N feels like her heart is going to beat out of her chest. It wasn’t a feeling she was familiar with; it was something she told the crowd.
“Feel special. Y/N is the definition of calm and collected,” Harry teases. “Now, this is Y/N’s song, and I thought maybe you’d want to hear a bit.”
“It’s called ‘Right Now’. I hope you enjoy.” They had planned this: Harry would play the keys, and Y/N would sing, but for some reason, her nerves were getting the best of her, and Harry started the song for her. Hearing Harry sing her lyrics comforted her because he genuinely enjoyed her music. Her voice blended in with Harry’s before it was her all alone. Y/N stayed on the bench with Harry, feeling too vulnerable to go out to the crowd. It was insane debuting a song to a crowd that maybe wouldn’t relate to her words, but she sang with every emotion she could pour out for the odd chance that someone did. Y/N felt Harry’s eyes on her and turned to smile at him. Thanks to Harry, she finished this album and finished this song. These songs weren’t written about him; they have him intertwined in the stories she’ll share about this album.
Before she knows it, she’s singing the final lyric, and Harry plays the last note. “Everyone, Y/N!” The applause is thunderous, making Y/N tear up. She tries to imprint this moment in her mind because she never wants to forget it. Harry walks her off as the piano is taken away, though none of the fans know it will return by the night's end. Harry leaves her backstage, wiping away the few tears that escaped her.
“Thank you, that was beautiful,” he kissed her cheek.
He goes to walk away, but Y/N pulls him back in by his vest and kisses him. One of his hands moved to the back of her neck, holding her to him as he devoured her mouth. “I’m so lucky to have you,” she breathes out.
Harry is tempted to kiss her again, but he knows if he does, he’ll get lost in her and can’t do that when he has a show to return to. “It’s me. I’m the lucky one. ” He runs back, asking the crowd if they’re ready to do some dancing. The cheers are enough for him to continue on.
The show goes on, and Y/N has the time of her life. She goes out after her song to dance and sing with his family in the crowd. Harry finds them all easily, but the tears don’t stop when he takes his time to thank his mum and sister. To thank his friends who have been there from the start, Y/N knows he’s including her in the thank you’s because he reminds her time and time again that she changed his life in a way he never expected.
Y/N knew about the ballad he would be playing on the piano. It’s something they worked on together, but something she didn’t expect was the quietness of the crowd. There is no sound except a few people crying as this lovely melody fills the area.
Harry walks off the stage in tears, and the band soon follows. Y/N knew she’d be emotional, but she can’t seem to stop crying. She walks hand in hand with June backstage, where she sees Harry hugging his mother and moving on to his sister. They all huddle in Harry’s dressing room as they erupt in cheers, celebrating the end of the tour. Y/N knows she’ll find a minute with him alone but, for now observes Harry being showered in the love he deserves. The room slowly began to filter out, giving Harry a moment to shower and change out of his clothes, but before she could leave, she felt someone grab her wrist, and the door shut behind her. Harry stood in front of her dimpled smile on his face. His emerald eyes were shining bright.
Happiness looked good on him.
“Congrats on a successful tour, Harry!” Y/N wrapped him in a hug, aware of his bare chest.
His arms held her tight as he swayed her side to side. “Thank you for writing that song with me.”
“Our first of many,” she promises.
Harry breathes her in, letting them stand in silence, soaking in the moment. This is a day they both would look back at fondly. It’s a story they’ll tell their future children.
“Thank you for bringing love to me,” Harry whispers. He loved touring and, at times, found it lonely, but ever since Y/N joined, it’s like he found his missing half. He never felt alone because he knew she was always close by.
Y/N shakes her head, “think it was all you.”
Harry ponders for a second. He was the one with the idea to bring her on as a tour opener. “Think it was.”
He connects his mouth with hers in a passionate kiss. She feels him grin against her as he pushes her against the door. His hands roam her back before resting on her waist while hers find a home in his hair. Y/N had been craving him since he kissed her halfway through his show. She kissed him, hoping her mouth said everything she hadn’t spoken aloud.
Y/N knows this is the next part of her story. It’s not ending or starting; she’s simply turning the page to create a new chapter. Y/N has no idea where she’ll be in one year, let alone five, but one thing she does know for certain is that she loves Harry.
+
thank you for reading 💜💜💜 please feel free to send me a message of what you loved from the story
#harry styles#harry styles smut#harry styles x reader#harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#harry styles x y/n#harry styles stories#harry story#harry fluff#harry smut#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry angst#harry styles fic rec
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
You give them a gift for Valentine's Day
feat. Michael Kaiser, Sae Itoshi, Hyoma Chigiri
author note: as much as I dislike him, it's always thanks to Sae if I find inspo for bllk fics. This is such a hard life. Happy Valentine to you all!!
Michael Kaiser:
-"I expected you to be the first today. Why are you late?" He asks mildly annoyed. "Look, now I'm full of chocolates from my fans." He points behind him. You don't see anything, ready to throw your gift at his face already tired of his antics.
"Well, if you have already so many, I guess you don't care about mine anymore-" You turn around, not seeing a worried expression now on his face, blonde eyebrow raised. "I guess I'll give them to someone that will appreciate them more."
"No-Wait!" Michael is on his knees, one arm hugging your legs to keep you still, the other tugging at your cute sweater.
-Bingo.
-You go fast and loose a bit more before you finally give him his chocolates.
-"Finally-Now wait for me."
He runs towards his car, where he pulls out an enormous bouquet of blue roses.
"These aren't fake, but perfectly crafted by expert hands." He says with a smirk on his face, blonde strands framing his face as he leans down a bit towards you. "Just the best for the best."
-You take the bouquet, and Michael kisses your forehead before ruffling your hair. Your dumbstruck expression makes him laugh.
-You have to admit that he makes your heart skip a few beats.
Sae Itoshi:
-His cheeks don't turn the same color as his hair, he doesn't stutter.
-"Thanks" He says before giving you a brief kiss at the corner of your lips.
-He pulls from behind his back a bouquet full of flowers; roses, daisies, irises all in the shades of red and orange.
-Sae won't say he expected something from you, but for sure he would have been pretty annoyed if he didn't receive anything.
-As always he doesn't show many emotions, but you are used to that.
-Sae hopes you'll notice the soft gesture he does: opening doors for you, calling you soft pet names and trying to be nice for more than 10 minutes.
-You notice how good-looking he is today. Sae is all dolled up and…is that lipgloss?
-The idea of him wanting to make a good impression on you makes you feel warm all over your body.
-"Thanks Sae, the flowers are wonderful." A hint of a smile appears on his face.
"Just the best for you."
Hyoma Chigiri:
-His eyes shine when you give him a cute heart package.
-"Wait here!" He says, running up the stairs, you suppose to his room.
-When he comes back a small bouquet of freshly picked flowers is in his right hand in the other there is a peluche.
-A peluche of your fave character.
-You almost scream with joy. Hugging him the instant your eyes meet his gift.
-"Hof- I suppose you liked this." He smiles, the kind that reaches his rouge pink eyes.
You nod, delivering a big kiss on his left cheek.
-Thank God his sister reminded him that today is Valentine day! He has been so busy with blue lock he forgot about it.
-But now with you in his arms, so happy and a bit dumb for love, Hyoma is sure he'll never forget about Valentine's Day again.
#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#bllk headcanons#blue lock headcanons#bllk imagines#blue lock imagines#michael kaiser#michael kaiser x reader#sae itoshi#sae itoshi x reader#chigiri hyoma#chigiri x reader#chigiri hyoma x reader
851 notes
·
View notes
Text
D: And then he came to offer you the part in Good Omens?
M: Yeah, well, we became friends and we would, you know, whenever he was in town, we would meet up. And then eventually he started. He said, you know, I'm working on an adaptation of Good Omens. I remember at one point Terry Gilliam was going to maybe make a film of it. And I remember being there with Neil and Terry when they were talking about it.
D: Were you involved at that point?
M: No, I wasn't involved. I just happened to have met up with Neil that day.
D: Right.
M: And then Terry Gilliam came along and that was the day they were talking about that or whatever. And then eventually he sent me one of the scripts for an early draft of, like, the first episode of Good Omens. And he said, we started talking about me being involved in doing it. He said, 'Would you be interested?' I was like, 'Yeah, of course I would. Oh, my God.' And he said, 'Well, I'll send you the scripts when they come.' And I would read them and we talk about them a little bit. So I sort of was involved. But it was always at that point with the idea, because he'd always said about playing Crowley in it. And as time went on, as I was reading the scripts, I was thinking, I don't think I can play Crowley. I don't think I'm going to be able to do. And I started to get a bit nervous because I thought, 'I don't want to tell Neil that I don't think I can do this'. But I just felt like, I don't think I can play Crowley.
D: Of course you could play Crowley.
M: Well, just on a sort of - on a gut level, you know, sometimes you have on a gut level, you go -
D: Sure, sure.
M: I can do this.
D: Yeah.
M: Or I can't do this.
M: And I just thought, you know what? This is not the part for me. The other part is better for me. I think. I think I can do that. I don't think I could do that. But I was scared to tell Neil because I thought, well, he wants me to play Crowley. And then it turned out he had been feeling the same way as well, and he hadn't wanted to mention it to me. But he was like, 'I think Michael should really play Aziraphale'. And neither of us would bring it up. And then eventually we did. And it was one of those things where you go, 'Oh, thank God you said that. Oh, I feel exactly the same way'.
D: Yeah.
M: And then I think within a fairly short space of time, he said, 'I think we've got David Tennant for Crowley.'
D: *Chuckles*
M: And we both got very excited about that. And then all these extraordinary people started to joining up. And then off we went.
D: The other thing about Neil, he collects people, doesn't he? So he'll just go, oh, yeah, I phoned up Francis McDormand. She's up for it. Yeah. And you're 'What-Wait-What?'
M: I emailed John Hamm.
D: Yeah.
M: And you realize how beloved he is and how beloved his work is. And I think we would both recognize that Good Omens is one of the most beloved of all of Neil's stuff.
D: Yes.
M: And had never been turned into anything.
D: Yeah.
M: And so the kind of responsibility of that, I mean, for me, for someone who has been a fan of him and a fan of the book for so long, I can empathize with all the fans out there who are like, oh, they better not fuck this up and this better be good. And I have that part of me, but then, of course, the other part of me is like, but I'm the one who might be fucking it up. So I feel that responsibility as well.
D: But we have Neil on site.
M: Yes. Well, Neil being the showrunner -
D: Yeah.
M: I think it takes a massive difference. You feel like you're in safe hands.
D: Well, we think. Not that the world has seen it yet.
M: No, I know.
D: But it's been a joy to work with you on it.
M: Oh, my goodness.
D: I can't wait for the world to see it.
M: Well, I mean, I've done a few things where there are two people. It's a bit of a double act, like Frost-Nixon some more, and The Queen, I suppose in some ways, and I've done - Amadeus or whatever. This is the only thing I've done where I really don't think of it as my character or my performance as that character. I think of it totally as us, the two of us.
D: Yes!
M: What I do is defined by what you do. That was such a joy to have that experience. And it made it so much easier in a way as well, I found, because you don't feel like you're on your own in it. Like it's totally us together doing this. And the two characters totally complement each other. And the experience of doing it was just a real joy.
D: Well, I hope the world is as excited to see it as we are to talk about it, frankly.
M: You know. Having talked about T. S. Elliott earlier, there's another bit from The Waste Land where there's a line which goes, "These fragments I have shored against my ruin".
And this is how I think about life now. There is so much in life, no matter what your circumstances, no matter where you've got, what you've done, how much money you got, all that. Life's hard. It can take you down at any point. You have to find this stuff. You have to find things that will. These fragments that you hold yourself, they become like a life raft. And especially as time goes on. I think as I've got older, I've realized it is a thin line between being surviving this life and going under and the things that keep you afloat are these fragments, these things that are meaningful to you. And what's meaningful to you will be not meaningful to someone else. But whatever it is that matters to you, it doesn't matter what it was you were into when you were a teenager, a kid. Doesn't matter what it is. Go and find them and find some way to hold them close to you. Make it go and get it. Because those are the things that keep you afloat. They really are, like doing that with him or whatever it is. These are the fragments that have shored against my ruin. Absolutely.
D: That's lovely. Michael, thank you so much.
M: Thank you.
D: For talking today and for being here.
M: It's a pleasure.
D: Thank you.
This podcast is so underrated.
I heard it tonight for the first time, and it blew my mind.
The episode was published back in April 2019 (recorded after a photoshoot for Good Omens season 1).
Listen to these babies, starting to knowing and respecting each other *_*
Of course, Michael Sheen was probably the greatest fan of Neil and Good Omens out there, but the joy and the excitement was already there to feel, from both of them!
And Michael saying "The Two of Us" 4 years before July 2023...
My heart - just - can't.
#good omens#good omens 2#david tennant#michael sheen#aziracrow#ineffable husbands#aziraphale#crowley#neil gaiman#my heart#a group of the two of us#the two of us#david tennant podcast#ineffable idiots#my edit
535 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ooh! A wonderful interview with Rich Keeble who played Mr. Arnold (the one with the Doctor Who Annual :)) in S2! :)❤
Q: In Good Omens 2 you play Mr. Arnold, who runs the music shop on Whickber Street. Were you a fan of Good Omens before joining the cast, and is it challenging to take on such an iconic story which is already loved by a huge fanbase?
A: “There’s always pressure if you’re working on something with an existing fanbase and people might have an idea already as to how you should be approaching something. To be honest I was aware of the show but I hadn’t actually seen it before I was asked to get involved. I knew it was something special though! I remember talking to Tim Downie [Mr. Brown] about how when you tape for certain things you know if something’s a “good one”. Of course by the time I was on set I’d watched Season 1 and read the book.
I had an interesting route into the show actually: I was asked at the last minute to read the stage directions at the tableread on Zoom, and Douglas [Mackinnon] the director called me up to discuss pronunciations of the character names etc. To prepare further I quickly watched the first episode on Prime Video, and I was very quickly drawn into it. A couple of hours later I was on a Zoom call with David [Tennant], Michael [Sheen] (with his bleached hair), Neil [Gaiman], Douglas and the whole team, including Suzanne [Smith] and Glenda [Mariani] in casting. After that readthrough I asked my agent to try and see if she could shoehorn me in and she came back with a tape for Mr. Arnold saying “you play the piano don’t you…?” They wanted me to demonstrate my musical playing ability, so I rented a rehearsal studio room in Brixton for an hour and filmed myself playing piano (and drums just in case), then I did my scenes a couple of different ways and I guess it wasn’t too terrible!”
Q: During episode five you mimed to music written by series composer David Arnold alongside a real string quartet – this must have been very immersive! How did it feel to work with David, and bring the ball to life?
A: “I actually didn’t meet David Arnold sadly, but I did work with Catherine Grimes, the music supervisor who is lovely. David was at the London screening but I missed an opportunity to go and say hello to him which I kicked myself about.
I remember before I was in Scotland there was a bit of uncertainty as to whether I would need to play anything for real or not, so I practised every day playing loads of Bach and other music I thought was era-appropriate just in case they asked me to do anything on the fly. So yes, it was very immersive as you say! They sent me three pieces of music to learn which I practised in my Edinburgh apartment on a portable folding keyboard thing I bought. They introduced me to the string quartet (John, Sarah, Alison and Stephanie) and I tried to hang out with them when I could. On the day we all had earpieces to mime to. I had to mime while listening out for a cue from Nina [Sosanya] from across the room, then deliver my dialogue and carry on playing, which was tricky! The quartet and I helped each other out actually: Douglas would say something like “let’s go from a minute into the second piece of music”, I’d look at the sheet music and whisper “where the hell is that?” and one of the quartet would say “we think that’s bar 90” or something. Here’s a little bit of trivia: the shooting overran and the string quartet couldn’t make the last day, so they found some incredible lookalikes to replace them for the scene when we get lead out of the bookshop through all the demons, although I think they also kept them deliberately off camera.”
Q: What did you think of your music shop when you first saw the set? Did you have a favourite poster or prop?
A: “I thought it was incredible! It could’ve been an actual music shop with all the instruments hanging up with the “Arnold’s” price tags on. The attention to detail was incredible, well IS incredible as I understand it’s all still there. It’s hard to pick a favourite to be honest. I did a little video walkaround on my phone at the time so maybe I’ll post that if I won’t get in trouble. Interestingly the shop interior itself was elsewhere on the set to the shop entrance you see from the street. You walk out of Aziraphale’s shop, over the road, through the door of the music shop and… there’s nothing.”
Q: Mr. Arnold is tempted into the ball by a Doctor Who Annual and is playing the theme in the music shop scene – are you a fan of Doctor Who in real life? And what was it like making those jokes and references in front of the Tenth Doctor David Tennant?
A: “I’ve always dipped in and out of Doctor Who over the years since Sylvestor McCoy, who was doing it when I first became aware of it when I was growing up. Even if you’re not a fan it’s one of those shows you can’t really get away from, so doing that particular scene in front of David was really fun, and of course Douglas had directed Doctor Who as well. Apart from the amusing situation of two supposed Doctor Who fans talking about Doctor Who without realising they’re in the company of a Doctor Who, I also seem to remember Michael being the one to suggest that he would deliver his “due to problems at the BBC” line directly to David.
Oh, and I think it was actually my idea to grab the annual off the harpsichord before joining the queue behind Crowley at the end of the ballroom scene (which we’d shot weeks earlier at this point). When we were blocking it out and rehearsing I knew I had to leave my position and get to the front for my “surrender the angle” line, and then later it just felt like I wouldn’t leave without the annual so I ran back through everyone to grab it. Nobody seemed to have a problem with me doing that so I just carried on doing it when we shot it! I do remember it being a fun set with Douglas and the team being very open to suggestions.”
Q: How did you balance filming both Good Omens and BBC Ghosts at the same time?
A: “Luckily both shows were a joy to work on, and everyone seems to know about both of them. We were shooting them in early 2022 and I also had a little part in an ITV drama called ‘Stonehouse’, starring Matthew Macfadyen. I usually never know when I’m working next so to have three great TV jobs at once was very unusual. There was all this date juggling and I actually almost had to turn down Ghosts due to clashes. Luckily both shows had to move some dates so it worked out. But yes, I spent two weeks up in Scotland shooting all that Good Omens ballroom stuff, then I came back down to London to do Ghosts, knowing I’d be back up to shoot my scenes in the music shop in a couple of weeks. Now, when I found out who was playing my wife in Ghosts I couldn’t believe it: Caroline Sheen – Michael Sheen’s cousin! She was amazing and that was another great set in general. I say “set”, but it’s all filmed in that house which surprised me. I’d worked with Kiell [Smith-Bynoe] and Jim [Howick] before, and Charlotte [Ritchie] was in the Good Omens radio play a few years ago and a big fan of the book. Charlotte’s very musical of course and we got talking about my folding keyboard I had for practising my Good Omens stuff, and she ended up setting it up in the house for us to have a play on!
Now, when we’d shot all our internal scenes there was this big storm forecast, and our external scenes were scheduled for the day of the storm, so that had to be moved into the next week. It meant I ended up shooting those scenes outside the house, then going straight back up to Scotland to shoot the Good Omens music shop scene the next day! When I mentioned to Michael I’d just worked with Caroline he said “ooh she’s in Ghosts is she!” and revealed that she’d texted him about me which was rather surreal. Then later after the Ghosts wrap party Kiell gave me a part in his Channel 4 Blap, so at the time I felt like I was killing it career wise, but the industry quietened a bit after that and my workload eased off over the year so I was in my overdraft by November.”
Q: What are your plans for the future – can we expect to see you in something else soon?
A: “This year, after a bit of a quiet start, I was very fortunate to work on a Disney+ show called Rivals which stars… David Tennant! I think I’m allowed to say my character is called Brian, and I shot five episodes so that was another really amazing job, and great to work with David again (I told him he must be my good luck charm, although I hope he’s not sick of me). That should be out at some point in late 2024. Other than that I’ve filmed a few other bits I presume will be out next year, one of which is called Truelove on Channel 4 which actually looks really good. That starts early January. Of course now Season 3 of Good Omens has been greenlit, I would love Neil and the gang to have me back on that… but I can only keep my fingers crossed!”
#good omens#gos2#season 2#swirlywords#rich keeble#mr arnold#2ep5#2i5i4#2i5i15#bts#photos#bts photos#interview#rich keeble interview#rivals#skittles#eric#disposable demon#paul adeyefa#ann louise ross#demon skittles#donna preston#mrs sandwich#tim downie#mr brown#magic shop#fun fact#s2 interview
715 notes
·
View notes
Text
Meet Cute
Micheal Kaiser x GN! Reader
No warnings, just pure fluff! Reader is in college and from America. Reader is an anxious mess and a football fan. Apologies if the german is shit, I did my best. This fic is kinda scuffed but I wanted it to be done lol
“S–Sind Sie Michael Kaiser?” You blurt out, before mentally face palming at the stupidity of your own question.
He laughs again, a slightly smug look on his face at being recognized before responding. “Ja, ich bin Michael Kaiser.”
A shiver runs down your spine as you peruse the selection of the ice cream tucked away in the freezer section, but you can’t help but smile to yourself at the welcome sight.
Yes, it was that time again, that familiar time in every college student’s life, the time to eat away your feelings after struggling your way through midterms.
Fuck midterms.
And fuck proper societal conventions as well.
Because here you are, in your pajamas, doing a late night grocery run and regretting it with every strange look served your way.
Sometimes you forget that you aren’t in America anymore, and your people-of-Walmart activities will inevitably lead to your downfall, but at least that day isn’t today.
Well, it was a small mercy that no matter where you were in the world, whether in Germany or America, that at least ice cream was a true constant that remained in your life.
You analyze the see-through fridges with slight disappointment as you realize the selection you have to work with is slightly smaller than what you’re used to, although maybe upon further inspection you’d find it refreshing not being swung at visually by 15 brands in one shelf, all desperately vying for your attention.
Either way, you find yourself drawn to the same flavor you always pick, a true creature of habit, and you pull open the fridge door to grasp at the item of your choosing.
At least you are until you find your hand colliding with another, a silent gasp parting your lips before you pull your hand back in surprise.
“Sorry!” You blurt out before realizing your mistake. “...err, I mean– entschuldigung!”
(Your German is hardly passable to be frank, but you figure you should at least try speaking the language of the country hosting you for the semester.)
Anyway, the sound of your stilted dialect is enough to bring out a light chuckle from the person, the man judging by the timbre of the voice, next to you and you finally look over to see…
Holy shit.
Is that Micheal fucking Kaiser?
You stare shell shocked at the blond superstar soccer (football, you correct in your head) player next to you, as he begins to speak.
“Kein Problem.” He says smoothly, and you have to make a conscious effort to shut your slightly parted mouth as you continue to stare at him with widened eyes.
At this point, the best thing you could do for yourself would be to grab your ice cream, pay and leave before you embarrassed yourself, but unfortunately for you, your mouth didn’t catch the memo.
“S–Sind Sie Michael Kaiser?” You blurt out, before mentally face palming at the stupidity of your own question.
He laughs again, a slightly smug look on his face at being recognized before responding. “Ja, ich bin Michael Kaiser.”
You feel your cheeks start to burn in embarrassment as the realization dawns on you that you’re standing in front of a world class athlete in the middle of a grocery store in a wrinkly, old, oversized t-shirt and shorts.
“Sie möchte ein Autogramm?” He asks amusedly, giving you a subtle once over that you normally would have missed had you not been so self conscious.
“Ja, bitte.” You say, fishing for a pen and paper in your bag.
“...I don’t normally look like this, I swear.” You can’t help but add as you find your paper and pen, switching over to English out of a combination of embarrassment and lack of language knowledge.
“You don’t?” He asks lightly, humoring you and switching over to English before taking the pen and paper out of your hands. “I would have thought you looked like this everyday.”
“What, messy?” You ask in a light tone despite being slightly offended as he scribbles his name on the paper.
“No.” He says with a smirk as he finishes, handing you the paper. “Gorgeous.”
You blink at him for a moment before you feel your cheeks warm up again, averting your eyes to the side to avoid his gaze as you try to process the fact that a celebrity, more importantly, an attractive celebrity is flirting with you.
“Ah– um, well I– uh, thank you.” You eventually get out before willing yourself to look back at him, your stomach doing a flip as you see the same smirk on his lips that you’re used to seeing on TV.
“Kein Problem.” He repeats again, that same amused lilt in his voice.
“I mean–” You start again and you feel yourself regretting the fact that you decided to speak again. “For both uhm, the autograph and the compliment.”
You pause for a bit, unbelievably flustered, before you blurt out. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so awkward, I’m just gonna leave now.”
He laughs at this, his eyes seeming to soften a bit before he speaks in a quieter tone, almost as if he’s afraid to scare you off. “No you’re fine… it’s cute.”
Your heart thumps in your chest rapidly, like you’ve just gotten done running a marathon, and you feel the heat rush to your face along with a fluttering feeling in your stomach. All these sensations combine to force a rather undignified sound from deep within yourself, sounding equivalent to a mouse caught in a glue trap.
You feel your face heat up further from the strangled sound that emitted from your very being and scrunch your eyes shut for just a moment away from Kaiser’s prying gaze.
When he laughs, you feel the embarrassment return tenfold, although the fluttering feeling in your heart might just be also because of the rich timbre of his chuckle.
“Hey, look at me.” He says after a few seconds, and despite your longing to keep your eyes closed you can’t help but obey his command.
So, slowly you open your eyes, taking in the sight of his handsome visage, his lips quirked up in a smile and it almost feels painful how your heart thuds.
“...what?” You question weakly.
“Just needed your eyes on me for a second while I do this.” He says before leaning over ever so slightly to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering at the apex of where your ear meets your cheek before finally pulling away.
“...” You can’t help the way you gape at him, momentarily speechless as he takes in your facial expression with his signature smirk.
“Sorry Liebling, your hair was bothering me.” He offers up as an explanation, but you can tell from the delighted gleam in his eye that he’s lying.
“Y–yeah, right.” You stutter out despite your best efforts to remain unphased and straighten up. “Anyways, it was nice meeting you, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
“No, it was a pleasure.” He says smoothly, and you can’t help the twinge of jealousy that runs through you at his composed demeanor. “Take care, would you?”
“Of course, y-you too.” You manage to get out, and he smirks at you one last time before confidently striding away from you, leaving you slightly shell shocked in the ice cream aisle.
It would be a while before you fully collected your thoughts after you paid and exited the store, and that’s why perhaps you didn’t notice three things in particular.
One, that you forgot to pick up the goddamn ice cream that you were so looking forward to getting.
Two, that your beloved celebrity had also forgotten to get his ice cream that he was reaching for because he was also that flustered despite his confident demeanor.
And three, the little number written next to your autograph with the small written letters next to it “Ruf mich an <3”.
---
Taglist: @gigiiiiislife
#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#blue lock#blue lock fluff#michael kaiser#michael kaiser x reader#michael kaiser x you#hopefully this is culturally accurate as well#I did my best I swear
302 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi ! I love your gen z driver series so much !!
i have a request that she and zhou show up to the padock in the same outfit unplanned
like i feel this would happen - they both fancy showing up in something so different and the other would be wearing the same thing !! <3 fashion icons think the same 😌
THE HELMET BET
pairings: zhou guanyu x driver!reader / f1 grid x driver!reader
warnings: swearing. based on the 2022 grid. mention of sexism and racism. joke about doing an orgy.
author's note: idk if this is what you had in mind, but I had already written a small part of this fic and then your ask came in and I couldn't help myself. I love zhou so much, ugh thats my man fr. also, thank you for loving the series, it means a lot to me 💞
masterlist
• • • • • • •
''We're gonna get in trouble.'' Zhou said, shaking his head.
Y/N frowned at his words. ''Why would we get in trouble? It's always super boring and our bet can at least spice it up a little.'' She reasoned, using a lot of hand gestures to show how serious she was.
''You know those meetings are about our safety, right? We should take them serious.'' The Chinese driver didn't want to get in hot water with the stewards.
''But this is a serious matter! We're putting an end to the debate,'' she retorted back, not seeing the harm in using the upcoming driver's briefing for their bet, ''lately, I've been seeing way too many people saying you've got better style than me and I've had enough of it.''
The female driver had seen the countless online discussions between fans regarding the most stylish driver on the grid, the winner usually switching between herself, Lewis and Zhou. In her opinion, Lewis had the best style, she didn't need to think twice about it. But it is important for her to know who his successor is, who is the number 2?
To answer that question, she had come up with a brilliant idea: her and Zhou wear their best outfit to the next driver's briefing, not some team merchandising, and they get the other drivers to vote on which outfit is the best and therefore, which person has the best style. The person with the most votes gets to design a helmet for the loser and they have to wear it at the next racing weekend.
''Okay, I'm in,'' Zhou admitted, shaking hands to commemorate the challenge, ''be prepared to lose, Y/N.''
''Don't worry about me, Guanyu.''
Y/N was confident in her win. The young woman knows she has style, her several brand deals with high-respected fashion houses being the proof of that. However, she knew not to underestimate her rookie friend, Zhou has had some killer outfits in the ongoing season.
They had known each other for some years, but it was only this year that the pair had gotten close. Y/N broke the ice by complimenting one of his outfits at the start of the season and the rest was history.
The outfit she had gone with was simple, but she looked good and she felt great in it. It was inspired by one of Michael Schumacher's paddock outfits (reference), knowing she would at least have Mick and Seb's vote with that one.
Y/N got out of her car, ready to make her way to the F1 paddock and straight to the driver's briefing. In the corner of her eye she noticed Zhou's car pull up, his performance coach waving at her through the window. She reciprocated the action and decided to wait for him, thinking it would be nice for the two of them to enter together. She was curious as to what her friend would be wearing, secretly hoping he had fumbled the bag really hard.
Her hopes came crashing down as Zhou got out of the car, observing the clothes he was wearing and noticing one clear detail.
They were wearing the same outfit.
Her eyes seemed ready to bulge out of her head, in complete disbelief. ''Are you fucking kidding me, Zhou?''
The Chinese man appeared to be much more amused by the situation, covering his laughter with his hand. ''You look very nice, Y/N.'' He giggled, greeting her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
''It's turned into a ''who wears it better'' challenge, what the heck.'' She commented, eyeing him up and down before glancing at her own fit.
Zhou chuckled. ''Well either way, I'm winning.'' A small smirk appeared on his face, still sure of his win over his friend. Y/N simply scoffed, grabbing her pass from her purse and walking to the entrance. Zhou and his coach followed her steps, still entertained by her annoyance.
As soon as the paddock reporters noticed the sight of the two drivers, their cameras were whipped out from their bags and they began taking candid shots of the pair. Zhou and Y/N played along for the cameras, pointing at each other's outfits and pretending to look annoyed.
Eventually they made it to the right room, already seeing most of the drivers waiting inside. Zhou went in and greeted the others, while Y/N waited outside, ready to lock the door as soon as everyone had arrived and was inside.
Lando had been the last one to walk down the hallway. ''Hurry up, Norris!'' She exclaimed, her hand motioning for him to pick up the pace.
''Why? I'm on time.'' He replied a bit agitated, it was a bit too early in the morning for him to be scolded by his friend.
Y/N didn't respond to him, simply pushing him into the room and locking the door, making several drivers look up from where they were sitting or standing.
''Y/N, what are you doing?'' Sebastian spoke up, curious as to what she was up to this time.
The young woman urged Zhou to get up from his seat and to stand next to her. The man felt a bit embarrassed, but followed her orders. Y/N stood in the place where their director normally sat when he answered the drivers' questions or listened to their concerns. She placed both her hands on the desk, looking like a teacher that was about to scold her students.
''As we all know, Mr. Hamilton over there is widely accepted as the driver with the best style,'' she pointed at Lewis, who nervously smiled as the other drivers glanced at him, ''but that's not why we are gathered here today! We are gathered here today to decide who his successor is. Who is the most stylish person after Lewis? That's a question that we will settle once and for all, here, now, in this room.'' She finished her monologue.
''Me and Mr. Guanyu found ourselves in a battle for the title of second most stylish driver of the grid, so I challenged him. We would wear our best outfits today and have our lovely colleagues vote for who had the best one. But as you all can see, me and Mr. Dior over here, are wearing the same exact fit.'' Y/N waved her hand between herself and Zhou.
''So, instead of you deciding who is wearing the best outfit, you'll be voting for the person you think is wearing the outfit best.'' She concluded.
The crowd had mixed reactions: some looked confused, some seemed entertained by what Y/N had told them and others appeared to not care.
Kevin was the first one to speak, getting up from his seat and walking towards the door. ''Y/N, this is not the time to do this, we're here to talk about the race.'' He was about to turn the lock when her voice stopped him.
''Magnussen, you're being a party pooper- do you want to be a party pooper?'' She looked at him sternly, trying to convince him to sit back down and go along with her antics. ''Don't pretend like you're not secretly enjoying this.'' The Haas driver rolled his eyes, but defeatedly put his arms up and went back to his seat.
''Alright, we'll go around the room and each person says either my name or Zhou's.'' She explained further, moving in front of the desk.
Checo's hand went up in the air. ''Can we also pass?'' He asked, looking at Y/N.
''If you refuse to choose, we will consider it sexist and racist as I am a woman and Zhou's Asian.'' She answered him, garnering chuckles around the room and a nervous-looking Zhou who hoped people took it as a joke, since he didn't want to be making enemies as a rookie.
Y/N clapped her hands together. ''Okay, we'll start with our party pooper, KMag! Me or Zhou?''
''Zhou, since he didn't yell at me and didn't call me a party pooper.'' He chose, making the female driver narrow her eyes at him. ''Alright, 1 for Zhou.''
The person sat next to Kevin was his teammate, Mick. ''Schumacher!'' He was about to speak, but the woman interrupted him. ''Before you choose, I took inspiration from one of your dad's outfits.'' Y/N tried influencing his decision.
''I was gonna choose you anyway.'' He told her, making her jump up as her and Zhou had an equal score. ''Thank you, Mickie.'' She smiled brightly at him.
''Valtteri?''
''I choose Zhou, I'm loyal to my teammate.'' He answered, smiling at the man in question.
''Lando?''
''Zhou, because he doesn't humiliate me in front of the entire internet.'' The McLaren driver said, referring to their regular back-and-forths on social media.
Y/N rolled her eyes. ''You're such a crybaby, Rumplestiltskin.'' Her words caused Lando to give her the middle finger, but it was all in good fun.
''Anyway, Daniel?''
The Australian pretended to think hard about his answer, looking in-between her and Zhou. ''I'm gonna go with Y/N, cause I'm kinda scared what she'll do to me if I don't choose her.'' His answer got a laugh out of the other drivers, some of them nodding their heads.
Y/N herself couldn't help but break a smile at Daniel's words, happy her friend had chosen her. ''Okay, next one.''
The voting was nearing its end and there was a tie, 9 people had chosen Zhou and 9 others had voted for Y/N. It all came down to one person.
Sir Lewis Hamilton.
Despite some of the drivers' dislike for the bet at the beginning of the meeting, everyone had gotten pretty invested. ''The maestro himself has to choose his next prodigy.'' Daniel joked, looking at the 7x world champion.
Lewis shifted in his seat, not too fond of having the last vote on the matter. ''Can't I just say both of you? The two of you look very good.''
''No, mate! You have to choose.'' George argued, the others agreeing with him.
Y/N was quite sure that Lewis would choose her. She was much closer to him than Zhou and the pair had talked about fashion before, discussing how it was a great way to express yourself. She was already designing Zhou's helmet in her mind.
''Well, then… I guess Zhou.''
Her mouth dropped open, shocked that the senior driver had chosen the rookie over her. She wasn't the only one that seemed surprised by his choice, Seb turned around in his seat and Pierre's eyes had widened, mouthing ''wow''.
The young man next to her, lightly slapped her arm. ''I'll send the design to your team next week, Y/N.'' He teasingly laughed, a big smirk present on his face.
''This is a joke, right? I can't be number 3!'' She dramatically stated.
''Hey! What's wrong with being the number 3?'' Daniel looked up, feigning being offended by her words.
She was about to give another monologue about betrayal and how men are all the same, but several loud knocks on the door interrupted that from happening. Y/N sighed, but took a few steps to turn the lock.
Their director didn't look too happy. ''Why was the door locked?''
''We were having an orgy.'' She sarcastically answered him, not planning on explaining to him why she had blocked the door from opening.
''Y/N!''
The actual driver's briefing began and soon enough most drivers were already dozing off, some of them even wishing Y/N and Zhou's bet had taken a bit longer. They wouldn't admit it to the young woman, but ever since she'd made her arrival to these briefings, her unserious antics had made them much more bearable. Some drivers had even started looking forward to the meetings, because the girl always had something up her sleeve.
As soon as the last issue was resolved, the meeting ended and everyone was out the door. When Zhou saw Y/N talking with Mick and Esteban, he swiftly moved next to Lewis. ''Hey, man,'' he patted the Brit's shoulder, ''thanks for that, I really appreciate it.''
''No problem,'' Lewis smiled, ''we made a deal, I'm keeping my word.''
Zhou nodded. ''Yeah, you vote for me and I let you help me design her helmet.'' He recalled the promise they had made a day earlier.
''Great! I was thinking we just collect all kinds of embarrassing pictures of her and plaster them all around her helmet…''
''Great! I was thinking we just collect all kinds of embarrassing pictures of her and plaster them all around her helmet…''
''Great! I was thinking we just collect all kinds of embarrassing pictures of her and plaster them all around her helmet…''
#f1 fic#f1 fics#f1 x reader#formula 1 fic#f1 x oc#f1 female driver#female f1 driver#zhou guanyu x reader#zhou guanyu x oc#f1 grid x oc#f1 grid x reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
i couldn't stand you - m. bunting
summary: (slow burn enemies to frenemies to friends etc / f!reader x mb) three years: arguments, truces, break-ups, moving houses...michael bunting wasn't nearly as irritating as you'd initially expected.
warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, reader is a pens fan, scenes with eating involved, reader is a chef, I PROMISE THE WRITING GETS BETTER THE MORE YOU READ (toronto to carolina sequence my fave <3), sid being an obliviously adorable cockblocker, angst/pining, fluff, the ending is so unfinished and doesn't do the 20k justice at all...(i lost inspiration)(but i might edit it in the future/do an alternate ending)
a/n: i got inspiration from this from that tom welling hug in cheaper by the dozen
In all honesty, you hadn’t really been paying much attention to Ellis, which kind of defeated the entire purpose of even stepping into the bar. Taylor had wanted you to meet her new boyfriend, and it had barely taken all of five minutes of being in his presence to deduce that he was not only a nice guy, but clearly liked her a lot, was funny, the whole works, etc, etc. Only, your attention had been (completely against your will) stolen by the…idiot sitting next to you.
You didn’t really know what else to call him. An impatient dick? That was also fitting. A bad driver? There wasn’t a 100% certainty in that statement, but it felt fitting given the incident from earlier that morning.
Nevertheless, when you’d clocked each other, the only empty space being that on the bench right next to him, there was no doubt he recognised you too. He’d rolled his eyes and scoffed into his beer, and you’d sat down rather aggressively and dropped your bag on the floor, downright refusing to look at him.
Hence, the intervening from Ellis, with his polite smile and countenance, a complete contrast to aforementioned impatient dick sitting on your left. Taylor had raised a brow, a silent question on her face but you’d simply shaken your head and accepted the cocktail she’d already ordered with a grateful smile.
“I’m confused.” Ellis muttered, leaning his head on one hand, eyes darting confusedly between you and Michael Bunting, Maple Leafs player apparently, “Do you two know each other?”
You shook your head, sipping your cocktail. Judging from the silence next to you, Micheal had done the same thing, neither of you too eager to explain anything. It wouldn’t have been a big deal. In fact, if the subject hadn't been poked and prodded further, you’d have probably been fine with it, maybe even accepted the fact that you were going to have to spend however many hours with him for the sake of your friends.
Who knew? Maybe you’d have eventually gotten past this pre-established dislike for one another, but Taylor was never really one for ignoring gossip when it was sitting in front of her – a trait that you rather found entertaining until you were the victim.
“What, so it’s dislike at first sight, or something?” She asked, eyeing the two of you with more intrigue than you were comfortable with.
In fact, her eyes seemed to shimmer like a greedy shark when you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, briefly glancing at the man on your left.
He was rolling his eyes. And you didn’t care to even guess if it was at you or if it was at Taylor, but with the morning you’d had – because of him – you turned back to her with more conviction this time.
“Pretty much, yeah.” You shrugged.
Taylor scoffed in disbelief, sharing a look with Ellis, “Why?”
“Because she’s a shit driver.”
You gaped, head snapping to Michael with appal. He was frowning in a way that just exuded arrogance. He actually thought he was right – the nerve.
“I am not–”
“Oh, yes you are.”
“The traffic in front of me was at a complete standstill, what was I supposed to do–”
“They were moving–”
“Oh, please. You were just in a rush because someone clearly forgot to set an alarm this morning–”
“I was not in a rush–”
“Then what was the reason for honking at me?”
“You flipped me a birdie!”
“You honked for no reason – who even does that?”
“You flipped me a fucking birdie!”
“After you honked!”
“You were too slow, you weren’t even looking at the road.”
“Yeah, because God forbid I skip a song in a traffic jam.”
He scowled, but said nothing else, sharing a rather irritated glance with Ellis across from him.
You, however, were a little different: sure, your jaw was ticking, your pulse was higher than usual from his stress-inducing attitude, but the first thing you did was share a wide-eyed glance with Taylor, whose jaw had dropped. You rarely fought with people, let alone in public spaces. In fact, the last time you’d bickered like that was when you and Taylor were little and arguing over who got to marry which celebrity from the magazine in make-believe play – but that was exactly all it had been: make-believe.
This was real life, and when you argue like that in real life, people tend to stare. You could feel strangers’ eyes boring into the side of your face and your cheeks flamed against your will. Add that onto the fact that Ellis – who you’d never met before, and were intent on setting a good first impression – had just witnessed you argue with his best friend? You were nothing short of mortified.
“Right.” Ellis sighed, scratching the back of his head, and all three pairs of remaining eyes sitting at the table zipped to him for some form of guidance as to what to do next, “So, now that everyone’s introduced…another round?”
There were muted expressions of agreements, and even just looking at Taylor, you could tell that she was about to slip out and join Ellis at the bar, even after your pleading.
You watched her go sadly, your hands tucked under your thighs, trying desperately to ignore the other presence. You weren’t sure how you’d feel even looking at him – didn’t know if you could. Not only for the embarrassment, but for the sheer…eugh of having to look at him.
Blue eyes, brown hair – not too dark. Apart from that, your mind was drawing a blank.
He cleared his throat. You ignored it.
“What’re your first thoughts on Ellis for Taylor, then?” He mumbled, half-heartedly trying to engage in conversation, and it was because you knew he was only doing it to try and ease some of the tension for Ellis that you turned to face him.
The flare of irritation that presented itself felt like an allergic reaction to simply looking at him, but you swallowed, trying to paste on a nonchalant expression. You could do this. You just had to stare at the blank spot on the wood just a little bit off from his face.
Only, he seemed to take your lack of expression and interest as something else, because he tilted his head towards you fractionally, a rather condescending look on his face.
“Your instincts?”
Instincts? You had instincts – not necessarily about Ellis and what it was Michael was asking about, but you had them. And maybe it was the patronising glare, maybe it was the day’s frustration, maybe you were just tired and needed someone to take it out on, but you ignored his context for the question.
“My instincts?” You repeated, and he nodded, eyes squinting slightly, “That you’re full of shit.”
***
Usually you’d have no issue avoiding Michael when both of your presences were dubbed mandatory to these kinds of things: there was space, there were people – no reason to talk or even look in each other’s directions.
Only, this time, Ellis’s birthday party, somehow the invitation had been extended to you and the get-together was small. Intimate. Maybe seven people in total, not including Ellis himself. And because Ellis was Ellis, a party meant drunk games – and if not drunk, certainly alcohol-induced.
And to your bitter astonishment, the only two people left without split-second partners for a rough game of charades was…you and Michael. In theory, it shouldn’t have been much of a shock: it was inevitable for Ellis and Taylor to pair up together, and you were Taylor’s plus one (even though Ellis had told you himself he wanted you there), and it had become increasingly obvious throughout the evening that Michael didn’t know anyone but Ellis and Taylor; everyone else seemed to have gone to school together and jumped into pairs pretty quickly.
Needless to say, when you’d looked around the room and locked eyes with an equally disgruntled Michael, the two of you hadn’t broken eye contact as you’d downed whatever was remaining in your glasses and immediately reached for a refill.
Yet, for all your displeasure in the pairing, there was an odd satisfaction in knowing that you’d both absolutely thrashed the living daylights out of everyone else. It scratched a competitive itch inside of you, and against your will, you felt yourself softening up to him. His grin had become less irritatingly smug when he was directing it at you after a speedy guess, and his failure to hide his equally competitive edge through the half-smirks directed at his lap when other couples failed were more endearing than grating.
(You just blamed the alcohol.)
Although, probably just as shocking as that turn of events, Taylor and Ellis were awful at charades. They’d gotten one word right in the allotted time, and although they’d tried to hide it, no one was completely ignorant to their harsh whisperings to each other and pointed gestures. Or the confused glances they seemed to direct straight towards you and Michael, who, unlike everyone else, were sitting side by side on the carpet, a sizable distance between each other and managing to neither look or speak apart from when it was your turn.
It was remarkable, really, that two strangers could guess each other’s frantic motions easier than people who knew each other in arguably the most intimate ways. It felt like a test of compatibility, and Ellis and Taylor knew they were failing – hence, in your head, said compatibility test was clearly false. Michael was living, breathing proof of that.
“And Team We Don’t Care Just Pick Whatever wins.” Taylor announced, glancing direly at the small scrap of paper that she’d been documenting the scores on, “Ten points clear from the runners-up.”
You raised your brows, sighing despondently at your glass because you weren’t quite sure you could look Taylor in the eye without feeling some form of inexplicable guilt. You, however, wanted to savour this moment of triumph.
And what better way to celebrate than to pour yourself another glass?
The kitchen was quiet, dirty dishes stacked near and in the sink, along with a plethora of glasses and bottles from where people had decided to mix their drinks. It was quieter and cooler, too: a place to rest and breathe for a second. Only, as soon as the first sip touched your mouth, you had to stifle a yawn, your eyes suddenly dry and heavy.
Half past twelve.
“You leavin’?”
You turned your head to see Michael standing in the doorway, clearly having just come back from the bathroom and with a rather blank look on his face. At your attention, however, he seemed to force his mouth into a slither of a smile, looking mightily uncomfortable under your gaze.
His eyes quickly dropped, momentarily drifting to your glass, a little hesitantly.
“Might do. You?”
You almost wanted to wince at the awkwardness emanating in the atmosphere. It must be the first time you’d ever willingly engaged in a conversation with each other – let alone by yourselves. The silence in the room seemed to intensify that realisation that there was no Taylor or Ellis to act as a buffer, but Michael looked remarkably calm and unbothered by that knowledge. In fact, at your question he raised his brows as though shocked you’d reciprocated the conversation and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.
“Yeah, I’m pretty tired.”
There was nothing particularly to say to that, so you just nodded, standing by the counter. He looked as if he wanted to say something: his hands were tapping against his jean-clad thighs and he kept glancing at you and then away, something playing on his features.
“You okay?” You found yourself asking, much to his surprise.
“Yeah, I just…” He stepped closer, throwing a careful glance back towards the open door, “Has Taylor talked to you about me?”
You blinked, tilting your head.
She had, many times on many different occasions and with a variety of different tones. Just off the top of your head you could list that time you’d gone over to hers for a movie night and she’d softly suggested that you try to get along with him; that one time she’d caught you pulling a rather put-off facial expression after he’d said something questionable; that one time she must have been a second away from grabbing you by the shoulders; eventually she’d given up, but that was after the basketball incident when you’d thrown the ball a little too harshly at him and winded him in the park.
The ignoring each other thing worked – so why did you find yourself beginning to tolerate his presence? After all this time, surely, nothing would change so suddenly?
“Yeah.” You admitted, rather guiltily. In your defence, you’d tried to get along with him, but there was something about your personalities that clashed in the wrongest of ways. Both Taylor and Ellis had openly observed the two of you were pretty similar (you were a little offended by that statement) and would probably get along if you both put your pride aside, “Has Ellis…” You trailed off, watching him carefully.
He nodded, “Oh, yeah. He’s made a few bold statements about it, I’ll say that.” He huffed a bitter laugh, “But I was thinking–”
You pulled a face and he looked about ready to stop talking altogether, until he sighed, “Maybe we should just call a truce, or something? A fresh start, if not for us, for them. They seem pretty stable and if they’re for the long-term, then I think it’d be easier if we just agreed to get along, or at least pretend.”
Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, or maybe it was because tonight you’d found him a lot more tolerable than you usually would, but you nodded. And to that, he just blinked.
“Really?” He asked, almost recoiling in reaction.
“Yeah.” You shrugged, “Under one condition though.”
His face dropped – the almost triumphant smile that he’d nearly allowed himself to display had vanished completely in replacement for something harsher, more annoyed. His jaw had clenched and the hand he’d placed on the counter seemed to tap with more aggravation as he rolled his eyes in resignation, “And what would that be?” He asked, sounding rather like he already had an idea as to what it was.
“Just admit I’m not a bad driver.” You reasoned.
“Oh, I thought you were gonna…Nevermind.” He shook his head, holding his hand out for you to shake, “You’re not a bad driver.”
“Thanks.” Then, “Are you Michael or do you have any nicknames instead?”
There was a brief pause, and he looked at you like you were an alien, “Why?”
“I don’t know, Michael – you don’t look like a ‘Michael’, that’s all.”
“And what does a ‘Michael’ look like?”
“Probably twenty-thirty years older, balding–”
“Wow.”
“Is that a no?”
He seemed to think about it for a moment, “Purely because you don’t like it, no, I don’t have any nicknames. I’d rather you called me Michael.”
“Nice one. But when we’re in a public space and I yell your name, there’s gonna be at least three older, balding guys turning to look at me–”
“You’re hilarious.”
“Well, one of us has to be.”
Neither of you seemed to remember you were still holding hands.
***
One thing you never thought you’d be doing in your near future, was packing all of your makeup and three outfit choices and driving to Ellis’s place to have a conversation with Taylor. To be honest, there was a small part of you that was a little bit aggravated that to talk to your best friend you had to drive twenty minutes and risk missing packing something for the date you needed help with, especially seeing as though said date was in forty-five minutes.
Although, you did have time to reason with yourself in the car, the usual stuff: she could have just said no to helping you when you called her in a frustrated panic; the last-minute pep talk was probably going to make up for any residual irritation; on the bright side, though, at least Ellis’s apartment was closer to the date location than your own.
You knew you’d feel better once you got there – only…
“You have got to be kidding me.” You breathed a solemn laugh, head lolling backwards and cheeks flaming at the sight before you.
Michael Bunting standing in the doorway with a wicked grin on his face, each pore practically oozing mirth at your current situation, eating an apple. And sure, you’d agreed to get along for the sake of your friends, but you had no idea that would mean him being privy to your moments – nor did it mean you were particularly pleased to see him at such a dire time.
“Hello, sweetheart. Heard you were stuck?” He tilted his head, pouting in your direction, and you didn’t miss the way his attention zipped curiously to the backpack over your shoulder and the garment bags slung over your arm.
“Do you really not have anything better to do on a Friday night other than third-wheel your best friend and his girlfriend?” You asked, smiling flatly and walking through the door when he opened it further.
He shook his head, crunching a bite, and you stood in the hallway, patience ticking away by the second as you waited for him to finish eating to speak. There were voices drifting down the corridor, and you turned your head to see shadows and flickers of light in the other room, Taylor clearly on her way – thank fuck.
“I have a game tomorrow, gotta have a tame night.” He muttered, reaching out a hand to touch the soft plastic covering of your garment bag, “And I’ll tell you one thing, I am so glad I get to witness this.”
You pulled a face, “Ha ha.”
“I can already tell you’re gonna make my fucking night, so I’m gonna just thank you in advance–”
“Hey, stop psyching her out.” Taylor appeared, a crease between her brows that clearly hadn’t materialised at his words alone, and for a split-second, you and Michael shared a worried glance, any previous teasing evaporating along with it.
He nodded easily, holding his hands up in surrender and disappearing into the living room, his footsteps slow and leisurely as though he was hoping to overhear a snippet more, but before you could even spit out a greeting of your own, Taylor had dragged you into Ellis’s bedroom and locked the door – the man himself nowhere to be seen.
“Is everything okay?”
Taylor spun on her heel, flashing you an urgent glance, apparently brushing off your question of concern, “I should be asking you that.”
“Oh, I’m fine–”
She shot you a look of disbelief.
“Just nervous, I guess. And I can’t decide what to wear, so I brought some stuff.”
In the other room, Michael was sitting on the sofa, apple half-eaten and trying to ignore the rather violent knee shaking Ellis was doing by tuning into the faint sound of voices from the bedroom that could still be heard over the TV. He knew he should probably be focused on his best friend – who was anything but subtle in trying to convey the fact that he was clearly irked by something – but he also knew that Ellis would talk when Ellis wanted to talk.
He was also kind of curious as to what had gotten you in such a pickle: he knew you were about to go on a date (first, he assumed), but why the sudden panic? You’d turned up armed with a Hannah Montana-type level of hair, costumes and makeup stuff and he’d just eyed it all a little bit confused.
He was very aware of the fact that you were pretty – he’d seen you with the barest amount of makeup on (he assumed, he actually had no idea if you did) and in a pair of sweats, and his opinion hadn’t changed, so why all the makeup? Surely, if someone was to like you in that sense you shouldn’t have to dress up and put loads of makeup on?
He wasn’t too sure, really. His extent of first dates was restricted to his high school experience and he’d only been on a few since.
“Why the panic?” He found himself asking aloud, turning to Ellis like he’d hold the answers in the universe.
Ellis, however, turned to face him, a scowl already on his face, and it didn’t take a genius to gather that he wasn’t going to get much out of him with the mood he was in.
“What?”
“The girls.”
Ellis shrugged, turning his attention back to the TV, “Why would I know?”
Michael pressed his lips together tightly, trying to ignore the answers popping up in his head. Why wouldn’t Ellis know? He’d been talking to Taylor when you texted so if anything it’d be weird for Ellis to not know what was going on.
In fact, the longer he spent in Ellis’s presence, the more uncomfortable Michael felt. He shifted in his seat, the tense and awkward atmosphere feeling oddly claustrophobic and he felt the sudden desire to get out of the room, even if it was to fake a visit to the kitchen or something.
He pushed himself off the sofa, the apple core in his hand sticky and by the time he’d stood in there and looked out of the window, washed his hands and decided he was going to leave anyway, there was a voice in the hallway.
“-look stunning, I promise.”
There seemed to be a muttered reply, but before he could make his way towards the door and announce his departure, there was a call of his name.
“Bunting–”
“No, don’t.”
He looked right down the hallway, Taylor leaning against the wall. Taylor wasn’t tall by any means, so he could easily see you behind her. You were clearly uncomfortable with something, unable to look at him or any living thing, your eyes instead fixated on the plants on the table next to the door.
He had to remind himself to breathe when you rolled your eyes at Taylor and walked around her, your head down and pointedly trying not to make eye contact with him as you walked to the door to put on your shoes.
You were wearing a long black dress, not too long that you could ever trip over the hem, but long enough to accentuate the sheer length of your legs, and now he was close enough he could make out the little clusters of purple flowers embroidered onto the material.
He couldn’t really get his mind to focus on anything other than ‘wow, that dress fits nicely’; it accentuates your curves perfectly and…he needed to breathe. He cleared his throat awkwardly, wondering when it had suddenly become so dry and ripped his eyes away to blink at Taylor.
He couldn’t read her face, but he didn’t like the look on it.
“Yeah?” He asked, unable to help glancing back at you.
You looked…wow.
“Does she look nice?”
“Taylor–”
“You look really nice.” He blurted, his hands stuck in his pockets. When both of you turned to stare at him, apparently speechless, he felt his cheeks redden and his eyes drifted to the doorframe, a little mortified because you clearly hadn’t wanted him to say anything, but also because he’d said it embarrassingly fast and added a ‘really’ in there. And said it like he had a gun pointed to his head, which was one hell of a contradiction.
“Thanks.” You said, not having moved much.
He just nodded, wanting nothing more than to melt into a puddle on the floor and soak through the floorboards and pretend this moment never occurred.
He wasn’t supposed to like you, he pretty much swore that from the start. But he had a niggling feeling you were wearing him down somehow. He didn’t know what it was, but lately he’d been finding himself sneaking a smile at some of the stuff you said and did. Like you were actually getting along.
And maybe it was because he wanted to test that unspoken theory out – to see if maybe you could be friends – but as he left he waited in the doorway for Taylor to finish talking. He had a sneaking suspicion, though, that Taylor was only talking for herself. The look on your face: he knew you were grateful for what she was saying, but there was something akin to impatience on your face if he looked hard enough.
And it was that, and the fact that the fake smile you’d plastered on your face was slowly slipping with every second that passed and every glance at the time on your phone, that he found himself stepping a little closer, whipping his keys around on his finger, “Hey, are you okay for a lift?”
Taylor shut up and looked to you for confirmation.
There was a pause and he almost regretted asking it–
“Are you offering?” Your voice was different to how it usually sounded when you were speaking to him; softer, perhaps a little more vulnerable.
And when he looked at you, he wasn’t quite sure what it was but it felt different. His stomach sort of dropped and he…lost his train of thought.
Still, he managed, “Yeah. I can drop y’off on my way home, it’s no problem.”
“You’re leaving already?” Taylor asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, I’m pretty tired.” He didn’t really want to say that he didn’t feel like he was welcome at this particular moment in time, not with Ellis clearly in a mood, but he did feel a stab of guilt when he thought about leaving Taylor to deal with it by herself, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” She brushed it off, taking a step back and glancing between you and him with an odd glint in her eye, “I’ll let you go. Have fun.”
There were a few hushed mutters as he stepped out of the apartment, waiting by the elevator for you to join him, and almost as soon as you shut the door behind you, you sighed.
He still didn’t say anything, and instead turned to watch the numbers tick up to the floor, before an audible ding sounded and the doors shuddered open. He let you go first. And if he thought the tension back with Ellis was bad, this was a whole other level, because he swore he could hear the cogs of your mind working on overdrive – about the date or about his uncharacteristic behaviour, he couldn’t possibly guess, but it was driving him crazy.
“You good?”
“Hmm?” You looked at him, shocked at his words, and he’d never seen you this frazzled before, “Oh, yeah. Just nervous, I guess.”
He swallowed, uncertain. He wanted to say something to make you feel better – heck, he had it lined up in his head to just blurt out, but the only thing stopping him was that it might make it weirder, and you’d already been bombarded by that kind of thing from Taylor. And then he thought of you on your date and–
“If you tell yourself that the nerves are actually just excitement, I find it usually eases some of the, y’know, nerves.” He stuttered, glad the doors opened once more.
“Thanks. Also, thanks for offering to drive me here, you really didn’t have to.” You murmured, and he found himself shaking his head.
“You don’t have to thank me, it really wasn’t any trouble.”
“Do you get nervous before your games?”
The question startled him to such an extent that he almost tripped over the rug in the entryway, but his sneakers squeaked against the floor and he felt his body jolt a little.
Was he actually losing it or was this considered a civil conversation? You weren’t at his throat with some quick witted jab, and you weren’t looking at him like you wanted to wring his neck.
It was weirdly refreshing.
“Sometimes.” He admitted, holding the door open to the car park, “It’s usually hit and miss though, it depends on who we’re playing. The car’s this way.” He pointed to the other side of the garage at your hesitation.
And it wasn’t until you’d buckled yourself in and he’d turned the engine on that either of you spoke again.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
He breathed a bitter laugh, “I’m usually nice to people, y’know, I’m not a–”
“Dick?”
“Yeah.” He shot you a look, “You test my patience, though. You bring out the worst of me.”
You seemed to ease up a little at his confession, managing a small smile, “Likewise.”
“I just…” he trailed off, pulling a face before momentarily losing his train of thought as he pulled out into traffic, “There’s a time and a place for that kind of thing. And I could tell Taylor was starting to grind your gears, so…”
You hummed, “Yeah. She’s great but sometimes she, like, I don’t think she knows me as well as she thinks she does. Sometimes I just need quiet.”
So, he thought, that’s what he’ll give you.
***
Unknown Number: SOS
Unknown Number: HELP
Unknown Number: PLEASE HURRY
You: Who is this?
Unknown Number: Michael Bunting
You could hear the yelling and the dumping of objects into a hollow box even through the door, and it was both the noise and the frantic messages that were still pinging through your phone that had you instantly pushing it open. If you hadn’t had some semblance of a warning from the messages, you’d have probably assumed the entire place had been ransacked by burglars: drawers had been turned upside down with the contents littered across floors in an attempt to find their individual belongings; there were cardboard boxes piled and stacked, stuff sticking up – and, more importantly you guessed, both co-habitants standing in the middle of the living room, yelling about something or other with a stricken Michael Bunting awkwardly holding a TV remote and waiting by the door like a kid.
It was clear from his face that he had no idea what to do. And despite the situation, you were able to find some amusement in that.
Although…
“What’s Taylor doing here?” You asked, the both of you still loitering in the doorway, watching your friends rip each other up like it was usual Saturday soap.
He shrugged, and you felt the heat of his stare burn the side of your cheek until you couldn’t take the silence. His cheeks were pink and he looked to be stuttering.
“What?”
He winced, “I kind of walked in this morning and she was in the kitchen.”
You blinked, your attention switching back to the arguing couple. Ellis had a cushion in his hand and they were both insisting it was theirs, only when you looked closer, you noticed Taylor’s bare feet and the Blue Jays t-shirt she was wearing, and you turned, shocked and disturbed, to Michael.
“When you said this morning…”
“Yeah?” He was refusing to look at you properly now, and that little seed of disbelief that had planted itself in your brain seemed to bloom, and a pebble of stress dropped in your stomach. His cheeks were still a bit pink, but it was hidden by a thicker wad of stubble than when you’d last seen each other.
“What time was that?” You continued, watching the delicate lines near his eyes appear when he pulled another face, almost confirming your thoughts with just a look.
“Nine.”
You nodded, “Right. And was she, y’know, dressed?”
His eyes closed briefly, a whisper of mortification barely heard over the yelling – but with the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder sharing a doorway it wasn’t missed, “Barely.”
You huffed a small laugh at his expense because he clearly hadn’t been prepared for his best friend’s now ex-girlfriend to be in the kitchen wearing next to nothing that early in the morning, and at the sound he sent you an offended glance.
“Sorry.” You apologised, turning to watch the spectacle with a barely-there smile that became increasingly difficult to hide the longer you felt him stare accusingly in your direction – if anything his undying attention only amplified the hilarity of his earlier memory and you had to lean your forehead against the wood of the doorframe and turn your back to him to block the image from your mind entirely.
“Listen, she’s pretty and everything, but…it’s weird for me.” He mumbled, folding his arms.
“Was it your first time seeing a half-naked woman?”
He rolled his eyes, “You’re hilarious – shut up, don’t even say it. You know why it’s weird. It’d be weird if you walked in and it was Ellis with, like, a bowl of cereal covering his crotch.”
You wrinkled your nose, frowning, “I didn’t need that image, but point taken.”
You turned your attention to the bickering couple in front of you, now waving a fly swatter. In truth, you weren’t really sure why you were here or why Michael was here. Taylor had asked you to come with her when she’d made her so-called ‘appointment’ to pick up her stuff from Ellis’s place, but looking at them now she didn’t really need the help, or moral support. And neither did Ellis.
In fact, they were standing in front of each other arguing, and it was probably the least stressed you’d seen Taylor in weeks. Sure, their voices were raised, but there wasn’t anything malicious being said or anything physical going on. They were simply picking up objects and having a loud debate over whose it was, and it was that arguing combined with the obvious ‘last time together’ thing that made you think maybe this was more for closure for each other than anything else.
Even from Taylor’s point of view, she wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but she’d said it felt like everything between them had just gradually fizzled out for no apparent reason. It was odd, really: they’d seemed like such a good fit at the start and now, even like last week, they’d be in the same room and have more interest in talking to either you or Michael than showing interest in each other.
And it was that that had you turning to the man next to you, something plucking at your heart strings. It felt an awful lot like the dread you’d felt earlier, except it was laced with something heavier. Like knowing you’d never see your childhood pet again.
“Are they still broken up?” You found yourself asking, wanting him to turn his attention away from the scenes in front of you both.
He blinked once more before turning his head to look at you, about to say something on the tip of his tongue but clearly changing his mind at what he saw on your face. He tilted his head, eyes zipping from each of yours – back and forth – before his mouth curved up slightly at the edges, his expression taking an odd turn.
“What?” You asked, paranoid at the way he was looking at you.
His grin broadened, and he tilted his head adorably, “Nothing. But, yeah, they’re still broken up.”
You nodded, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. There was something rising in your chest, a tightness edged with panic, like you were aware time was clearly running out for something but your head wasn’t quite sure what.
“We’re still gonna be friends, right?”
For a brief moment, you didn’t know what to do. Your pulse seemed to kick against your sternum and that tightness in your chest eased, an inexplicable reaction that you couldn’t quite get ahold of its meaning.
“Us?” You looked at him, and where he previously had a smile on his face, it was now replaced with a kind of cautious curiosity: his mouth was pulled tightly and there was a slight, very slight crease between his brows that deepened when you spoke again.
His eyes briefly skitted to your right before returning to meet yours, “Yeah?” He said, but with the way his voice ticked up at the end it almost sounded like he wasn’t too sure himself.
And you were so shocked at the words falling out of his mouth that you could only blink and stare, “I’m your friend?”
You supposed it wasn’t too shocking: after the initial agreement it had taken a while to warm up to each other, but you’d eventually gotten to the point where you’d managed to unintentionally create some inside jokes, and, sure, you’d still bicker like children from time to time, but the teasing was less malicious and more fond, like you’d known each other for a while.
And it was in that moment that you realised that tightness in your chest was because you just assumed that, like Taylor would lose Ellis, you would lose Michael.
His eyes narrowed uncomfortably, and you could tell he'd gone a little defensive at your questions, probably assuming his own assumptions weren’t exactly reciprocated, “Yes.” He said, a little forcefully, “Aren’t I your friend?”
You nodded, awkwardly scratching your cheek, “I just assumed you only spent time with me because of Ellis and Taylor–”
“Nah.”
You nodded slowly, a small smile creeping onto your face, “Oh.”
He paused for a beat, watching you carefully, “Is that a no, then?”
“No, it’s a yes.”
“Good.” He grinned.
***
He was next to you one second and the next he’d just disappeared completely. It was the strangest thing.
It wasn’t like he was particularly easy to lose in a crowd, either, not with those shoulders and – well, actually, he was quite small so in hindsight, it was pretty easy to lose him in a crowd, especially when he was just another suit-clad man with a fairly recent haircut and shave.
You sighed in defeat, sitting back in your chair at the table surrounded by strangers that weren’t all that interested in your presence. You’d checked your phone at least five times within the past three minutes, expecting a quick text for an explanation and you hadn’t really been able to stop looking at the bar, helplessly expecting his face to materialise in thin air.
It was pretty shitty what he’d done: he’d all but begged you to come with him to one of his friend’s weddings and after you’d had to rearrange plans just so you could agree (he’d been so desperate he’d actually offered you a thousand dollars to go with him), yet the second you both enter the reception location, he dips?
“Excuse me, hi–”
You snapped your neck towards the unfamiliar voice, heart pounding like a jackhammer in your chest at the unexpected intrusion, and managed a polite, albeit confused, smile as you found yourself faced with a pretty raven-haired woman. You’d never seen her before, but with the way she was looking at you, you were almost forced to second guess yourself.
“Oh, hi.” You replied, brain spinning and throwing out names, but your face clearly contorting into one of utter bewilderment, much to her amusement.
She chuckled, “Sorry, you don’t know me.” She said, slightly oddly, and you tilted your head, connecting the dots from what she hadn’t said.
“But you know me?” You asked, and she shrugged, her cheeks colouring slightly.
“Not exactly, but I saw you come in with Michael–”
“Oh.”
She cringed, “Yeah. I am really sorry for approaching you like this, but I was just wondering if he was okay?”
You just blinked.
“You know,” she continued, clearly sensing your confusion, “because of our breakup?”
Oh fuck.
You tried to hide the shock from your face – as though this wasn’t new news to you – but try as you might, you felt your brows rise a little and your heart rate quicken. He’d never mentioned anything like that to you. In fact, you guys rarely ever talked about relationships, even despite you currently being in one (though it probably wasn’t going to last with the way it had been going recently), so you just assumed he hadn’t been in one.
Nevertheless, you nodded, “He’s fine.”
She eased after that, smiling in relief, but still hung around as though you were supposed to say something else, but in all honesty you weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t know if he was okay, not if he’d seen her and bolted; you didn’t know when it was that they’d broken up, and you didn’t know how much he’d want you to say.
So you sat in the chair, smiling awkwardly – probably appearing pretty rude – and just sighed.
“I’m sorry, I can’t say–”
“It’s fine, I understand.” She replied, smiling tightly, “Enjoy the night.”
You watched her walk away, and as soon as she disappeared through another set of doors, you picked up your phone and started to wind your way through the crowds to at least guess where he could have gone. There were little booths and food carts off around the edge of the room, along with some photo booths and drinks stands – it wasn’t until you reached the photo booth right near the entrance that you stopped for the first time.
There wasn’t a queue to this one, but there was a strip of photos in the hatch and a pair of freshly shined shoes under the curtain. You paused, taking a peak at the photos.
It was him, alright. Four photos: one of him in a ginger wig, one with a pair of huge glasses on, one with a moustache on a stick and the final one with all of them combined. If it had been any other time you supposed you’d have laughed, but all the photos did was fuel your desire to get the curtain open.
All he did was raise his brows at your appearance and shuffle over on the bench, tucking himself in against the wall with a defeated, unsurprised smile. You passed him the photo strip and he breathed a short, mirthless laugh before tucking it in his pocket and turning to you, an almost embarrassed look on his face.
“Sorry for ditching you.” He mumbled, looking genuinely guilty.
You shook your head, a pang of adoration shooting through your system for the man in front of you. You didn’t quite know where it suddenly came from or why it occurred, but you did know that it meant he was precious to you in a way you hadn’t even realised. You guys weren’t exactly close – there were obviously things you didn’t talk about (as evidenced), but you cared about him. Wanted him to be happy.
Wanted to wipe that forlorn expression off his face because he was clearly beating himself up about leaving you but still a little caught off guard by…
“You don’t have to apologise.” You smiled reassuringly, before asking, “What’s her name?”
His brows raised, and he tutted as he pulled an uncomfortable face. Whether it was because he hadn’t expected the question or because he was stealing himself, you weren’t at liberty to say, “Jess.” He managed, eyes zeroing in on some lint on the floor by his feet.
You just nodded. If he wanted to talk about it, you knew he would – he wasn’t exactly an open book when you prodded him, but you were all ears regardless.
“We were in a serious relationship for three and a half years before we broke up. That was a week before I met you. I wasn’t really coping well so Ellis dragged me out to that bar. I’m okay now, though. I still get a bit sad about it but I think I’m more sad for the me I was when we were dating than the me now, if that makes sense.” He spoke to his shoes, his arms crossed against his chest, as though to spit the words out and force himself to talk about it, that also meant he couldn’t face you, “I had a feeling she was gonna be here tonight, it was actually why I invited you, but the second I saw her, I don’t know, I just walked away. And the weird thing is that I don’t know why I walked away, because when I saw her I felt nothing. Maybe I walked away because I feel like I should have felt something, like walking away from her was something that was expected of me.” He sighed, swinging his head towards you, his eyes momentarily dropping to the necklace that sat comfortably against your sternum before darting back up to your face, “I’m just a bit confused.” He admitted.
You reciprocated his wry, self-deprecating smile, patting him on the arm fondly, “Me too; I actually thought you wanted to spend time with me–”
“Shut the fuck up.” He breathed a laugh, shaking his head.
That despondent expression had gone, the tension practically drained from the lines of his face, and you rejoiced at the smile now there – a real one, not one put on for the sake of it.
You took a breath, and whether he could sense that you were about to say something potentially cheesy, or something that neither of you would really say or do, his smile dropped, but only slightly. His eyes were focused on you, and you almost wanted to shrink back under his gaze – you two were sitting pretty tightly together: this photo booth bench was only made for one person, so there was little to no room to even look at each other properly. You’d both had to lean backwards against the walls to not end up touching noses, and for some reason, that hadn’t even occurred to you until that very second.
The breath in your chest shook a little, “I know…Um…” You laughed uneasily, “I know you said you were okay, and I know we don’t usually do this kind of thing, but if you ever feel like it…just for the support – that my hand is here for you to hold if ever you want to.” You inhaled, and this time it was you who was unable to look at him, “And that it’s okay to feel confused about it all. You don’t have to have an explanation for everything, but there’s nothing you can feel that’s wrong in any way. And if you ever want to talk about it…I’m always gonna be here for you.”
When you finally found the courage to turn to him again, he was looking at you in a way that was almost equivalent to the secret adoration you harboured for him, and you fought to keep your cheeks from flushing and your face from smiling like a damn fool. With the way the LED overhead lights were shining on you both – the heat of them warming the box pretty quickly, made worse by the two bodies also in there – your eyes drifted to his nose. You’d never really noticed it before, but the light seemed to hit it just right to enunciate the straight bridge of it. There was a scar just above his lip, darker and also more pronounced from the fresh shave (he’d not got rid of it all, there was still a light bit of scruff left), and although he wasn’t smiling properly, the creases by his eyes seemed to suggest otherwise.
He swallowed once he noticed you’d turned your attention back to him, and he nodded, lips twitching, “That really means a lot, hearing you say that.” He said, rather hoarsely, “It also goes both ways, too.”
You tilted your head in question.
“The hand thing – you can hold mine…for support.”
“Ah.”
“I actually do have something to say, now that I’m thinking about it.”
When did his eyes get so fucking bright? It almost angered you that you’d never noticed it before.
“What?” You asked, mildly curious as to his next words.
Though, nothing – absolutely nothing – could have prepared you for the bombshell of his next words.
“You look really beautiful tonight.”
***
“I know I said to avoid Tim Horton’s today, but I didn’t really mean to avoid–Oh, what the heck?”
His phone was immediately pocketed, and the smile on his face immediately dropped, and he stepped through the door without another word, leaving you both severely confused at his sudden actions and slightly light headed at the speed he’d managed to do all three things in. He simply stood in front of your now shut door, a mildly horrified look on his face and his hands tapping against his short-clad thigh.
“Why are you wearing shorts, it’s freezing outside?”
Your question of appal seemingly went unheard, because the crease between his brows only deepened and he pulled a funny face: his mouth turned down at the corners but he wasn’t angry or upset.
“Um…Okay, so you can tell me to shut the fuck up with what I’m about to ask you…” He trailed off, his eyes never leaving your face – all it did was elicit you to swipe against your cheek, expecting your hand to come away with pen or some dirt or something, because he was looking at you like you were an alien.
It was weird. And creepy.
“But have you been crying?”
You blinked, tilting your head with wide eyes.
He didn’t say anything but he copied your actions, before snapping into a more serious role, “No, but I’m being deadly serious.”
You hesitated, and he took that as your answer, his entire body deflating.
There was no point trying to hide it, clearly not if he’d just taken one solid look at you immediately after walking through the door and managed to figure it out. If anything you were a little impressed he’d recognised it because you’d never cried before or in front of seeing him ever – there hadn’t ever been a situation where he’d have seen your post-cry face to recognise it for what it was, and it wasn’t even as if you actually cried much. Maybe two minutes, tops.
“I broke up with Sam this morning.” You bit the bullet, willing your eyes to not tear up as you spoke the words into existence, but as you did so, the lump rose in your throat so impossibly quickly you physically couldn’t bring yourself to say anything else. Not if you didn’t want to actually start crying.
So you waited, and you watched and you looked as he stuttered, his eyes darting all over your face before going to your living room area. He circled his attention back to you after his forehead had creased and he’d seen what was on the TV, looking suddenly more comfortable than he had mere seconds ago.
“Are you okay?” Was the first thing out of his mouth, his backpack sliding off his shoulders easily to be deposited by the door, and all you could manage was a weak shrug, teeth scraping against your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.
You hated crying, and there was nothing worse than crying in front of someone else – you had no idea how he’d react if the dam did end up breaking, but if the soft, sympathetic gleam in his eye as he took an unsure step towards you was anything to go by, you had an inkling you were in safe hands.
He nodded at your uncertain gesture, “That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
The crack in your chest seemed to split further, as though someone had thrown an axe straight through it, and all you could do was nod, your arms crossed tightly against your chest as though they’d somehow protect you from the inevitable hurt and grief of the next few minutes, hours, weeks and perhaps months.
But, despite all of that, the fact that he’d shown up out of nowhere sheerly because you hadn’t had the energy to pick up your phone, and because he clearly cared, you felt okay. Better than you had earlier when you hadn’t even spoken the truth to anyone.
He was right, you didn’t want to talk about it – but he was here. And he was pulling a Tim Horton’s box out of his backpack, giving you space and time and he was so heart-achingly patient that it almost sent you into another spiral of tears for a whole different reason. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His friendship was different from yours with Taylor; you loved the girl to pieces but if you’d have told her like you’d just told him, she’d have corralled you into spilling your guts about everything, and you didn’t need that.
You needed peace and quiet and the familiar security and the unspoken knowledge that, yes, you were upset, but you were going to be okay.
“Thanks.” You mumbled, stomach growling when the smells emanated from the open paper bag.
He nodded wordlessly, but looked up with mild horror at the sounds your stomach made, “Hungry?” He joked lightly, already rooting through your cupboards to gather plates.
“Just a bit.” You replied hoarsely, helping him upturn the various boxes onto the plates, before, wordlessly, you both crashed on the couch, your eyes burning each and every single time you blinked. Your throat was aching with the effort to not succumb to the growing lump that had planted itself there, and you were so exhausted. So, so exhausted.
“Thanks for the food.” You said, between mouthfuls, the hungry cramps of your stomach easing with each and every bite. You didn’t let him answer before you jumped into your next question: “How was work?”
You watched him out of the corner of his eye, swallow, also looking at you for a brief moment – as though to suss you out and to gather his thoughts – before he shrugged, a small smile on his face, “It was so bad.”
“Really?” You managed a laugh, the muscles in your face feeling tight at the sudden movements. His face was a picture: he was grinning brightly, the corners of his eyes crinkled and his brows had jumped up his forehead, mind clearly playing something on repeat.
“Really. Willy did the bare minimum and just giggled at me the entire time which made me worse at it, and I – fuck, I couldn’t concentrate on the people in front of me when there were people ordering down the line, and then Mo and Auston showed up too–”
“You’re kidding.”
He shook his head morbidly, “Dead serious. Wearing wigs and the most ridiculous clothes I’ve ever seen, and they ripped us apart, man. I can’t even do it justice, you’ll just have to watch it when it comes out, oh God…” He trailed off, breaking into a small fit of giggles that was so infectious you had to put your own food back down and concentrate on now choking on your drink.
“It was bad, but you had fun?” You summarised, grinning as he nodded, practically glowing at the memory of it.
“I think it’s one of the best days I’ve ever had.”
You just laughed, tucking into your food once more as it became clear he didn’t have anything else to say about it–
“Why’re you watching this?”
Your eyes jumped to him across the couch, briefly frowning in confusion before remembering exactly what you’d been watching before the knock on your door. The frame had been paused mid-first period of the game – there wasn’t anything particularly spectacular about it, and you wondered if he recognised it at all.
He tilted his head, a hint of confusion lacing his tone, and you swallowed, nerves picking up and your heart thrumming in your chest. You never really talked about hockey with him, at least not from your perspective. You guys talked about the Leafs and his games and his practices and his teammates, but you’d never really broached your affinity for the sport. And the longer you’d left it, the more awkward you’d felt it would be to just admit it outright.
“It’s my favourite game.” You admitted quietly, fighting the urge to smile fondly.
He hesitated, his head swinging from you to the screen and back again, and he asked, a little breathlessly – as though he was trying to wrap his head around everything bouncing around his mind – “You watch hockey enough to have a favourite game?”
You nodded, “I love hockey.”
“You do?” He asked, voice higher in pitch than it had been. The surprise was painfully evident, and with it, so was the guilt that seemed to make itself known.
“Yeah.”
He nodded slowly, “I thought you didn’t know who I was?”
“I didn’t. I’d just moved to Toronto, like, a week before you started I think, and the Leafs aren’t exactly my team, y’know?” You explained, watching him carefully for any traces of possible betrayal he might feel, “It was a hectic time to be keeping up with any NHL news.”
He blinked, before shrugging, “Makes sense. Your team’s the Preds?” He raised an inquisitive brow, and for some reason you knew then that you’d both be locked in this amusing back and forth for a while. Of course you would: there’s no greater hockey fan than a hockey player, let alone a hockey player playing for their childhood team.
You scoffed, barking a short, almost offended laugh, “No. I mean, I have nothing against the Preds, but it’s the Pens for me, all the way.”
He arched a brow at your reaction, a smirk beginning to play at the corner of his mouth, “I mean you no offence when I say that.” Before, “I want you to win, though–”
“Just me?”
“Micheal Bunting against the NHL, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, “The Leafs are…I want you to win unless it’s against the Pens. It’s a conflict of interest.”
“What do you do when we play with each other?”
You widen your eyes comically, “Lock myself in a dark room and don’t come out until the game’s over.” You shrug, answering honestly, “It depends whose situation is the most dire, I guess. I always want the Pens to do well, but you’ve thrown a spanner in the works. You’ve made hockey complicated.”
“I’m honoured.” He laughed softly, “Why’s this one your favourite?”
“Sixth game of the Stanley Cup Final, 2017. I don’t know why that one specifically, it’s just the last one we won when I was back home, so it reminds me of…well, home, I guess.”
“You miss it?”
You nodded, almost wistfully, “Yeah. I sometimes think about moving back.”
“But?” He encouraged, almost afraid of what you were about to say.
“I don’t know. I have friends here, a job, somewhere to live; I guess I have that back home too, or I would given the time. I think I’m just waiting for the right moment to go back.” You trailed off, your voice becoming nothing more than a mere whisper, but he caught it – with a slow nod and the parting of his mouth.
You’d seen him speechless before, but he always managed to find something to say. The silence that ensued after spoke volumes, mostly just because you didn’t understand any of it.
He reached over after that, taking the remote, before hesitating and turning to you, shocked when he found your eyes already on him, “What counts as the right moment?”
He pressed play when you shrugged.
***
Even after the conversation you’d both had last year about you leaving, you never would have imagined he’d be the one leaving first. It had always been a possibility, maybe even something you’d thought about since becoming friends, but there hadn’t really been anything to suggest he would leave. At least, not until the last season.
And it hadn’t ever felt realer than this moment: standing in the doorway to an empty house, your clothes sticking to you in the early Summer heat with your hands on your hips and feeling much more emotional about the prospect of a Bunting-less Toronto than you’d initially prepared yourself for.
He was wandering through the empty rooms, double and triple checking everything after you’d done the same, and for those lonely three minutes without him, you got a glimpse of what it’d be like not seeing each other every few days. You couldn’t exactly remember when Toronto had suddenly become him, but the idea of it felt strangely intimidating. It almost felt like you’d just moved in again, not knowing anyone or where anything was.
It was scary.
He came back into view, hand resting on a door frame as he stopped suddenly in the exact spot he’d looked up to you in. You offered a reassuring smile, standing up straight, but you could both tell it was strained.
“Checked everything?” You asked, voice tight, but you didn’t want to ruin this moment for him. He’d been looking forward to settling in Raleigh since he’d signed the contract – at least, once he’d gotten over the initial disappointment and sadness of leaving Ontario.
And you were excited for him, for this new opportunity and this new experience.
You’d just never really anticipated how you’d feel.
“Yeah.” He nodded, swallowing, looking grave and strange.
“You good?”
“Yeah.” He breathed a laugh, walking towards you and scratching his beard – he’d started leaving it longer between each shave now – “Just gonna miss this place, I guess.” He swung his hands in front of him, coming to a direct stop in front of you and swivelling on his heel, taking one last, long look at the place he’d called home for years.
You hummed in agreement, “Me too.”
You hadn’t even realised how true that admission was until you’d said it out loud. It sent an uncomfortable zing down your spine, like pulling down a zipper, and you shivered, rubbing your arms just to give yourself something to do.
He turned to look at you, eyes assessing your every motion, and you froze. You didn’t really know where to go from here. The car was packed, the house was empty: you’d drop by the estate agent’s on the way to drop him at the airport, and from then on he’d be in Raleigh – at least, in every way that mattered to you. Sure, he had his training camps and he had his away games, but you’d very rarely get to see each other.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to say anything.
But where did you go from here? You?
Well…you’d been toying with the idea for a while, but–
“You ready?” He breathed out, lips pressed together with his hands on his hips.
You nodded, managing a smile, but the lack of effort into pretending like you weren’t in the least bit affected by it was noticeable.
“Let’s go then.” You whispered, leading the way to the front door, slowing down each time he turned to get another look – never too far ahead, not wanting to let him out of your sight. These moments felt crucial, somehow. It was the last time you’d actually be able to look at him properly; his eyes, hair, smile, arms, legs, clothes. You felt silly soaking it all up.
He followed closely on your heels, taking the keys from you on the porch and turning round to lock the door behind him for the last time. He didn’t say anything, but his mouth twisted and he ran a brief hand across his brow bone, almost as though he was wiping away some sweat or satisfying an itch.
You tried not to make it obvious you were keeping an eye on him, ensuring to stand behind him, a few steps down to give him the space to collect himself if he needed to. And when he turned back around, he tried to keep his head down but you still caught his red-rimmed eyes and his sucked in cheek and his shaky smile as he caught up with you.
It was silent in the car, too, no music playing through the speakers. He was looking out of the window, eyes catching onto everything that swam passed, drinking it all in.
Each time ‘for the last time’ flew through your mind, you’d have to catch yourself and reign in the prickly eyes and the tightness in your chest as best as you could without drawing too much attention to yourself. It felt pointless, though, because you knew it was inevitable that you’d both end up shedding a few tears at some point.
The only thing that seemed to do it was the knowledge that it wouldn’t even be the last time, because he grew up near here. He’d come back when he could; you’d see each other at the Marner wedding next month, too.
It wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt like a part of it was dying.
“Here.” You mumbled, voice hoarse and wiping at the underneath of your eyes (no tears had fallen, but you could feel them welling up).
He looked up and out of the window, eyes zeroing in on the window of the estate agents. His seatbelt came next, and before you could convince yourself otherwise, you followed him in, ignoring his curious eye but taking the hand he offered anyway. It was something you’d both taken to doing lately, even in mundane moments like this.
Whether it was the knowledge that time was running out or if it was just a comfort thing, you never spoke about it. It just happened. And it seemed today was one of those days you both needed it.
Only, as he made his way towards the desk, you branched away towards the other side of the shop, hands ripping apart. He only threw a confused look behind, but carried on when his own agent walked out from the back of the shop.
You, however, found yourself standing in front of the magazine rack, hands clenching and unclenching at your sides, eyes roving over the words on each, searching for the correct one. Nothing seemed to ease the hollowness under your sternum, though.
There was some comfort when you found the right one, though, picking it up and feeling the comfortable weight in your hands. It felt like a breath of fresh air, and the twinges eased only slightly at the familiar cityscape on the front.
You swallowed, rolling it up in your fist and making your way back over to where he was chatting to his estate agent, a pen in his hand and some papers in front of him. The key had been stripped of its keychains, and for some reason that little difference brought everything back again.
You wanted to reach for his hand, but you held back for a moment. The estate agent caught your eye and you managed a polite smile, but it dropped the second they looked away.
And before you could blink, Michael was pushing himself off the counter, snatching his keychains and pushing everything else back towards the agent with a final thanks, and then he turned.
He blinked, eyes dropping to the programme in your hand, and you tried to hide it by moving it behind his leg, but he wasn’t having any of it. There was a crease between his brows, and he didn’t look to be on the verge of tears anymore, but there was a specific ticking to his jaw – his entire being was still tinged with a veil of melancholy, but he gently took it from your hand once you’d stepped outside. You let him, your fist unfurling.
Your face seemed to act of its own accord, an odd wince appearing as his lips parted.
“You’re really gonna do it?” He murmured gently, an odd glint in his eye.
“Think it’s time.” You breathed an uncomfortable laugh, somehow not able to look at him or anything else.
He was so magnetic it was honestly a chore trying not to give him all of your attention, least of all when he was looking at you differently. It wasn’t something he’d done a lot before, but you’d noticed it a lot more recently: his eyes would fix themselves on you with an unfamiliar intensity, and even when you’d catch him red handed, he wouldn’t ever let up. If anything, the attention from you seemed to make it worse (or better?) because he’d start to smile and he’d expel a stuttering breath, like he hadn’t previously been breathing.
Each time, though, you never failed to blush slightly. Your cheeks would feel warm and you’d only be able to stand his look for so long before ultimately looking away, trying not to appear too flustered by it.
“Yeah?” He asked, handing you the programme back, “You can’t stand to be in a different country than me, eh?” He joked, but you could sense the underlying seriousness to his question, as though he was fishing for a specific answer.
“You wish.” You managed, scoffing slightly but unable to hide a small smile at the familiar dynamic.
It vanished the second the first wave of homesickness took hold of you though, and he noticed. Just grabbed your hand again.
The drive from the estate agent’s to the airport was even worse. Every time the sign appeared on the side of the road, you’d have to inhale and remind yourself to keep breathing in order to stave off the oncoming bout of tears. The entire time you were fighting against the wetness gathering in your eyes, and your nose had started to run – each sniff meant he’d look at you out of the corner of his eye and if anything, that made it worse, because as time went on and as you pulled into the parking lot, you could hear his sniffles too.
You put off turning the engine off. The second you did, he’d climb out, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that just yet. Judging from the utter stillness he was exhibiting in the passenger seat, he was the same.
Your hands were still clenched around the steering wheel, the rough plastic doing nothing to cure your cold hands, not even when the sun was shining through the windshield and warming the entire vehicle. Your body was on high alert, blood not really flowing to your extremities.
You’d never been so numb yet so aware of everything in your entire life: the way the hairs on your arms stood up when he turned in his seat to face you was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart in the sheer effort it took to not show the tears wobbling on your waterline.
It was a plane taking off and the sheer volume of the engine that snapped you out of the haze, your hands unclipping your seatbelt, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to even touch the door, flinching when the belt smacked against the inside of the car.
“I feel weird.” He muttered, eyes staring straight through the windshield and into the car parked nose to nose. He sniffed once, before unclipping his own seatbelt, and you watched him in silence as his shaking hands hovered above his lap before eventually settling on top of his cap, a shuddering breath passing his lips.
The sight was such a contrast to how he’d been earlier that morning – he’d gone from bouncing on his toes with giddy excitement to suddenly folding in on himself and the entire world crumbling at its edges.
You pushed open your car door, fully intending to make your way around to his own door and start from there but the second your feet hit the tarmac, he’d also pushed himself out of the car, his door slamming behind him. He’d made it to the trunk before you could even shut yours behind you or ask if he was okay, but it looked as though he’d made the decision to pretend he hadn’t just admitted his inner turmoil.
You helped him lift his luggage out of the car (there wasn’t much: most of his actual things had been packed in a moving van the day before to meet him in Raleigh tomorrow) in silence. The trunk shut.
You swallowed nervously, eyes darting to the entrance of the airport before jumping back to him. He had one fist clenched on the top of a suitcase, his other dropped by his side, gaze focused and unwavering into the glass window of the trunk, blinking every so often.
You cleared your throat and the corners of his mouth twitched before he turned to look at you, feet shuffling against the gravel.
And he looked so despondent and not really like him at all that you didn’t have any choice whatsoever but to grab his free hand, which, similar to yours, was cold to the touch. You were both watching your fingers intertwine slowly, sliding over each other before finding solace in their places between each other’s knuckles. Three squeezes on your behalf and a small step forward had him pulling his suitcase along, an apprehensive and equally unreadable expression on his face.
“I could have stayed here longer.” He said, the both of you crossing over, a distracted gleam in his eye as he looked up at the entrance, nose scrunching on one side.
“If you stayed longer you’d want to leave less when you have to.” You reasoned, “And it’s better to move into your new place and get everything unpacked and ready for the season before it starts, to really get used to Raleigh, yeah?”
He nodded, swallowing, “Yeah.”
“Still feel weird?”
He nodded again, looking to the floor as you walked through the entrance.
You frowned, a stab of something really getting you right in the ribs as he only looked up when the airport atmosphere bled into his bubble. It was busy, but it wasn’t the busiest you’d ever seen it: people were milling about, double checking for passports and boarding passes, everything ready at hand, and at the strangers’ checks, Michael’s own hand pulled away from the suitcase, forcing you to stop walking towards the first checkpoint, and patted against the pocket on the outside of his backpack.
He pulled it all out without looking, peering into the plastic wallet you’d given him to keep everything important organised so he wouldn’t have to check it all at this moment, right in the doorway. You reached over, letting him fret, and wheeled his suitcase over by the inside window, dragging him with you.
“What are you doing?” He asked, brows knitted as he continued looking into the wallet, not sparing you much of a glance as you patted imploringly at the straps of his backpack.
“Take it off.”
“Only if you ask me out first.”
“Sorry, I just want no strings attached.”
His eyes slid over to yours, his cheek sucked into his mouth to stop himself from grinning, and he gave you his wallet, shrugging his backpack off easily and dropping it on the floor next to where you’d parked his suitcase.
“Now what?” He asked, eyes darting back to your hand like he wanted to grab it again, but decided against it.
“I don’t know.” You breathed, “How long do you have left?”
“Two hours-ish until boarding.”
“Oh.” He had to leave now, you supposed, eyeing his luggage like they were the ones taking him away, and that ache in your throat reappeared before you could even blink, and you were rendered speechless.
You watched him nod, and reach for his bags, but he must have changed his mind because the next thing you knew, your back was pressed up against the window, his arms wrapped around your shoulders and your head resting against his collarbone.
There was a moment when all you could focus on was the sudden envelope of warmth that circled you, the cacophony of smells: deodorant, fabric softener, a slight twinge of sweat and something else entirely – something very familiar – and before you could even sigh at the ache in your chest, you’d melted into him completely, your own arms hooking around the backs of his. You tucked your forehead down into his chest, pressing at the supple muscle, hands tightening in his shirt.
It wasn’t very comfortable: the ridges of metal edging the glass panes were digging into your back, and–oh.
There was a shuddering against your forehead, and you froze, before tilting your head up to see his eyes screwed shut in an effort to not let anything show.
“We’ve still got the Marner wedding – it’s gonna be okay.” And despite yourself, despite the watery smile on your face, you laughed a little, “You’re gonna enjoy Raleigh–”
“It’s not that.” He shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and blinking to get rid of the blurriness before dropping them to his sides again, the both of you still in entirely too-close-for-comfort-quarters.
“The weird feeling?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, his chin wavering, and he inhaled sharply, “It’s just gonna be so weird not seeing you.”
“FaceTime exists, as do away games to Toronto.”
“I’m not even in that division anymore.”
You sighed, “Pittsburgh is, though.”
Silence.
He was doing it again: “Stop looking at me like that.”
He frowned, “Like what?”
“I don’t know, just–” You rolled your eyes, reaching to tug him back into you like before, only this time your hands slid up his back to rest across the tops of his shoulders, and he sighed into the touch, his own rough palms dragging up your neck to plant a soft kiss against your hairline.
You stayed like that until he really had to go, but there weren’t any tears.
***
“Do you like him?”
The question hung in the air for a good few seconds, you pulling a face, heart pounding like a jackhammer against your sternum before you could even find the words and the ability to talk, “He’s infuriating.”
“Do you like him?” Taylor’s voice rang out through your phone speaker, her eyebrow raised very matter-of-fact, and you’d never wanted to scream at her before, but you were cutting it pretty close with the way she was looking at you and the tone she was using.
You hesitated, your face falling. The words were caught in your throat, the admission you’d practised like a teleplay in your head, but the only thing stopping you was the way things would change. Sure, it would only be little things to start with, like Taylor nagging you with it, or her insufferably smug ‘I told you so’s. But eventually that meant that you’d have to do something about it, because Taylor could never leave things like that alone, least of all with rock hard evidence.
But…maybe you needed that?
“I…” You looked away from your phone, body trembling with an invisible cold, “Did I tell you what happened at the wedding?”
She frowned, “The Marner one?”
“Yeah.”
“The one that happened, like, Summer last year? Fucking months ago?”
You cringed, “That one.”
THE MARNER WEDDING:
“My God, are you a sight for sore eyes.”
Michael Bunting was never one to care about his appearance, least of all after crawling off a plane, but somehow he’d found himself in the bathroom of the airport, fixing his hair and straightening his clothes. All for it to fly completely out of the window when he strolled towards the exit and the first thing you did was say that. He couldn’t tell if it was the grin on your face or the sheer excitement racking your entire being that caused it, but he’d never felt sillier for feeling nervous about this moment.
“Could say the same thing about you.” He retorted, feeling the tightness in his chest dissolve, “What’s that?” He reached a finger to tap the underside brim of your cap, the sudden intrusion making you blink and jump slightly.
You knew what he was talking about: the black cap on your head, the sticker placed over a hidden logo with your handwritten message scrawled on. He furrowed his brows, eyes tracking over the words, before tilting his head in confusion, reading it aloud, “‘This is indeed my first rodeo’.” He said it slowly, as though he was worried he’d read it wrong, and before he could even ask you what it meant, you felt his fingers pick at the corner, peeling the sticker back.
He smiled sarcastically, patting it back into place with more force than necessary, the pats like small smacks against your forehead, “Shoulda known. What’s with the rodeo thing?”
“Bridal party thing.” You shrugged, “I’m not sure really.” You reached out to take the small suitcase from him, your own hands trying to pry his fingers off the handle, but he only held on tighter, “Let go.”
“No.”
“Yes.” You sighed, looking him dead in the eye hoping he’d get the hint and succumb, but he shook his head, his other hand peeling your fingers off him one by one, more condescendingly than anything else, “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want the dead body to fall out.”
—
“Hey, I forgot to ask earlier,” he called from the bathroom, the door shut as you took turns: he was cleaning his teeth and trimming his beard etc, and you were getting changed – later, you’d swap, “but how’s the property hunt going in Pittsburgh?”
You grinned, slipping the straps of your dress over your shoulders. Even the mere mention of your future plans had you smiling like an absolute idiot; you couldn’t wait to get back there. If you told the you that had just moved to Toronto what you were about to do, you were sure she’d have had a stroke from the shock. For so long, you’d envisioned living your life in Toronto and staying there. Moving back home felt more like a fever dream or something you shouldn’t do, because surely moving back to your home city meant you’d failed at something? At least, that used to be your thought process.
In reality, you just missed your family too much – every time something happened, whether it be a proposal or an illness, something in you just ached to be back there.
“It’s going okay. I’ve got a few places lined up that my parents have viewings booked for to check out, but there hasn’t been anything that’s stood out so far, but…” you paused, sitting on the edge of the bed to sort out your shoes, “I’ve got an online job interview with a company back there next week and the starting date, if I get it, is on par pretty much with moving in if there’s a place found within the next two weeks or so. But that’s only if everything goes well. Reality is I’ll probably end up moving back in with my parents for a few weeks until I find a place which isn’t exactly ideal.”
There were a few bangs, things getting placed on the counter, before his muffled, “Can I open the door?” Could be heard.
“Yeah, I’m decent.”
He creaked open the door, leaning on the handle as it swung open with a dopey grin, and it took everything in you not to stall at the sight: he was only wearing dress pants and a pair of socks, his hair tousled and damp from the shower. You’d seen photos of hockey players shirtless before, but there was something breathtakingly stunning about seeing Michael without one. He was your friend, and friends kept their shirts on – but…you swallowed, rather wishing you didn’t have to tear your eyes away from his toned figure and the smattering trail of hair, and turned your attention to his face.
The grin on his face had frozen, and despite not even looking further down than his neck you could see his chest rising and falling, eyes narrowed playfully as he stood up straighter, eyeing you with something that screamed trouble in all ways imaginable.
“Were you just checking me out?” He let go of the door handle, one hand pointing at you in an accusatory manner, and you just blinked, frowning.
“No.” You shook your head, pasting an incredulous ‘how could you’ look on your face to try and deny what had, in fact, been absolutely true.
He hesitated, his eyes roving your face for a single speck of a lie, “You were looking.”
You shrugged, “I’ve just never seen someone so…well-built before, that’s all.”
He nodded, pressing his lips together to stifle another grin, “So you were checking me out?”
“No, I was looking. There’s a difference.”
He lifted his hand, thumb and pointer finger closed together, a slither of a gap between them, “Tiny difference. So tiny there might not even be a difference.”
You sent him an unimpressed look, one that you hoped would mean he’d shut up about it because the second you even so much as hinted at him being right, it’d be over. He’d hold it above you for the rest of your lives, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of that, not if you could help it, “You’d know if I checked you out.”
He fell for it, his smile dropping in curiosity, “How?”
You shrugged, “You’d just know.” You took a deep breath, “Why’d you open the door?”
“I was gonna ask you about this job interview next week – what’s it for?” He disappeared back into the bathroom, but the mirror in the room still provided you with the perfect angle to watch his focused motions as he ran a towel through his hair and picked up an electric shaver. Each time he moved, his body rippled, and you hated that you couldn’t stop looking.
“It’s a cheffing position at a hotel, but it’s almost like a club. There’s an entire golf course; the restaurant is gorgeous; it’s got a spa, and it’s just…it’s like an old estate house in a period film, it’s just beautiful.” You raved, fiddling with your makeup bag as you waited for him to finish.
“Sounds incredible.” He muttered, nodding at you to join him and shoving his things to one side, “What makes you think you won’t get it?”
You shrugged, placing your bag on the counter, missing the way his eyes dragged right across your figure in the mirror, his hand still shaving his cheek with close concentration. Perhaps if he’d wavered, you’d have caught the action, but you didn’t, carrying on, “They can’t really ‘interview’ me without trying my food. I had to ask if it was okay for an online thing and it was lucky they even agreed, so…I don’t know, it just feels too good to be true.”
“Why?”
You sighed, “It just does. Something has to go wrong somewhere.”
“Not necessarily.”
“I don’t want to get my hopes up, that’s all.” You said it forcefully, throwing something back into your makeup bag and not even looking in his direction. He slowly lowered his hand to the counter, eyes fixated on you for a whole different reason.
You’d gone from being so infectiously excited about the prospect to suddenly…not.
“Everything okay?” He asked softly.
It had been four weeks since you’d last seen each other, and although he’d felt your absence like he’d never expected, he’d never felt it more than he had now. Ironic, considering you were standing right next to him. To have gone from texting each other with updates every day in Toronto to that eventually dwindling, mostly because he didn’t want to bother you too much – he’d assumed the same on your end, too – it was a big adjustment. He’d caught himself reaching for his phone a few times or eyeing it as each notification came through, and the remembrance of ‘oh, shit, we’re in different countries’ or not seeing your name pop up sent a shot of disappointment so deep through his chest that sometimes he’d actually have to massage it away.
It kind of killed him, though, that he didn’t know what was wrong. If he’d have still been back here…
“Yeah,” you clenched and unclenched your jaw, “it’s just stressful. There’s so many decisions that need to be made, and I have a date to move out now but I just want to go back to a job lined up at least. It’d be worth it then.”
His mind whirled, ideas of what to say lining up like there was no tomorrow, but he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say. He swallowed, nudging your arm with his elbow to get you to turn your attention back to him, and smiled smally in the mirror when you met his eyes, “I think it’s worth it anyway if it’s something that makes you happy. And it won’t be the end of the world if you don’t have a place to live or a job immediately. It might be ideal, but if it doesn’t work out, you’ll figure things out. Everything will fall into place, it just might take some time, that’s all.”
It was almost magical how quickly the sudden tension dissipated. The dread in your stomach and your racing heart calmed almost instantly – the very second you allowed yourself to believe his words. You knew he wouldn’t say something like that and not mean it, and the fact that he believed in you to that extent – to hear him topple each and every single doubt in your mind to the ground – had you fighting to grab ahold of him. Whether it be his hand or to hug him or to just check to make sure he was really there. It didn’t matter that one half of his beard was neatly trimmed and the other wasn’t; it didn’t matter that his hair was wet or he didn’t have a shirt.
You wanted to tell him you missed him at that very moment. Especially when he looked at you like that again.
Michael blinked, eyeing you. He was aware the entire room had come to a standstill and that all you were doing was simply breathing and looking right at him, and it was the latter that was odd. There was something skewiff about the way you were looking at him, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Your mouth had parted, and there was a faint, dainty crease between your brows, like when you were thinking about something. If it weren’t for the fractional tilt of your head or the softness to your eyes – they kept bouncing across his face like it was the first time you’d actually looked at him – he would’ve thought that’s what you were doing: thinking.
But then you huffed a laugh, almost shocking yourself, and snapped back to reality, that look disappearing as quickly as he’d noticed it, “Yeah.” You placed a hand against your cheek, eyes darting away from him briefly, and when you pulled your palm away, he could see the growing darkness of your cheeks, “Thank you, I really needed to hear that.”
You looked towards the counter, hair falling in a curtain and hiding your face, and not for the first time since he’d come back, a homesick pang seemed to resonate to the tips of his fingers, as though his entire soul had been plucked like the string of a guitar.
—
He kept telling himself that his arm was around your shoulder, his fingers against your skin, because your strap kept falling down – and he could tell it was irritating you. (He’d also made the mistake of actually looking when it had fallen the first time, the sharp motion catching his eye, and he had no intention of replicating that awkward moment again.) It had absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol in his system, lowering his inhibitions, or the way you’d scooted closer to him because of the tight-packed bar, or the fact that he’d realised mid-way through the ceremony that what Mitch was saying about Steph was eerily similar to how he felt for you.
Mo kept shooting him a look over Tessa’s head when you weren’t looking, and Willy had hilariously looked shocked when he’d had to correct him that, no, you were just friends, even after knowing that exact same fact for over two years now.
But you? He didn’t think you were thinking too much about him at that moment. Your eyes were fixed on someone further down the bar – someone that he wasn’t particularly fond of during the season in the first place – and he was having a hard time trying not to let it get to him.
Sidney Crosby. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, but you kept glancing back at him and he could practically sense you vibrating at the mere knowledge that he was metres away. He was half-expecting you to straight-up ditch him to go talk to the man himself, or he would have if you hadn’t shaken your head at Mitch with a hilariously terrified look on your face when he’d offered to introduce you. Michael had an inkling you did want to meet the guy, but just didn’t want to appear too eager.
And realistically, he knew he had absolutely no reason to even be the slightest bit jealous of the guy. He wasn’t even sure he was jealous, but the thought did make him uncomfortable; though he wasn’t entirely able to think about anything other than the vows from earlier.
“Want me to help you out?” It was Willy talking in his ear. He didn’t even need to look at the blonde to know it was him; the garish chain peeking out between a shirt that was unbuttoned dangerously low down, and the cologne emanating from him. Bunts figured he must douse himself in the stuff before he steps outside, but he’d seen Willy get ready and the only conclusion he’d reached was that guy must just smell that good naturally all the damn time.
He didn’t know why that was the first thing that popped into his mind at that moment. What he did know was that nothing good ever followed Willy when he uttered those words.
“Absolutely not, no.” He was very aware of his fingers still hooked onto the strap of your dress, keeping it held tightly against your shoulder. And on the way your other shoulder was pressed right against his chest. And the fact that you were chatting to someone he wasn’t quite sure he recognised – but the point was that you weren’t listening.
“What, why?” Willy frowned, pouting and swigging a bottle of something. Michael didn’t like the look on his face.
“Because.”
“Because you’re scared?”
His silence was enough to answer Willy’s question.
“You need help.”
Michael frowned, “Like, mental help or–”
“Me help.”
“I just said no.”
“I heard you but I’m electing to ignore that and follow my own instincts.” Willy flashed him a grin and Michael felt his stomach drop, watching and unable to move as his ex-teammate walked to his other side, coming to stand next to you and whisper something in your ear that had you recoiling, your head gently bumping against Michael’s shoulder. He pretended not to notice, but he couldn’t help drinking in your reaction.
He had no clue what Willy had done or said, but he could feel his heart beating in his chest, and he was half-expecting you to turn around and ask if he was okay, but, much to his own intrigue, you shook your head, an awkward apologetic expression on your face.
Willy shrugged, but there was a crease between his brows. And because Michael knew him so well, he could tell something had been proven.
Willy then reappeared at Michael’s other side, and you returned talking to who you’d been chatting to before, a triumphant smirk on his face.
“What?”
Willy said nothing.
“Dude.” Michael could feel himself getting agitated, his hand was tapping anxiously against his thigh and because he was so fully intent on focusing on Willy, he was completely ignorant to the way you’d turned around at the sudden shaking, eyes zeroing in on his spare hand with confusion. Willy noticed it, though. He also noticed the way your hand twitched before clearly thinking the better of it and turning back around.
“I just told her one of my friends thinks she’s cute.”
Michael blinked, nervous.
“Point is,” Willy continued, “That that was obviously untrue. I mean, she’s cute, but she never even thought twice about it. Didn’t even turn around. Said she’d rather not and stayed standing with you.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves she’s not looking at other people.”
“Barely. You’re clutching at straws.”
Willy rolled his eyes, “Okay. But you better do something about it before someone else comes along and she chooses them, okay? Because it’ll happen.”
—
You were about ninety percent sure that you were one of the only people in the entire cafe who didn’t have a hangover right now. It might have something to do with the fact that you hadn’t had much to drink last night because you wanted to be as sober as possible just to soak in as much of Michael as you could and actually have a chance of remembering it.
You had no idea when you’d see him next. He was leaving for a training camp in a few days and you had a feeling the next time you’d see each other you’d be in Pittsburgh, all being well. You still had to sort out your paperwork and the whole visa situation still had to come through before anything could happen, but other than that, both of your timelines were one giant question mark.
That seemed to weigh on you heavily now you were sitting opposite each other. His hair was slightly scruffy, none of the gel in from earlier, and he had bags under his eyes – a telltale sign of his own hangover.
He’d acted weirdly last night. You couldn’t really put it into words, but since walking into that bar it was like he wasn’t entirely there all the time. Like he was distracted. He kept checking his phone, and before he’d met up with you for breakfast he’d appeared with a gift bag with a book in it and smiled each time he caught sight of it.
You had a horrible feeling that he was seeing someone. It’d make sense, even if it did come as a bit of a shock considering the four week mark, but who could blame him? He was a catch if you did say so yourself.
You’d tried to put the bubbling anxiety at that idea to the back of your mind, but the more you looked at him, it only felt weirder.
“How’s Carolina?”
The touch of his fingers ghosted your shoulder, a blazing reminder from the night before.
You blinked, goosebumps rising on your skin at the mere memory. What the fuck?
He looked up, nodding with a grin, “I love it so far. I’ve met up with some of the guys that stayed in Raleigh and I’m getting along with everyone well so far. It’s really pretty there, too. How’s Toronto treating you without me?”
You flicked your food over on your plate, “As well as it usually does. It’s quieter, though.”
The conversation wasn’t anything you hadn’t already talked about over text or FaceTime; it was something you kept coming back to when you just wanted to hear him talk. You weren’t entirely sure when that had started. You paused. You’d done for months, even back when he was in Toronto.
This time, when he answered, he leaned closer over the table, and for a brief moment you thought he was going to admit a secret or pick something off your face, but when you looked up he was doing It again.
And this time you didn’t shy away from it. In fact, if the spike in heart rate was anything to go by, you revelled in the attention. And the revelation just took your breath away.
“I know this might sound weird…” He trailed off, eyes carefully gliding over features, and although you didn’t know it was possible, your heart rate skyrocketed, the pounding tingling the tips of your fingers and causing a raucous rushing in your ears. Without even realising it, you’d leant closer across the table, too, the only thing separating the two of you being the condiments rack.
He seemed taken aback at your proximity, eyes widening and his mouth stuttering, “I do miss you, y’know.” He whispered, cheeks reddening almost immediately.
You blinked, allowing your mind to digest the gravity of his admission. Something happened: it felt like something in your brain sighed or something in your chest loosened, something you weren’t even sure existed suddenly being clicked to life, and you smiled shyly. You were completely unfamiliar with what it was or what it meant, but you knew there was a point of no return: you’d be chasing whatever this was for the rest of your life, without a doubt.
Where you’d felt jilted moments earlier, something evened out – it felt smooth, there was no ache when you breathed, and your mind cleared, the only thing on repeat…him.
Oh.
There was a zing straight down your spine, and you shivered at the feeling of it.
“I’m gonna say something even weirder…” Your voice came out shaky, shakier than you’d initially like it to be, and he automatically glanced at your mouth because of it, “I miss you too.”
He blinked, stifling a grin by placing his hand over his mouth, and you took the opportunity to change the subject, not wanting to dwell on anything too long for fear of what it could mean, what it could lead to, “Are you gonna let your hair grow out?”
He pulled a face, his hand moving to his hair self-consciously, “You don’t like it?”
“No, I like it.”
“What about the beard?”
You hesitated, “I…Do you want my opinion?”
He pulled a face, like you were crazy for even asking, “I literally asked to get your opinion.”
“Keep it like that, then.”
“What’s this about my hair, though?”
“Nothing.” You breathed a laugh, wondering how an innocent question led to this entire ordeal, “You look good.”
Silence.
His cutlery clinked against his plate as he looked up, your own hand frozen midair around your cup of coffee, him staring at you incredulously and you staring at a stain on the table, a little too afraid to look at him. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t acted like you’d told him a monumental piece of news that’s changed the entire trajectory of his life. It also shouldn’t be too much of a big deal because he’d told you you looked beautiful before, and that hadn’t been an issue.
You broke first, taking a sip and mustering the courage to look at him once more, raising your eyebrows at the utterly shocked look on his face.
“I look good?” He reiterated, speaking each syllable with his entire body. His breathing was shallow, and for a moment you worried if he was about to pass out.
“Yeah.” This time it was your turn to act like he was crazy for asking, “You always look good.”
He breathed a mirthless laugh that bled easily into one of amusement as he pointed a finger at you, “You were so checking me out last night.”
You blinked, replying blankly, “If you’d have left it five more seconds I’d have lost my mind.”
He grinned mischievously, risking a wink, “Duly noted.”
You rolled your eyes, scratching your eyebrow to try and hide your face with your hand as you stacked your plate on top of his, “You ready to go?”
“Yeah.”
For some reason you hadn’t pushed yourself up and out of your chair very quickly. By the time Michael had tucked his chair under the table and was standing next to yours, his head turned to the side – distracted – you’d only just finished tidying up the table. And because his attention had been stolen, and because he was standing so close to your chair, when you finally did make a move to stand up…
His head snapped in your direction, the sudden motion making you flinch backwards, legs bumping awkwardly against the table, and his hand shot out, flattening against your back. If you were more honest you’d have said you didn’t need the stability: all you’d done was knock your calves against the wooden legs – but the sudden, unprompted touch on the small of your back had you freezing where you were, breath hitching in your chest against your will.
You were watching his face before, trying to pick out exactly what had caught his eye, but this time you could see when the realisation of what had happened set in: his mouth parted like he was about to say something, and his eyes were wide – probably slightly alarmed at the almost-stumble he’d seen in his periphery – and was, for lack of better words, practically hugging you to him. You were forced (though there wasn��t a single cell in your body that felt reluctant) to catch yourself in his arms to prevent yourself from being catapulted straight into him.
He wasn’t wearing a hat. Usually he did, but today he’d left the hotel room without one, and you’d never really thought twice about it or missed its presence more than you did at that moment. A hat would have given you space to think, time to not spend looking straight at him, time to not fantasise about what would happen if either of you happened to lean in at the same time, but–
He’d folded first, his gaze flicking down to your mouth for a brief moment before returning to your eyes, the palm on your back not wavering one bit. He didn’t even take a step back to let you stand up properly, but instead stood there, holding you, waiting. Waiting for some indication from you that, yes, it’s okay to close the gap.
Your heart was thundering in your chest, and you were sure he could feel it against your ribs if he concentrated hard enough, but you couldn't bring yourself to focus on that for too long. Not when the sight of him in front of you was so enticing.
You inhaled quickly, wanting to say something but not quite finding the words, and he waited once more. He only seemed to do something when you chanced a glance at his mouth, not even intending to, but also not doing anything to stop yourself from sneaking a look, and his head dipped–
“Oh, hey guys.”
It happened quickly and a lot less clumsily as to how it had started: Michael blinked at the sudden interruption, seamlessly stepping backwards and pulling you with him, his hand dropping from your back once you were safely on your feet. You were a little slower, only managing to keep your breaths even and to turn your attention away from him in time to see exactly who it was that had just shown up.
Only, your bewilderment and vertigo increased when you set your eyes on the familiar figure taking a seat on the table next to yours, completely and utterly oblivious to what almost transpired.
Sidney Crosby was sitting grinning in your direction, and your mind went blank for a whole host of different reasons. The main one being Sidney Crosby was grinning at you. You were vaguely aware of Michael’s hurried motions, placing your hat on top of your head after a quick greeting. You heard your name, and you smiled politely.
Your face didn’t feel like your own, you were aware of moving your cheek muscles, but everything felt strangely foreign.
And then Sid was looking at your cap, and suddenly you were back in your own body.
“Cool hat.” He pointed, leaning sideways on his chair, and your smile broadened.
“Yeah, Pittsburgh Penguins, maybe you’ve heard of them?”
He laughed, feet kicking slightly under the table, and you felt Michael stiffen next to you, “I don’t think I’m familiar, no. They any good?”
You shrugged, “Won a couple of cups, made us locals proud. There’s this guy, Sidney Crosby, he’s pretty cool.”
He pretended to pull a face, “Oh, I know that guy.” He sighed, shaking his head.
“You don’t like him?”
“Hate that guy.”
***
“What the fuck.” Taylor all but yelped through the screen once you’d done a quick rehash of events, before falling completely silent, her head in her hands.
You nodded, “I know. I got Sidney Cros–”
“Fuck Sidney Crosby, babe. With all due respect, fuck that guy.”
You swallowed, “Yeah, okay.”
“What are you gonna do about Michael?”
“We haven’t really talked since the wedding.” You mumbled sadly.
***
A meal was all you had. In three months, all you managed to snag of his time was a home cooked meal in your new apartment, and even then he couldn’t stay for more than a few hours. You didn’t just have to worry over the fact that things had clearly changed since the wedding, but you had to worry about cooking him a meal that adhered to his plan of what he could and couldn’t eat, and it had to be edible.
So, it was safe to say you were feeling a lot of pressure. Cooking at work was completely different to cooking at home: not only were you usually too exhausted to even cook something that nice when you got in, but there was something personal about cooking for people you know. It always felt like they were judging what you’d made, trying to decide if you were good at your job or not. Sometimes it felt like a make or break deal. If they didn’t like your food, they wouldn’t like you.
And while that had never been the case for Michael, tonight felt different. For starters, it felt like you’d had to fight tooth and nail to even get him to come over for a few hours, which was new.
In all honesty, you were even hesitant in the entire…ordeal. Because that’s what it was, really, it wasn’t a quick catch-up, it was an ordeal. The last time you’d felt this nervous was when you were back in school, and gosh you didn’t miss the feeling at all.
He knocked three times and you had to stop stirring the pasta (shocker!) sauce to answer the door.
“Hey.” He sighed, flashing a tired smile, and in that instant all your anxieties seemed to diminish. They hadn’t disappeared completely, but it was as though the volume had been turned down, and you could breathe easily.
“Hi.” You answered almost breathlessly, and his brows jumped up his forehead in amusement, the small crinkle of a smile making an appearance, “I feel bad for pestering you now. You look exhausted.”
He shook his head, “Don’t, I’m glad I came.”
And then he did something he’d never done to you before: he leaned in and he pressed a delicate kiss on your cheek. The exact place he’d touched with his lips seemed to flame before you even registered what he’d done, and in that same moment, you were catapulted back to Toronto. Tucked next to each other under a blanket, an episode of The Mentalist on, both of you utterly immersed in the plot.
You blinked, not entirely sure where that had come from, and grinned, his scent filling your senses, soon to bleed into your apartment and your couch and your cushions. The one thing you loved about having him around was that you could tell he’d been here even days later: whether it be the faint smell of his cologne when you sat down or the plants that had been purposefully switched around on the windowsill – something you tended to notice when you finally crashed, and it never failed to put a smile on your face.
“This place is adorable.” He commented, easing himself onto the couch, feet up and reorganising the cushions around him, and all you could do was stand off to the side, simply watching him get settled.
“Adorable wasn’t what I was going for.”
“What were you going for?”
“Cosy.”
He hummed, tearing his eyes away from you to have another quick glance around, “It’s that too.” And then he rounded back to you, still hanging around in between the living room and the kitchen, not really wanting to leave him alone but much too devoted to the food to even think about asking him to follow you in there, “How are you doing?”
You shrugged, “I’m really happy here.”
He fell asleep straight after he finished eating.
***
His stuff was everywhere: boxes and bags stacked and piled and thrown in the right rooms; zips unzipped and lids open, objects and clothes and cutlery scattered across floors like he’d picked up a handful and left a trail of nuts for you to track his steps.
It was a mess, but it was a reassuring mess. You hadn’t really believed him until he’d shown up at the airport, and even then it had taken three days for you to actually comprehend the luck of it all. It took you fourteen minutes to walk to his apartment, now. Not over an hour on the plane, not counting the taxis and waiting for your luggage.
Quite frankly, it blew your mind.
It had taken you so long to adjust to even being friends with him, to then adjusting to him moving to Raleigh when you were still in Toronto, to then adjusting to you in Pittsburgh and him still in Raleigh…and now you were both in Pittsburgh and it had taken you approximately three days to get used to it. Not weeks, not months where you’d keep forgetting you couldn’t just show up outside his apartment.
You’d caught yourself laughing at it on more than one occasion.
For now, though, despite the welcome mess (as proof of life), you were looking straight at him. You’d caught yourself doing that a lot lately, but there was a reason this time – not just a genuine wonder at his mere presence.
He walked back into the room, arms stretched out in front of him, clearly assessing the new jersey, and you swore, right then and there, that you’d never loved him more. For all his shit-talking on the Pens over the years, he was now wearing their jersey, much to your appreciation.
“I like it.” You spoke first from your position on his couch, your arm in the box of merch and kit he’d been given (he’d allowed you to have free reign over some of the items, all you had to do was ask him first), your teeth briefly scraping over your bottom lip. It wasn’t the first time he’d worn a black jersey, but it was the first time he’d worn one with a Penguin on the front and yellow text that spelt his name on the back, “A lot.”
You were grinning, and when he looked up to see you shaking with glee, he shook his head, huffing an amused laugh, “Of course you do.”
“I still don’t think I’ve gotten used to you not wearing blue yet, though.” You muttered, and he nodded, mouth flattening but face somehow still smiling.
“I do miss it, but I think I’m getting used to it.” He shrugged, before grabbing the front of the jersey by the NHL logo and chucking it off his shoulders and throwing it straight at your face, “You can keep that one if you want, I’m not short of any.” You heard him say, his voice slightly muffled by the fabric, and you pulled it from over your eyes, hand wrapped in the material – to see his cheeks flush at your expression. It seemed to worsen when you dropped your eyes to his bare torso.
“Thanks.” You averted your eyes quickly, instead focusing on smoothing the jersey out in your lap, fingers tracing the penguin before flipping it over for his name. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him reach into the box next to you and pull out a few t-shirts before a cap was in his hands and he was brandishing the logo in your face.
“Have you seen one of these before?” He asked, pointing to the circular black and yellow logo: the Pens motif was in the top half of the circle with two crossed-over sticks in the bottom half, and you shook your head.
“I don’t think so.”
He spun it around in his fist, eyes flicking from the hat to your face, “You want it?”
You hesitated, “Are you sure you’re allowed to let me have some of this stuff? I feel like they’re giving you different kits because you’re actually part of the organisation and that normal people aren’t supposed to have them.”
He blinked, jaw clenching as he took in your words. And before you could even say anything else, he placed the hat rather lopsidedly on top of your head and rifled back through the pile of clothes for the sheet of paper before throwing himself down next to you, the piece of paper held out so you could read it too.
You felt a bit pathetic at how quickly you felt your pulse start to pick up at the contact: his entire torso was leant against your shoulder, and although it meant you got an unobstructed view of…everything, and although you appreciated it, at the same time it felt a bit cruel. Like dangling a bone in front of a dog.
“It doesn’t say I can’t give it away.” He mumbled, turning to face you, his forehead bumping the brim of the cap. You blinked in surprise, but didn’t miss the way his eyes just casually flickered down to your lips, or the way his hand dropped down, still clutching the sheet, once he realised you’d not actually been looking at the words.
He’d caught you looking at him.
You cleared your throat, cheeks flaring but not too ashamed considering you’d just caught him looking at you, and his eyes zipped back to your face, an awkward silence ensuing. Neither of you moved. You didn’t know if you were too scared to ruin the moment or if you were physically frozen by what could have happened – could still happen. Stillness seemed to be key. His breath was fanning softly against your face, and you were sure the same went for you.
It was eerily similar to the whole Sid-situation. Only this time you were in the privacy of his own home, he was notably shirtless and the risk of getting interrupted was low, but not entirely zero.
You felt your own lips part at the same time his head moved an inch closer as though he was testing the waters, but before you could even think about leaning in, his mouth was moving.
What?
His cheeks reddened, and the blush seemed to travel down his neck and bleed into his collarbones, his attention now flicking between you and something off to the side, clearly too nervous to even look at you and speak.
“I asked if you were free on Thursday?” He whispered, his gaze travelling back down to the piece of paper still in his hand.
He hadn’t moved away from you but the stab of disappointment at the lack of his attention and the realisation that he’d chosen not to kiss you was profoundly disturbing. You didn’t like it, the way you practically yearned for him. The idea that your enjoyment in life was tied to what a random man did or didn’t do was absurd, and if you were being honest with yourself, you did feel a bit pathetic that you’d let it get to that point.
He was your best friend, for fuck’s sake. You weren’t supposed to actually fall in love with him – that was something that only happened in the movies or in novels.
But…he was kind, he was funny, he was charming, he clearly cared for you.
Did he feel the same way? It was impossible to tell in your eyes. Sure, it had just looked like he wanted to eat you, and you’d caught him looking at you like you hung the entire galaxy before, but who’s to say he didn’t look at other people like that?
And in all honesty, you’d spent so much time trying to not look at him that you’d given him plenty of opportunities to (if he did) sneak glances at you when you weren’t looking.
You sighed, folding the jersey, acting like his skin on your forearm wasn’t burning. Like you were completely normal being in his presence, “I should be, yeah. How come?”
He raised a brow, shyly turning back to you, “I was wondering if you wanted to go out?”
Something fluttered in your chest – it felt an awful lot like hope, and when you answered, your voice sounded off. You weren’t breathless, so to say, but your voice cracked and sounded ropey to your own ears, “Go out where?”
The question almost felt futile, especially with the wry smile he just sent your way. You had a feeling, but even thinking the feeling out loud in your head felt like you were about to jinx it, so you fought to keep your mind quiet. Everything else though (heart rate, blood rushing, the feel of his fingers tapping rhythmically against the inside of your wrist), that was loud.
His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek when he looked down at where he was delicately touching your wrist. His motions stopped, but the warmth never left.
“With me, I was hoping.” He didn’t look at you as he spoke, and you held your breath the entire time, a part of you wanting to make sure you’d just heard him correctly and weren’t imagining it, “Like a date.”
“A date.” You echoed, flipping your wrist over completely so your palm was pointing to the ceiling. He didn’t tear his eyes away from your hand, but you could feel his heart thumping through his back from where he’d pressed himself against your shoulder and a smile fell naturally on your face. It wasn’t a big smile, but it was soft. The kind of smile that was only ever really reserved for him.
His hand didn’t falter in its motions as he dragged his fingers down the inside of your wrist to swirl a pattern on your palm, fingers tracing the lines and creases gently.
It took everything in you not to scream.
He just hummed, and when you tore your gaze away from the side of his face – he wasn’t giving much away – his chest was thumping in time with his pulse. Was it possible for nerves to make him catatonic? You’d never seen him this nervous yet so calm and collected at the same time.
You inhaled, feeding your starved lungs, and tried not to shudder when his fingers slowed only to tangle and interlock with yours. It was like he was testing it out, seeing how you fit together, whether your personalities blended as well as your bodies did–
You felt yourself blush at that insinuation, and squeezed his hand, prompting him to look at you instead of away.
He did so slowly, first peeking at you out of the corner of his eye with a small breath of relief when he saw you weren’t annoyed. Then he turned his entire head towards you, leaning back so he wouldn’t knock into the hat again, and his mouth twisted, still awaiting your reply.
“Have you been wanting to ask that for a while, or…”
His stare went blank, and you could tell her was trying not to roll his eyes at your teasing questions, obviously stalling to get a rise out of him. It was working, “Put me out of my misery first.”
“Okay.”
He blinked, leaning forwards slightly, “Okay I’ll go on a date or okay I’ll put you out of your misery?”
“Both.”
He smiled, using his free hand to swipe at his nose and look away briefly, flustered. His chest was still pink and blotchy and you nudged him playfully with your elbow, “Your turn.”
“Uh…” He hesitated, “maybe, like, since you told me I don’t look like a Michael.”
You stared at him, jaw unhinged and dropped in shock, “But that was–”
“Two-ish years ago, yeah.” He nodded, pulling a face at himself, “What can I say? You charmed me.”
“But I was rude to you..”
“I wouldn’t say rude–”
“I wanted you to not like me.”
He froze, “You did?”
“Yeah.”
“It had the opposite effect.”
And then you laughed. Right in his face, not very loudly, but you laughed at him altogether, “You liked me when I couldn’t stand you, I would’ve said no.”
He rolled his eyes, flicking the underside brim of the cap he’d given you, “Good job I held out then, isn’t it? At what point would you have said yes?”
“When you left for Raleigh.”
“Wow.”
“You gotta remember, I was in a relationship for a while–”
“Oh, that guy.” He muttered, bitterly, "I think I blocked that out-"
You interrupted him, leaning closer to briefly press your mouth against his, effectively shutting him up. Even at the brief contact, and even as you were pulling away you could feel the relief of it dissipate from your shoulders, like a worn out elastic band had finally snapped. You paused, a breath away from him, and his eyes slowly blinked open having tried to chase your mouth.
Even despite that, he still maintained his grin, "That's a good tactic." He muttered, hand sliding up the side of your neck as his thumb slid gently and delicately across your jawbone. His eyes zeroed in on the motion, clearly enjoying the way your skin reacted to his touch, goosebumps rising to the surface and eliciting a shiver of pleasure from you.
It was barely three second of contact, but it had changed your genetic makeup.
He was addictive, even the smug look on his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, chin bumping towards yours. You held you breath in anticipation, eyes instinctively fluttering shut - it was difficult to ignore the pounding of your heart or the tingling beneath his fingers.
"Noted." You breathed, unable to help smiling at his tone, "You gonna make me wait until Thursday now-"
"It's rude to keep a lady waiting." Was his answer.
#michael bunting x reader#michael bunting imagine#michael bunting oneshot#michael bunting fic#nhl player x reader#hockey player x reader#nhl fic#nhl oneshot#nhl imagine#hockey fic#hockey imagine#hockey oneshot
144 notes
·
View notes
Text
[Transcript under the cut]
Max: Billie
Billie: shhh Michel Cera is about to say he’s gotta pee on her
Michael Cera: I gotta pee on her
Billie: aahaha!
Max: I suggested Scott Pilgrim once and now it’s all we watch
Billie: you should’ve suggested something less good then
Billie: oh this reminds me! What did Elsa say that left you so emotionally distraught the other night
Max: …how did ‘’I gotta pee on her’’ lead to that
Max: sigh She made an excel sheet to help me pick a guy to date. Because she thinks that’s what I should do instead of whatever I’m doing right now
Billie: oh my gosh
Max: I know, she’s sick
Billie: she’s a GENIUS!
Max: what
Billie: Max! you NEED to get a boyfriend!
Max: I said DATES I- Is it that bad to prefer one night stands??
Billie: it’s not about the one night stands, it’s about you!
Max: that makes it even worse.
Billie: I mean, there has to be a reason you don’t contact those guys after fucking around, right? Right?? Do you GET it!!!
Max: …I’m not letting an e-dater question my love life??
Billie: I’m just saying, Max! if I was you I would totally think about it. and do it. Because it could help me out. Just go on some dates and experience something different from what you’re used to
Michel Cera: You once were a ve-gone, but now you will begone.
Max: christ.
Ale: Maximiliano! I was just wondering ''what could that gorgeous little imp be up to tonight'' so WHAT have you been up to?!
Ale: it’s rhetoric, I really don’t wanna know haha!
Max: hey uh… yeah, it’s been a while. Sorry about that. I swear I really wanted to text you
Ale: you don’t say
Max: I’m trying to be honest you moron
Ale: ooh. oh. can we leave it for some other time? Over some brunch maybe? My girlfriend is here
Max: excuse me
Jackie: hi Max! I’m Jackie. Big fan!
Ale: she means that
Max: I’m sorry when did you get one of those?
Jackie: he’s so funny
Ale: like a week ago. Ain’t she adorable?
Max: oh yes she’s a sweetie. Totes.
Ale: i think you two would adore each other, for real
Ale: anyways! What have you been up to? Hangin’ there?
Billie: he’s with child
Max: he’s with WOMAN
Max: how- WHY didn’t he tell me?! We were JUST seeing each other a a couple months ago
Billie: BABE babe calm down. Why did you call him anyways?
Max: because he was head first on Elsa’s sheet, now I’ll need to phone this OTHER dickhead that meets most of my standards and I kinda have a thing for. Stupid fucking Jackie I hope you die
Billie: hey… let’s detox. Take my word, no more men for the rest of the week.
Max: no more men. You.
Billie: If there’s something I love more than Pierce, is my hunger for sistership
Max: you know I’m not a woman right
Billie: No boys, only us. And Michael Cera.
Max: …
Billie: trust me, I’m your girl.
269 notes
·
View notes
Text
— Kaiser Michael
Masterlist.
Of course Kaiser would be the first to win, and he won’t let you forget it.
Warnings: 18+, dubcon, spanking, no prep, unprotected sex, creampie, one use of the word shit in German (I’m sorry).
Pairing: Kaiser Michael x f!reader.
Word Count: 1.8k.
Some men know the power they wield and harness it to their advantage. It’s the same reason why Kaiser now looks down at your quivering form like a ravenous lion ready to slaughter, to feast. Hungry eyes ready to devour you as he prepares to play with his kill.
“Cute,” He tsks at the lingerie you wear. The colours an ode to the Blue Lock programme, the navy lace compliments your skin tone as he lets the back of his hand run across your clavicle, “So this is what the fuss was all about?”
Kaiser would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t try that much harder this last match, narrowly avoiding a foul by leaving the dirty work to Ness as he captured the ball from Isagi and forcing it into the top left corner of the net. The looks of deflation from the other men on the field was enough satisfaction, knowing that it meant he’d won the grand prize.
Tilting your chin up to look at him as he stands above you, his cock already tenting against his sweatpants as he leans towards you. Warm breath fans against your face as he pressed his lips to yours in a demanding kiss.
“You caused quite the stir in that little video, sweetheart.” His large palm cups your cheek and you can’t help but lean into his touch, savouring the warmth as he looks down at you with deceptively soft eyes, “I’m certain this won’t be the last time we meet.”
Just the sight of you, the smell of you in front of him had Kaiser picturing his next win. Focusing on that next goal which would place him back in front of you, and he hadn’t even had a taste of you..
“You’re so pretty,” He coos, letting his fingers brush against the soft lace, “Is this all for me?”
He already knows the answer. He knows it is. He’d scored the winning goal that secured his place here with you, even if he should be thanking Ness for that. The man would do anything for Kaiser, and apparently Kaiser would have done anything to get you.
“Yes,” You mumble, and it’s all it takes to have him groaning low and deep in his throat.
Kaiser unwraps you like you’re a gift, hands moving with poise and care as he unfastens your bra. Letting the material go lax around your chest as the straps stay loose around your arms. He watches in glee as you move the fabric away, baring yourself to him as he basks in all your glory. Hands warm and tentative as he gives your round breast a squeeze, your nipple pebbling at his touch as he gives the other the same attention.
“Beautiful,” He hums in appreciation, marveling at the sight of you as his hands travel lower. Brushing his fingers against the hem of your panties, quiet and inquisitive. Like he’s asking for silent permission even though you’re already his, you were his from the moment he stepped inside the room.
“I’m not going to prep you,” He hums, the calloused pads of his fingers prod against your little hole as he tests how tight you are. The way your walls fight back when he tries to push the tips inside, “There will be plenty of time for that next time we meet. But this time, the first time. I want you to feel how my cock stretches you open.”
Kaiser smirks at the way your walls flutter around him at the thought, anticipation swirling in your abdomen as you stare down at him between your thighs. Placing a few soft kisses against your sensitive clit that have your hips jolting beneath him. The pressure already building between your thighs as he nuzzles your soft mound.
“Oh?” He pulls back with a coy smile, “You like the sound of that? You want me to hurt you?”
You’re unsure what you want right now, your mind in a desperate haze from the pleasure that dances through your veins. All you know is you want to satiate the ache that’s currently burning in your pelvis, distracted when his warm breath tickles your clit as you let out a soft whine.
“I want you to remember this tomorrow when you feel the ache between your thighs,” Kaiser’s palm cups your cunt as you gasp, shamelessly grinding yourself against it to try and give yourself some delicious friction to satiate the ache, “And when someone else wins this victory, and they think they’ve won you— all you’ll remember is my cock. And when they slide into you, they’ll know you’re mine.”
Your tongue slipped out to wet your lips as you watched Kaiser stand in front of you, tugging his sweatpants down just enough to free his heady cock. And he is big, not that you’d expected anything less from a self-professed emperor. The thick tip pink and oozing with pre as the weight of it made it hang low, balls heavy with cum as he wrapped the palm that was now covered in your slick around himself to give one rough pump as he bullied his way between your thighs.
“And you’ll always be mine won’t you, sweetheart?”
He spreads your lips as he smooths his leaking tip between your folds, gathering your slick against him as the head catches against your hole. The sensation rousing a gruff grunt from between his lips as he pushes forward, eyes focused on the way he began to breach your tight entrance.
“Scheisse,” He hissed, the sound of his mother tongue only served to have your cunt clenching around him, “So tight.”
Kaiser angles his hips as he pulled back before pushing forward with more force, eyes focused on the way you continued to suck him into your warmth. The intrusion knocking the wind out of you when he finally bottoms inside, his messy pubes tickling your clit as he stills for a moment to adjust to the sensation. A thick lump forms in your throat as you try to gulp in fresh air, fingers weaving into the blankets beneath you as he settles his hands against your hips. Fingers dipping into the supple skin as he began to pull his hips back before snapping forward, “Just like that.”
Kaiser was as commanding above you as he was on the field. Possessive, dominant and powerful. Each forward thrust had you crying out for him, your hands curling around his forearms as your nails bit into the skin. Trying to find some semblance of reality as he continued his pace, knocking against the spongy spot inside you with practised ease.
“You’re so beautiful,” He grunts, blond hair falling on either side of his face as his eyes meet your half-lidded ones, “Look at me.”
You force yourself to keep your eyes open as you hold his gaze, the pressure inside you continues to grow as you find yourself dancing on the edge of your bliss. Dangerously close to falling off as Kaiser is determined to push you over, to drown you in the sea of him.
“I want you to remember this,” He goads, his heavy balls slap against your ass as he increases his pace, “Want you to think of me every time any one of those fuckers touch you.”
You’re crying out now, certain anyone on this floor can hear you as he pounds into you with fervour. The sound of skin against skin echoes against the walls as you leave angry red lines along his skin, souvenirs he’ll most certainly use to signal his victory when he returns back to his competitors. The men that wish they were in his position right now, that we’re fighting for you hours earlier.
“Whoever gets this cunt after me will only ever have my sloppy seconds,” He groans, feeling your walls beginning to flutter around him in the throws of your impending climax.
“No matter how many times they fuck you, or cum inside you, or try and claim you as their own— you’ll only ever be mine.” Kaiser snarls, and that’s all it takes to have you crashing into your climax.
Writhing beneath him as you cry out his name, your walls spasming around his thick cock as you meet your end. The scorching pleasure clouds your vision as you try to blink back the pearly tears you didn’t even know you were crying as Kaiser continues relentlessly pounding into you.
“Fuck, that’s it my sweetheart.” He grunts, moving back to grip your thighs at the curve of your knees. Spreading you open as he sits back on his haunches to admire the view, “Cum all over my cock.”
If you thought Kaiser was rough before, he’s relentless now. Using your body to seek out his own pleasure as he fucks you how he wants you to be fucked. Pistoning himself in and out of your convulsing hole as he seeks out his own end, the lewd squelch of your cunt dawns on you when the pleasurable fog around your mind begins to clear. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment as you move your hands up to hide your face from him, something that only serves to infuriate him.
“What did I fucking say, sweetheart?” He grunts, landing a harsh smack against the meat of your thigh, catching against the underside of your ass, “Look at me.”
You gasp as you move your hands away, keeping them in tiny fists just below your jaw as you push your bouncing breasts together. Nails digging into your inner palms as he continues.
“That’s it— oh, fuck.” His hair sticks to his face slick with sweat as his pace begins to falter, teetering on the edge of his own release, “Take it—”
Kaiser groans as he meets his end, spilling hot ropes of cum into your spent cunt as he gives a few more languid thrusts. Pushing the warm liquid deeper inside you as he slowly begins to pull out, his cock covered in your creamy slick as it begins to soften. Keeping your thighs up as he almost folds you in half, eyes focused on your fluttering hole as it begins to push his release out of you, letting it dribble along your slit towards the curve of your ass.
“Hmm,” Kaiser seemed pensive, “Are you sore, sweetheart?”
“Mhm,” You mumbled in agreement. The dull ache throbbed between your thighs, and you were certain you’d still feel it tomorrow. Suddenly shy to be completely bare in front of a virtual stranger, even though he’d been with you in the most intimate way.
“Good,” His lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he pressed a chaste kiss to the inside of your thigh, “It doesn’t matter who gets you next.”
Kaiser hummed as his fingers gathered his release, pushing it back inside your fluttering hole, “Because your tight cunt will still be fucked in the shape of my cock.”
#michael kaiser smut#michael kaiser x reader#kaiser smut#kaiser x reader#kaiser x you#michael kaiser x you#blue lock x reader#blue lock smut#bllk x reader#bllk smut#tw:dubcon#trigger:dubcon
721 notes
·
View notes
Text
So many cross overs so narrow of common hero choices. Let's expand a little.
"Rip what the hell is that?"
"It appears sir, to be a small human child. Around the developmental stage of 4-5"
"Even you know better than to cuss infront of kids.
"I was gone for five minutes."
"Actually I snapped you back to a minute after you left."
"Are You misser booser gol?"
"Yeah kid that's me. You a fan or something who got into something you shouldn't to find me?"
"No. Clockie said tis for you." Hands a sticky note to booster.
Note reads: this is Danny. You will care for him from now on. See this as payment for resetting your time line safely. If you even try pass him off to Bruce wayne/batman, I will ensure your entire familial line never touched time traversing. And you stayed forever trapped in the 31st century. -clockwork master ancient of all time. P.s. there is not conning your way out of this. I will hunt down every ancestor or decendant for all time.
"This looks very serious sir. Congratulations sir you are a father Now"
"Wow kid. Clockie must hate you. I'm so sorry."
"I'm not that bad of an option. Obviously I was judged better that batsy."
"Clockie ass hero I want to say wiff."
"OH kiddo and you asked for the greatest hero boostergold?"
"I wike space. He say geen lanern is space. He take care of me."
"I'm so sorry sir, you have already disappointed your new child. Should I take a commemorative photo of this milestone moment for you?"
"No" "yes skeets"
Camera flashes.
"I shall add this photo to a new album labeled baby book. It is labeled Danny's first disappointment, sir."
"Thank you skeets." X2 one sarcastic one pleased.
"I wan geen lanern."
"Think you're gonna need help anyway Micheal. Call one of them. Not guy."
"I would never co-parent with guy. What kind of idiot do you take me for?"
"Rip takes you as the utmost idiot sir. As does most of the justice league sir."
"Thanks skeets."
"You are most welcome sir."
"Can I pay wif the talking space ship?"
"Sure kid." Pushes skeets into the kids hands.
"I do not believe I am rated for physical interaction by children under 10 sir."
"To bad skeets." Picks up Danny who looks up at him instead of at skeets to smile all teeth. "Holy shit are those fangs? We are going to go see my friend Ted now. He will know what to do."
"He will atleast know not to cuss infront of kids. Don't know about the rest."
"Is ted geen lanern?"
Cue shenanigans. They were roommates, but adopted a child.
"Does Batman know you stole a child from him?" <- Jaime when he visits.
"Do not even joke like that. My existence is at stake."
"Batsy is the new beetle juice. In this house."
"Are You geen lanern?"
"Sorry kid I am blue beetle."
"Should I take a picture for Danny's third disappointment since becoming your child sir?"
"No skeets."
"3rd? How long you had him?"
"A week"
"Ouch. Hey kiddo why do you want to meet green lantern? Aren't these guys just as cool?"
"Considering the average human body temperature is 98.6 degrees I do not believe they qualify as cool sir." Jaime is picking up danny to hold on his hip.
"Clockie says geen lanern is space." Danny smiles.
"Are those fangs? Is this a meta kid? You like space? My scarab is from space. Isn't that just as... Oh My, no scarab!" Scarab starts to go into protect host mode while screaming danger desteoy threat in Jaime head just as Danny's eyes start to glow green at the statement and his mouth splits inhumanly wide with even more teeth. Ted and Michael scramble to grab Danny and move him away from Jaime till he gets control of the scarab again. But Danny has a death grip and won't let go of his new friend.
"I do believe sir that your new child qualifies as a meta. Should I take a picture to commemorate your child's first power demonstration sir?"
451 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
pleasurediva4
Fine Fashion Maker
tangtownie
Literary Lover
originalmindthecurves
MindtheCurveZA
nami--uchiha
Nami_Uchiha
yazzmur
If these wings could fly