#with some new people to help them out and shake things up the way pearl wanted along with them
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I think my favorite thing about “Candy Coated Rocks” is that you can just tell how much FUN both pearl and marina sound like they’re having while singing it. They look so happy in the art posted too. They’ve found their people helping them with this new change it seems they both settled on, they found the direction they want to take together, and they’re living it to the fullest extent!! A bit more of analysis in the tags
#Marina didn’t want things to change between them while Pearl wanted to expand into new genres#and I just think damp socks is their perfect balance of it#since we don’t know much I’m making a lot of assumptions here#but I wanna just go ahead and assume the people they found while on tour to join them are people they really click with#probably with similar taste and goals and personalities that mesh with the two to want to let them join#plus the ‘feat. off the hook’ shows that pearl and marina still got each other despite all that#they’re part of a band but at the same time they’re with the band#the incredibly strong bond between them isn’t going anywhere and they still get to do what they love with who they love#with some new people to help them out and shake things up the way pearl wanted along with them#while keeping that balance marina wanted#it’s the perfect mix of chaos and order!!!!#splatoon#splatoon 2#splatoon 3#pearlina#pearl#marina#damp socks#damp socks feat off the hook
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You have so graciously written multiple of my asks 🫶🏻🫶🏻 thank you for doing them justice!!! 👁️👅👁️
I’m living for the alastor with cannibal reader!
What about the gang at the hotel sees alastor with a pretty new thing around his arm and she is just !!!!stunning!!! Like dark elegant (yet terrifying) grace. And everyone is like ????how did this old ass radio demon pull someone like you???
But they realize exactly why they fit so perfect when she kills someone (maybe defending the hotel) and just munches down on their corpse crazy style. Turning around, blood on their face, in their teeth with a wide smile like “I helped!!!” And then it clicks that she’s also a cannibal like him.
Everyone is all grossed out by it but Al thinks she has never looked prettier all covered in blood from her kill and meal. He even Wipes her face for her 😗😗😗
IM HAPPY THAT I HAVE DONE SO MANY OF YOUR REQUESTS AND YOU ENJOYED THEM!!!! I hope that i did this one justice.
Truly there was no way.
Their eyes HAD to be deceiving them.
Alastor had left the hotel to go on one of his outings but the gang was just too curious as to where the Overlord was going.
So like the mischievous nosy bunch they were; they followed him.
They followed him to a lovely restaurant and watched in shock as the waiter seated Alastor and the most beautiful demon they had ever seen.
Truly there was no way.
There was no way that ALASTOR was chatting up such a beautiful dame and NOT being creepy.
They watched from afar as Alastor pulled out a small box, presumingly a gift, and give you a genuine smile as you gawked and playfully glared at him before accepting it with a soft smile.
You were stunning!
You must have died from an earlier time period as you were dressed in very modest attire.
A puffy white blouse tucked into a long black skirt, waist tapered by a corset to show off your curves.
Your neck and ears wore pearls and your hair was curled and pinned up.
The epitome of grace and elegance.
How the hell did that old fossil bag you???
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”Oh Alastor! You didn’t have to!” You gasped as he presented a small gift box to you.
The red charmer demon smiled as you opened the box to see he had got you some customized jewelry.
The Radio Demon had been courting you for a while.
Sending you flowers and taking you out on several outings throughout the Pride Ring.
It took you a while to warm up to him, but he did have a way with persuasion Rosie told you he was a great guy and your bestie would never lie. Plus Alastor had been asking her about you
“Oh it was nothing my dear! A beautiful lady should have beautiful things. I thought it would compliment that new dress you got” Ah what a charmer.
As the two of you chatted and enjoyed each other's company, you had an eerie feeling you were being watched.
You shook off the feeling, it wasn’t too off putting as many people often staring as you accompanied the demon.
Besides, no one dared to approach the two of you anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alastor had asked you to come to the hotel so he could show you around.
He really only wanted you to meet the Princess, but the whole hotel was in attendance when Alastor opened the door to reveal you.
“No way Freaky Face bagged a broad like this?” Angel commented, causing Nifty giggled while the rest of the gang watched as Alastor showed you around.
All was going well…until there was a loud banging at the door.
rude much?
“Angel we know you’re here!” A voice shouted as the banging got louder.
You turned to see the tall spider start to shake a bit.
You patted his arm and motioned him to take a seat and reassured him that all will be well.
Vaggie hissed as a window was knocked out.
”Oi come on out! Valentino wants to see you! We don’t mind using force whorebug!”
You felt your eye twitch.
the gang was trying to think of a way to get rid of them.
They were going to tear the hotel apart at this rate.
Charlie protested as you made your way to the lobby double doors and swung them open.
”Why hello gentlemen, is there a reason for such distasteful actions?” You smiled, but it was anything but friendly.
You took a step forward, a dark aura manifested around you as your eyes glows and teeth sharpened.
”Take her out boys! I’m sure the boss man would like a new toy!”
oh poor things.
You launched at the unexpected demon, sharp teeth at his neck and with a quick yank, his head was gone.
You heard horrified gasps as you moved to dispatch each disgusting creature.
”Ooh my dear you shouldn’t have” you heard Alastor say.
The gang had poked their heads out the front door and was shocked. There were dead bodies everywhere on the front lawn, bodies parts littering the ground.
Angel and Vaggie gagged as they saw you, teeth deep,in a poor demon. You were shaking it like a dog would with a toy, until it flung out of your mouth, leaving your mouth bloody.
”OOH that’s sick so fucking sick!”
You grinned at Alastor, sharp teeth white a pale contrast to the bright blood smeared on your face .
You shyly tucked a strand of loose hair, standing to dust yourself off. “Ooh i do apologize Alastor. They were just being rude and ruining the exterior! Such disgusting things! They didn’t even deserve the grace to be eaten! How dare they try to-”
You were pulled from your murderous ramble by a soft cloth on your face. You blinked, eyes focusing on Alastor’s smiling face.
”Knew you would look good in red”
You blushed as he wiped the blood from your chin.
”Oh stop it. You know red doesn’t suit me” you playfully hit his chest. He hummed, ignoring your comment as he cleaned your face.
”I think you look ravishing’ he purred as he licked your blood-stained cheek.
You giggled and held up a liver for him to bite.
In the background the gang was flabbergasted.
so that was HOW Alastor bagged a bad bitch?
shes a fucking cannibal…huh who would have knew?
Well you had to be some sort of freaky to be entertaining the Radio Demon.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor#alastor the radio demon#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel fanfiction#jyoongim#alastor x y/n#alastor smut#hazbin hotel fluff#alastor fluff#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagines
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❀༻𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝑮𝒊𝒓𝒍༺❀
Part: 1 ❀
Pairings: Lo’ak x Tawkami!Fem!Reader
Summary: Lo’ak was out hunting when he came across you, a pretty shy girl. He had it out for you because you drove him crazy the way you were so kind and sweet unlike any other girl.
Warnings!: None just fluff and sweetness all around!!!❀
Word count: 842
After hours on end of hunting Lo’ak gets pretty annoyed having to do the same thing over and over again. So he decided to take a ride through some close areas of Pandora. It’s beauty was eye catching and he discovered something new everyday he left his clan. But today what he had discovered was a huge change in his life.
There you stood going from panopyra to panopyra. The huge glowing sky cups illuminated your whole face a warm violet purple. Making your eyes glow with such color. Your long black hair was loose and only two braids laid on your forehead with a pretty pearl in the center. Your loose hair was tucked behind your ears and some strands fell infront of them too. He looked down at your bright sash around your waist that was filled with colors of violet, pink, and a light yellow. Your ears shot up when a branch was snapped behind you. Turning your head you saw a fellow Omaticaya boy.
Well maybe not so much of boy because his tallness and the broadness of his shoulders said otherwise. He looked much older than you, and locking eyes made every inch of your body feel an odd feeling you’ve never experienced before. A lot in you wanted to say hello but you couldn’t help and walk away instead. Your feet paced faster at the loud shout behind you. “Hey wait up!” Everything in you wanted to say something but why try if it would only ever lead to embarrassment. You hid behind a large helicordian still keeping your eyes on the boy who walked the opposite direction from which you had ran.
A sigh of relief left your lips before a familiar pair of eyes met with yours from infront of the big plant you stood behind. He gently touched it and the plant sucked itself in making a slump sound before curling itself in. He saw your big pretty doe eyes and how they blinked at him almost like he was being hypnotized by them. He caught every detail in them very speckle on your gorgeous face. Your long eyelashes fluttered when you turned to avoid his glance. He was way handsomer that he looked from afar. A burning sensation was felt at your cheeks, they were most definitely turning pink. “I’m Lo’ak. What’s your name?” He questioned you as you were in a full trance lost in his perfect face.
“Oh-uh.. Y/n?” You said in a low whisper where only he could hear. You knew you could speak louder it was just the thought of a tall man infront of you that frightened you just a bit. Well maybe not just a bit. A smile was gifted to you by him which made you blush even harder. It was too much to handle so you just settled with staring at the ground below you. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” Yet another question was asked, “Just taking care of the panopyras.” His head nodded as you began wanting to walk away from him. His brows furrowed, which was something you had barley noticed.
Looking down at his hands you saw that he was trying to hide the five finger hands he had. He saw that you had noticed and his hands went up to show you, maybe that’s why you were being shy or quiet. “Yea I’m a freak. Weird huh?” Your interest in him just got a little more deeper knowing that he was far more different that anyone. He had brow hairs and five fingers! Shaking your head left and right, you knew better than to judge people based off their differences. After finally gaining some confidence you took his hand from his pinkies and placed them to his heart. “You are still you. You are still Lo’ak.” His lips parted as to say something but nothing would really leave his mouth.
You gave him a sweet small smile when you looked down and noticed your hands were still on his chest you let go. “Do you wanna maybe do this again? Talk?” Doe eyed you stared up at him and he couldn’t help but smile at your pretty face. “Yes, you come here. Panopyras.” Your finger pointed to the large floating cups, his eyes went from what you had been pointing at to you again. He wanted to get at least one last look before he took off for the night. Not to see your pretty eyes till the following day. He knew he wasn’t going to get any kind of sleep tonight. “Then I will see you here, pretty girl.” Giving you one last smile as he ran off to his ikran to fly home. The pink on your cheeks was almost the same bright pink you wore on your sash at the words that had been said to you. Pretty girl. Your hand went up to your lips to cover a golden smile that spread across your face.
You were in for a treat tomorrow. 𝒫𝓇ℯ𝓉𝓉𝓎ℊ𝒾𝓇𝓁．
𝙾𝚖𝚐 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜𝚜𝚜 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙸'𝚖 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜! ! 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝙸'𝚖 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚍!! 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙰𝙻𝙾𝚃𝚂❦
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HELLO I WASN'T EXPECTING SO MANY OF YOU DKJSKD THANK YOU OMG <33
Okay very long incoherent ramble incoming I haven't figured everything out yet so here's just the general idea :)
Okay so basically the setting is a sort of like. Medieval setting where magic also exists! Ren is the king of the land which isn't plot relevant at all but it's relevant in my heart ASJKDKJS. Grian is a just sort of a traveler. He hates staying in one spot for too long so he's always hopping from village to village getting into trouble, the usual Grian stuff you know. He's best friends with Mumbo, who's a big name in what i'm calling the industrial district. He's a redstoner, which i'm thinking is a type of like. technology based magic. So he and Grian communicate on ye olde FaceTime via redstone/magic crystals, which is a very new technology that he's basically beta testing on Grian because what else are friends for.
ANYWAY akjsdkjs so Grian is a traveler. Pearl is his sister, also sort of does the same thing except she's been into sailing lately, so Grian can't exactly send her mail. Her address is perpetually changing. But he misses her and wants to check in on her SO he has to go to a wizard to help him send a message :) Just so happens that the next village he stops in knows of one close by...
Enter Scar :D He lives in a tower sort of on a cliffside by the ocean (dramatic flair). He's a good bit away from the village but close enough to walk, other than that he's pretty isolated. The village people act a little weird about him, like he's some kind of mysterious shut-in, or a hermit (hah), so when Grian knocks on the door he expects like. Some old and grumpy magic user telling him to get off his lawn. And it's Scar. Neither old nor grumpy, and in fact he is delighted to have a visitor.
Grian explains what he wants to do and asks what the price is, expecting like. diamonds or emeralds or his soul or something. And what Scar asks for is flowers. Grian is a little worried he's being scammed but ultimately goes through with it. Grian writes a letter and Scar conjures a bird to carry it safely to Pearl, and Grian goes outside and walks a bit until he finds some flowers to pick, and he brings them back to Scar. Scar pretty much lights up when he sees them, and the moment he touches them they get more vibrant and alive, so Grian figures out that he's nature-aligned (which just means he's got a natural talent for nature magic) which is weird because apart from the flowers Grian just brought there just. aren't any plants in his house. But he shakes it off and goes back to the village to stay in his little rented room.
He has to stay in the village long enough to get a response back from Pearl, so he has to visit Scar every few days to check! Cue awkward bonding moments and the forming of a friendship while they wait for the magic mail service to make the rounds. Finally he gets a response from Pearl and of course has to write her back. And of course has to wait for her response to that, and eventually it's just a thinly-veiled excuse to keep hanging around Scar KADSJJKD
Mumbo notices on one of their ye olde FaceTime calls that Grian's been in the same spot for like. way longer than usual. And he starts teasing him about it. ("Did you meet someone?" "...Well." "YOU DID?!")
So they're both falling in love, but Scar is. clearly nervous about something, hiding something. Grian tries to be patient but he's also worried and horribly curious. He invites Scar to walk through the market or the meadow or stargaze multiple times but Scar always looks guilty and scared and makes some random excuse. Grian's confused and a little hurt but is now fully invested in the health and wellbeing of this silly little wizard so he sticks around.
So things are sort of at a standstill. Until one day after a few days away Grian visits Scar again to find him fully panicking and freaking out, and he tells him that Jellie hasn't come back in a few days, and he begs Grian to look for her, telling him he'll do anything if he does. So Grian calms him down and promises to look for her, even as he's wondering why Scar isn't, and he asks if Scar wants to come with him but Scar just shakes his head through his tears and Grian leaves it alone.
He goes and looks for Jellie and finds that she's been "adopted" by one of the village families that thought she was a stray. Grian buys her back from them and takes a very grumpy Jellie back to Scar, who is just. so incredibly relieved and he cries into his cat for a while. Eventually Grian can't help himself and gently asks him why he didn't go look for her himself. Why he didn't leave.
Scar seems to resign himself to something, and he looks up at Grian with dull eyes and a sad smile. "I can't."
Grian asks him what that means. Scar demonstrates by standing up and trying to walk out the door. Glowing purple shackles appear around his wrists and neck, chains connecting back into the tower and fading into the walls. He steps back inside and they disappear. "I can't."
He explains that someone has trapped him here. That they think it's handy to have a wizard at the ready whenever they need one. That they force him to do magic for paying customers but that he never sees a penny of the profits. He doesn't have plants in his tower because he has not been allowed outside in years.
(i haven't decided who the evil person should be yet sdjskj please help.)
Anyway :) Grian starts feeling very, very murderous :)
#and some cute romantic stuff would also happen!!#ALSO FULLY FORGOT TO MENTION THAT GRIAN IS AVIAN SORRY#please give me feedback/ask follow-up questions in my asks! typing this out really helped me figure some things out sjkdj#came up with some of this AS I WAS TYPING :D#anyway thank you so much for asking about it!!! made me really happy thank you skadkj :]#jay's journal#hermitshipping#scarian#um for the moment i'm just gonna call this..#tower au
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new chapter of Win the War is up! again, inspired by @briseise 's amazing artwork, go and check her out :)
this chapter is a lot more angsty than the last one, so just be warned
fic below the cut, or you can read it on ao3 ! reblogs appreciated <3
CW: MILD TORTURE, THREATS
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Bdubs glared at them all, hurt and betrayal coursing through his veins as he watched his "friends" agree to Cleo's plan. He was supposed to have a lovely evening with Ren, but now he was stuck laying against this grimy floor, cheek pressed into the cold stone, waiting for his fate to be sealed by the Resistance.
He wasn't afraid. He knew that Ren would find him eventually. He knew that Ren would send out search parties. He knew that it would come at a cost, though.
What price would Ren be willing to pay to have him back? Surely a lot, he was his King's most prized treasure, the best Royal Architect there ever was! Surely there would never be a price too great for him?
He knew that if Ren were in his situation, he would give everything he'd ever owned to have him back.
He just hoped that his King would do the same for him.
"You," Cleo snapped, jabbing a finger towards him, "Are going to cooperate. Or else."
Bdubs could see the Soup Group exchange uneasy glances, but he swallowed down his own fear. "Or else, what?"
"Or else you won't see your precious little King ever again."
Bdubs froze. He still didn't quite know what that entailed, but he certainly didn't want to find out.
He took a moment to study the faces of the people before him. His friends, who had taken him and locked him up and were about to do Void knows what to him. By cooperating, he gives them what they want, to have information, to know the Court's secrets, and to eventually steal the throne from his rightful King. He wasn't like them - he wouldn't betray those who he was supposed to be loyal to.
But taking one look at Cleo - eyes steely, unwavering, a cold green like his King's Royal Emeralds - every once of resistance in him completely dissolved.
He would never admit it, but he was scared. Scared of the unknown.
"I- I'll comply."
Cleo nodded, looking down on him through the bars. Bdubs couldn't help but shrink back a little.
"You will answer every question that the Resistance has for you," Cleo stated, clearly and simply, "You will tell the whole truth to ever question that you are asked. You will not tell anyone about what happens here. Is that clear?"
Bdubs nodded hastily.
After he had agreed, Cleo unlocked the cell and stepped into it, closing the door carefully behind them. They strode towards him, their heeled shoes clicking loudly, every footstep sounding like a gunshot to Bdubs. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block everything out.
When Cleo reached him, Bdubs felt himself getting dragged up into a low kneel. He opened his eyes; the world was the right way up, and the Resistance was standing before him, watching him.
"Go ahead," Cleo said to the resistance, talking above Bdubs as if he wasn't even there, "Ask him whatever you want."
The Soup Group looked at each other uneasily, presumably thinking of things to interrogate Bdubs about. Bdubs stared at them searchingly, trying to find a scrap of anything - a reaction, a whispered question, a silent plan - that might quell his fear of the unknown, the fear that was making him shake like a leaf.
Finally, Pearl stepped forward.
"Hi there, Bdubs!" she smiled, trying to talk to him like he wasn't tied up in some kind of cell. He frowned.
Pearl took no notice and continued. "So, my fellow Resistance members and I think that it would be a good idea for you to tell us everything that the King has told you about the reign. Any secret plans, any weaknesses, whatever. And if we see fit, we'll ask from there."
Bdubs opened his mouth, like a fish trying to gasp for air, but no sound came out. "I-"
"Hurry up, Bdubs," Cleo admonished. She was out of Bdubs's eyeline, and he could tell that she was doing something behind his back. He didn't want to wait to find out what.
"I- King- King Ren told me about... about his plans for the economy. He wants to have complete control... with- with, uh, Royal Emeralds, and owning people's shops and- and- he's just taking it a bit too far I think."
"In what way is he taking it too far? How does he want control?" Pearl interrogated, stepping closer towards the bars.
"He wants to- to be able to cut people's Royal Emerald access completely off, when he decides to. At a moment's notice, he can prevent their shop from running, take all their money, completely shut that p-person off from buying anything. He's planning on trying it with you guys first."
He paused, closing his eyes gently and letting the weight of what he'd just confessed hang over him for a little bit. He'd just revealed that his own King had planned to shut the doors on whoever he saw fit, to abuse the power that he was entrusted with, and ruin someone's life on a whim. Because he wanted to. No wonder the Resistance were rebelling against this, he would too if he had any sense!
But he would never go against his King. He could never. Never, in a million years. He was the King's most trusted advisor, his right-hand man, his boyfriend. The King trusted him with everything he had, and Bdubs sold it all away. Just because he was afraid.
Bdubs was officially the worst boyfriend ever.
"I tried to stop him..." Bdubs whispered, swallowing back the tears, "He- he said he would consider. B-but I just feel... so bad... so bad for him..."
"Why do you feel bad for him, Bdubs?" Impulse asked.
"I- I just-"
But he couldn't speak. If he hadn't betrayed his King already, this would certainly be enough.
"I'm not answering," he stated, finally, resolutely staring down the Resistance through the tears in his eyes.
"Bdubs," Gem said, as if she were talking to a scared animal, "Just tell us. Why do you feel bad for the King?"
"Tell us, Bdubs."
"Come on, Bdubs, don't make this harder than it needs to be..."
"We just need an answer."
He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't! No matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't betray his King. Not as much as this. He would never be forgiven for it.
The tears wouldn't stop flowing, no matter how hard Bdubs tried to stop them. The rope was cutting into his wings. He couldn't cope.
"N- No! I- I'm not... no!" he yelled.
"Answer them, Bdubs," Cleo warned.
"NO! I don't need to tell you- you anythi-"
The cold cut him off as it enveloped him in waves, setting his nerves on fire. The cold made him shiver, forced shaky breaths from his lungs, puffing into the air in short, spluttering bursts. Small chunks of ice fell from his head, dripping onto the wet stone around him.
Bdubs bowed his head, trying to curl up into a ball and stop everything from happening all around him. It was too much. He looked as pathetic and wet and cold and sad as he felt. The rope was still cutting into his wings, making them ache from where they were bound to his back. He just wanted it all to stop.
The tears barely made a difference anymore.
The sound of the bucket clanging to the floor made Bdubs curl in on himself tighter.
"Bdubs," Cleo began, and her tone of voice seemed slightly softer, "You should answer their question, then we'll get you a towel and a blanket. But you need to answer them first, okay? You don't want me to get another bucket, do you?"
Bdubs paused, trying desperately to muster up the strength in his exhausted brain to reason with himself. This was a horrible idea! It would give the Resistance everything they need to take the Court down! Giving them this would practically give them the victory, the diamonds, the power, everything that they could ever want.
And Ren would never forgive him.
How would Bdubs ever be able to forgive himself, letting Ren down so drastically; letting himself fail just because he was scared, and cold, and miserable? Could he really not stay strong for a little while longer, until they got bored and left him be?
In the end, really, Bdubs was just selfish.
"Ren-" he croaked, voice shaking and shivering in all the wrong places but Bdubs couldn't care, "He- He's s-sick... I see i-it, it's subtle, b-but the reign - it's really t-taking a toll on him. He's n-not the Ren I know, or love, I d-don't even know who he is, but he's certainly not Ren. He's just the King - d-driven by greed and power and too sc-scared to let anything go in case he falls harder than he's ever f-fallen before. He's weak, one threat will b-break him, and even his eyes seem greener, completely o-overtaken with lust for the Royal Emeralds. Ren's gone. I- I just want him back..."
The silence stretched out over the room, shrouding the atmosphere in a smoky tension. Through the bars, there was movement, but Bdubs couldn't bring himself to look up. He felt broken.
"That's all we need from you, Bdubs, thank you," Impulse said softly, cutting the tension with a knife, but a butter knife.
The door to the cell opened, but Bdubs remained where he was. The clicking footsteps returned, and faded slightly as Cleo walked through the cell door, locking it behind her.
"We'll give him some food, water, and a towel in a little bit," she told the Soup Group, and Bdubs recognised the hint of remorse in her tone. "First, we'll go outside, and discuss what will happen next regarding his ransom."
Bdubs heard footsteps shuffle out of the room, before silence greeted him once again.
#bdubs#bdoubleo100#rendubs#zombiecleo#impulsesv#geminitay#pearlescentmoon#hermitcraft#hermitcraft fic#tw threats#tw mild torture#mossy writing
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In hindsight, he could recognize that it happened fast. Too fast for him to realize it was anything serious.
The chills. Poor appetite. Trouble sleeping.
But his body was trying to adjust to life in Hisui and a lot had changed. It was no wonder Ingo was feeling out of sorts.
Especially considering he still couldn’t remember anything of where he came from or who he was. He was a stranger in an even stranger world and he was alone when he wasn’t supposed to be.
It didn’t feel right.
He didn't feel right.
Not with the unfamiliar food and lingering aches and chilly temperatures and strange Pokémon.
Speaking of, that large Pokemon was back and it seemed to be holding a conversation with Lady Irida. It had been the one to find him out in the snow, injured and bloodied and half-frozen. He’d been incredibly lucky, or so he’d been told, and it was no doubt unfortunate he didn’t feel like he was. Though he couldn’t seem to recall specific species, he did know what Pokemon were and he felt very sure he’d never seen one such as this; tall and graceful, obviously strong if the way it wielded those huge claws with ease was any indication. Fond exasperation and self assuredness. Poison and fighting. A strange combination for sure. Ingo would very much like to see–
And as quickly as the half-formed thought came, it was gone again.
He didn’t need to bother them. Clearly, they were engaged in something of importance. It wouldn’t do to be in the way, especially with his adoption into the superstitious Pearl Clan such a new and tentative thing. In the meantime, he’d find a way to make himself useful around the village.
While the children seemed content to play with the mysterious stranger, their parents seemed less so and Ingo hoped he’d be able to win a few over, if just by keeping their young ones out of their hair occasionally. The kids followed him around the village, whispering about Zoroark behind his back and pretending to stalk him. If he timed it just right, he could turn on the spot with claws held high, and watch them scatter, giggling, behind the tents. A game they never tired of.
Today however, Ingo wasn’t feeling well. Exhausted and cold, he couldn’t get warm even when bundled up in his borrowed home. The only reason he’d ventured outside in the first place was to ask Irida if she had any remedies he might try but seeing her busy made him wary of interrupting her. Warden Calaba had long returned to the…Mirelands? They called it? After fixing up the wounds and subsequent fever he’d mysteriously sustained in his journey from somewhere else.
Sleep fixed most things. Helped with the headaches Ingo was plagued with semi-regularly from the knock on his head he’d been gifted upon his arrival. It just did nothing to help with the idea that he was a burden.
Confident that he would not be missed, at least today, Ingo retreated to his tent, setting some water to boil for tea and wishing he had something stronger, though he could not fathom what. Tea would do. The right one might make him feel better if he found it but the exhaustion tugging at his eyelids wasn’t giving him time enough to look. Stay hydrated. Get plenty of rest. That’s what people did when ill? Right?
Floral and slightly sweet, this blend was supposed to help with sleep. Good. He could use help with that and when he finally laid down the relief in his bones was bliss. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t meant to be alone and longed for company he didn’t even remember.
Soft light and gentle chiming.
A purple glow.
Soft fur. Armored skin.
A grin bright as a train’s headlights.
“Ingo?” The futon seemed to press painfully into every joint, exacerbating their ache, while a warbling noise very gradually transformed itself into his name repeated anxiously. With difficulty, he pried heavy lashes apart to look into Irida’s worried eyes, out of focus but unmistakable. Disappointing. He’d been hoping for someone else even if he lacked the memory to say who. “We haven’t seen you. The children were concerned.” She smiled now, softly if not a bit sadly. “They miss playing with you.”
“Hnn…” he barely managed to acknowledge her before a breathless fit of coughing folded him in half.
“You’re not feeling very well, are you?” Ingo shook his pounding head even as her voice faded in and out and the black threatened to swallow him up and steal him away. Her small hands framed either side of his face to steady him, one slipping carefully, gently, to lay over his brow. “Very warm,” she muttered to herself in confirmation. “Ingo?” He couldn’t answer, at least in any intelligible way; words instead sliding over each other, crashing together, more syllable and sound than anything meaningful. “Take a minute, you’re alright.” Irida’s voice echoed down a subway tunnel while Ingo attempted to pull all his disparate pieces of himself together again. “Are you with me?”
“M’with…” agonized, he couldn’t bring himself to speak above the whisper catching in his desert-dry throat. “With…” But he wasn’t, not really. Not when the objects around him were swirling together in a heat-haze. Sleep. He would sleep. That would fix it. Fix him. He’d wake up and everything would be in place again. Back where it belonged.
“Back with me?”
It would seem so.
And everything was the same and not the same.
“You’ll be just fine.”
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t be. Didn’t she know what he was missing?
She was right. Ultimately. Ingo’s body fought the fever, the nightmares, and he woke one early morning soaked through with sweat but with a clear head. Or as clear as it ever was these days. A scrub in the hot springs made him feel nearly human again.
He was okay. Able to resume daily life, help with chores, watch over the myriad children as they scampered by to steal berries and bits from the food he helped prepare.
Be of use.
He was hanging the village laundry to dry and keeping an eye on a pair of twins (which caused a sharp ache deep in his chest if he thought too hard about it) when the headache came back with a vengeance, so fiercely he lost feeling in his hands.
“Mr. Ingo?”
“I’m. I’m alright. Fully functional and operational.” Even to him, it sounded like a lie and the kids weren’t buying anything he was selling judging by their conspiratorial glances. Almost as though they were speaking a secret language they came to a conclusion together as he struggled to parse out the situation.
Irida was in front of him.
“I told you not to overdo it.”
Faces passed him by, expressions ranging from sympathetic to suspicious.
“Almost there.”
In his tent. A cup of tea he didn't want cradled in his hands.
“Ingo? Are you alright?”
“Hm?” A crease formed between her eyebrows.
“It hasn’t been that long since you first arrived here. If you need more time–”
“No!” He’d forgotten he could be so loud and Lady Irida did justice to her station by remaining unphased. “I apologize…I have settled in just fine thanks to you and others in the village. I. I am merely tired, that is all.”
“Then you should rest.” Irida sipped from her own cup. “Your place here isn’t measured by your usefulness to us.” Ingo ducked his head in shame and embarrassment. “When you need help, I just hope that you’ll ask.”
“I.” He swallowed down the urge to protest, instead whispering, “I will try.”
Wrong
It was all.
It was all wrong.
No air in his lungs. Blood like lava in his veins. Pulse pounding, pounding, pounding like a permanent Rollout at the base of his skull.
Bad.
Up, up, up!
Bad.
This is no time to be napping.
Bad.
Is it another headache?
Where was this voice coming from?
Let me help.
yes
please
help
hurts
please
“Lady…’Rida…” Ingo swayed on his feet, greatcoat pulled tight around his shoulders though he was cycling through unbearably cold and boiling hot faster than he could fathom. “‘M…” he couldn’t think, head thick with Cottonee fluff. “I…” He collapsed into the tent frame, breath quick and difficult, sliding to his knees before she could even reach for him. “I…”
“Ingo?” He tipped forward, his grasp on upright tentative at best, pulse pounding in his ears so loudly he couldn’t hear anything. Her palm cupped his cheek and Ingo forced his eyes open, fixing his unsteady gaze on her concerned face.
“H’help? S’wrong, wr’wrong…” She shouldered his weight, all but dragging him into the warmth and guiding his slow fall to the floor.
“Hold on a moment. I’ll be right back.” Irida didn’t wait for a response, just ducked back outside into the dark to send for Calaba. This was beyond her and while she’d seen this illness a few times in her young life, Ingo had fallen harder than anyone else she knew, herself included. He accepted some water easily enough, trying to down the whole cup at once and leaving rivulets streaming down his throat before she could pull it away. He was getting visibly worse in front of her, condition deteriorating by the minute and struggling to draw a full breath. The cough plaguing him sounded weak and wet and painful.
He was pliant when she maneuvered his arms free of the coat, the tunic, the long sleeved undershirt, shivering and only half-conscious. The scars littering his pale skin had yet to heal completely, still raised and red where old wounds knitted closed over flesh and white bone. Calaba would be here in the morning and until then Irida would do her best, tucking him into her futon and bathing his face with a damp cloth until he fell into some facsimile of sleep.
Calaba’s arrival was heralded by the rumbling roar of Ursaluna and a gust of cold wind. Bibarel nosed his way into Irida’s tent first and honestly, not a moment too soon as the situation was spiraling rapidly out of her tenuous control. Ingo was delirious with fever, skin hot and dry to the touch no matter how much water she’d managed to pour into him and even Calaba with all her experience hummed in disapproval. She traced his slack bottom lip with the pad of her thumb, eyes narrowing in concentration.
“Boil water. Gather snow.”
Awareness swept in and out like a train arriving and departing the station, the divide between asleep and awake a blurry yellow line on a platform he should know, and Ingo waded through murky layers of his own consciousness, sluggish and suffocating and slow, his only prize a lungful of stale air. It was all told easier to let the dark nothingness of the tunnels have him. Fold him up in Golbat wings made of shadow to protect him from the painful, clotted tangle in his chest.
It made thinking any thoughts impossible.
That was fine.
Ingo was finished with memories. With questions and rememberings and plowing ahead relentless and restless in a vain attempt to distance himself from that aching pit of loneliness. Of lack. Of what he didn’t know and feared he never would. There was peace here if he could just make himself accept it. Forge a new identity here and be happy beginning anew.
“Faller.” Firm and commanding. Familiar but not the familiarity he craved. “Open your eyes.” No. He didn’t want to. Wanted to sink deeper into the beckoning black. “Hold him up.” Hands jostled him, pushed, held, as his head swam with dizziness. “Over the basin.” A wave of steam and Gentle Mint washed over him and untied the Thorn Whip knotted around the arthritic cage of his ribs.
Tears welled behind his tightly closed eyelids to slip down the bridge of his nose. The sob broke free against his will, cracking his breastbone in half if the pain was any indication. Ingo choked. Coughed hard enough he feared he’d be sick. He was going to die here. Haunted by memories he’d never regain again.
“Ingo.” Firm. A leader’s voice. “Calm down and breathe.”
There was no way. There was no air. There was nothing.
A high pitched whistle filled his head, drowning out the phantoms in his ears, and the flat of a strong hand pounded with real force against his upper back hard enough that the wet strangling him shifted. Ingo bent double, scrambling for something to hold and finding an arm in the darkness. A lifeline as he coughed and gagged until he convulsed, shuddering in the firm embrace of the hands holding him above the steam until he sucked in a strident, uneven gasp like a man drowning.
“Good, another. Good.”
He wanted to be. Maybe if he’d been a better brother–
That train of thought was derailed by the cool path sweeping over his hot skin.
Almighty Sinnoh above, he hurt.
There was ice in his blood and thunder breaking his bones and fire burning, burning, burning in his chest whenever he even thought about reaching for another breath. Done up in ribbons of agony tying him down. Too loose in his skin, he didn’t fit. If he didn’t fit he wouldn’t recognize him. He wasn’t, wouldn’t be–
“Hush, Ingo.” Safe in the eye of a storm, comforting words like soft rain pooled in all his many empty spaces.
Ingo was so still.
Calaba kept careful watch over his galloping pulse, fingers glued to his wrist when she wasn’t packing more snow around him. A fever as high as Ingo’s was dangerous to the mind and while Irida didn’t quite understand, she wasn’t about to argue, just pressed the back of her hand to his forehead when asked.
“What are you making?” The old woman dropped a dried and shriveled peel into simmering water, adding a sprinkling of different herbs before giving it a stir.
“Aguav berry tea.”
“Won’t that be terribly bitter?”
“Yes. But it’s the most effective remedy for this ailment.” The old Warden chuckled. “Do you not remember taking it as a child?” If she thought hard enough about it she could nearly remember. Though a rare commodity, her parents made it more tolerable by adding Dazzling Honey. Maybe she could find some for him. “Wherever your Faller hails from must not suffer from this illness. He will not have built up a tolerance throughout his youth.” Gradually, finally, Ingo felt cooler to the touch, no longer harboring such banked coals beneath the surface of his skin. Together, she and Calaba removed the snowpack.
“Is that why he’s so sick?”
“Partially, yes.” Gentle, she roused him, despite being cautious by nature, Calaba had been known to use a soft touch on occasion. It seemed, like most of them, she’d become quite taken with Ingo. It was easy to do. He was easy to like. “Partially because slowing down means more time to think about what he has lost. Back with us, Faller?”
“Ingo?” Dull gray eyes limned in shadow slipped over their faces like water over a stone. With lashes fluttering like a Mothim’s wing, he was very nearly swept back out to sea before Calaba got her arm behind his shoulders and leavered him upright. It triggered a fit of coughing that left him grasping at his chest, but it passed soon enough and she held the cup to his lips, tipping a mouthful of warm tea into him. He grimaced at the taste, face twisted up in mild disgust, and Irida didn’t envy him. He shied away from the next swallow, lips pressed in a thin line, betrayal in his bleary eyes.
“It’s worse when it’s cold.” Dutifully, as Calaba’s warning suggested he’d be drinking it regardless, he complied until exhaustion took him down again and his head lolled on her arm. “He’s got a strong spirit.” Calaba poured the remaining tea into a covered cup for later. If Irida remembered correctly he’d need to take it three times daily and for weeks afterwards to reduce the risk of a relapse.
“Speaking of, I think Lady Sneasler has taken an interest in him.”
“An odd choice for her, don’t you think?”
“You know how particular she is.” Ingo shifted, a sliver of empty gray visible before rolling back behind heavy lashes, and Irida passed her hand over his head, putting aside the herbs she’d been preparing to ease him back into a deep sleep. Once settled, they continued to speak about clan business and recent gossip late into the evening, Ingo’s soft, slow breathing a gentle backdrop to their conversation.
“Mr. Ingo, Mr. Ingo!” He looked up at the sound of his name behind him, laying aside the knife he was using to thinly slice leeks to a precise size.
“Ah.” The little passenger was holding out a familiar cup of steaming tea in their hands. “Thank you for the reminder!” Though he was feeling much better, the track to recovery was proving to be slow going.
“Lady Irida said to remind you it’s worse when it’s cold.” Ingo laughed, booming and loud, gratefully accepting the offering and ruffling the child’s hair.
“I know that very well.” He braced himself to take a swig, pleasantly surprised when the bitterness was tempered with something sweet. Duty done, the kid ran off, waving to Irida as she made her way towards him.
“Better, right?” Gesturing to the seat beside him, Ingo nodded.
“Using the children against me, are you?”
“You’re their favorite minder, it wasn’t a hard sell.” She laid her cheek on folded arms resting upon her knees to watch him drink his tea.
“Though I do appreciate your company, surely you have things more important to do than watch over me.”
“I do.” She laughed. “But I wanted to make certain you’re treating yourself carefully.” Guilt rose in him like a strong Surf and she noticed.
“You are a keen strategist, Lady, using my weaknesses against me as well.”
“If that’s what it takes.” Her wrist came to rest just beneath the brim of his cap, knocking it sideways as she checked his temperature. “For now.” And he righted it primly, allowing a beat of silence to pass between them before taking a deep breath.
“It has been. Difficult.” The admission pained him, almost as much as the shame of needing so much help in the first place and he couldn’t shake the feeling as though he was supposed to be looking after them. “I am.” Broken. “I am missing someone and–” when his voice fractured, sorrow poured from the cracks in an overwhelming flood. “Do you think someone is missing me?” Embarrassment flushed his face with heat and he stood abruptly, intending to put distance between them. “I apologize, Lady Irida! I, I do not know what has come over me. Thank you for all you have done for me. I promise–”
“Be quiet.” She’d nearly knocked the wind out of him with her embrace, squeezing him tightly with her face pressed into his shoulder. “You are missed. Never doubt that. And if we could return you to them we would in a heartbeat, I swear it.” The conviction in her voice undid him, releasing the tentative hold he’d kept on the tears threatening to fall and he gripped her in return.
“Okay.” Whispered into her neck. “Okay.”
#Pla#pokemon legends arceus#ingo#emmet#nobori#submas#guilt#amnesia#memory loss#ingo just landed#fever#sickfic#caretaking#headache#sad#irida#pearl clan irida#ingo doesn't know where he belongs
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Your anthro Ingo where he's all thin and pale and ghostly and he looks almost feral, is. SO. FUCKING. COOL. Dude, dude. He looks so fucked up, I love him, I love him so much. I love all of the rest of them too, trust me, but oh my god. Just, the contrast between him in Hisui and him before he fell is stellar. Fantastic even. And his EARS. His haunted eyes, his canon posture that has new connotations, the way you can see his spine through his coat. The cute aggression is real, I want to shake him around like a dog with a toy and then wrap him in a blanket and cuddle him close.
Wait, no, okay, I'm going a little bit crazy over this. I haven't drawn anything in like two years because of art block, but this. You have ignited a fire with this. So. That is a thing that is currently happening. I hope you don't mind? Who knows if I'll actually finish it, but I've made quite a lot of headway.
But anyway.
I mean, I don't how many more there'd be or if it's just Adaman and Mai in the clan right now that are reptiles, but I do think that historically they produce much, much more than the Pearl Clan, and I don't think Galaxy Team is too likely to have many either. Their populations are just so sparse you probably don't get most than a handful of any given type of animal.
Actually, I wonder if Adaman or Mai would be the one to approach Ingo about it first. Adaman if Irida decided that it was worth asking for help from the Diamond Clan if it meant her friend and warden was able to function better (which I figure she would, if she realized they might know something he could benefit from), or Mai if she just noticed at a warden's meeting that Ingo was struggling, put together why, and felt compelled to offer him some advice. Not sure if Mai would be the type to offer unsolicited help, but she seems like the responsible type and might be inclined to if only because he's a fellow warden.
Oh shit, you're absolutely right. Even though it probably isn't super safe for an arctic animal to visit the mirelands or coastlands during the summer, she and the others still could pass through safely as long as they weren't like vigorously exercising and kept hydrated, and at pretty much all times of the year they'd be okay in three of the five regions. Ingo can only go to like, two safely, and even then it's probably hard for him to go up towards Snowpeak for too long. Good thing it was Melli who got Moonview Arena and not him. Even if that doesn't really feel like a punishment to Ingo, I do think you're right that it'd hurt Irida. It'd probably help that he can still go to Jubilife once he starts wanting to, since at the very least he's able to go do something he has fun doing. I bet that'd actually mean a lot to her, to know that she hasn't basically shackled him to the highlands for his own safety (the irony being what she does in OoP lmao).
Very true, a lot of it could be! That's part of what makes it so fun to think about for me lol
>:3c tysm!! i'm really happy with how that art turned out too, it was actually the last ingo i drew after doing the other sketches (& a bunch of hare studies) and i was like "hmm. this isn't weird and concerning enough. let me make it worse" and there was a point in drawing one of the faces, i don't remember which which, but i like went. ohh yeah i love this man but there is some kind of primal monkey-brain instinct to get very far away before he sees me
MIND?? DO I MIND?? of COURSE not!! i love knowing ive inspired other people! ty!
and yeah, for sure out of all the groups in hisui they would probably have the most reptiles. whereas the galaxy team has the most diverse array of species, and the pearl clan has a bias towards fluffy mammals. the ginkgo guild is probably also a pretty random assortment. (maybe ginter's another goat, though?) so adaman might not necessarily agree that reptiles in general are unlucky, but when he hears about that particular pearl clan tradition there's probably still a "hah, yeah" moment anyway.
awwww the idea of irida approaching adaman to ask for help for ingo... especially if you assume that they're still on kind of shaky ground at that point. and she doesn't necessarily like him, but she's worried enough about ingo that she's just like "screw it" anyway and sets that aside for his sake. mai might care enough to offer her help, but the other question is, would ingo even listen? i feel like it'd require hearing it from someone he really cares about/trusts, like irida, for him to even notice/acknowledge that anything's wrong. before that he'd just be like "well that's good advice to keep in mind for the future or for anyone else i come across, fortunately i'm in perfect operating condition and don't need it. thank you though" and mai's just ... :/
YEAH... i do feel like in this au, irida and ingo are considerably closer than they are in ounce of prevention (not to say they AREN'T close in OoP, just that it's Very Complicated and in this au there seems to be less clan stuff getting between them.) i feel like there's probably also something in this au that means the clan in general is a lot warmer (ha) towards ingo... in my head i've been thinking that maybe lady sneasler was unevolved/young when he arrived and he happened to find and bring her back from having run off into the snow, which is a thing i think i've seen one or two other people do and i enjoy the social implications of lol. it also means that irida and others might be more inclined to see him, maybe not literally but metaphorically, as someone who was sent to help them during this troubled time, since he literally saved one of the noble lines from destruction before they'd even met him. which would just make the fact that hisui is so Objectively Bad for him hurt even worse!
yeah lol, it's like canon-a-bit-to-the-left right now which is really fun to play with? seeing what gets exposed to investigate if that makes sense. also reminding me that i WOULD like to write more cc stuff to do character/lore exploration... hmmm
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i know most people ask about the canons, so i'm here to shake things up a bit: i'd love to hear more about everyone's next gen ocs! or i know that's kind of a broad question so maybe just your favorites or the ones you think about the most!
anon, we never got a notification for this message! thank you so much for sending it, sorry tumblr refused to let us know <3 this is such a great question
pearl's fave ocs:
abigail longbottom, probably one of the first ocs i ever settled on. she's neville and hannah's daughter, lucy's best friend, a gryffindor who never thinks of herself as brave. she's surrounded by very high-drama high-intensity gryffindors and is very quiet in comparison, but has a heart of steel. she gets pregnant by james when they're too young for a baby, keeps it, and eventually falls in love with fred while james figures out his various fuck-ups with some help
ysella fawley, one of albus and scorpius' best friends in their little slytherin circle. from a kinda new money pureblood family that found themselves on the up and up after the war when all the old money fams fell hard, she was raised rich and spoiled, but really cares about nothing besides quidditch and her best friends. and hooking up with girls.
sebastian rosier, not in any of the next-gen kids' squads but loosely associated with lucy through her drag racing, on a rival team full of spoiled rich brats (very much old money - rosier, shafiq, etc), his daddy funds the illegal race track and is also a mafia boss, got lots of issues. may or may not ever overcome them.
katherine parkinson, molly's work rival in adulthood, daughter of pansy's older brother, a nepo baby and journalist who is very cutthroat and calculated about getting ahead. becomes a political correspondent to the ministry, where she meets louis weasley, who falls in love with her on the spot. this causes a lot of issues because she's already betrothed to a pureblood guy whom she hates.
edelweiss urquhart, known as edie, pansy's daughter with orville urquhart. her parents are divorced, hate each other, and use her as a toy to compete with each other. gets bullied by the other slytherin girls in her year and ends up adopted by lily and dominique's gaggle of gryffindor girls instead.
jake longbottom, son of neville and hannah, abby's older brother, the quintessential golden gryffindor boy that all the other kids inevitably have to be compared to because he's just so put-together. becomes an auror like his godfather harry; privately a lot more of a mess than he'll ever let on. very hard to read.
luke, elijah, and marnie goldstein, children of anthony goldstein and hannah's little sister bethany. close family friends with the potters because bethany worked on the aurors with harry. luke and james are best friends in a very bro-y way; marnie is part of lily's troublemaker group; elijah and albus hooked up a few times in sixth year and now hate each other. it's great.
and many more ofc! hopefully everyone else comes to edit this <3
becca here, coming to add mine, but help, i have so many ocs, it's almost impossible for me to choose faves. this is really just a small selection i've picked at random:
iseult (issie) malfoy, younger sister (by five years) of scorpius, probably my number one kiddo, she ranks along with the canons for me. nobody who knows her, except her family who somehow managed to miss it, is surprised when she's sorted into gryffindor. she's physically fearless, obstinate, and much tougher than she looks. adores her immediate family (and has some struggles reconciling what she knows about them with how other people see them), but rebels stubbornly against their attempts to make her into a proper pureblood girl, because she's a leggings-wearing, grubby-fingered, harpies-supporting cat girl. eventually grows into herself, gains confidence, and ends up captaining the gryffindor quidditch team. probably plays professionally after hogwarts for a while, but i haven't got that far with her.
sophie longbottom, daughter of neville and hannah, the same year as iseult and also sorted into gryffindor. issie and sophie become best friends almost immediately, a fact their respective fathers just have to deal with (with varying levels of equanimity), because you don't argue with 11-year-old girls' friendships. sophie is a lively, friendly chatterbox, very socially confident, and absolutely unhesitant in choosing her friends. she's a little naive, and tends to assume that the world is a good and just place, and gets shocked by the bad sides of life. she tends (especially as a child) to assume that authority figures can be trusted and the system works, and gets a bit worried about things like breaking rules.
titus hart, one of my complete ocs, in that both his parents are also ocs, but please don't hold that against him. titus is lucy weasley's year (two years below lily and hugo), and his grandmother runs the white wyvern pub in knockturn alley, a seedy underworld hub. he's a slytherin, but never quite fits in with his pureblood housemates, since he's a halfblood from a family without much money. he's foul-mouthed, grumpy, and protects himself by pretending to be a dick, which works because he's also very large and looks intimidating. underneath it all, titus is an absolute sweetheart, you just have to earn his trust to see it. he is reluctantly dragged into lucy's hogwarts theatre club.
hazel kitson, a muggle, but stick with me. when hazel's six, she makes friends with the weird little boy with the strange name in the playground and, being six, is mostly unfazed by the revelation that he's a wizard. skip forward ten years, and hazel kitson and scorpius malfoy are the most unlikely pair of best friends ever. hazel is independent, resourceful, and eternally curious about everything. if she encounters a puzzle or mystery, she can't rest until she solves it, which becomes an issue when one of the puzzles she can't solve is james potter. (shameless plug for the fic i'm currently writing about this on ao3.)
dannicus (danny) urquhart, one of scorpius's closest friends at hogwarts. younger son of a traditional pureblood family, danny suffers from being the disappointing second to his golden boy brother auster, who, as well as being his parents' favourite, is also an enormous dick. danny can't stand most of his large family and disagrees with their (traditionalist) politics, but deals with that by pretending not to take anything seriously. one of his love languages is making fun of people, he loves to stir shit, and will never let go of anything. on the flip side, he's also surprisingly emotionally intelligent and open with his affections, and he's absolutely ride-or-die for his friends.
i'm going to leave it at 6, which is very restrained of me, there are so many more.
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For the ask game 2, 5 and 27! Love you 💙💙
Hello lovely Blue! 💙
2. Do you read/reread your own fics?
I do! If I get stuck OR walk away from a fic for a long time and need to shake myself back into the headspace to continue writing it, a reread usually helps. I find the rhythm of the work, and the style for the fic comes back easier this way. Likewise if I need to write a sequel, spin-off, etc... Back to wherever I started to try and keep everything smooth and consistent. (Plus there might be a fun little detail I can pull from the first and reference in the second, like an Easter Egg or Callback, and I delight in those!)
5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?
Umm honestly I had a lot of MARVEL fics planned out until some fandom interactions and ya know... the entirety of Endgame hit me the wrong way. So there's a few that I really do intend to finish but an absolute boatload more that I've never started and probably won't, at this point.
As far as current fandoms... I was going to do a big crossover with a lot of my BL dramas (KinnPorsche&VegasPete&KimChay from Kinnporsche + LianKuea&SinNuer from Cutie Pie + KingUea from BedFriend etc etc) that involved shaking up who was related to whomst that sort of challenged a lot of Fanon HC that's out there. And I sort of lost steam on that. LOL
27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why?
Ummm I'm a little nervous about my Pearl Kim fic/epic that's sort of in the works. There are expectations of some beautiful people and I don't want to let them down. (Plus if things go well I'll have a new Fandom spouse. It's a proposal fic, those have to be good!)
Thank you for the ask my darling! Love you love you!
#Fanfic Writers Ask Game Answers#Askbox Shenanigans#Hello Blue My Love 💙#Wardog Answers Stuff#Wardog Answers Things
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Transfer Error CH1
Alright, it’s taken a while but I’ve finally got some good writing done for the Transfer Error Au. Today, how it all begins. Please tell me what yall think!
Also, potential Trigger Warning for Body Horror (via forced transformation)
Ingo always felt like an outsider in Hisui. And he was one, in many ways.
He spoke differently from the people around him, dressed differently from them, thought differently from everyone.
He was the man that the Pearl clan had found wandering around the Alabaster Icelands, dazed and confused and suffering from hypothermia.
The man with a voice that was loud and clear and impossible to ignore. That spoke in strange terms and clung to formalities even when there was no need for them.
He was the only one in Hisui who would approach Pokémon with respect and caution, but not a single ounce of fear. (At least, he had been the only one. Until young Rei had fallen from the rift in the sky.)
There were so many other, smaller things that added to it as well and marked him as being different. That kept them from forgetting that he wasn't one of them. That he may not have even been from Hisui at all.
He would always be the “stranger the Pearl Clan found in the Icelands” to them.
As much as he tried to lay down new tracks for himself, as much as he tried to settle into his new station in Hisui, he never felt like he belonged there. For all the effort he put into helping and being part of the world he was in, it never felt like home.
Yes, they welcomed him as a friend. They hailed him as one of their Wardens. But there was always the reminder that he wasn't native would always remain.
Maybe it would be easier to accept his current lot in life if the echoes of his old one would leave him be.
If he would stop having names and places that don't exist hovering at the back of his mind or lingering on the tip of his tongue, maybe it would be easier to accept where he was. Maybe if he finally knew who he used to be, he could have an easier time accepting who he'd become.
Maybe then he could finally shake off the shadows of his mysterious past that clung to him for so long.
If only he could find some clue to figure them out. He had been hunting for a while, though he wasn't obvious about it. (At least he'd tried not to be.) But his efforts had yet to bear fruit.
His subtle inquires about things he remembered had yet to get him answers. Sketches of vague pokémon got him nothing but confused stares from the people he showed them to. The terms and language he used simply resulted in others calling him strange. No matter who or what he asked, no one ever held an answer.
It was… Frustrating, to say the least.
But, it seemed his hunting hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he’d thought.
While patrolling the highlands, he’d been flagged down by a member of the Survey Corps who told him that there was someone at one of their camps who wanted to speak with him. When he’d asked what they’d wanted to talk about, he’d been told that they didn’t know. But the person seemed awfully nervous, they’d said.
Curiosity peaked, Ingo had made the detour to the camp in question. Up by the Lonely Spring. And found a nervous-looking, somewhat familiar young lady in a Ginko Guild uniform there.
She’d waved shyly at him when she’d spotted him. Ingo has only been able to give a blank stare and hesitant wave of his own.
He didn't know the woman personally, but he remembered seeing her a few times. Usually, she helped pack up merchandise that the other guild members sold. Volo had mentioned her, saying she could never seem to sell anything due to a terrible stutter she could never seem to shake. So she would help everyone else with their inventories instead.
What was her name again?
“H-hello Warden Ingo!”
“Ah, hello.” His brow furrowed, he knew they’d been introduced at some point but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name. “Is there something I can help you with, miss…”
“N-nanashi! And yes! Well, no. Actually, I-I’m here to help you! I, um, I found something, and I-I think it might be able to help you?” Ingo tilted his head curiously as the woman started rifling through her bag. “You-you’ve been trying to find something to help-help with your memory loss right?”
“W-well Volo, he, uh, he would talk about legends and m-myths a lot. And-and I remembered one story he managed to find that-that talked about a r-relic that might be able t-to help! S-so I went looking f-for it and I-I managed to find it! I-I know I p-put it in one of these p-pockets… Ah-ha!” Nanashi let out a triumphant cry, pulling out a small, dirty golden… Thing and held it out to Ingo.
He took it very carefully, turning it over in his hands curiously.
It was surprisingly heavy and looked like a cross between a bird pokemon of some kind and a toy plane. (What was a plane? He pushed the thought away.) Nanashi continued speaking, freehand waving about as she did.
“According to the st-story that V-Volo told me, that little um… Thingy? Was s-supposed to have b-been made by a master cr-craftsman to ret-turn lost things-s to where they’re s-supposed to belong! I-I thought it was weird th-that something so t-tiny could do that, but maybe th-that’s because it’s not f-for physical things! So I-I thought that m-maybe it could help you g-get your memories back!”
Ingo couldn't help the bubble of hope that sprouted in his chest.
Could this odd little relic really help him?
Considering the other legends that had been passed through Hisui that had been proven true thus far, it was certainly possible that this object could perform the task it was made for.
Maybe, just maybe, this was what he needed. To finally put his worries to rest.
To finally learn who he used to be.
A small smile appeared on his face at the thought.
“Thank you, Miss Nanashi. It was very kind of you to do this for me,” he said, carefully tucking the little relic away in a pocket of his coat. The woman’s face brightened, losing some of the nervous tension she’d had.
“Y-you’re welcome sir! I’m h-happy I could help! L-let us know what you learn, o-okay?”
“I will,” he confirmed, then tipped his hat to her. “I’d best return to my patrols for the day. I must ensure the tracks are safe for all travelers.”
“Y-yes, I need to g-get back to work too,” Nanashi said, with a nod. “H-have a good day sir! And I hope y-you have a s-successful search!”
The two parted ways and Ingo returned to his duties as a warden, the weight in his pocket reminding him of the new lead he may have finally found. And keeping it from straying from his mind for long.
The relic practically burned a hole in Ingo’s pocket for the rest of the day. Quietly gnawing at his nerves until he could get it back to his hut to examine it properly.
Even while climbing sheer cliff sides, checking the torch-lines caves, and dodging alpha pokemon, the weight in his pocket held a grip on the back of his mind.
Not even his hand getting nicked by the claws of one of Lady Sneasler’s kits had managed to drive the thought of it off. Merely pushing it aside for him to hurriedly take something to combat the dose of poison in his veins. It helped that he’d gotten in the habit of keeping a few Pecha berries in his pockets for just such a thing.
(Not that it really mattered anymore, he’d been scratched so many times by the kits that he practically had a blood level of sneasel poison at this point.)
He was sure Lady Sneasler had noticed his preoccupied thoughts, but she didn’t seem to care about his lack of focus. As long as he kept pace and didn’t stray far from her, she didn’t mind that he was quieter than normal.
Ingo still found himself counting down the minutes until he could return to his hut and finally learn more. Until he could pull out the strange thing and see if it could truly help him find out who he used to be. To learn the kind of person he’d been before he’d ended up in the Icelands.
He’d made his way back to his hut as the sunset, taking the day’s light and heat from the mountains with it.
He set his pokemon loose from their pokeballs to let them roam for a bit before retiring for the night, as he often did. They were used to the freedom to wander, and Ingo had no plans to deny them it. Keeping them in the balls forever was cruel, and he wasn't a cruel man.
Calmly removing his shoes at the door, setting his celestia flute on a table, and starting a fire before the chill could fully settle. (It was best to start the fire early, to get it going good and strong so that it would last through the night.)
Continuing his routine, he started boiling water in a pot, adding cut vegetables and meats as it heated. The smell of his cooking dinner filled the room quickly as it bubbled away in its pot before it was stemmed by Ingo placing a lid over it to help it finish.
No one would be stopping by that night (that he knew of) so, while waiting for his meal to finish cooking, this was the perfect time to try and figure out how the odd relic worked.
(To finally learn who he really was.)
He carefully pulled the tiny gold plane from his pocket and started examining it again, now that he was in a place quiet and private to take his time with the inspection.
It was small, only slightly larger than his hand, with little accents engraved into it such as tiny feathers into the wings and smoke-like details in the odd triangle coming from the tail. There was an indent in the main body of it that looked like a tiny seat. (The pilot's seat, his mind told him.)
The whole thing was encrusted with dirt and it would probably take a great deal of cleaning before it could reclaim its full luster. He could only imagine how the relic’s creator would feel if they saw the state it had fallen into. Yet it still managed to retain much of its golden sheen despite the grime. It would probably fetch a very high price if someone tried to sell it, though Ingo had no plans to do so. Not if it could truly bring back his lost memories.
Turning it over revealed a tiny plaque on the bottom with minuscule writing engraved in it. Ingo squinted at the words carved into it, trying to read it despite its size and the way time had worn it away.
“To restore what's... missing... Time's-time's Flow... between Space... to return... lost... to whence they belong...” He read slowly, trying to piece the inscription together from the few symbols he could see and puzzle out. “Without... Without seeking the creators… Pull… The trail… To set the lost to-to peace.”
Pull… The trail? What could that mean? Ingo looked over the plan again, a hazy image appearing in his mind. Could… Could it be referring to the smoke?
He carefully grasped the smoke in one hand, the other holding the rest of the plane steady, and gave it an experimental tug. To his surprise, it shifted ever-so-slightly.
Ingo adjusted his grip, and carefully pulled at it. It took a bit of effort, likely from the dirt and such that could have collected inside of it. It would take a bit more strength to pull it loose. He simply adjusted his grip again and continued to pull it back, watching as it ground further and further out until it finally stopped with a sharp ‘click’.
(He wondered how pulling the “trail” loose was supposed to help with restoring lost memories. Was it supposed to release something that would help?)
A painful shock traveled up his hands, making him drop the plane with a startled yelp and start rubbing them together.
It... Hurt.
The strange static-like shock had hurt. Much more than he felt like it should have. And the pain was staying, instead of fading after the initial zap to his hands that left them feeling full of pins and needles. Shaking his hands out didn’t make it fade, which was… worrying.
But that wasn't what was sending off alarms in the back of Ingo's mind. No.
It was the fact that the pain was spreading.
Creeping its way through his fingers up his arms and into his chest, stealing his breath away and leaving him dizzy.
Something is very wrong here. He thought, stumbling back from the plane. The pins and needles feeling shifted to something worse, a deeper pain that he couldn’t put an apt description to. Settling deeper into him, down to his bones, even. He braced a hand against the wall, trying to stay on his feet despite the throbbing pain encompassing his body.
Agonizing crunches and cracks filled the air, fire shooting through his veins as if something was trying to melt him from the inside. Like someone was crushing and tearing and shifting his body as they tried to reshape him.
This is wrong, this is very wrong! Ingo’s mind screamed, his breathing picking up. His chest felt tight. He dragged his eyes to his throbbing hands, desperately trying to find some explanation for the pain he was in.
His hands looked wrong.
"Wh-what is this?" he breathed out, staring at them in disbelief. There was a strange, dark violet tint creeping its way over his hands and his fingers looked... Sharper, almost like claws. Shifting and changing shape with painful pops, fingers being forced together as it went.
And they were changing. It sounded insane, but he was certain his hands were changing.
A sharp, white-hot spike of pain from his head and back had him grasping at them with a startled cry and falling to his knees.
His hand caught on- something. Something that was growing from his head. His breath hitched painfully in his chest.
It was short, and a little bristly but quickly getting longer as he ran his changing hand along it. It felt like a feather, but why on earth was he growing a feather from his head?
"What- What is going on here?!" Ingo rasped. Forcing his eyes open (when had he closed them?) he saw more purple spreading over his skin in burning prickles. Burning prickles that bristled along his body and under his much too loose clothing.
His coat and tunic had fit fine before. Why was he suddenly swimming in them? The tunic was starting to slide loose, the belt slipping down his waist as it suddenly seemed too large to fit him. The legs of his slacks were pooling around his ankles, threatening to trip him if he took a wrong step.
Pulling his hand from his head, Ingo ran it over his changing arm, shoving up his hanging sleeve to try and see what was going on.
It looked like it was covered in… in fur.
No, it didn't just look like fur, it felt like it too. There was fur sprouting from his skin.
On the floor beside him, the little golden plane startled rattling, a faint glow coming from it. He didn’t pay it any mind, too focused on the painful, impossible sight of his changing self.
The throbbing pains in his body suddenly worsened, his vision nearly going black and ripping a pained groan from him.
“Help. I-I need help. But how?” He wheezed out, the pain creeping from his chest up to his throat and over his face. It felt like he was choking on his words. “I need… The flute. T-to call snezze- snnee- sneas-el. S-snea? Zzel?!”
He clasped a hand over his mouth in alarm. That-that didn’t… Those, those were the cries of a sneasel. Wh-why was he- why was he making those instead of…?
Panic building, he tried to force more words out but nothing human-sounding left him.
No. No, no, no! Wh-what’s going on, why is this happening?
The thought of his pokémon getting help shot through his mind and he tried to call out again. Praying that, even if he couldn’t understand the cries leaving him, his partners would. That they would hear and understand and get the help he desperately needed.
He heard noises from outside, like something scrambling over stone, and Ingo felt a flicker of hope. Someone was outside.
It had to be one of his team, or even Lady Sneasler herself. There was help coming. He could get help-
A blinding spike of pain in his head stopped him from thinking further, and he slumped to the floor with a cry. (The cry of a sneasel in distress.) The scrabbling outside became much louder.
There was a surge of light that would have blinded anyone that tried to look inside the hut and a moment of suffocating pressure that would have knocked the breath from any person close enough to feel it.
And when both vanished, they took the tiny dirty gold plane and Warden Ingo with them.
(Elsewhere in Ancient Hisui, a man who sought to become God screamed in fury.)
(The plan he’d hatched to claim victory over Arceus’ Chosen Hero by ridding himself of them had been foiled before it could begin. The key tool was lost to him forever, as it could only be used once before it became useless. And there were no others of it to be found, all of them lost to time or destroyed by those who didn’t know their true value.)
(All because of a former guildmate who had actually listened to the Legends he’d loved so dearly and remembered them. A guildmate who had then tried to use them to help another, without ever knowing the real reason he had sought that particular story out.)
(And would likely never know the results of their selfless act, or how it had gone wrong.)
.
.
Some post story side notes: The relic is based on the Quimbaya Golden Planes!
Since getting yeeted through time and space is apparently really common, some clever ancient person in Mycenean Greece (aka Ancient Ancient Hisui) decided to make something to put displaced people back where they're supposed to be without having to hunt down and appeal to the gods to do that.
At least, that was my idea for how and why the thing existed in the first place. Unfortunately, due to age and being left to the elements for so long, the Golden Plane didn’t quite do everything it was supposed to. And did a few things it wasn’t supposed to do.
Nanashi is an original character and the tool by which my McGuffin made it’s way to it’s victim. It took forever for me to come up with her name. Until I finally went, “I’ll just look up the word “Nameless” in another language and use that for her name.” So her name is literally just ‘Nameless’ in Japanese. XD
#transfer error au#sningo#sneasel ingo#ingo#subway boss ingo#warden ingo#pokemon#pkmn#legends arceus#pla#rosie writes#rosies fanfiction#fanfiction#tw body horror
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Two for the Show
Summary: Jeff plans for Harry’s new opening act to be more than that.
Genre: Famous Fake Dating!
Word Count: 17.1k!
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A/N: Hey babes!! This is something I’ve been working on since December now and I’m so fucking proud of it and how it turned out!!! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m so so so excited to hear what everyone has to say!! Giant thank you’s go out to the incredible soph (@theharriediaries) and Lu (@meetmymouth) bc this never would have come to fruition without them and their help!! Please let me know what you think!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist!! Happy reading y’all :)
***
Keeping appearances in the public eye is a delicate balance.
If Y/N was being honest with herself, everything Full Stop Management had ever suggested to her had worked, and very well. When they suggested her music took a more pop direction, they set her up with a team of fantastic producers and her music sales and popularity skyrocketed. And when they set up an appointment with a celebrity stylist to figure out her signature style, it worked; they turned her into the 1970’s inspired goddess she had always dreamed of being. Even the hours of media training that she had been put through worked, helping her learn how to bob and weave even the most intrusive of interview questions.
But this time, she thought they might be going too far.
“Jeff,” she began with a sigh and a doubtful shake of her head, “I don’t know about this one.”
“It’s just a few months before and during the tour,” explained the man sitting across from her at the long conference table. “You’ll be seen in public a few times to drum up publicity for the tour and your album, maybe do an interview or two together, and some light PDA.”
His expression was honest and earnest. In the time he had represented her, he had never done anything to her that didn’t help her succeed. It was not hard for her to believe that he just wanted what was best for her and her career.
But something kept holding her back.
“I just got my heart broken in the most public way,” she said softly, absentmindedly fiddling with the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring once sat. “Isn’t it a little too soon to be seen jumping back into a whirlwind romance?”
“I don’t think so. If anything, it will make James look even worse than he already does after what he did to you.” She had to admit the idea of a little revenge did perk her ears up a bit. “And it doesn’t hurt that Harry is so universally loved and known for being such a good guy.”
That was another reason she was skeptical of this entire plot. This was Harry Styles they were talking about; Harry fucking Styles. She had only met him once or twice while working out details for her to be the opening act for his upcoming tour, but she had been a big fan of his and idolized him since she was a teen. Just meeting him threw her inner 16 year old self for a loop, let alone trying to pretend she was in love with him.
In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be too hard on her end once she got over being starstruck; she wasn’t so sure she still wasn’t kind of in love with him, or at least the version the public saw.
“Listen,” Jeff began again, his voice taking on a bluntness, “no one cares about the opening act. No one bought tickets to see you; they’re there to see Harry.” His words stung but she knew it was the truth. “But if they think you are a part of Harry’s life, they care about you too. And they will keep on caring about you after they leave the show.” Her apprehensiveness must have been clear on her face when he put on a gentle smile. “He’s a really nice person. I promise.”
“I know,” she breathed, a small pout finding its way to her lips. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically to signal surrender. “I’m in.”
A triumphant grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I’ll go call Harry and tell him you’re down.” She watched as he got up from his chair and came towards her, pressing a brief and friendly kiss to the top of her head. “You won’t regret this, Y/N.”
“I better not, Azoff,” she chuckled while shaking her head slightly.
Soon she was alone in the conference room, basking in the light from the floor to ceiling windows that sat before her.
“What did I just get myself into?” she mumbled quietly to herself.
***
The answer to that question came two weeks later when she was sitting across a table from the Harry Styles at a small outdoor brunch spot in LA. Their meeting place was strategic, a small restaurant, not too flashy so it didn’t look like they were seeking attention, but outdoors where anyone could see. It was only a matter of time before he was recognized, and the sighting was almost guaranteed to be trending on Twitter only minutes later.
She couldn’t say that she wasn’t nervous. The inside of her mouth had been chewed raw and the bags under her eyes showed she had been having trouble sleeping in the nights leading up to their first appearance together. By the end of the day, she would most likely have countless articles written about her and possibly have millions of angry fangirls coming after her; even though their “relationship” wouldn’t be officially confirmed for a few weeks.
If all went to Jeff’s plan, she would become an A-lister overnight.
She stood in front of her closet for over an hour, trying on and taking off outfits before finally settling on her favorite pair of bright red corduroy flares and a crisp white textured halter top. She paired the outfit with a new pair of heeled leather boots. They were a flashy pair that were split down the middle, bright yellow on one side and white with yellow stars on the other, hoping Harry would appreciate the bold colors.
She meticulously did her makeup, sure to match her lipstick color exactly to the shade of her pants; and spent far too long in front of the mirror fussing with her hair, praying it would lay the way she wanted it to.
She knew that she was going to be photographed in some way shape or form, and with the fashion icon himself. She had to look good. He had been on the cover of Vogue for god’s sake.
When she finally arrived at the cafe, Harry sat quietly across from her. He looked casual, or as casual as Harry Styles gets. A yellow t-shirt, that was tight enough to look as if it was painted on, showed off his muscular chest and arms. His iconic tattoos illustrated his arms and she hoped he wouldn’t notice as she covertly tried to examine closely. He uncomfortably ran his palms down the legs of his high waisted denim flares that had been paired with his signature pearl necklace and ratty, but well loved, white vans.
And she couldn’t forget his rings. His signature gold ‘H’ and ‘S’ looked back at her as he gently grasped his flute filled to the brim with a mimosa, bringing it to his pink lips that were surrounded by the short stubble he had been wearing lately.
The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence, both seeming to down their mimosas quickly just because it was something to do with their hands and could occupy their lips so they didn’t have to talk.
To say she was panicking, wouldn’t be too much of an over exaggeration. She was sitting across from one of the world’s biggest stars, and as one of his biggest closeted fans. The things he could do for her career were astronomical and it was hard to ignore that, but she also had a hard time getting over the way his hair seemed to fall into perfect tousled curls and his dreamy green eyes.
She had been in love with him (or at least the idea of him) since she was 16. She couldn’t help it.
But the bottomless mimosas helped to break her anxiety, and apparently his as well, as they both began to feel a slight buzz.
“So how did Jeff end up talking you into this?” Harry eventually broke the silence, the alcohol lowering his naturally shy inhibitions just enough to kick off their conversation.
She let a playful eye roll take over her face before she began. “Oh Jeff,” she said jokingly, letting out a long sigh. “I was convinced somewhere in between ‘it’ll make your ex look bad’ and a stern ‘no one ever cares about the opening act,’” she chuckled, while sarcastically wagging her finger in the air, dramatically re-enacting his scolds.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth, letting out a dramatic ‘ouch.’ “He’s not always gentle, is he?” matching her chuckle.
“He knows where to hit you where it hurts,” she laughed, while nodding in agreement. “How did he convince you?”
“Coincidently, he also took a low blow involving my ex. I believe his words were ‘You wrote an entire album about her and haven’t dated anyone since and it makes you look kind of pathetic.’” He dramatically used air quotes and did his best impression of Jeff’s American accent. She couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted from her.
“Oh my goodness,” she let out through slightly buzzed giggles, “you definitely win.”
From that point, their conversation began to flow more easily, easing her anxiety as she learned he was generally easy to talk to. He laughed at her jokes, and she laughed at his. He really did have the calming and disarming quality that people always said he had, like could melt down any walls and convince you to be honest with him, even if you didn’t really want to be. She was shocked to find that she wanted him to genuinely be a friend to her so badly. He was just so nice and such a good listener.
Their conversation took a turn when Harry’s super power of knowing when his picture was being taken kicked in. “Give me your hand,” he said to her, diverting from the pleasant conversation they had been having about their families. “Don’t look but there’s someone across the street taking photos of us.”
His instructions brought her back to the reality that they weren’t really friends and that all of this was for show.
She brought her hand up to meet his, strategically resting on the side of the table that faced the street, giving the camera the best view. The cool metal of his hand full of rings felt good against her skin that had been baking in the hot LA sun and he passed his thumb over her knuckles with faux affection.
She couldn’t help but feel a dishonest weight pulling on her heart. She knew everything was going to plan and this was all for the best, but it also felt slightly wrong. She played with her small heart shaped earring to distract herself from the sinking feeling.
“Harry,” she began, knowing the people across the street were out of ear shot. Her voice brought his attention from her hand back up to her eyes. “Does this feel wrong to you at all?”
“How so?”
“It just feels dishonest, like we’re lying to millions of people, our–well, mostly your fans.” She couldn’t help but correct herself.
His eyes softened at her words, like he was taking in the innocence she still held onto after only being in the industry for a short time, compared to his decade in the spotlight.
“I try not to think of it as lying,” he spoke slowly after a moment of thinking. He nodded along softly to punctuate his words. “When you think about all this as lying, it starts to weigh pretty heavy on you as a person. I try to be as honest as possible in my music and daily life, but that’s not always what people want to see. They want a show that will entertain them, and it is our job to give it to them.”
“I see,” she mused.
They sat together for another hour or so, allowing their small mimosa buzz to wear off enough for them to drive the short distances to their homes. The pair eventually found their way back to a comfortable conversation, but Harry’s comment about being in the public eye still weighed on her.
Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if all of this was worth it. Y/N was a master at dodging a question and turning the charm to 10 when it was needed, but she wasn’t a liar and she definitely wasn’t an actress. She hoped she (or Jeff) hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew with all of this.
Harry eventually walked her back to her car that was parked a few blocks away, and while she was sure he was doing it for the cameras, she didn’t doubt that he would have done it even if they weren’t there. He just seemed like that kind of guy to her; caring and trustworthy.
“Thank you for a very nice date, Harry,” she said, winking and chuckling along with the extra emphasis she put on the last word.
“My pleasure,” he smiled down at her. He moved along with her as she walked to the driver's side door, opening it for her like a perfect gentleman. The two stood close, his body hovering over her’s as they stood inside the open door. Her heart rose to her throat as he leaned down to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her burning cheek.
Y/N looked back up at him with rosy cheeks and a tightlipped bashful smile. She watched as he walked backward carefully, taking her hand that had been locked with his until he was too far and let it fall back to her body.
She situated herself in her drivers seat and was ready to leave when she heard a knocking on the passenger side window that startled her. Harry had bent himself over and was motioning for her to roll the window down. When she did, he leaned himself in, an honest look in his eyes.
“Before you go,” he said gently. “A word of advice from someone who had been in the public eye for a long time,” he spoke with a tender yet serious tone, eyes locking with hers. “When you go home today, don’t go on social media. People are mean, and it’s just going to hurt.” She nodded along with his words and watched as he pinched his bottom lip. “And when you inevitably can’t resist, text me if you need to talk about it.”
***
They must have done a good job putting on their show because within an hour of her returning home to her apartment, they were all anyone was talking about. Their names were trending worldwide #1 on Twitter. Streams of Y/N’s debut album were up by 800%, and even Harry’s streams had taken a considerable jump. Y/N had gained 40,ooo new followers and views on every interview she had ever done were steadily rising.
All was going according to Jeff’s plan.
Harry’s words circled her brain for hours. “Don’t go on social media,” she heard him say over and over again as she paced her apartment, only stopping to look at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter every so often.
She had taken a shower, done her hair, tried to watch TV, cooked herself dinner, and even tried to sit down and write a song; it all got her nowhere fast. The unknown was eating at her inside.
Y/N broke when she heard the small ding signaling she had gotten a text message. She had all but sprinted to see who it was, reunited with the outside world through her touch screen. Unsurprisingly, it was from Jeff; the message sent to her and an unknown number she assumed to be Harry’s.
Good job, kiddos., was all it read but there was a photo attached to the message. Her heart stopped while she waited for the photo to load, cursing her slow wifi in the process. After a few breathless moments, the photo came through.
It was a screenshot from the website of one of the biggest entertainment magazines in the country. A picture of him kissing her cheek was the front page of the website.
Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N Rumored To Be Music’s New Power Couple Ahead of Tour
She was honestly speechless. This was huge.
She would like to say the sheer shock blurred her judgement, but the curiosity just got the better of her. Harry’s words repeated over and over again in her head, telling her not to, even as her finger connected with the icon of the little blue bird.
She was the most talked about topic in the entire world, her name hovering in bold letters on the trending page. She did everything she could to not click on her name, but her fingers did it all on her own.
The first few tweets were nice. Someone said they liked her style and that they looked cute together as a couple. Another said that they had always enjoyed her music and that they were happy for them.
But as she scrolled, it became harsher and just mean. People commented on her weight, said she couldn’t sing, and criticized her personality as seeming fake and forced. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unable to look away, as her heart began to break and few tears began to roll.
It took one final, and the most painful, tweet for her to consider deleting her account completely. She swiped out of the app fast, but the words were still burned into her brain.
Y/N is using Harry, just like she used James before he got rid of her and found someone better.
The words knocked the wind out of her, pouring salt on an open wound that had yet to heal.
She also had the little blue bird for that heartbreak as well. When she opened the app two months ago, the first thing she saw was pictures of her (former) fiance, James, with his tongue down some girl’s throat. At the time she had been devastated, her heart broken beyond repair.
It felt like no one else in the world could understand the way she was feeling. If she was in this position because of another person, they must get it too. The text to Harry was already sent before she had time to think it over.
I looked and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen.
His response came only seconds later.
Don’t be sorry. It’s hard not to. Are you alright?
She had to think about his question, unsure if she knew the answer. Tears were still running down her face and she felt like she was a target the entire world had decided it was open season on. Logically, she knew these people never thought she would see these awful things, but it didn’t excuse the hurt she felt when she did.
I don’t know. I just don’t understand how people can be so cruel.
She felt like she was bothering him, even though he had offered to be there for her. He wasn’t her best friend, or a close confidant; he was her fake publicity boyfriend. He had real friends he wanted to talk to or maybe even a real girlfriend underwraps somewhere. Her body was wracked with guilt as she thought it over.
People are just mean on the internet, okay? They think they can say whatever they want without repercussions. I’m so sorry that you are being targeted because of me.
Before she got a chance to think through a proper response to him, her phone dinged with another text. It was from Jeff again.
Really good job, kiddos.
Y/N was confused. They hadn’t done anything else but be seen together today. Her sick sense of curiosity got her again before she opened Twitter again and looked up Harry’s name. He had tweeted for the first time in six months only a few moments ago.
@Harry_Styles: We treat people with kindness.
***
The next time she saw him was two days later at yet another public meet up Jeff had arranged for them. Unfortunately this time, she had become just as famous as Harry seemingly overnight, the flames of her new found fame growing even larger after he had sent that tweet.
While the fame had grown, the hate had calmed since his statement, which most had taken as an official declaration of their relationship. Now, that was not to Jeff’s plans.
She had to fight her way out of her apartment complex, wearing a pair of massive dark sunglasses with circular lenses and shielding her face with her hands the best she could. But she did have to admit that the electric orange fabric of her jumpsuit probably didn’t do much to help her blend in and avoid the attention of the paparazzi that had now found out where she lived.
Harry was sitting at the table by himself facing the back of the cafe when she arrived, two cups of coffee waiting before him to be drank together placed delicately on the table. He had his head down, buried in a book, before she startled him with a hug from behind. Her cheek connected with his warm neck where she buried her head into him and she took in his dizzying cologne.
She felt him jump beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing a dramatic and cheesy kiss to his cheek, feeling his light stubble prick her chapsticked lips. “My hero,” she joked, trying to bring at least a little humor to the man who had just about jumped out of his skin at her touch.
It felt like she was crossing a boundary, and she was pretty sure she was, but she just needed to thank him and a hug felt like the best way to do that while in a semi-crowded coffee shop. Also, playing up that they were madly in love didn’t hurt.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, a hand flying over his chest in surprise to feel his racing heartbeat. “You scared the shit out of me.” Once he settled for a moment, his arm moved across his chest to rest on her arm. His touch was gentle and soft, holding her there gently like he didn’t want her to release him from her grasp. She tried not to think about it too much as she slipped her arms off of him, making her way to the seat that was clearly meant for her across from him.
“I’m sorry that I scared you. A little jumpy today?” she teasingly questioned.
“Hey, watch it,” he playfully threatened. “I believe you called me your hero about thirty seconds ago.”
“I guess I did,” she quipped over the mug she was bringing to her lips. It was sweet but not too sweet, with cream but not too much, and still piping hot; just the way she liked it. “I don’t think it’s too far off,” she smiled before turning back to the coffee. “Good coffee,” she mused. “Just the way I like it.”
“Good. I texted Jeff for your order,” he informed her, the gesture being so thoughtful and sweet she could have melted into a puddle right there and then. “And I think ‘hero’ might be a bit much,” he tacked on.
“Don’t be humble, Harry.” While her voice was still light and held a jesting tone, she meant her words. “You made the entire internet leave me alone, for the most part,” she clarified as there were definitely some nasty messages still floating around Twitter, “in five words.”
“It was the least I could do,” he said while shaking his head slightly, seeming to deflect her words.
“You could have done absolutely nothing.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand in hers like they had staged at the cafe a few days earlier; but this time, it was an honest gesture, not one for a role they were both meant to be playing. Her words were serious, punctuating each with a gentle nod of her head. “I mean it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes held the same truthfulness and honesty she hoped she was mirroring in her own. “I know all of this,” he paused and gestured between them with his free hand, “is for publicity, but I consider you a friend. It was hard to watch it all go down like that. You’re a good person and you didn’t deserve all that. I had to do something.”
There was a warmth that flooded her chest. He called me his friend, she thought to herself, fighting back a big toothy grin. She had been under the impression that all of this was just work for him, something he was doing just to drum up publicity, with no personal connections at all. But him calling her a friend meant so much to her. It meant she was not alone in all this terrifying and overwhelming attention.
“I’m glad you think of me as a friend,” she said, still holding back her smile. “You’re my friend too.” He matched her close-lipped smile that had fought its way onto her face at her words.
They sat in silence together for a few moments. Harry returned to his book and Y/N answered emails; but their hands stayed connected across the small table. This silence was very different from the silence on the day they first met. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that sat on your tongue, begging you to break the quiet; it was peaceful and safe.
Their silence was broken when a young woman wearing a jittery smile and nervous eyes approached their table. Her voice squeaked out a mouse-like “Hi,” towards the both of them, bringing their eyes up to meet hers and instinctively breaking their hands away from each other.
“I’m so so sorry to be a bother,” she began, cheeks red and hot. “But I’m a really big fan of both of you and I would never forgive myself if I didn’t say hello.” She rambled excitedly, mostly looking at Harry, as she held her slightly shaky hands up to her chest.
“Hello,” Harry said with one of his million dollar smiles. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Emma,” she breathed.
“Well, it’s so nice to meet you Emma.” He spoke gently with her, clearly sensing her anxiety, extending his hand for her to shake. “Thank you for all of your support.”
Y/N watched closely as he spoke with her. He spoke to her like she was the only person in the room, giving her his whole undivided attention, and repeatedly thanking her as she flooded him with compliments about how his music and message of kindness meant so much to her. She was so entranced that she nearly didn’t hear her own name being said as the girl turned towards her.
“I love your music as well,” she grinned, clearly more comfortable after her short conversation with Harry. “And your jumpsuit is just incredible.” Her nervous giggle was contagious, Y/N releasing one as well at the compliment as her cheeks heated slightly. She was shocked she even knew any of her music, clearly being the less popular of the pair.
“Thank you so much, Emma. It means a lot.”
Emma took a few quick selfies with the both of them (that would be everywhere within a few hours), said goodbye and went to leave the two, but not before she paid them one last compliment. “You two are really cute together. I’m rooting for you.”
Both of their cheeks warmed as they looked back at each other. They were quiet for a moment, unsure how to respond, before Harry turned his attention back to the girl with a coy smile. “I am too,” was all he said.
***
The next three weeks passed in a blur of tour rehearsals, fittings, and public meetings with Harry. And then all of a sudden, it was the night of the first show.
Y/N had never been so nervous in her entire life. She would be the first face seen by just over 19,000 people, tasked to warm up the crowd and prepare them for Harry, which was enough pressure. And then there was the chance that they all hated her guts.
She stood behind the curtain, listening to the loud and inpatient crowd as she paced back and forth. She white-knuckeld her guitar, trying to keep her violently shaking hands from being too visible to the crew around her. Her stomach swirled and her palms were clammy, constantly having to rub them on the pants of her icey blue jumpsuit. It fit her like a glove, the wide legged pants and slight shoulder pads, creating a perfect hourglass silhouette; the only thing she was confident in at the moment was how good she looked in it.
Her heart leapt out of her chest and she almost hit the ceiling when a small voice appeared over her shoulder, whispering “You’re going to do great,” in her ear. If her heart wasn’t about to give out before, it was now. She swung around to face him, almost hitting Harry with her guitar, letting out a small breath of relief when her eyes met his own. They always seemed to calm her down a bit.
“I’m kinda freaking out, H,” she anxiously babbled, using the nickname he had told her to call him. “This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever played in front of, and they probably all hate me because they think I’m dating you, and I have to make sure I do a good job so they start listening to my music; and I just…” she trailed off for a second, uncomfortably scratching the back of her neck, “I just can’t let you down.”
His face softened at her words, seeming to take pity on her. “Y/N,” he began, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking so deep into her eyes she felt like he could probably see her soul. “We picked you to open because people love your music and the way that you perform. You just have to go out there and do what you do best: sing your heart out and put on a good show. It’s only 25 minutes. I know you can do it.”
Every word that left his lips was laced with honesty and encouragement; just enough for Y/N to relax her furrowed brow and give her lip a break from her constant chewing. “I can do it,” she softly repeated back to him, still not breaking contact with his striking green eyes.
A stage manager passed by them, running to some other important task, but not before tapping her shoulder. “You’re on in 30 seconds,” he spoke, just as she heard the roar of the crowd begin, signalling the dimming of the lights in the arena.
“Go kick some ass,” he winked, stepping backwards from her and releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll be watching.”
Walking on stage, she wasn’t met with ‘boo’s that had plagued her nightmares, or mean looks from the audience, or rotten tomatoes thrown from the crowd.
They were screaming in excitement, screaming for her.
From the second she started playing, the crowd had her back; the ones that knew the words to her songs sang them along with her, and the ones that didn’t, happily danced to her voice. Before long, the smile she had forced onto her face was genuine, and her set passed by with ease. When her 25 minutes were up, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get off the stage.
She took her final bow as the crowd roared, running off of the stage into the wings, looking for one person in particular. And when she found him, she threw herself into Harry’s open and waiting arms. “I told you that you were going to do great!” He spoke excitedly into her ear and he held her close to his body, his arms wrapped around her waist tight.
She liked the way it felt to be in his arms.
Pulling away from him, she saw the massive grin that he wore for her, noting how adorable his dimples were and how the excited look in his eyes made him look like a little kid. But there was more to his face than excitement, he looked proud.
“They were so nice to me, and they knew my songs, and they were screaming so loud for me, and it just went so well. I can’t believe it!” Her previous anxious chatter had become an exhilarated rambling and she felt on top of the world.
“I can,” he grinned, looking down at his watch quickly. “I have to go get changed.” If she wasn’t so amped up, she might have noticed the disappointment that flashed over his features. “Promise me you’ll watch the show?”
“Pinky swear?” She stuck up her little finger in the air.
“Pinky swear.” He kept their pinkies locked for a moment too long, then released her hand and ran backstage to get dressed.
She kept her promise and watched with excitement as the building shook when Harry took the stage.
She had never heard something quite so loud, sure her ears would be ringing when she snuggled into her bunk on the tour bus that night. Watching him perform was mesmerizing; he knew how to work a stage in every way and make every person in the arena feel like he was singing just for them. He was larger than life while performing and his little dances and mannerisms only got more pronounced the more comfortable he got on stage. He messed with Mitch, who she had only met a few hours ago (he was very nice), and constantly praised Sarah on the drums behind him, while he looked over to Adam and sent him smiles often.
Everyone in the building came for a show, and boy, did he give them one. It was amazing to watch. There was a reason she was a fan.
Bouncing off the stage, full of adrenaline and in a post-show high, he came to find her. It wasn’t hard, as she had never left her spot on the side of the stage, unable to rip her eyes away from the man before her.
“Oh my god, Harry! That was incredible!” she said with delighted amazement.
“I’m glad you liked it.” He was smiling down at her with a big toothy grin, a hand running through his sweaty hair and pushing it off his forehead. “They only get better from here.”
***
He was telling the truth. The shows only got crazier and more exciting as the tour went on, and so did their “relationship.”
About five shows in, Jeff had Harry given her his “H” ring to start wearing. Harry didn’t seem too phased by it all even though she thought it might be too much, saying “it’s like a friendship bracelet.” But it was too big for her fingers, not because she had small hands, but because Harry’s were absolutely massive. She wore it on a chain around her neck from then on and made sure to always be seen playing with it.
Fans took notice and loved it.
A little after that, Jeff sent them off to get matching manicures. Both had a melting rainbow of oranges, pinks, and browns on their fingertips, which looked amazing in the paparazzi photos of them walking around with their fingers intertwined.
The fans loved that too.
But when she “accidentally” posted a photo of Harry on her story, the entire world lost it’s shit. In the photo, he laid sprawled across a bed in only a white hotel robe that was creeping dangerously high up his thigh. He looked sleepy and slightly sweaty, in a post-fuck haze, and clothes that looked very similar to ones she had been seen wearing in public only days before were strewn across the floor. The caption read “I love getting to love you.”
The photo had strategically only been up for about 30 seconds, but by the time it was deleted thousands of people had seen it and screenshots had been taken. They quickly circulated the internet, creating a bit of scandal. But more than anything, people began to love the two of them together even more. Harry looked genuinely happy in the photo, and for most of his fans, that was all that mattered.
They were creating a fairytale love story for an audience, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying her role. She quite liked being his “girlfriend.”
Harry and Y/N had a way of clicking as they grew closer–quite literally as they were crammed together on a tour bus most of the time. They seemed to be able to finish each other’s sentences and always beat the other to the punchline of a joke. The pair had begun to pick up on the other’s mannerisms and habits; Y/N always teasing that Harry was going to rub his nose off one day if he kept rubbing it while he was thinking and Harry always knowing when she got enough sleep by whether or not she had put on eyeliner that morning. They swapped playlists back and forth in their bunks as they tried to doze off and always grabbed a cup of coffee for whoever had decided to sleep in the next day, now knowing the other’s order by heart.
There was only one thing she didn’t know about him that she longed to discover: what his lips felt like against her own. She could never think too hard about it though, or she may just explode.
He had become a calming presence and was currently helping her keep her cool, even though she knew the pair of interviewers across the table were getting ready to grill the pair for every detail they could get. His hand had settled on top of her knee to quell it’s nervous bouncing, but remained after she had stopped, even though no one could see his touch under the table. She watched as his thumb ran itself back and forth along the leg of her flashy orange and yellow patterned overalls and she had a hard time pulling her gaze away when the radio host across the large table began to speak.
“So Harry,” the bald man began. “Fine Line has been one of the biggest albums of the year and I just have to say I love it. It’s truly incredible.” She listened as the man continued on to sing Harry’s praises, going on to list his grammy nominations, sold out world tour, and other accolades. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched his cheeks tinge pink with the praise. She knew anyone watching would pick up on her adoring look and people fawn over it, but she knew her gaze was nothing but truthful.
“Thank you very much,” he said shyly, shaking his head slightly as he spoke into the microphone suspended in front of his face. “You’re too kind.”
“Stop being humble,” she teased him, playfully tapping him on the arm. “All of his music is fantastic,” she said turning her attention back to the man across from them, “especially Fine Line.”
“And there’s Y/N, being the supportive girlfriend,” the man chuckled.
“I support him in everything he does,” she smiled back, not having to embellish the truth at all. “He is an amazing talent and I think Fine Line shows that.”
It wasn’t hard for her to gush about him. It was actually quite easy. She absolutely adored him, as an artist, a friend, and the focus of her affection. She felt an equal warmth in her cheeks as she watched his get even pinker with her compliments.
“That’s actually something we wanted to ask you about,” the blonde woman sitting next to him piped up, a mischievous glint in her eyes that sent nervous butterflies flying around Y/N’s stomach. “One of the songs on Fine Line, Cherry to be specific, actually features the voice of Harry’s ex, Camille. How does that make you feel as his new girl?”
Y/N did her best not to gag at the woman’s question, gritting her teeth as she plastered on a polite smile. “Well, I think Cherry is a really great song and her voice at the end adds a lot,” she spoke as smoothly as she could, refusing to let on that the question rattled her. Harry’s light squeeze on her knee signalled to her that she had answered the question well.
“It’s also been three years since the song was written,” Harry cut in. “Things are obviously a lot different now.” He connected their eyes for a second while he was leaning back into his seat, sending her a short smile, but she knew him well enough to know it was genuine.
“Oh, definitely,” the woman eagerly agreed. “You’re in a great new relationship with a beautiful girl on your arm.”
“Y/N,” he emphasized her name as the woman had referred to her as a possession of his for a second time, “and I are very happy. Thank you.” To an onlooker, he was calm. To her, he was visibly uncomfortable by her words.
Y/N began to notice a clear pattern as the interview went on. Harry was asked exclusively about his music and the tour, while Y/N only became relevant to their interviewers when they wanted to mention their relationship.
When the man asked Y/N if she felt uncomfortable playing to Harry’s mainly female fanbase every night that are “so obviously jealous of her,” something snapped inside of her, sending all her hours of media training out the window.
“I’m not uncomfortable at all,” she said curtly. “His music is great and he puts on an awesome show. I don’t think the audience’s gender really has anything to do with the music.” She watched the man’s face fall before she decided to go on. “And I would like to think that at least a few of them are there for me too. You do know I make music too, right?”
An indignant smirk found its way to her lips as the man stammered out, “yes, of course.”
“Okay. I was just wondering since you have only asked me questions about our relationship since we got here.”
She knew Jeff wouldn’t be happy, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less. They may not have really been dating, but the interviewers didn’t know that. All of their dismissal of her and her career was 100% real.
She had been so worked up that she didn’t even realize Harry’s hand had left her knee until it found its way to rest on her back. She leaned into his touch as he rubbed her back softly while she crossed her arms in front of her.
The interviewers looked at the two of them across the table, jaws both lying on the floor. It was quiet until Harry nonchalantly spoke. “She has a point.”
The last few minutes of the interview passed in an awkward blur that felt suffocating. She felt like she could finally take in a deep breath once they were in the back of a massive SUV being driven away from the studio.
“Jeff is going to have my head,” she mumbled under her breath, nose stuck into her phone as she scrolled Twitter to see what people were saying about her outburst. But before she could read any opinions, Harry's tattooed arm blocked her view as he gently pushed her phone down onto her lap.
“Look at me,” he murmured, beckoning her attention to the other side of the back seat. When she connected her eyes with his, his usual calming aura took over her, softening the stressed crease between her brows. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Harry, I just blew my career up into smoke because I couldn’t deal with a rude interviewer,” she huffed at him.
“No,” he disagreed softly, moving the hand that rested on her arms to interlock his fingers with one of hers. “You stuck up for yourself to people who were ignoring your work and whittling you down to your relationship.”
“But it was rude.”
“It was necessary.”
The car ride to the venue for that night’s concert was quiet, but Harry never let go of her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting touch. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted him to let go.
***
It was the early hours of the morning by the time the pair returned to their tour bus and went to crawl into their bunks.
Her performance had gone well and Harry was mesmerizing (as always). He was truly hypnotizing to watch while he performed and she hadn’t missed watching him yet, even as they drew close to the end of the tour. It was the best part of her day and she would miss it dearly after the last show.
She was almost asleep, curtain drawn and cuddled under a pile of blankets, when her cell began to ring. Her heart sank, knowing only one person who would know when she had a sliver of free time (even though it’s debatable if sleeping counts as free time). She was going to get scolded like she was a little kid in the principal's office and she knew it.
“Hi Jeff,” she answered with a sigh as she pulled the curtain back and slid from the bunk, the cold air of the tour bus nipping at her legs.
Her gaze was met by a snuggled up Harry wearing a concerned face across from her in his own bed. He never closed the curtain, not even when she asked politely to muffle his snores, always saying something about how it made him claustrophobic. He sent her a tired smile and mouthed “good luck,” extending a hand for a fist bump as she passed. Knocking their knuckles together put a brief smile on her face before she buckled in for the chewing out she was about to get.
Harry watched her intently as she paced up and down the front of the tour bus as she spoke to Jeff, too far away for him to listen in. Her face gradually turned from anxious, to surprised, to something that would have probably been happiness if she wasn’t so tired.
“Alright, thank you for everything.” She spoke softly when she finally returned to be within earshot for him. “Goodnight Jeff.”
“So?” he murmured groggily at her, brows raised in question at her.
“People loved it,” she said shocked, like she didn’t fully believe it herself. “They think I’m some kind of badass for shutting down a sexist. Which is, like, a lot,” she spoke with a disbelieving chuckle, unable to find the right words in her groggy state. “I don’t really know what to make of it.”
Harry seemed to spring up from his spot in his bed, smacking his head on the top of the bunk in the process, prompting them both to dissolve into a puddle of giggles.
“Don’t get too excited for me,” she laughed. “I cannot be the reason that you hurt yourself and have to cancel a show.”
“I was just too excited to say ‘I told you so,’” he smirked, now rubbing the side of his head through his curls.
“Cocky bastard,” she sarcastically murmured under her breath while dramatically rolling her eyes.
She watched with confusion as Harry left his bed, and after a short and frantic search for his pajama pants so he wouldn’t “offend her eyes,” he moved towards the front of the bus. Her eyes trailed him as he bent down to the small mini fridge and pulled out two beers.
“We have to celebrate.”
It was 2 AM and she had been so ready for bed after a long day. But she knew she could never say no to him. She thanked god that they had a day off tomorrow.
After retrieving her massive and lovingly worn Grateful Dead sweatshirt to protect her from the chilly air, she nearly ran to the front of the bus. His painted pink fingers moved with skill as he popped the bottle caps off with one of his rings, handing it to her and gently nudging his bottle against hers.
“Cheers,” he murmured softly as he looked down at her with a kindhearted smile.
“Cheers,” she seemed to whisper back to him, a flutter in her stomach reminding her how badly she wanted to reach out and connect her lips to his. Instead she slid into the small booth across from him, taking a long sip from the bottle as she watched him do the same.
“I want you to know that I was really proud of you today,” he said as he put his beer down on the table. “Rude interviewers are never easy and you handled it like a champ.”
“Thank you, H,” she nodded, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact with him. Her cheeks burned hot as she put all her focus into tracing the rim of the bottle with her finger tip.
“Hey,” he called for her attention and her eyes snapped up to meet his. “I mean it, Y/N.”
“I know you do,” she gently nodded at him. “I’m just really happy they didn’t ask about my ex,” she chuckled as she took another sip. “That would have gone very poorly.”
“Oh yeah, I was a little annoyed they brought up my ex but not yours,” he teased. “Not fair if you ask me.”
“Well, then I’m glad no one asked you.”
“Can I ask you?”
“What?”
“About your ex.”
She should have been prepared to talk about it with Harry at some point. Half of this plan had been devised to get back at James anyway. She should be able to talk about it by now, especially with someone she had grown so close to.
“I guess so,” she shrugged, trying to seem casual like the mere mention of him didn’t still hurt her heart a little bit. “What do you want to know?”
“As much as you’re willing to tell me.”
He looked soft like this, eyes slightly sleepy with a tenderness in them as he looked back at her. His hair was unruly and puffy and he was wrapped in the powder blue blanket that lived on the tour bus’ couch. She would have told him anything that he ever wanted to hear if he kept looking like this.
With a deep breath, she began to recount everything that went down.
“I met James while I was still working as a waitress. I recognized him from his movies and started a conversation, and then–to my surprise–he asked me out on a date. I had been in LA for three weeks and this insanely famous actor is asking me to go out with him, so I obviously said yes.” She paused to take a swig of her beer, before mumbling under her breath, “I should have said ‘fuck no’ to that.”
A smile ghosted over her lips as she listened to Harry’s laugh across the table. She swore that laugh could cure cancer.
“But I didn’t,” she continued. “He introduced me to the right people and helped me make the right connections in the industry, which I guess made me feel indebted to him. Does that make sense?”
“Of course,” Harry nodded, eyebrows furrowed and listening intently.
“I should have broken up with him after I signed with Jeff and the label, however awful that sounds. But he just always knew the right things to say to make me feel special and like I was the most important person in the world. Even after I found out he was talking to other girls, he was somehow able to talk himself out of it.” She shook her head as she recalled it. “You wanna hear something fucked up?”
“Always,” he said with a gentle smirk.
“He proposed to me using lines from a romcom he was working on.”
Harry nearly spit out his drink. “Holy shit, you’re kidding!”
“I wish. I didn’t find out until I went with him to the premier a few months later and the proposal scene sounded surprisingly familiar.”
“What a dirtbag.”
“I know, right?” she laughed. “Then a few weeks after that, he got papped with his tongue down another girl’s throat. That finally knocked some sense into me and I ran for the hills.”
“Fuck,” he sighed as he finished his beer. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I don’t even feel hurt by him anymore, ya know? I just feel angry at myself for trusting him.”
“I understand but it’s not your fault he was a piece of shit,” he said as he rose from his seat and traveled to the mini fridge once again. “Another?” he asked, holding the bottle up about his head.
“Fuck it,” she shrugged. “Sure.”
She watched him skillfully pop off the tops again using just his rings, making a mental note to make him teach her how he did that, before he flopped back down in his seat.
“At the risk of sounding like a Facebook mom, ‘you grow through what you go through,’” she chuckled, taking another long sip as she finished her first. He matched her high pitched giggle across the table and she nearly drooled beer down her front from smiling so wide.
“Amen, sister,” he agreed, raising his beer in the air.
“Oh, that was awful.” She shook her head as she descended into giggles. “Please never say that again.”
“Noted.”
“Anyway,” she began again after another sip of her drink, “I was well prepared to get my heartbroken by untrustworthy men after you, Styles.”
“I’m offended–tell me more,” he spoke quickly, his signature narcissistic smirk settling onto his features.
“I need you to know that Zayn leaving was my first real heartbreak.”
“Were the rest of us chopped liver?”
“You weren’t Zayn, I can tell you that.”
“Ouch!” He let out a loud belly laugh.
“Put yourself in my shoes for a minute, H. So first, the hottest-”
“Rude-”
“-I’m speaking. So the hottest one leaves, and then the rest of you are all like ‘we’ll be back in 18 months,’” she mocked him in a high pitched impersonation with a wave, “and then 6 months later you all mysteriously have solo careers.”
“I do not see you complaining about my solo career now, ya fame leetch.” He spoke with such humor and charisma, she couldn’t have even wished to be offended by his joke.
“Absolutely not, sir,” she said sternly, giving him a dramatic salute. “Deepest apologies from the fame leetch.” The two collapsed into giggles, laughing until their sides began to ache.
“Wait, I have a question for mega superstar Mr. Harry Styles of former One Direction fame,” she announced.
“I believe that’s me,” he bowed his head and raised his hand into the hair. “Shoot.”
She barely could get the question out, laughing too hard at her own joke. “Is Taylor Swift a good kisser?”
“Oh god,” he exasperatedly threw his hands in the air, chuckling while rolling his eyes dramatically before grinning wide as he thought over his answer. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he finally smirked.
“Wait, I have another!”
“Watch it, smart ass.”
“You think I’m smart?” she teased as she feigned flattery. “Have you ever heard of a song called ‘English Love Affair?’” He narrowed his eyes at her, a knowing smirk crossing his lips as he shook his head at her. “Also, when do I get to meet Gemma?”
“I’ll consider it when you stop bringing up her sex life, perv.”
“We’ve been dating for a few months now,” she teased as she continued to prod, emboldened by the liquid courage running through her veins as she was now half way through her next beer. “I think I should be allowed to meet the family soon. They seem delightful.”
“They would love how you have decided to rip into me like this,” he said with a cheeky smile, dimples on full display.
“Rockstars have to get knocked down a peg every once in a while.” She sarcastically shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”
She couldn’t help but think about how right this felt. Their back and forth flowed so smoothly, the banter falling from their lips without effort. Their laughter joined together in a delightful melody and she imagined they could go on this way all night.
Spending any amount of time with him made her so fucking happy; and time spent teasing each other over beers caused her to nearly explode with joy. How much she was enjoying herself was too hard to put into words.
He was safe and he was kind and he made her laugh no matter how bad his jokes were.
He was her best friend.
And for the first time, she was willing to admit that she was in love with him.
“Harry,” she hummed softly as their laughter died down to a comfortable silence. “Thank you for everything. You’ve changed my life forever and I can never repay you.”
“Just remember me when you get famous.”
“Oh shut up, I’m being serious,” she playfully scolded before letting her tone drop back into honesty. “You’re a very good person and I’m eternally grateful for you letting me be your opening act and then agreeing to this whole relationship charade.”
“I didn’t ‘let’ you be anything, Y/N. I picked you myself.”
Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I listened to your album when it came out and fell in love with it,” he shrugged, his casual tone contradicting the surprised raise of her pulse. “When I found out Jeff also managed you, I knew I had to have you on the tour.”
Y/N was honestly stunned. She had always assumed that the tour was Jeff’s doing, a careful arrangement pairing Full Stop’s new up-and-comer with their most famous and established talent. Being offered the tour had been the biggest opportunity and honor she had ever been presented with; but she had never considered Harry himself being behind it.
“Oh,” was all she could manage to get out.
It was now his turn to be confused. “What’s so surprising about that?” he asked, reading the shock on her face like she was an open book.
“I just,” she stammered, trying to find the words in her slightly hazy state. “I never would have thought you knew who I was or listened to my music.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” she trailed off. “You’re you, and I’m just... me, I guess.”
He didn’t respond right away, just looking at her intently and slightly amused, sea glass eyes boring into her with a pink lip held between his teeth.
He scanned her frame, from the way her hair sat messily on top of her head and the way the massive sweatshirt swallowed her body enough to where she had pulled her knees up to her chest underneath it. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, making her appear smaller as she held her legs close to her torso and her eyebrows were knitted together in worry, slightly nervous under his intense gaze.
She downed the rest of her beer in an attempt to forget his intense attention. It didn’t work.
“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he finally asked, the corner of his lips twitching into a small smile.
She felt her whole body burn with his compliment, wanting to shrink into herself and disappear completely from his view. She finally shook her head slightly in an attempt to deflect his words, breathing his name under her breath as if to scold him for being too kind.
“You are,” he insisted, ignoring her objection. “You’re so talented and your music deserves all the attention that it gets. I am honored that I get to play a part in helping expose the world to you and what you have to offer.”
“Thank you.” Her words came out as a whisper.
“You’re welcome, love.”
His pet name made her stomach turn in a nervous excitement and a wide grin involuntarily came to her lips.
“I like it when I make you smile like that.” His words only made her beam further. “You look very pretty when you smile.”
“Stop it,” she said softly, cheeks burning hot and having a hard time making eye contact with him.
“Stop what?” He feigned innocence as he lightly teased her, smirk still prominent on his features.
“Are you flirting with me, Styles?”
“Just practicing.”
His words rang through her mind long after they had left the table and crawled back into their bunks for the night. She wished she could see inside his head to understand whatever thoughts were running around his brain.
But for now she could just peak at him through the gap she had purposely left in her curtain, wondering if she ever popped into his dreams as he slept.
He was always in hers.
***
There was a sadness mixed in with her usually thrilled mood as she took the stage for the last show of the tour. While there was an element of relief as she looked forward to some well needed rest, the adrenaline and joy of being in front of a crowd was something that she would miss dearly. She had grown into a real performer over the last two months as they zig-zagged across the US and this period of time would have a special place in her heart long after it had ended.
But there was another reason why she was so sad to see this chapter come to an end. As far as she knew, a staged breakup was not far away and the thought of being without Harry was heartbreaking. He had become her person and soon their feux falling out would be on the front page of every magazine. She wanted nothing more in the world than for their relationship to be real, but it would be forced to end before it had even truely started.
She got choked up as she sang her final song that night, letting a few tears escape as she took in the thousands of people singing her lyrics back to her, flashlights swaying in the air to the beat of the music. Taking a move from Harry’s own playbook, she took her mic and directed it to the crowd to sing as she cried. The vibrations of the drums and bass behind her nestled it’s way into her bones and the chorus of singing voices in the crowd surrounded her in a bittersweet melody.
The past two months she had been on top of the world, and as soon as this song finished, it was the beginning of the end.
She took her final bow, watching as the small tears fell forward onto the dusty stage below her. She waved and blew kisses to the crowd, then nearly ran off the stage looking for the only person she wanted to see.
Harry was right where he always was, just out of view behind the curtain, holding his arms out for her to fall into.
“Awe, babe,” he hummed sympathetically when she settled her head onto his chest, surely ruining his crisp white t-shirt with her now wet makeup. “It’s okay. Final shows are always tough.” He rubbed her back gently, in a soothing rhythm.
He smelled so good. He smelled like home.
She tilted her head up to connect her glassy eyes with his. “I just don’t want this all to end.” She knew she wasn’t just talking about the tour.
“Neither do I,” he said as his lips curved into a devilish smirk that sent her heart into palpitations. “That’s why I have one last surprise for you.”
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed while wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks. “What have you done?”
“You said you liked surprises!” he defended.
“Not surprises in front of 20,000 people!”
“I promise you’re going to love this one, okay?” His voice was softer now, encouraging and supportive. “You’re going to come out and sing an extra song with me during my set,” he revealed.
“Sing what?”
“That’s the surprise.”
“Do I even know the words?”
“You definitely know the words,” he chuckled.
“I just finished sobbing. I can’t go out there like this.”
“You can fix your makeup. I believe in you.”
“What am I going to wear?” she asked, grasping at straws at this point, doing anything she could to get out of this.
“I had Lambert put something together for you.”
“Of course you did.”
She peppered him with a few more questions, but he had a smooth and charming answer to every single one. He had thought every detail out, and as always, she couldn’t say no to him.
“Fine,” she finally exasperatedly agreed, immediately met with his excited and dimpled smile that she had fallen head over heels for.
“Perfect,” he breathed. “I have to go get ready and so do you. I already put everything you need in your dressing room, okay?” She nodded, still biting her lip anxiously. He held her by her shoulders, lowering his head to match their eye level as he leaned in close, before he spoke. “You’re going to have fun. I promise.”
“Pinky swear?”
“Pinky swear.”
Seconds after they locked their little fingers together, he pressed a quick and protective kiss to her forehead that set her whole body ablaze before running off in the direction of his dressing room. She remained stunned and frozen in her spot for a few moments trying to process what it felt like to have his lips on her for the first time since that very first day they had met.
There was no audience to perform it for or an act to keep up behind the curtain. He kissed her because he wanted to.
She was finally snapped out of her daze when a stagehand bumped into her by accident, prompting her to begin the short walk back to her dressing room. But the ghost of his lips remained on her forehead, an incessant tingle placed there by his touch.
The dress she found waiting for her was one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever set her eyes on. Made of a light purple chiffon, the wrap dress’ long sleeves and floor length skirt flowed freely. A belt cinched the wispy fabric close to her waist and a deep-v exposed her neck and chest. But the most dazzling part of the dress were the red sequined hearts that dotted the fabric and reflected the light of the dressing room like a million little mirrors.
Slipping into it, the light fabric was soft against her skin, opaque enough but still slightly sheer to let light through and show off her legs and the bright red shiny pumps Lambert had left for her. She felt the most beautiful she had ever felt in this dress, boosting her confidence and quelling her nerves about whatever the hell Harry was planning.
“One minute to curtain,” was announced in an ominous voice over the arena’s backstage speakers as she finished fixing her makeup and she all but ran to make it back to the stage in time. She only had one more chance to watch him perform and she refused to miss a second of it.
Harry dazzled as the lights focused in on him, his deep blue and fully sequined suit reflecting the light and turning him into a human disco ball. He stood close to the edge of the stage as the beginning notes of the first song began being played by the band, but he made no move towards his mic stand to sing. His eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched to the audience, taking in every scream, every tear, and the thunderous shake of the building; but also giving himself to them.
Then the show began. As usual, he was electric, but tonight was like he had turned himself up to eleven. Every note he sang was full of his heart and every dance move was done with his entire body, even his bad jokes seemed funnier tonight.
She was so mesmerized she almost forgot about his ‘surprise.’ Almost.
“Since tonight is unfortunately our last show,” he pouted. “I thought I would do something special,” he spoke to the crowd as they roared, but quickly connected his eyes with her’s in the wings. By the smirk plastered on his face, she knew she was in for it.
“I recently found out that someone very close to me was a very big fan of…” he trailed off as he dramatically pretended to search for the right words, “my previous work.” He finished with a smirk and his words prompted the loudest reaction since he had been on stage.
“Now, I told her that she would be coming on stage to join me tonight, but I didn’t exactly tell her what we would be singing and I haven’t performed this song in a very long time, so cut us some slack if we mess up. This is very unrehearsed.” He kept sneaking glances back to her, as her eyes grew wider at the stunt he was currently pulling. “But I know for a fact that she knows all the words. I listen to her sing them in the shower quite often.” He wore a cheeky dimpled grin as he looked back at her once again.
The building was shaking due to the suspense he was creating, and looking down at her hands, she realized she was to. She gripped hard onto the mic a stagehand had just shoved at her, pleading with her hands to stop their tremors.
“Now, I would love it if you could all give another warm welcome to one of my favorite people on the planet, Y/N Y/L/N!” He turned his body to her for a final time, extending his hand out for her to take. Her legs felt like jello as she walked out into the bright lights towards him, interlocking her fingers with his as a way to keep her on her feet.
The audience’s screams were deafening at seeing the two of them together and she thanked god she had her earpieces in to protect her ear drums or they would have surely burst. She could only imagine the articles that would be written about this and the thousands of tweets that were probably already being sent.
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she mouthed at him threateningly, but she couldn’t even get through the sentence before his dazzling smile began to quell her anxiety.
“The look on your face is 100% worth getting my ass kicked,” he answered smoothly before turning his attention back to the audience. “Everyone, sing along if you know the words,” he commanded their attention. “This is Ready to Run.”
Her jaw dropped and the crowd roared as the band behind her began to play the first few chords of the song she loved and knew so well. She had admitted it a few days ago that it was one of her favorites of his ‘previous work,’ but apparently he already knew that from the few showers she had taken on the tour bus.
“There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny,” he began by himself, her brain still too shocked to jump in yet. He sang the first few lines to her with a giant grin plastered on his face, hand still holding tight to hers. His eyes had a playful glint in them that seemed to say ‘just have fun.’
“There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me,” she finally began to sing, Harry fading his voice out so she could take the next few lines by herself as he admired her.
He did have a devilish smile, but it was one she loved with her entire heart. As she began to sing, she felt her muscles begin to relax into the song she had sung to herself so many times before, letting her body begin to bounce to the growing rhythm as her dress flowed around her.
The stage vibrated as Sarah beat her drums to introduce the chorus. “This time I’m ready to run, escape from the city and follow the sun,” the pair sang together, eyes still locked as their voices combined into the most perfect tune. “Cause I wanna be yours, don’t you wanna be mine?” they continued the lyrics. She felt herself meaning the words leaving her mouth more and more as they went on. She did want to be his, she couldn’t deny that. “I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night.”
Her apprehensiveness eased further as the music picked up and the hook went on, finally allowing herself to have a bit of fun. “Wherever you are is the place I belong,” they insisted towards each other, leaning in close before Harry grabbed her hand to dramatically spin her, the beautiful shining fabric of her dress splaying out around her. The next line was mumbled through giggles by both of them, but their laughter only added to the perfect moment they were having.
They danced across the stage together like there weren’t 20,ooo pairs of eyes watching them, both singing their hearts out to each other. It began to feel like they weren’t even there. It was just Y/N and Harry, serenading each other to one of her favorite songs.
“There’s a future in my eyes I can’t foresee,” she sang to him to start the second verse.
“Unless, of course, I stay on course and keep you next to me.” Harry grabbed her by her waist and pulled her into his side as he sang the words, prompting more giggles from her. She loved the way he smiled so wide as he sang, never breaking his eye contact with her and emitting pure joy. His eyes looked honest as he sang, like he meant every word just as much as she did.
The pair made their way through the rest of the verse and second chorus, flawlessly moving around the stage like they owned it. Y/N selfishly decided to let him have the bridge all to himself, needing to hear the way his beautiful voice hit the high notes. “This time I’m ready to run,” he sang passionately, executing the downward moving riff perfectly. “I’d give everything that I got for your love,” he pointed across the stage towards her, beckoning her back close to him. She quickly skipped to him at his request.
Like she had blinked, the song was already nearing its end.
“Cause I wanna be free and I wanna be young, I’ll never look back now I’m ready to run,” they belted the last lines out to each other. The band fell quiet on their last chord and the crowd exploded, but their noise fell on deaf ears as the pair stood so close their heaving chests were almost pressed up against each other. His eyes stared down into hers and she watched as his eyes flickered quickly down to her lips.
The world ceased to exist when he pressed his mouth to hers, even if it only lasted a second. It was nothing more than a peck, but it was everything to her. Her body igniting with heat and eyes full of shock, she looked back at him in simultaneous confusion and adoration, before realizing they had been staring at each other for too long. She needed to get off the stage so he could continue with his show. She walked back slowly towards the wings, letting the hand he had still been holding fall to her side. She waved and smiled to the crowd the best she could in her clouded mind.
“Thank you everyone!” she shouted into her mic as she moved out of their view. She shoved her mic into the first set of hands that would take it as she wobbled her way over to a table with water bottles. She nearly choked as she tried to suck one down, hoping it would ease the dizzy feeling he had created with his lips. Her lips burned just as her forehead had earlier in the night.
He had kissed her. He had sang a love song with her and then he had kissed her. She couldn’t decipher if that kiss was a confirmation that he shared the same feelings for her or if it was just another act for the cameras. But his mouth felt so right against hers. They fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. She tried to suppress the optimistic hope that rose in her chest, but it began to swallow her whole.
When she heard his next song begin, she made her way back to the spot that had become hers at the side of the stage. She watched him perform the rest of the show in a loving haze, doe eyed and hypnotized, lips still buzzing from his contact.
He gave it his all. By the last song he was out of breath, drenched in sweat, and looked like he was about to pass out at any second. The crowd applauded for minutes after he left the stage and they were still cheering when she finally caught sight of him again. His curls were stuck to his forehead and his skin was shiny and flushed. He was panting, still trying to recover from his workout of a finale show; but he was beaming. His smile seemed to turn him into a beacon, emitting a light and positive energy that drew everyone backstage towards him.
She was so transfixed on Harry as he thanked the crew and accepted congratulations from all around that she just about jumped out of her skin when Jeff slinked up behind her and whispered ‘boo’ in her ear.
“What the fuck, Jeff,” she chuckled as she caught her breath, resting her hand on her chest and feeling her racing heartbeat.
“I just wanted to congratulate you on being half of the best fake couple out there,” he teased. “That kiss was perfect. People are losing their minds over it.”
“Oh,” she said softly, feeling every emotion she was distracted from while watching Harry rush back into her. Her heart sank as she remembered all the questions that continued to haunt her since she got off stage. “Thanks,” she murmured, plastering a smile onto her face. “I’m glad we could make you proud.”
“If you two could convince me, you can convince anyone.” Jeff walked off moments later, leaving her to sit in her confused thoughts as he disappeared into the hoards of bodies waiting for their minute with Harry.
She knew that she didn’t ‘convince’ Jeff of anything on her part. Everything she did with Harry was authentic and truthful. Including the thrilled grin that appeared on her face when she finally made eye contact with the exhausted man across the room. She gave him a shy wave that he sheepishly returned, biting back a shy smile. He pointed in the direction of his dressing room and mouthed “meet me in 15.”
She could never say no to him.
Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on the large wooden door that had a single piece of paper that read STYLES haphazardly taped onto it. When it finally flew open, she was met by a soaking wet Harry with a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. Her eyes trailed down his body without permission, taking in the toned torso that was decorated with his beautiful tattoos. Her eyes hovered over the two ferns that sat on his pelvis, too fascinated with the dark ink to pull her eyes away just yet.
She had obviously seen him in various states of undress before. They lived together on a tour bus without much space to exist with privacy, but this was different. He wasn’t rushing to get dressed or quickly changing his outfit. And he wasn’t moving away from her gaze at all.
If she hadn’t been so entranced by him, she would have noticed he was looking her up and down in the exact same manner.
She had changed since she had seen him last. The skin-tight black velvet romper she had brought along for the afterparty now fit her snuggly and held her every curve. The dark fabric was tight and appeared almost painted on, a rainbow racing stripe making its way down either side of her chest. The short shorts of the outfit exposed nearly all of her legs and the deep neckline put much of her chest on display as well. It’s long sleeves were her favorite part, as a strip of fringe dangled from below her arms any time she moved.
“You look great,” Harry finally choked out, his voice pulling their eyes back up to the other’s face.
“Oh, thanks,” she said, slightly awkwardly. “You too.”
“Well, I’m hopefully not going to the after party dressed like this,” he chuckled before stepping aside and ushering her into the room.
His dressing room was much larger than hers and she settled herself on the brown leather couch in the corner as she waited for him to get ready, sneaking glances up from her phone often. She chuckled as she watched him spend far too long fussing with his curls in the mirror, but was quickly distracted by the way his back and arms flexed when he reached up to muse his hair. Once he was satisfied with the way it fell, he disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the room. When he emerged, he was finally dressed, allowing her to take a deep breath and to focus on something other than his bare skin for the first time since he had opened the door.
The black satin suit was simple for him, but the tight white tank top that sat underneath hugged every muscle in his torso. She knew as soon as he got in the hot club, he would lose the jacket, and she would be devastatingly distracted once again.
The narcissist took one final look at himself in the mirror before turning to her and extending a hand. “Ready, darling?”
“You just spent 15 minutes exclusively on your hair and you’re asking me if I’m ready?” she teased as she took his hand, weaving her fingers between his as they exited the room together.
He leaned down close to her ear as they walked down the now mostly empty hallway, lips brushing over the hollow of her ear as he spoke. “I could have done it faster, but you were so obviously enjoying the show.”
“Relax yourself, Magic Mike,” she muttered indignantly, but hung her head in a way she hoped he couldn’t see how flustered he made her. Was she really that obvious?
They walked hand in hand out to the parking garage, now caught in a back and forth about whether or not Harry could be a male stripper. He said yes. She said no, although she did admit at one point that he worked his mic stand like a pole.
“Hey Jeff,” he called when they finally reached the parking garage where Jeff and Glenne had been waiting for them to head to the club. “Do you think I could be a stripper?”
“I think people would pay a lot to see it, but they may be disappointed in your dancing skills.”
“Come on,” he playfully whined. “I have some moves.”
“You have one move,” Y/N cut in with a chuckle, “and it’s the wiggle.” She brought her hands up near her chest, tilted her head back while dramatically biting her lip, and swayed her arms by her sides, earning a chorus of laughter from the people around her.
She hadn’t even realized she had done the move without releasing Harry’s hand first, dragging his arm into her dance as well, until their manager commented on it. “You know, you two don’t have to be holding hands all the time and keeping the show up back here,” he said with a slightly suspicious quirk in his eyebrows.
Her smile had been in the process of fading, like they had been caught doing something wrong, before Harry answered smoothly. “We know. Just practicing.”
There were those words again. Just practicing, she thought over to herself. But was he practicing anymore? How many flirty comments, heartfelt compliments, and warm touches did it take to cross the line of practicing to the real thing?
She wasn’t sure about Harry, but she knew that she wasn’t just practicing anymore.
She knew that the way they sat nearly on top of each other in the large SUV on the way to the club felt more than friendly. And the way he hadn’t stopped touching her in some way since they left his dressing room insinuated far more than something with business-like intentions. And the way he looked at her everytime he caught her eye the entire way to the club, always with a bright smile and adoring gaze that she always returned, pulled at her heartstrings far more than they should have if this was all an act.
A sloppy and cheeky grin settled almost permanently on his features after he had a few drinks in him, his arms moving in a lazy and fluid manner as she took in his many tattoos that he had exposed when he ditched his jacket (just like she knew he would). His butterfly was visible through the tight ribbed fabric of the white tank top and the little birds that peaked out from underneath seemed to be inviting her even closer to him in her now inebriated state.
All she wanted to do was to connect her lips with his as she watched him make conversation with someone from his management, entranced by the way his perfect mouth moved as he spoke. She once again craved the shocks of electricity that were created between them at the contact and could not stop thinking about it no matter how hard she tried. The protective hand that had settled onto her hip and continued to hold her close to his body just wasn’t enough anymore.
The pair had been drinking far too much; martinis turning into vodka sodas that had turned into straight tequila shots. She believed it was tequila shot four that did her in. The last thing she remembered was licking the line of salt off the back of her hand, downing the shot, and being entranced by Harry’s eyes as she bit down on the slice of lime he held carefully with his jeweled fingers.
***
The next morning, Y/N woke up in a hotel room that she didn’t recognize with a pounding headache and a swirling gut. It felt like she had been hit with a truck and she could barely pick her head up off the pillow.
She had so many questions about what had happened the night before. Where was she? Who let her drink that much? Whose clothes was she wearing? But most of all, what the hell happened after that fourth shot?
But she realized the worst was yet to come when she heard soft snoring coming from beside her. She knew that snoring well. It was the snoring that kept her up half the night for the last two months and the one that had almost driven her to suffocating her bus-mate in his sleep; the snoring that matched the crumbled black suit she just noticed in a ball on the floor.
It took every ounce of strength in her body to pull herself from the pillow and turn around in the bed to have her suspicions confirmed.
There he was.
His dark long eyelashes were fluttered down across the tops of his cheeks and his hair was going in every direction, skin clammy like his body was trying to rid itself of all the poison he had ingested the night before. The crumpled comforter was pushed down his stomach, his bare skin holding a sheen that helped define every dip or curve of his muscles and the tiniest bit of the band of his boxers peaked out to assure her that he at least wasn’t fully naked next to her.
Why were they in bed together? And why did he look so good? Oh my god, she thought as a possibility dawned on her. Did we sleep together?
“Harry,” she murmured softer than she intended, voice scratchy and mouth dry. The soreness at the back of her throat clued her into the copious amounts of screaming she must have done last night. He didn’t stir at her gentle coaxing, the light streaming through the windows making him look angelic as it covered him in a blanket of soft light while he continued to sleep.
It was a hard nudge to his chest that finally made him open his eyes, immediately releasing a groan she was sure she made when she regained consciousness too. He looked at her puzzled, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. He took an equally confused look around the hotel room before looking back at her. She watched as the gears slowly turned in his head until his eyes opened wide and he spring up into a sitting position to mirror hers.
“We didn’t,” he whispered hopefully. “Oh my god, did we?” he asked, a look of horror crossing his face that matched her own.
“I have no idea,” she anxiously replied. “I was hoping you would know!”
“You don’t remember anything?”
“The last thing I remember was doing tequila shots with you.”
“I remember those.” He rubbed his eyes hard like it would somehow jog his memory. His eyebrows knit together, buried in thought as he searched his brain for a timeline. “I can follow the night up until we did karaoke.”
“We did karaoke?” she repeated incredulously and was met with a somber nod. “Do I even want to know what we sang?”
He shook his head slowly, shame clear on his face, before he finally mumbled. “We did ‘It’s Raining Men.’”
“Oh my god, no,” she whined, holding her head in her hands and rubbing her temples. There were surely videos of them sloppily singing on top of a bar circulating online and she wasn’t sure how Jeff would be able to spin that one in a positive light.
“Where’s your phone?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his eye as he reached for his own. “Maybe there’s something on there that can clue us in.” It took her a moment but she finally spotted it on the ground in the corner of the room. She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t dead or broken.
Forcing her heavy limbs out from under the covers she made her way towards the device, but not before she heard a confused sound coming from Harry. “How did you get my clothes?”
Looking down at herself and taking in the red lettering that read But Daddy I Love Him across her chest, it clicked that the t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts were his. But how they hell did she get into them?
“I think we’ve established at this point that I don’t know anything that happened after about midnight, Harry.” Her words came out laced with slight frustration. She hoped he knew she wasn’t annoyed with him, just their situation.
“Just a question, princess.”
She ignored his quip and began to search through her texts, call history, and photos, hoping to find anything at all that could help trace their steps through the night. She found nothing but a few selfies of them still at the club. One was the pair casually smiling, the next was one of him kissing her on the cheek that made her skin warm, but the final one made her snort out a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“I have a picture on my phone of you with two martini olives shoved up your nose,” she spoke through hysterical laughter. “Definitely birthday post material if you ask me.”
“Let me see,” he demanded with an adorable scowl.
She passed her phone over to him, still letting a few chuckles fall past her lips. “I’m gonna change your name in my phone to ‘Olive Nose Styles.”
“You're cruel.”
“You’re the one that put olives up his nose and then posed for a picture!”
“Whatever,” he grumbled, turning attention back to his own screen to continue his investigation. “There’s nothing of use on my phone either.”
The two flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the frustrated confusion. There was so much of their night that had gone up into smoke, completely unaccounted for with no clues as to what they did. Each traced their steps over and over again in their heads as they hoped desperately for a single detail that would lead them down a path to bigger memories, but it never came.
“Are we going to have to call Jeff and ask him what happened?” she finally murmured.
“I think so.”
“He’s going to put us both in client timeout, isn’t he?”
“We’re probably already there,” he groaned as he picked up his phone and hit Jefe Jeff-e in his contact list, putting the call on speaker and resting it on his still bare chest. The man on the other end picked up almost immediately.
“Morning Sleeping Beauty, I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”
“Hi Jeff,” he groggily started then stopped, searching for the words that would make this all less uncomfortable. “Y/N and I have some questions about last night.”
Jeff let out a strained chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me after last night’s bar bill.”
“Um,” Harry hummed, stammering but unable to form any real words.
“You sing about sex for a living,” she hissed at the man next to her before yanking the phone off his chest. “Jeff,” she started, taking over the conversation for them both. “Do you know if we slept together?”
“Probably not. You both were pretty unconscious when I put you in the hotel room.” His words prompted a massive sigh from both of them, looking to each other to share a relieved smile.
“Oh thank god,” they mumbled in unison.
“Jinx,” he smirked under his breath, prompting a ‘shut up’ from her.
“How did I get into Harry’s clothes?”
“I stopped by the tour bus when I realized you two probably shouldn’t be trusted not to roll out of your top bunks. I got you some clothes to sleep in before we took you guys to the hotel.”
“But why Harry’s?”
It was Jeff’s term to get squirmy. “I felt weird going through your things.”
“But you were perfectly fine with going through mine?” Harry asked, only half joking.
“Absolutely,” he deadpanned. They were all quiet for a moment before Jeff began again. “You two really don’t remember anything else that happened?”
“Everything after about two is unaccounted for,” she confessed.
“Oh,” Jeff chuckled. “So, you don’t remember when you stuck your tongues down each other’s throats on the ride home?”
Fuck.
Her eyes raced up to Harry’s from the phone she had been staring at like it held all the secrets of the night before. His easily readable features displayed all his emotions that surely matched hers. His pupils had grown in surprise, taking over nearly all the green in his wide eyes, and an embarrassed blush tinted his cheeks in a red hot flush that had reached the tips of his ears. His eyes flashed to the blank wall in front of them, running a stressed hand through his curls, like if he wasn’t looking at her, he would be able to focus better on the newly revealed information.
She couldn’t say that she didn’t relate. Her mind often went blank when she looked at him too. But right now, it was racing, occupied by anxious thoughts and intense emotions she couldn’t quite place, but felt with her entire being.
Her inevitable downward spiral was interrupted when Harry stiffly cleared his throat. “Uh,” he started, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ll see you later.”
“Sounds good, love birds,” Jeff replied, a clear snark apparent in his voice. Neither of the pair dignified his teasing with a response, Y/N quickly ending the call.
Silence hung heavy in the air and she let her eyes hover over the phone for too long when she settled it down on the bed, unwilling to connect her eyes with his just yet. Harry always had a way of staring into her and revealing all her cards to him before she even knew them herself. She wanted to hold them close to her chest for a moment, protecting the heart that longed for him more than anything else in the world.
There were no words exchanged between the two for a while as they silently took turns in the bathroom and occupied their hands and thoughts by their phones. They walked on eggshells anytime one neared the other. A tension like this hadn’t existed since the very first day they met, the first day they had begun to pretend.
Maybe that's why Harry was being so quiet. Maybe he never wanted to cross that line of pretending like she did. Maybe she had been blinded by his generally friendly personality and tricked herself into thinking there was anything more than a charade between them. Maybe last night really was just a drunken mistake, no matter how much she wanted it to be more.
“Maybe it’s a good thing that we don’t remember what happened last night,” she finally murmured from the opposite end of the room. She rested the side of her still heavy head and muscles against the wall, arms crossed in front of her as if they could keep her safe from the tension they had created. Her fingers nervously played with the hem of his t-shirt she was still dressed in.
“Why is it a good thing?” he almost immediately responded from the chair on the other side of the room he had settled himself into, running his hands along the satin pants of last night’s outfit he had put back on during their awkward shuffling around the room. He had even put physical space between them since they found out what happened, causing her heart to feel as if it was teetering on the edge of disintegrating.
“Well,” she stuttered, refusing to look at him and continuing to pick at her nail polish. “We’re just pretending so it would be weird if we really remembered it.”
“I don’t think it would be weird.”
“I don’t know,” she tried to maneuver her way around his response. “It might just be embarrassing to think about it.”
He let out a long and frustrated sigh, running his hands down his face. There was so much going on behind his eyes and she wished he would say something, anything, to break down the wall that hadn’t existed between them in months that was slowly reappearing.
“Do you regret it?” he asked bluntly, the abrupt question shocking her body to attention. “Do you regret any of this? Any of us?”
Did she regret drinking too much? Yes. Did she regret making out with him in front of their manager? Yes. Did she regret denying her feelings and pretending they didn’t exist for so long? Of course. But, did she regret falling in love with him? Never, not even for a second.
“No, I don’t,” she let out with a gentle shake of her head, no louder than a whisper.
“Neither do I.”
The words had barely left his lips before he crossed the room and crashed them into hers. The same fire she had felt on stage returned ten times over as his lips moved smoothly over hers, every neuron in her body lighting up like a switchboard. Her fingers reached up to curl into his hair and pull his lips impossibly closer to hers as her heart hammered in her chest with a passionate love she had kept under wraps for so long.
He tasted like the spicy peppermint toothpaste the hotel stocked in the bathroom and smelled like the tiny bottles of shampoo that rested on the side of the bathtub; but there was so much else about him that was completely unique–wholly irreplaceable and indescribable. He was just Harry.
Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and hair was pulled as they took in every sensation the other created. His lips had been the only thought that captivated her mind since they were on stage the night before and her return to them did not disappoint. If her head wasn’t dizzy and her lungs not screaming at her for air, she would have stayed in that moment forever
When they finally disconnected, they stood against each other in a heaving and disheveled mess of heavy breathing and adoringly dazed smiles. She swore she could feel the pounding of his heart under her fingertips that rested on his chest.
“That was nice,” he eventually murmured down at her through heavy breaths, a love drunk grin finding its way onto his swollen lips.
“Yeah, I agree,” she hummed breathlessly, her anxious thoughts quiet and calm for the first time she could remember since she met him.
“I’m kind of disappointed I don’t remember doing that the first time,” he chuckled softly at her, shaking his head lightly in embarrassment with his pink tinged cheeks on full display.
“That’s okay. We were ‘just practicing’ then, right?” A giggle left her lips as she used the words against him. The same words he had used every time they let a glimpse of their true affections for each other slip past their guarded and friendly facade.
His dimples were exposed when he smiled a giant grin and let out a knowing huff, piecing together that she had caught onto his trail of excuses. “Yeah, just practicing,” he repeated softly, before his tone turned sincere and genuine. “I don’t want us to pretend anymore.”
“Good,” she said softly as her fingers slid up his neck to beckon his lips back down to hers. “I never was.”
“Neither was I.” She watched a soft smirk appear on his lips as they hovered over hers. “Do you want to keep not practicing?”
“Depends,” she quipped, lips brushing over his as she spoke. “Am I better kisser than Taylor Swift?
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK MEAN THE WORLD!!!
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acquainted
You had no intentions of becoming acquainted with the clan your family had cut ties with, but when Naoya Zenin himself is willing to teach you a lesson and you’re determined to show him what you’re capable of, it becomes a silly game of power and dominance.
REQUEST. naoya putting reader back to her place
WARNINGS: Naoya Zenin, rough sex, orgasm denial, face fucking, slight voyeurism, degradation, slight bondage, cowgirl riding, manhandling, spanking, hate sex
WC. 5.4k+
NOTES. Because Naoya is my favorite, his fic is the only one I’ve ever edited, LOL. Even though this is requested, this is written out of self-indulgence, purely because I love Naoya and even though he’s nasty, he’s my comfort character. And freaking FINALLY I have written more for this man. I worship this King 👑
There were so many ways this day had gone wrong. First, your shower broke. Second, the maintenance men couldn’t come until late in the afternoon, so you had to drive all the way to school looking like a half-mess. You weren’t a slob, of course, but you were beyond irritable at the thought your hair felt greasier than most.
So when an unfamiliar mop of blonde hair sat at your place, the sight of pierced ears meeting your gaze as you smiled at the young man, you had to clutch your bag tighter. No need to be harsh to anyone; you reminded yourself.
“Hi,” you greeted as politely as you could.
The young man in your seat was handsome — terribly so — feline eyes emphasized with an eyeliner, and stunning green eyes that peered up at you with utmost boredom. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint where you’d seen him before.
“I believe you’re in my seat.”
You expected he’d kindly take another seat since the hall was empty, but he only leaned back in your seat, brow raised with a slight smirk. “So?”
Your mouth fell agape, hands falling at your sides. Who was this guy? “What do you mean, so? Get the fuck out of my seat.”
“Women,” he rolled his eyes, “Always so tempered and dirty mouthed,” the words felt like stinging slap in your face, and he easily read through you when he snickered to himself, waving a hand in the air as if he was swatting a fly away. “I’m already sitting here, so go find someplace else. I came here first.”
“You little — who do you think you are?”
“Who do you think you are for speaking to me? Did I give you permission?”
His condescending voice made you lunge at him if not for your friend’s hand wrapping at your arm, shooting worried glances over the guy. His smirk deepened when your friend pulled away, the words mutter under her breath. “Come on, let’s go,” she tugged you away despite your protests, pushing your shoulders down to make you sit. Once out of earshot, she rolled her eyes. “I seriously hate that guy. Don’t you ever involve yourself with him.”
“Who’s that prick anyway? He acts so high and mighty like he’s some rich daddy’s son. Look, he’s totally claiming my seat as his!”
“That’s Naoya Zenin, and yeah, he is some rich daddy’s son,” she confirmed, shivering at the mere mention of his name. “He’s an absolutely big misogynist. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face — he’s the worst fuckboy to ever exist. That dick of his isn’t worth getting fucked over. He’s already made half the women in school cry and run after him like a horde of lovesick zombies,” your friend gagged with a shake of her head, “It’s terrifying, actually.”
“Fucking asshole,” you hissed under your breath, sending side glances at the corner of your eye.
That stupid guy was still in your seat, a bored expression on his handsome face, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks at every blink. He just had to be a sexist pig with that gorgeous face — no good men existed anymore. “Whatever. He’ll get a taste of his own medicine soon.”
“Whatever it is you’re planning, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“I’m doing this for all of us,” you announced with your spine straightened. “I’m not letting a man walk like that acting like he’s got the whole world at his feet. I’ll teach him a lesson or two.”
“You do know he can sue you if you punch him right?”
“Who said I was going to punch him?” a smirk painted your lips at the same time he felt your eyes burning holes at the side of his face, your expression even more triumphant when he tilted his head to the side, eyebrow cocked at your gaze. He must’ve assumed you’d fallen for his looks judging by the satisfied smile on his face, making you laugh because it would be fun to teach him a lesson. “No, I have a much more interesting plan in mind.”
It turned out that Naoya wasn’t that much of a stranger.
You had his reputation to thank for — people spoke his name left and right that it was nearly impossible not to know of him. It had you wondering how you managed to live through university so long without knowing him when the name drowned you; he was a Zenin.
No wonder that name was so familiar.
The Zenin’s were a close business partner of your family, but they cut off ties with their company years ago due to them having an intolerable attitude. Clearly, it ran in the blood, and their heir manifested it so well.
Thoughts of Naoya and his stupid face were soon drowned out by expensive champagne, the golden liquid sparkling in your hands. You had to attend this dinner gala where businessmen and powerful families alike conjoined for a formal opportunity of forming connections and solidifying deals, pressuring you to be at your best behaviour lest you wanted your black card to be cut off.
You made your way through the crowd to get another one of those hors d oeuvres, opting to just sit in the corner while you watched your family plaster on big, fake smiles with even louder, faker laughter.
It was quite sad, really, that people had to do stuff like this, but who were you to complain when it was what fed you on a silver plate all the time?
For now, you just wanted to enjoy the new dress your mother had gotten you, the silk black material hugged around your curves delectably. Pearl drop earrings hung to frame the sides of your face, legs lengthened and accentuated with stiletto heels.
You felt sexy — especially when you got lingering gazes from men who were slightly older and definitely richer, though you made no move.
The last thing you wanted was to become someone’s trophy wife when you could become so much more. Plus, only your parents had the task of befriending people and building trust with others. You were only here to help represent the name somewhat with your pretty face, not really having much of an intention to be acquainted with anyone.
You swiped another glass of fizzy alcohol from the waiter that passed by, glossy red lips pinched around the glass when a sultry voice mused at your ear, “Still can’t find a seat?”
Swirling around so fast that the contents nearly poured out the glass, you weren’t surprised to see Naoya fucking Zenin stood before you, his tall stature draped in only the finest and hand-stitched three piece suit.
He looked absolutely delectable this way, earrings glimmering under the golden chandeliers and eyes lined with kohl, the aura of elegance that perfectly concealed his less than pleasing personality excessively charming.
You were beyond appalled.
“Still can’t find a brain?” you retorted with a roll of your eyes, eyes still narrowed at Naoya’s displeased ones as you dunk your drink in one go. “What are you doing here, pig?”
“I’ll let that comment slide once — only because you look hot tonight,” his predatory gaze ran over your form, the careful pattern of him pausing at the swell of your breasts sliding to the curve of your hips heating up each inch of your skin. “And it’s Naoya for you. Naoya Zenin, the rightful heir of the Zenin Corp—”
“What’s that scent you’re wearing? Baby powder? Fitting for your cute face, actually.”
Naoya’s jaw clenched, clearly unaccustomed to people cutting off his holiness, and you had to bite down on your lip to prevent the chuckles from slipping through. “It’s Tom Ford.”
“Hmm, why am I not surprised? My horrible ex also wore the same scent. Maybe it’s a trademark for all limp losers, huh?” Naoya opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it, stepping forward to grab at the space between his tie to pull him down. His face was mere centimetres away from you, close enough that his breath ghosted over your lips, the intense anger flaring through those eyes hot enough to burn you. “You act so smug and defensive, Naoya. Trying to have a big man personality to conceal a small dick?”
“I have nothing to prove to you.”
“You don’t need to prove me anything,” you glanced down at his pants with a smirk, ignoring the heat pulsing in your veins because the sight contradicted your words. There was a noticeable bulge inside those shiny black slacks, though the last thing you wanted him to see was the way your mouth watered in anticipation. “I already know what I need to know.”
“Yeah? You and your shitty girlfriends can’t stop talking about my dick?”
You shrugged sarcastically, “You know women. We’re tireless complainers.”
Naoya’s jaw ticked upon you using his words against him, his hands coming up to caress at your neck, his nails scratching behind the thick silver chain you wore.
From afar and in the eyes of others, people would’ve thought you and Naoya were simply getting a little too heated, his lips dipped to graze your ear while his slender fingers pressed a little tighter into your air pipe. Your positions could easily be mistaken for Naoya seducing you, and you supposed he was, since your body responded differently from your verbal protests.
“You should watch what you’re saying,” he warned, voice low with warning. “I could easily dump your body into a river and no one would even notice. In fact, maybe the world might even thank me for doing them a service and ridding them of a spiteful woman like you.”
“Oh, pretty boy,” you chuckled back and stood to your tippy toes. One of your hands wrapped around his neck to forcefully tilt his neck to yours, nose pressed above his collar to inhale the intoxicating masculine scent he wore. “You’re all bark and no bite. Why don’t you show me what you’re capable of? If you’re as awful as they make you out to be, maybe I’ll shiver enough to drop my panties for you.”
You didn’t miss the way Naoya’s hands gripped at your waist to pull you close, enticing you to continue with your insults because maybe Naoya liked this a lot more than he let on. Could it be his superiority complex didn’t always like submissive women, after all?
Well, it would make sense; everyone always liked a little challenge, didn’t they?
If that was what he wanted, then you’d be generous enough to grant it to him.
“Wouldn’t you like to get a chance to put me in my place, to teach me a lesson for defiling the oh-so-mighty Naoya Zenin?” you purposefully toned your voice down to a more breathy tone, your chest swelling with pride when Naoya sucked in a sharp inhale beside your ear.
God, he sounded beautiful — and you hadn’t even fucked him yet. Now, you were eager to hear what else those disgusting lips could be capable of other than degrading you.
Pulling away from him just to bat your lashes at him, heat pooled straight into your core when Naoya’s gaze had completely darkened, dark orbs pooled with lust and anger. Only he could make such an expression look so good.
“You don’t scare me, Zenin. You’re nothing but a small boy wearing big man pants.”
For a moment, your smile widened, believing that you’d won this time around. Naoya was still breathing hard at each brush of your stomach to his now hardening erection, but then he smirked and gently pushed you away from him. “I’m not fucking you here,” he stated calmly, not even bothering to keep his voice low. “You’re a lot dumber than I thought you’d be if you really think I’m whipping my cock out during this dreadful dinner.”
“This dreadful dinner you speak of is an opportunity for people like us to establish connections. I would’ve assumed you wanted nothing more to impress others but it seems I was wrong. If you hate this event so much, why bother coming here in the first place?”
“Just had a feeling I was going to meet a little minx,” he watched you seductively, his smirk adorned with his tongue peeking out to lick his lips — in turn wetting you in places he promised to make his by the end of the night. Curse him, you chanted in your head, curse him for being so attractive. It would’ve been easier if he was ugly. “And as always, I’m right.”
You tilted a brow, slightly impressed. “So you’ve done your background check on me. That doesn’t explain why you’re still here though. Surely a woman couldn’t be enough for a reason to make a man like you go all this way?”
“You’re right, a woman would never be a good enough reason, but I wanted to put you in your place,” his eyes flickered back up to you, now twinkling with danger and something else entirely. “Bad little girls need to be a taught to a lesson.”
“So what’re you waiting for? Go ahead and show me your ways, Zenin.”
“I will,” he nodded to himself, “I’m about to,” Naoya was nothing but confident as he strode your way until his arms was locked with yours, his breath tickling your collarbones that had unknowingly exposed itself at each heated touch. “You’re not that bad for a slut. You look like one, smell like one — I bet you also feel like one.”
A dry laugh left your lips as you fisted his shirt, mirroring his smirk to show that if a match was what he looked for, then a match he’d find indeed. Only this time, you would be worse.
“Why don’t you go ahead and find out?”
Naoya, despite being an absolutely poor excuse of a human being, was somewhat redeemable for being a man of his words. Find out he did, and he wasted no time into shoving you inside his McLaren, barely able to keep his hands off you the whole way up to his penthouse.
It was a blurry mess from there.
Moans spilled from your lips while he ripped your clothes off, not bothering to apologize that he’d just ruined one of your most prized possessions, his lust-clouded haze mumbling that he’d just buy you another one.
It was the last thing you expected to hear from him, but you couldn’t protest, not when he’d angrily snapped the buttons of his shirt away, a low growl mixing with your breathy whines as he loosened his tie.
Your eyes widened at the sight, legs rubbing together as you imagined what else he could do with that pretty tie of his.
Would he tie you to his bed, fuck you stupid and call you useless? Or perhaps, you could do it?
Naoya cut off your train of thought by pushing you back to his mattress, his hands tugging at his belt before he pulled his boxers down, his thick length slapping at his abdomen. Your mouth immediately watered at the sight. You were beyond wet from nothing but your sloppy make-out sessions, but would he fit?
Just the thought of him giving you that burning stretch made your legs spread beside his sides, the sardonic laughter ripping from Naoya’s lips absolutely disgusting.
“Fucking pathetic. You’re just like everyone else; submitting to me at the sight of my cock, but that’s not true, is it? Moment you saw me, I knew you were clenching around nothing,” he gripped at your jaw to force you to look at him. You glared up at him from his bruising hold, your cheeks squished under his rough hands. “But that’s okay; wanting me is not something you should be ashamed about. Although you should be thanking me I’m even letting you near me like this.”
“I’m so honoured. Come on, Naoya, let me feel you — let me make you feel good.”
Naoya, too lost in his ego, missed the sarcasm dripping in your voice. “So eager to be my cock sleeve, huh?” he grinned, tugging at your hair to push you deeper into his mattress. “Get on your knees. Now suck.”
He was too harsh in his pace, determined to exert his dominance over you. You could feel every ridge of his vein as he continued fucking into your mouth, his abs rippling above you. It felt like witnessing a Greek god come apart, and you took pleasure in being his ruin, prompting you to hollow your cheeks and bob your mouth up and down on his cock harder.
Naoya’s chuckles were broken and often mixed with curses of fuck, you feel so fucking good, his nails now scratching at your scalp.
Soon, Naoya stilled inside you, his hold around your head deadly to keep you in place. Tears flowed down your face as he kept thrusting inside, making sure to hit the back of your throat before his muscles tightened. Spurts of warm cum followed after that, but instead of swallowing it like you expected he’d command you to do, Naoya whipped out his cock and came all over your face, his seed shooting all over your cheeks and lips.
You took it all obediently, just enough to give him the false pretense of submissiveness that he was so willing to force from you.
While he was occupied pumping his still rock hard cock, eyes closed and massaging your scalp almost soothingly, Naoya failed to notice your hurried movements of standing from the bed, fingers looped around his tie.
A small wail resonated from him when you shoved him down onto the bed, knees locked at either sides of his waist before you tugged at the cloth wrapped around his neck. Naoya kicked his legs behind you as you tied his wrists to the bed hard enough that Naoya winced, the tie only forming tighter at each lame grapple of his.
You looked back at how he got more beautiful laid out in front of you like that, chest heaving up and down while he struggled against the restraints, face flushed with anger — no, this wasn’t anger anymore — he was furious.
“What are you doing?! Get this off me — how dare you!”
“How dare you,” you spat back, discarding your lace bra off to wipe his cum away from your face, gagging when the bitter cum left a tang on your lips. “I just got my skin appointment last week and you came on my face like that?”
Naoya kept fighting back before he realised it was a futile attempt, leaning back down onto the pillows, though that didn’t soften his heated eyes on yours. You cooed at how adorable he submitted to you, running a finger down the sides of his jaw. “Aw, don’t look so angry, baby. I’m just starting my fun,” you purred, “You should’ve known better than to mess with me, Naoya. I’m not as nice as the others. And I’ll show you just how awful I can be.”
Naoya’s breath hitched when you shimmied out of your underwear, a dark glint in your eyes as you stretched the elastic into a fake arrow until it snapped into his face.
“You fucking bitch,” he growled, turning his face away from your panties soaked with arousal. “Once I get out of here, I will ruin you.”
“Huh, yeah, sure,” you mumbled incoherently, too lost in the pleasure as you sunk down on his cock. You were right, he was fucking thick, stretching you out better than any of your toys could. Plus, he was warm and leaking with pre-cum that he slid in easily, erotic groans leaving both your mouths once he was finally seated inside you.
Naoya was growling at you to let go of him when you laughed, lifting your hips up slowly before sliding back down on him just as slow, almost as if you made love to his cock the same passionate way you did with a lover. “You do have a wonderful cock, though. I’ve never felt this good in my life,” you leaned down to lick a stripe down to his neck, allowing him to hear the needy pants you graced with him. “You feel so good, Naoya, oh. If you weren’t such an asshole, I might even fall in love with you.”
“Go faster. This is unfair!”
Naoya tried thrusting deep into you, evidently unsatisfied at this torturous pace you set, but you only gripped at his thigh in warning, your eyes no longer sweet as you glared at him.
“Nothing’s ever fair in this world, sweetheart,” you reminded him, shivering every now and then as you bounced on his cock, his length slipping past through your walls magically. “Like how such a gorgeous face and amazing dick is paired with the most disgusting personality ever. No, it’s not fair, indeed...”
You closed your eyes with your head thrown back, placing your hips flat on his pelvic bone instead, fingers rubbing at your clit while Naoya throbbed inside you, desperate for release.
The little whines you gave were nothing but mocking. You knew that Naoya suffered through this position, but did you care? Absolutely not. With Naoya’s cock stretching you full and his tip kissing your most sensitive spots, in addition to your fingers rubbing and tweaking at your clit, this was the most pleasure you’d ever gotten from sex.
You were stimulated everywhere, your other hand reached up to tug at your hardened nipples.
Your walls clenched around him, signalling him that you were close and you let out a broken moan, falling forward to gyrate your hips around his cock to push you over the edge. It wasn’t enough to get him off since you were mostly still fondling with your clit, the sounds of your moans like torture to his ears.
“No, don’t you dare cum, I swear if you—” Your orgasm washed over you comfortingly like a warm blanket. Instead of seeing white, it was like your vision cleared, the sight of the sweat that made Naoya’s hair stick to his forehead in clumps crystal clear. You prolonged your orgasm by thrusting your hips in a sickening rhythm of thrust, pause, thrust, stop — and by then Naoya was losing his mind.
Naoya lost control as he snapped his hips upwards inside you hard enough that you winced in pain, pushing off his dick until he’s left humping the empty air, his body drenched with perspiration. “No, no, no, fuck you! Get back here you useless slut!”
You lay beside him, giggling in post-orgasm bliss. Just to tease him, you rolled to his side to press a kiss to his cheek, laughing harder when your lips came in contact with his flushed skin.
“You’re so adorable like this,” you cupped his face tenderly, perfectly aware that Naoya had begun to growl, his wrists almost bruised from how hard he brawled against his tie. “If I didn’t hate you so much, I would’ve let you cum inside me,” you offered with a pat to his chest, moving off the bed with wobbly legs.
“Well, whatever, that was fun. I would say we both had the most sensual sex of our lives, but that would be a joke for you, don’t you think?” you snorted as you inserted your arms to his discarded suit jacket.
Naoya stayed still on the bed, his cock still painfully hard and slick with your cum. “Don’t look so angry, Naoya. You had it coming for you. Don’t worry, though, as a thanks for letting me cum that hard — though I mostly did all the work — I’ll keep this between us so you at least get to keep whatever’s left of your dignity,” you blew a kiss his way, “Bye, sweetie. At least now I know people weren’t exaggerating when they called you a good fuck.”
Not bothering to slip your heels back on, you looped your shoes into the curls of your fingers, about to button Naoya’s jacket as you made your way to his door.
You never got halfway across the room when strong arms suddenly lifted you off the ground, your vision transitioning from his door to the pads of his feet, your body slung across his shoulder. Naoya gripped at your ass in warning when you kicked your legs, leaving him with no choice but to hug your thighs with one arm.
The next thing you knew, he slammed the balcony doors open with one hand and slammed you on the pool table. His rough hands yanked his jacket away from your body, the chilly night of the air bringing a shiver down your spine as it hit your drenched core.
Naoya had pinned your arms flat on your back in a painful angle, making you cry out just as he kneed your legs open, his free hand that wasn’t pinning you down aligning his cock against your hole. You were a moaning mess underneath him, the pain only an intoxicating addition to the pleasure he was pounding into you. Naoya then leaned to whisper your ear, the sudden movement making his cock slide deeper into you, the pleasure overwhelming.
“Oh, Naoya, fuck—”
“I am not just a good fuck,” he corrected you, “I am Naoya Zenin — and you will do well being silent and submissive while I fuck you, do you understand?” You were too lost in the feeling of him rutting deep into you that he had you seeing white this time around. When you didn’t answer, Naoya slapped your ass, your yelps echoing from the dead night. “I asked you a question.”
“No,” you bit back, “I refuse to—” you were silenced when Naoya hit your sweet spot, laughing at your state that you were too fucked out to give him a proper answer.
Naoya’s pace was merciless as he fucked deeper into you, the hand on your ass moving up to grab at your waist to keep slamming you back to his cock. He watched as your lips sucked him in so tight that he didn’t know whether you were pushing him out or refusing to let go. Turning your head to the side to gasp for air, you opened your eyes, only to be met by the sight of men crowding on the building across yours to witness your undoing by Naoya’s hands.
“I’ve barely started and you’re already so wet for me,” he mocked in your ear. As if on cue, squelching sounds accompanied your desperate moans, hands grabbing at nothing in particular. “Shall I try upping my speed?”
“N-Naoya- there are people looking.”
“Let them see,” he seethed, using one arm to lift your other leg up to the table to gain him more access into your warm, wet cavern. The sudden stretch made your muscles ache until you lay there limp; jaw clenched at the pleasure Naoya drowned you with. “Let them know how much I’m making this pussy mine. Gosh, can you hear yourself? You sound like a dirty fucking slut,” another slap landed on your ass, hard enough to leave a mark there for tomorrow. “You claim to hate me, so then why are you dripping all over me, huh? Pathetic whore. You women are nothing but cum dumps to me.”
Naoya spread your butt cheeks open, laughing at the silly way you clenched around him every time he pulled out, your puffy lips sucking him back again until Naoya buried himself to the hilt. His dick did wonders in letting out the most erotic whines and whimpers you never thought you’d be capable of, leaving you a drooling and panting mess under him.
“You little fucker, don’t even think about cumming inside me, I will literally castrate you and feed your balls to yourself.”
“Such a dirty mouth. Though that’s expected of a nasty woman like you,” he sassed, his thrusts faltering while his hand clenched your flesh tighter. That was enough to send you over the edge when Naoya slammed his hips harder and more desperately this time around, his cock twitching against your walls. “You wish I would cum inside you. But I have a better plan in mind.”
All it took was one rough hand for him to pull you before him, pushing you down into your knees again as he came inside your mouth. You could feel your cum and his dripping onto his dark marble tiles, the white pool of liquid shining.
Naoya thrusted lazily into your mouth, a sickening grin on his face while he kept you down there. His glare deepened when you tried to pull away from him. “Swallow, you slut. Or I’m fucking your face until I break your jaw.”
Furiously, you swallowed around his cock, Naoya groaning at the feeling of your walls convulsing around him. The moment you gagged from when his tip poked the back of your throat, Naoya pushed you off him until you were left choking on the ground. You gasped for air, hands clasped around your neck, sure that you were going to have a sore jaw and a fucked throat tomorrow.
You kept glaring at Naoya, but this didn’t deter him from gripping your chin down, humming to himself upon seeing that his cum was now gone in your mouth. “Hmm, so you did swallow it like a good girl. I’m glad I’ve disciplined you well.”
“Go to hell.”
“I’m King there already, baby,” Before you could retort, his arms encircled your waist until you were heaved in his arms again. You pounded against his back because you were too done, you couldn’t do another round. Naoya sighed as he threw you in the bed as if you were a ragdoll, disappearing in the bathroom for a while before coming back with a wet towel, which he rudely flicked your way. “Clean yourself up and then leave. Take the back elevators. I don’t want the staff to see a whore leaving my place.”
“You’re the one who brought me here.”
“Only because I had a duty to put you in your place,” He stared at you with his smirk now permanent in his face, admiring the bruises he left on your body.
“We’re not over yet, Zenin. I’m going to break you one way or another.”
You rolled your eyes at him, walking to his closet to wear one of his shirts. Naoya was silent the whole time as he watched you button his shirt with trembling hands, his presence hot on your heels as he followed you out the large room.
As you were about to leave, you picked up the towel you used to clean your cum with and threw it right at his face.
Naoya dodged it easily, eyeing the towel with a scoff. “Still resilient, I see,” settling down on one of his lounge chairs like it was a throne, Naoya rested his cheek on his fist as he stared you down. “But fine — I accept your challenge. A true man never backs down from a challenge, after all.”
“Oh, honey, I’m more than just a challenge,” you sneered.
Naoya’s gaze left your eyes to stare at your perky nipples that poked through his shirt, feeling his cock swell all over again. But he was a man of control and dignity — he wouldn’t do anything more with you, not when it was clear you’ve had enough for tonight.
It didn’t bother him though, he knew he’d have more opportunities to put you in your place.
“We’ll see about that. I’ll be the one to decide your worth,” he declared oh so smugly, the mere sound of his voice pushing you to slam a fist to ruin that pretty face of his, though you held your ground, far too tired to move a muscle. Naoya saw this too, and he smiled to himself, head tilted to the side as he studied the mess he’d made of you. “Tomorrow, same time same place?”
There was no telling what pushed you to agree, but the words left your lips far too confidently for you to even wonder why.
“Be ready for me, Zenin.”
“I always am.”
All the way back to the back elevators that Naoya had directed you at, you pondered on how you’d be able to tell your parents you suddenly needed a ride home when they had no idea you left the dinner gala in the first place. But most of all, how were you supposed to tell them you’d acquainted yourself with the Zenin clan all over again?
#naoya zenin x reader#naoya zenin#naoya zenin x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#naoya zenin smut#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines#naoya zenin imagines#naoya zenin x reader imagines#naoya zenin x you#naoya x you#zenin naoya#jujutsu kaisen naoya zenin#naoya zenin x you smut#naoya zenin x reader romance#naoya x reader romance#NAOYA SUPREMACY#suki: 500 milestone event#ayyyy i swear all of my naoya fics are my favorite like DUH#suki: queued
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These small moments.
Single Dad!Harry and his little love, Honey.
Summary: mornings with Honey are Harrys favourite, small chats with blurry eyes and lazy smiles is what makes him feel closer to his little lady.
A/N: ahhh they’re so 🥺 enjoy !!
Click *** for visuals throughout the story.
Warnings: none, just pure fluff and dad jokes.
Word Count: 2.1K
Masterlist.
It’s nearly seven in the morning.
The sunrise shining through the windows and casting a bright warm hue onto Harry’s sleeping body in his bed. The white sheets tossed about and his head buried in the pillow, his cheek smushed to up and his lips slightly parted letting out small snores.
The only sound throughout the whole house is the sound of birds chirping about outside and the engines of cars on their way down the roads, the morning rush nearly upon the streets as people make their way to their nine till five jobs. The house has a slight breeze throughout due to Harry always sleeping with his window cracked open, and his door cracked open also to allow honey to walk in when she needed her Papa.
Speaking of the little love, she’s already awake, in her own small pink coloured bed, many pillows around her and her stuffies lined up against the wall, her favourite stuffie in her hand — Pascal from Tangled is her favourite stuffie, she brings him everywhere, even sneaks him into school in her back pack when Harrys not looking. She does this every morning, she lays in bed and talks to her stuffie or just stares at the ceiling, her glow in the dark stars now white and barely noticeable in the bright room, her pink curtains casting a pink hue around the room.
She waits five minutes before she’s hopping out of her bed and padding along towards her door, she pulls it open as it’s only closed a little, allowing enough of a gap for her small body to fit through. She snuggles pascal as she walks, looking around and noticing her Papa must still be asleep, she immediately darts for his room, peeping her curly head in and looking at his sleeping body, his back facing her and his bed messy as usual, but there’s always enough space for her to snuggle up next to him.
She doesn’t wake him, she tip toes towards the side he’s not laying on, throwing pascal up first before she’s hiking herself up on the large bed, a small groan when she has to put more strength into getting up than usual due to her sleepy state. When she’s up, she brushes the curls from her face with a harsh swipe, her blue doe eyes looking at her Papa, his hair messy like hers. She lays down on the pillow, looking at her Papa as she softly taps his cheek and pushes pascal towards him.
“G’morning button” he grumbles when he hears a small giggle, pascal now on his back as her dimples pop out at how ridiculous the man looks with a small green chameleon stuffie on his bare back. He smiles when he hears her hearty laugh, instantly wrapping his tattooed arm around her and squishing her into his chest.
“Papa! Cant see!” She laughs loudly, her small body being caged by her Dad’s broad muscular one, his own laughs filling the room as she peeps her head up at him, a small pout on her lips which causes him to lean down and peck her lips lightly.
“Have a good sleep? Yeah?” He asks when she nods happily, her small hand playing with his cross necklace as he shuts his eyes for a few more minutes, face buried in her chestnut curls as she talks to him and pascal, Harry never knowing which one she’s actually talking to sometimes.
“Papa? Pancakes now?” She asks after another five minutes, her small attention span running out which causes Harry to wake up from resting his eyes, smile back on his face as he turns them over so he’s laying on his back and Honey is sat on his stomach slapping his chest looking at his tattoos — she loves his tattoos or his “paintings” as she calls them.
“Papa, your pearlies are gone” she says disappointed looking to see that her favourite necklace of his which is his Pearl one, is missing. She loves to run her small hands over it, the feeling and look of it making her eyes wide in awe at the beauty of it.
“Should I wear them today?” He asks with a smile, watching as she rubs her eyes a little, slowly waking herself up as she lets out a small yawn, her small pouty lips returning as she babbles on nonsense as Harry tries to tame her hair a little before he has to style it for her today.
“Love your pearlies Papa” she says brightly, laying down on his chest, her curls tickling his chin as he wraps and arm around her back, rubbing small circles on it as she relaxes a little, her small body still trying to wake up as Harry softly kisses her head.
It’s when his alarm rings when the two actually peel themselves from bed, Honey immediately springing up and slapping his phone to turn off the sound, it’s her favourite thing to do for some reason, she always shouts “I did it Papa!” Which makes him laugh and nod kissing her head proudly. They’re both in the kitchen now, the early start allowing them to lounge about in their comfy clothes for awhile while they make breakfast. Harry is only in a pair of grey joggers while Honey sits on the counter, helping him add in flour and sugar to the pancake batter in her baby pink bunny printed silk pyjama set *** the darker complexion of her skin standing out against the pale pink, Harry was overjoyed when he seen she had the same skin tone as her Mum, her darker skin causing her blue eyes to be brighter.
“Wanna help crack an egg button? Need t’be careful though, don’t want crunch pancakes now do we?” He asks with a grin as she pulls a disgusted face shaking her head. Her small palm helps her Papa’s hand crack the egg and she giggles watching it plop down into the dry mixture.
They scarf down their banana pancakes through small chats and giggles, Harry cracking his usual jokes that have Honey giggling loudly as she shovelled her pancakes into her mouth, their faces hurting from laughing by the time they’re up in her bedroom, Harry standing at her drawers, holding up small outfits as Honey sits like the diva she is on her bed, giving him a thumbs down when she doesn’t like an outfit he picks. She’s so stubborn, but she gets that from him.
“I do it Papa!” She says annoyed now, marching over to him as she picks her up with a laugh, her small hands rooting about until she pulls out a white cable knit jumper with a few frills on the sleeves and a baby pink velvet pinafore to go over it. She smiles up at him as he nods, happy with her choice. ***
“Did good button, need to put some tights on you though, getting a bit nippy out” he says as she nods, walking towards her sock drawer and pulling out some white knitted tights with an smile as Harry gives her a thumbs up, causing her to laugh loudly.
“Why Papa shave?” She asks sitting on the sink, her small outfit on her and her brown boots swinging on her feet as she dangles them off the counter beside the sink watching as Harry applies his shaving foam and wets his razor under the water, he’s still shirtless and only in his joggers as Honey watches on — she loves watching him, when he’s shaving his face or when he’s cooking, even when he does something a small as put her DVD in the player, she’s fascinated by him and Harry thinks it’s because he’s all she has, and he doesn’t mind being the centre of her attention as she is his.
“Papa has hair on his face, sometimes it gets itchy when it lets long. You don’t like it sure you don’t, always complaining it tickles when I kiss ya” he says with a laugh, his hand gliding the razor over his face as he inspects himself in the mirror, trying not to nick himself as Honey watches on curiously.
“Yuck! Hate Papas beard, gross!” She says as Harry looks at her, his face shaven and the foam gone, he picks up his curl cream and scrunches it through his hair a little.
“S’not nice to say gross button, remember? Cant say things are gross” he warns her, her small face falling but nodding as she takes the small scolding from her Papa, he rarely scolds her and when he does, he feels guilty but he knows it’s for her own good. Apart from a few slip ups here and there, she’s the most well mannered toddler ever, everyone that meets her complements Harry on his good parenting which means so much to him due to what he’s been through to get to where he is now.
It’s another few minutes before Harry is fully dressed, a baby blue striped grey suit *** on his body and his usual gucci heeled boots that Honey loves the sound of, she instantly perks up at the sound knowing her Papa is near. She claps when he walks out from the bathroom, it’s her new thing, she claps like he’s putting on a fashion show, causing him to strike a pose which causes her to fall back onto the bed in fits of laughter.
“Alright button, hair time!” He says as she widens her eyes, trying to wriggle off his bed and run away. She hates her hair being combed due to her curls being unruly and always tangled on her head. He grabs her and makes monster noises at her, tickling her belly as she screams out a laugh, nearly falling from his arms as he places her down on the counter by the sink, she spins around and watches herself in the mirror.
“What are we going for today Miss Styles?” He asks her like a professional hair stylist, her smile wide as she grabs a pink hair tie with small butterfly clips also, she shows them to him in the mirror as he smiles, taking her hair brush and de tangling spray. He struggles a little but he gets there in the end, her hair tied up in a pony tail and the small butterfly clips all around her head as she smiles brightly at herself.
“Did good job Papa!” She says clapping her hands, seeing how her Dad is improving, he’s been watching tutorials nightly and even trying some on himself as he gets used to braiding and all that stuff for when she starts asking for more complex styles in her curly hair.
He packs her bag and they’re both out the door quickly, he straps her into her booster seat in his black Range Rover, her legs dangling about as she rings and dances to the song on the radio, Harry keeping his eyes on the road but they flicker to hers in the rear view mirror when she speaks to him. Honey loves school, she loves her teacher and she loves making new friends due to her out going personality that she definitely got from her Mum, she could make friends with a tree if she was near one.
She’s holding his hand as he walks her in the gates, the other kids all lining up on their designated class spot on the ground, a yellow circle painted on the tarmac signalling the younger class. The Mums are all there with their kids, the odd few Dads there also but it’s always the Mums who are smiling and speaking to Harry as they watch their kids walk into their classroom, small hands waving as they excitedly march into the school. He doesn’t stay long after she’s gone in, mainly because the Mums have no filter and would publicly flirt with the single Dad even when they have wedding bands on their fingers.
He brushes off all the women, smiling at them as he runs out the gate, hearing them all whisper amongst themselves as they excitedly look on as he pulls away in his expensive car heading towards his work building. Harry feels empty when Honey is gone, he loves mornings with her, just him and her going about their mornings, making breakfast and cracking up at jokes they tell one another back and forth over banana pancakes every morning, some mornings they have cereal if they wake up late and sometimes if they wake up extra early and can’t go back asleep, they get ready and Harry brings her out for breakfast before dropping her off at school.
It’s the little moments with Honey that Harry cherishes, knowing she won’t be his little love for very long, but doesn’t think about that. He lives in the present with her and he loves how they are now, he loves his little lady with all his heart.
#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles au#harry styles one shot#harry styles fandom#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#singledad!harry#single dad au#fanfic authors#fan fiction#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x reader
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smoke and mirrors
⇢ richkid!tom x richkid!reader ⇠
w/c: 4.1k
warnings: swearing, drinking, light angst, and implied smut
summary: because of your mother’s insistence on a pristine family image and tom’s messy one, you deny your true feelings for him
a/n: ok ok ok the pics of tom in monaco really made me think and i had to get everything out of my system so here we are! thank you and enjoy x
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your living room is engulfed by a hushed chatter that comes from far too many guests. half the people, you hardly know. it’s overcrowded, superficial, and the last place you want to be. it’s one of your mother’s get-togethers, as she likes to call them. these things are always far from the casual affairs they sound like.
weeks go into planning, caterers and decorators making themselves at home in yours. the family’s image is everything to your mom, so being a good hostess is her top priority. ironically, she’s more concerned with throwing her gatherings than raising you. so much for family, huh?
the only reason you agreed to make an appearance tonight is that tom might do the same. he’s a really good friend, someone you’ve been able to count on through all the mess that is your lives. you met in high school, when he moved from london to the states. his dad was offered a job promotion he couldn’t pass up. plus, tom and his brothers would be receiving a stellar private education here in america.
it was a win for everyone, especially you. the freckle faced boy who got lost on his way to english class became your closest confidant. tom’s company is such a sweet escape. he’s not interested in opera or the stock market like most people you meet are. he sneaks you out to go on walks at dawn and does shots with you until you can’t stand straight.
as you two continue to grow together, revelations about yourselves have come to light. what you want beyond your inheritances, who you want beyond friendship. you figured out the second part on a faithful night recently. tom showed up to your place with a bottle of tequila. after you drank it down through lots of lime chasers and giggles, he kissed you. you didn’t kiss back.
your heart said to go for it, but your mind pulled you back in. you were so shocked and overcome with new feelings, you froze up. that, and you’d infuriate your mother. although she cares about tom a great deal, she loathes his public figure. he’s always getting papped in places and with people he shouldn’t be. the two of you together would just destroy her.
you still want to please your mom at the end of the day, no matter how deep under your skin she gets.
tom immediately apologized and tried play it off as him being drunk. you grew up with him, became part of each other’s families, which means you know him well enough to know he was lying. he meant every second his lips were on yours.
what you need to do now is something you’ve meant to for a while. the only problem is that you’re stuck at your mother’s party, and tom hasn’t shown up yet.
“y/n, darling,” your mom calls for your attention. she’s dragged you into a conversation with some bloggers, but you haven’t spoken a word. “why don’t you tell us about your trip to spain last summer?” she plasters on her award winning grin and squeezes your shoulder. it’s time to play along.
“oh, it was beautiful,” you halfheartedly reply, more to the bloggers than her. they nod in clear interest. one jots down notes. “we went for a few weeks and visited a bunch of different cities. i’d love to go back sometime.” the typical press formatted answer earns your mom’s approval. you’re off the hook. your eyes start to wander around the room, hoping to set on tom.
“we?” the woman taking notes asks. must everyone pry? “my friend and i,” you shortly reply. you’re standing up on your tiptoes to see over the crowd. you’d think six inch heels would do the trick. “i’m actually looking for him right now, so if you’ll excuse me,” you offer a polite smile and silently pray they won’t ask who. unfortunately, your wishes don’t come true.
the other blogger, a short and stubborn man, speaks up. “just a friend you say? come on, tell us. who’s the lucky fella?” he inquires. your mother raises a firm eyebrow, signaling for you not to.
tom has a reputation for his reckless behavior. it’s your mom’s worst nightmare when the media associates your names under most circumstances. you’re representing her, so she does whatever she can to control how you’re seen. you’re constantly in the papers, being a young socialite and all. it sucks.
“he’d like to stay out of the tabloids, sorry,” you cover for tom, on your mom’s behalf. “i should really go. it was nice meeting you.” the bloggers don’t bother to hide their disappointment as you shake their hands. your mother rubs your back in approval. “thank you for doing that. we’ll talk later,” she speaks lowly. “bye, mom!” you practically make a run for it. 
weaving through the sea of people, you end up by the main entrance. it’s hard not to get lost even though it’s your house. the place is packed with girls just a couple years older than you, wearing pearls around their necks. men’s strong colognes flow through the air. you’re in a form fitting red slip dress and louboutins yourself.
smoke and mirrors is what they call it. you show the pretty parts to distract from your ugly ones.
harrison suddenly comes waltzing in with a lady on either of his arms. you’d expect nothing less. he’s tom’s best friend besides you, considering the failed kiss attempt didn’t change that. their parents worked at the london branch of the same company. they each came to the states and met you. you happily introduced them to your world, helping to make it theirs as well.
“haz!” you meet him at the front door. he’s smirking while he leads the women inside. “fancy seeing you here, isn’t it?” he jokes. “very funny. i died laughing,” you deadpan, curiously eyeing harrison’s plus two. they merely giggle. “listen, have you seen tom anywhere? if he’s coming.” you’re fighting back a frown. “why wouldn’t he be?” harrison questions in a more serious tone this time.
“long story. you have guests to entertain, so i won’t get into it now,” you decide and manage a small smile instead. he perks up. “right. i’ll let you know if i see him?” nodding, you give him a wave goodbye. “enjoy yourself.” “you too, love. cheers!” the girls lean into him, harrison wiggling his eyebrows at you. he’s ridiculous.
hours pass by without word of tom. it isn’t like him to miss an event, especially if you’re in attendance. you despise these exhausting nights, and he’s supposed to be your rock during them. he should have his arm draped around your shoulders, whispering silly remarks to you while you hide out somewhere. you miss him more than you thought possible.
you’re just about to give up when you spot nikki ushering her husband inside. behind them follows tom, clad in a grey checkered suit with his locks perfectly tousled. he’s here. you waited the whole night, and he finally came.
tom kisses his mom on the cheek before strutting over to the drink table, not without a few reporters hassling him. they’re probably looking for another holland scandal to break. he declines their requests for comments on this and opinions on that, instead pulling up a chair next to harrison. the two exchange hugs and fix themselves glasses of champagne, you watching their encounter.
harrison fills tom in on the drama he’s missed tonight while they sip their drinks. tom keeps forcing smiles that don’t reach his eyes. he’s fiddling with his fingers, leg bouncing up and down steadily. those are the telltale signs he needs saving. however awkward it may be, you’re going to have to break your silence. it was bound to happen eventually.
“mate, i’m telling you. she fit her entire first right up her-“ “boys,” you cut into harrison’s story, greeting him and tom. his face tints deep pink upon your arrival. “don’t let me stop you. finish your charming anecdote,” you encourage him and subtly glance over at tom. he’s biting back a grin as he sets his elbows on the table.
“not with a lady present. let’s just… pretend you didn’t hear that,” harrison chuckles nervously and hops to his feet. “i’m gonna leave you two to chat.” humming, you move to take his chair. tom sucks in a breath. “what happened to the girls you brought?” you wonder. “they left. said they got bored,” harrison admits, tom stifling laughter. he elbows his friend for that.
“oh, fuck off. i’ll see you later,” he mopes, flicking your arm for good measure. tom salutes him and grabs his nearly empty champagne. “so long, bruv.”
it’s just you and tom now, seated side by side, silently so. he has no intentions of speaking first. he’s too embarrassed, and you don’t blame him. this is on you. you clear your throat before starting the conversation.
“can i top you off?” you tap the bottom of his glass with a tiny smile. tom shakes his head. “i’m alright, thanks.” he finishes the last sip and sets it down, turning to face you. your smile has vanished. “wasn’t sure you were gonna make it. i’m glad you did,” you change the subject. as if he’s considering the sincerity behind your words, tom furrows his eyebrows.
“mum wanted us to. she dragged me and dad straight off the golf course,” he explains and clasps his hands in his lap. his fingers interlock with each other. you fight off the urge to replace them with yours. “we would’ve been here sooner, but the paps are camped outside.” the hint of a smile forms on his lips, at last. “guess it’s not often you get the town’s finest under one roof.”
“you think i’m one of the town’s finest?” you tease, resting your chin in your palm. something flashes behind tom’s eyes. he looks right into yours, scooting closer. “absolutely. you’re the most eligible bachelorette in this whole building.” you allow a toothy grin to spread across your face. “tommy, stop it. you’re too nice to me.”
the nickname is music to his ears. tom looks you up and down, licking his lips simultaneously. “no, seriously. you look gorgeous,” he muses, you pushing at his chest. he exhales a breathy laugh, and you giggle yourself. “red’s definitely your color.” “reverse card. you wear it way better than i do,” you insist. your fingers tug at the collar of his suit. “too bad you didn’t match me.”
you’re relieved you two can talk like you usually do, light flirting and good vibes. it might not be so hard to put the kiss behind you. well, you can’t go on pretending it didn’t happen. you have to at least discuss the fiasco. tom should know why you didn’t reciprocate, then you can take it from there. whether he still has feelings for you, assuming he ever did, will depend on how that turns out.
“not to ruin the fun, but we still have to talk,” you murmur, tom’s body stiffening across from yours. he’s not sure he’s ready to discuss that. “can it wait? we’re at a party,” tom reminds you, running a hand through his styled locks. “yeah, my mother’s. don’t tell me you’re having a good time,” you playfully chastise him. he simply shrugs. “hardly. you’re the best part.”
you ignore the butterflies roaming about your body.
“you won’t mind a quick convo, then. it is with me,” you attempt to persuade him and place a hand on his knee. tom coughs a bit too loudly, the contact surprising him. “you know what? i think i’ll take you up on that drink first,” he decides with a mustered up smile. “coming right up.” you pat his leg before taking his glass. he chews on his lower lip while you poor the bubbling liquid. that was certainly… odd.
you slide tom his champagne back with an exaggerated wink. tom scoffs at this. “mm, thanks. care to join me?” he brings the alcohol to his lips, eyes never leaving yours. your mother specifically said no drinking tonight, since the press would be here. screw your mother, though. “please. could you hand me a glass?” you eagerly grab the champagne bottle. tom searches for an empty cup next to him.
you two are unspoken drinking buddies at this point.
“here you are, darling,” tom drawls, holding out the glass for you. every time he calls you that, you completely melt. “thanks, tommy,” you purr in response. you’re finally pouring your own drink when someone taps you on the shoulder, and hard. you look behind you to find your mother standing with her hands on her hips, less than thrilled. speak of the devil.
“hello, mother. can i help you?” you make sure to ask rudely. she responds with a smile that’s obviously fake. if tom weren’t here, you’d be getting scolded. “yes, my darling. those bloggers from earlier were hoping you’d finish your interview.” your mom shakes your shoulder in a motherly way. you squint up at her. “didn’t they leave hours ago-“ “they’re back,” she sharply informs you.
she’s lying, and you have a hunch as to why.
frowning, you hold tom’s hand in both of yours. “sorry, this won’t take long. why don’t you go find tuwaine?” you suggest instead. “he’s around here somewhere.” tom gives you an understanding nod and laces your fingers together, even if it’s only for a moment. “must be chatting up some producers or whatnot. i’ll see if i can help.” he’s such an incredible friend to everyone. he deserves the same from you.
“thomas, so lovely to see you,” your mom interrupts. tom stands up, kissing both her cheeks out of courtesy. “you, too. what a wonderful party. thank you for having us.” despite what the rest of the world believes, his manners are impeccable. “of course. give nikki my best, will you?” your mom puts her hands on his shoulders. he grins at her. “definitely. take care, mrs. y/l/n.” “always a pleasure,” she states, nudging you to come along with her.
you shoot tom one last apologetic look as your mother pulls you along and towards the crowd.
tom is no idiot. he’s well aware how she really feels about him.
when a swarm of guests is surrounding you, your mom lets go. you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “why would you do that? i haven’t seen tom in days.” she sighs without a care. “isn’t it time you branch out? expand your social circle?” her manicured fingers ruffle your hair. you push away her touch. “i’m social enough. we were in the middle of something really important.”
you begin to walk away, but your mother takes your arm. “whatever you’re about to do, it’s a mistake. he’ll make a fool of you,” she practically spits. yanking your arm from her grasp, you laugh bitterly. “of me, or of the family name? look around, mom.” you gesture to the spot beside her where your dad should be. “as far as i’m concerned, i have no family except tom. i’m gonna go check on him.”
you’re gone before your mom can stop you. she simply stands there, utterly mortified by what you said.
you run around the house to find tom, stumbling in your heels and not giving a fuck. you’d truly meant the part about him being your family. all the holland’s, honestly. they’re the most genuine and caring souls, and you don’t want to lose the one you’re closest to because of your mother’s delusions. 
tom is in a circle with harrison and tuwaine, the three of them chuckling amongst themselves. you’d hate to bug him, but this can’t wait anymore.
“uh, tom?” you mumble his name, appearing behind him. he steps away with another quiet laugh. “hey, y/n/n. that was quick, hm?” your face gives away your distress. his whole demeanor shifting, tom reaches for your hands. “what is it, love? is something the matter?” “just… come with me,” you croak out.
you manage to smile at harrison and tuwaine, dropping one of tom’s hands so you can lead him upstairs. they each return the smile and share curious looks.
following behind you, tom keeps your hand tight in his own. he’d thought you were going to grill him about the kiss that barely happened. it seems like this is a much more pressing matter. his outburst of emotions can be discussed another time. now, it’s time to deal with yours.
you drag tom into the first room on the second floor, which is your dad’s study. he’s away on business this weekend, so he luckily couldn’t make the party. tom sits down in the office chair. you sit up on the desk, in front of him. your lip quivers the second his worried features come into view.
“y/n/n, what’s going on? why are we in here?” tom wonders, his tone soft. your heart clenches. “i- i wanted us to have some privacy when i told you this,” you sniffle out and blink back the tears forming. you’re sort of shaken from the conversation with your mother, and mostly because you have no idea how tom will react to your confession.
his hands come to stay on your thighs, right below your dress. they feel warm against your bare skin.
“tell me what? i’m listening, yeah?” tom gazes up at you with so much love. “lay it all out for me.” god, he’s fucking amazing. if only you knew where to start. “do you, um…” you trail off, letting your tears subside and words settle. “do you remember when your family made your big debut in town?”
a grin replaces tom’s frown, painting his beautiful face. “how could i forget? you made it quite memorable.” he traces circles on your thigh and elicits a giggle from you. “i spilled a whole thing of soda on your white fucking button down,” you recount with a lighthearted sigh. “right before your dad was supposed to introduce you to everyone, too.”
tom presses his tongue into his cheek to hold back another grin. “took ages to get it out. dad went mad when i didn’t show.” he cocks his head to the side, you leaning back on your hands. “you held me hostage in the laundry room so you could do that bloody stain stick.” your mouth drops open in mock offense. “i had to clean up my mess! i wasn’t gonna let the world meet you covered in pepsi.”
that was one of your earliest memories together. the holland’s threw a party and invited everyone who was willing to attend. they had been hoping to properly introduce themselves to the town, and this was their way of doing so. although yours and tom’s friendship was fairly new, you spent all night together because you had experience with such events.
tom’s dad was making a speech to thank the guests for coming. you and him listened from the snack table, until his name was called. he rushed to go up there while you were pouring yourself a drink. he’d bumped into you, and the bottle ended up all over him. you snuck tom right off to his laundry room.
you’d felt terrible as he stood there shirtless and blushing, you aggressively swiping his button down with a stain stick.
“why do you bring that up?” tom questions and continues circling your skin. you purse your lips. “i dunno. it was the last party i actually enjoyed,” you admit, putting your hand over his that rests on your thigh. “like to reminisce when i’m suffering through one of my mother’s.” his eyes shift to where your hands are laced. “i see,” he affirms. “so, is that… all you wanted to talk about?” “not even close,” you laugh out.
a burst of courage coursing through your body, you say it. “when you kissed me the other night-“ “i won’t do it again,” tom cuts in, trying to avoid the rejection he thinks you’ll give him. “it was a mistake, and i’m so sorry. our friendship is more important than my feelings.” you seem excited to hear that, though it’s not for the reason tom expects. “you do have feelings for me?”
he’d forgotten about his i was drunk excuse.
“um, yeah. i do,” he admits, cheeks rosy and lip caught in his teeth. “but, i’ll learn to put them aside, if that’s what’s best.” “no, no. it isn’t,” you dismiss him and put your free hand on his chest. “i love you, tom. that’s what i was really trying to tell you.” your words bring an instant grin to his face. he chuckles in disbelief, standing from the chair.
“fuck, thank god. that’s all i’ve ever wanted to hear.” he’s between your legs now, his hands moving up to your hips. you’re beaming at him as your arms snake around his neck. a burning question comes to tom’s mind. “hang on. why didn’t you kiss me back, then?” he almost whispers, thumb brushing over your hipbone. “this is gonna sound weird, but… my mom,” you reluctantly let out.
“you’re gonna have to elaborate,” tom prompts you and raises an eyebrow. you can’t hold back your eye roll. “she’s never been a fan of the person you are in the media.” his lips form a line. “i gathered.” your fingers tangle in his curls at the nape of his neck reassuringly. “i was subconsciously scared i would be letting her down in some way, if we were together.”
tom allows your hands to work their way up to his scalp. he exhales contentedly as you play with his ever so soft hair. “i understand, she’s intimidating. what’s changed that brilliant mind of yours about coming clean?” your nose scrunches up when he pokes one of your temples. “oh, yeah. i yelled at her earlier ‘cuz she stole me away from you.” his face lights up. “sexy.” “shut up,” you groan. “someone had to tell her off.”
“good thing it got to be you,” tom agrees with a squeeze at your hip. “‘m proud of you, y/n/n. it’s not easy, standing up to mummy dearest.” you tug on his hair. “like you’d know. nikki is a saint.” “that’s what she’ll have you believe,” he says under his breath, you gasping. his lips turn up in a smirk. “on that note… i love you, too.”
“would’ve been embarrassing if you didn’t say it back,” you acknowledge with a cheesy smile. tom dips his head down to rest his forehead against yours. “yeah, yeah. save the attitude for your mum.” your legs easily wrap around his waist, tom’s breath hot as it hits your face. “let’s give that kiss another go,” you mewl. he doesn’t hesitate to reply. “with pleasure.”
tom’s lips land on yours, you kissing back right away. he smiles into it as your lips gently move together. “about fucking time,” he grumbles, your hands situating in his chocolate curls once again. he’s savoring every second you touch him, kiss him, love him. the taste of your mouth is one he’s craved for longer than you could imagine.
it doesn’t take long for things to heat up, you messing with tom’s hair and tom rubbing your hips. you lay back on the desk as his tongue enters your mouth. holding you by your waist, tom hovers over you. his tongue tangles with yours in a deep kiss. between that and his fingers beginning to massage your thigh, you’re done for. you’re ready to take this a step further by the time he’s kissing down your neck.
“tommy?” you grab onto his shoulders, your head back. his lips detach from your skin with a grin. “yeah, love? ‘s everything okay?” he coos, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone. “more than.” you tilt his chin up to peck his lips. “you wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you? just thinking ahead.” he laughs breathlessly, reaching into his suit pocket.
“conveniently enough, i do. not sure your dad would like me fucking you on his desk, though.” tom sets his hand on your leg that’s still hooked around his waist. “my room’s always available. carry me?” you make grabby hands and bat your lashes. he hoists you up by your waist, not lifting you just yet. “that would break the news of us, no? your mum’s gonna go apeshit.” he keeps his arms around you, chuckling.
“let her. besides, i know a couple of bloggers that would love to announce our status update.” you peck tom’s lips, grinning as you do. you’re suddenly in the air and being picked up by tom. the surprise of it makes you squeal, clutching onto his broad shoulders instinctively. he gives you the look of adoration that’s reserved for you only.
“we’ll go pop a few bottles with everyone, then we’re celebrating on our own.”
#tom holland#richkid!tom#tom holland fluff#tom holland smut#tom holland x reader#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x you#tom holland imagine#tom holland fic#tom holland fanfiction#peter parker#peter parker fluff#peter parker smut#peter parker imagine#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you
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“I’m not telling you again.”
If you’re still doing the sentence prompts?
CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, minor whumpee (OC is 17), captivity, referenced dehydration and starvation, forced turning, wishing for death, religion
1905, somewhere outside New York City
-
"Come here, little one."
The boy presses himself back against the cold stone wall behind him. There's a cuff around one ankle, dull iron, and a chain that scrapes the floor when he moves. He swallows, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. Dirty hair falls dull over eyes that sparkle vibrant green in the near-total darkness.
He can't see her.
But she can see him.
"No." His voice is a whimper, a nearly-animal whine, pure fear. "Please, please, please no, not, not, not tonight, not... not tonight, please."
She sighs, chuckling fondly, and pulls a match across her palm to light the lamp that hangs on a hook down here. The wick catches flame, and now he sees the pale, pale skin, the deep red lips. The predator's gleam in glinting dark eyes.
She crooks a long, sharpened fingernail . He can see the hem of her dress, lace-edged, the skirt that sweeps up to curve her hips, the narrowed waist, the high neck. He's stared at illustrations of the Gibson girl put up in shop windows in stores that sell to richer women than he's ever known. She's an echo right down to the soft, upswept hair.
Like a man with an expensive coat hiding a knife, he thinks, that he means to slaughter you with. She's a monster who looks like an angel.
"I'm not telling you again. I'm hungry," She says, and gives a little pout. "I want you to feed me."
He pulls his arms in close, shaking his head again. Tears already threaten. He's so tired, all the time. There is never time enough to heal from one bite before the next and the next and the next-
"Come now, little pet. It's just one last time." Her voice is gentle, but he knows they lie. They all lie to get their fangs in you.
"What, what, what d'you mean?" The boy has a thick country Irish accent, still. Fresh off the boat, they call him when he tries to speak to the boys his age in his tenement. Half of them have accents like his, or thicker.
Not that he'll see any of them ever again.
Not since his parents-
Not since-
He chokes on a sob he can't quite hold back, turning at the waist to rub his fingers over the rough, cool stone. It helps. The motion, the texture, it helps. It calms him down, a little.
Everything here is wrong.
He misses home. He misses the green hills that were never so full of dirt ground in as the city streets are. He misses the air that didn't smell like offal day and night. He misses a world where it was all less overwhelming. He misses a world where his parents were alive to help him understand it.
"Oh, you're sad tonight," The monster wearing a woman's face says, taking the lamp off the hook and carrying it closer. The shadows dance off her cheekbones, they seem to give her a sneer rather than her soft smile. "Let Malorie be of aid to you. Tell me what you need, sweet boy."
"Can, can, can I have a-a drink? Miss?" His voice is hoarse from thirst, and he's parched. It has rained for two weeks and he's drunk the rainwater that leaks in through the walls, plus the few sips they give him each day. Food is a bit of moldy bread, cheese, maybe a thin soup. It isn't enough.
They don't seem to notice, or care.
But then food or water is something they left behind, isn't it?
"Hm." She steps forward, closer to him. Her eyes flash in the dark, reflect the bit of light, and he cringes back from her fangs as she smiles down at him. She moves to crouch before him, and sets the lamp down on the floor beside her. "Is it thirst that drives you, little one?"
"Please." His lips are chapped and cracked. He tastes blood, sometimes, and spits pink-tinged spit to blend with the soil beneath him. He tries to look pitiful - it's not hard to succeed. "Please. I'm, I'm so so so so... so thirsty, ma'am, just a cup, please-"
She looks down, unfastening the line of tiny pearl buttons on one sleeve, then rolling back the fabric to expose her wrist. A stray curl of dark hair falls down to brush her perfect cheekbone.
"Ma'am?" He can't understand what she's doing - none of them had ever started to undress in front of him before. "A drink, ma'am? Please?"
She looks up, and her eyes gleam like a cat's in the dark. Her teeth are very very white. He can see the venom shimmering on her fangs.
"A drink you want, you beautiful boy," She says, and he stares with uncomprehending horror as she moves her wrist towards her own mouth. "And a drink you shall have."
She tears her own wrist open with her teeth.
He gasps and tries to get up to run, but he's weak and dizzy and when she yanks at the chain that binds his ankle to the wall he goes down hard and lands with a thump, the breath knocked out of him.
While he wheezes air into lungs that won't take it, she pushes him onto his back and forces her wrist against his mouth, her other hand pinching his nose shut.
He cries out in horrified disgust against her cold skin and the thick brackish fluid that flows over his tongue. She stares down at him, avid, with huge eyes.
"Drink, sweet boy," She murmurs. "Quench your thirst."
He must drink or suffocate, and his body chooses for him. He swallows even as he gags, and swallows again, and she lets go of his nose so he can frantically pull in air, tears streaming to pool in the shells of his ears and soak into his grimy, dirty hair.
She is a blur through his terror, but her smile is written in stone in the yard beside a church.
"My turn," She says, and when she buries her fangs into his neck, the boy screams again.
And then goes limp as the venom takes hold, and the vampire begins to purr, her fingers gripped like claws into his shoulders.
There is no pain.
Only the fear.
I'm going to die, he thinks, and stares up into the darkness that wipes out even the lamplight. It seems like it's growing, within him and without.
His mouth is full of blood. It tastes better than it did when first she made him drink. The heaving of his stomach stops. He starts to swallow willingly, even eagerly. Nothing has ever quenched his thirst quite like this. It doesn't taste at all like he'd thought.
I'm going to die.
He wants to go home.
He wants more to drink.
He's so hungry.
He wants more blood.
When she pulls her wrist away, he whines and tries to grab at it, to pull it back. She laughs, swatting playfully at him.
"Not yet," She chides, wagging a finger. She licks her open wound and it closes. She laps at the remaining blood and he tries to sit up, to get some too, only for her to push him down again.
Then... pain.
Agony hits, a bright stripe straight up his spine, and he arches away from the ground, throwing his head back and screaming loud enough to bounce off all the walls. It recedes, and then comes again, through his stomach this time. The throb moves to his hips, thighs, into his calves and all the way to his toes.
He curls into a ball on his side, but the pain keeps growing. It takes over. He can't feel the floor he lays on, only the constant spark of nerves blaring alarm. He feels like he is being crushed under a rock, burned by the hottest fire, stabbed with a hundred knives.
"Wh, what, what's happening-... t'me?!" He coughs, and then sobs as the action hurts more than anything else ever has in his life.
"You're dying." She picks at her fingernails, already bored.
He turns to look up at her as she stands, licking her chops like a cat. Tears run down his face, and every time he blinks the air seems pink-tinged. "What...?"
"That's your body shutting down. You know, you're very fortunate." She wipes a droplet of the boy's own blood from the corner of her mouth and then sucks her finger clean. "Very few people get to be born twice. I'll see you tomorrow night. I would prefer if you didn't call me your mother."
Before he can even begin to form a question, she turns to walk away, hanging the lamp up on its hook as she goes, blowing out the flame.
The pain ripples again, he is broken like a brittle shell against the shore. His very bones feel as though they're tearing apart inside him.
He's going to die here.
And he won't stay dead. His parents will wait in Heaven for a demon son who will never be allowed to step foot into Paradise.
He gulps in air, lungs burning, and tries to remember the prayer through his panic. "Our Father, wh-who art in Heaven, hallowed be be be Thy Name-"
His throat blisters even saying the words, and when he tries to cross himself, his hand shakes too much, his joints crack and shatter. He can feel it, he can hear it. They crack and reform, break and bend.
He screams.
He screams until his throat is raw, until it bleeds, until his heart stops beating and blood runs from eyes and ears and from under his nails.
He whispers every prayer he's ever known when he can. He begs for salvation, he begs to be spared eternal bloodlust, he pleads for something other than damnation. He prays he'll see his parents in death and not become a monster like this.
His prayers are swallowed whole by darkness.
He dies, but he does not die for long.
-
Tag list: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump
#whump#vampirism#vampire whumpee#vampire chris au#horror writing#horror fiction#vampire fiction#blood drinking#immortal whumper#sadistic whumper#captivity#bitten#chained up#horror story#vampire whump#vampires#monster whumper#chris the strawberry blond romantic#referenced starvation
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dead men tell no tales reimagined as horror-action
thinking again about how dead men tell no tales had so much wasted potential to be a fantastic horror-action film. instead of focusing on j*hnny d*pp and his stale, washed-out-drunk “comedy” or trying to shoehorn in yet another love story to replace will and elizabeth, the writers/producers/directors should have taken a look at the absolutely phenomenal make-up, costuming, digital effects, and actors’ performances that they had on their hands for the crew of the Silent Mary, and at how the original script written by Ted and Terry heavily played up the horror element.
a horror-focused film would have been a breath of fresh air for the series and could have even made several other elements of the film (lieutenant scarfield, shansa, etc) work better. it would have made the idea of a “final adventure” ring much more true, and most of all, it would have harkened back to the horror elements prevalent in curse of the black pearl and ESPECIALLY dead man’s chest, which worked very strongly in those films’ favour.
just think about the possibilities (quite long, so i’ll put it under a cut):
ghostly hands coming out of the walls of the Monarch like in the trailer, but the viewer never sees what happens next. all we get are flashes of the massacre and Henry’s perspective, trapped in the brig with no light as he struggles to see and hears screams of terror and demonic shrieks of glee.
we don’t see the ghosts coming into the brig due to the darkness; all we see are golden pinpricks in the dark, noises of shuffling and agonized breaths and the sense that something is terribly wrong. they only appear to the audience as one of them brings a torch down into the brig for Henry’s benefit, and suddenly the Mary’s crew is revealed in all their terrifying glory to both Henry and us.
they stare and leer at him, and crewmembers in the background have red blood around their mouths. the audience gets the sense that they very much don’t want to let Henry go.
when we next see Henry in Saint Martin, he’s raving. he still meets Carina, still speaks with her, still agrees to help her, but he is terrified by what he has seen. he tells her about the corpses and the pools of blood he had to walk through to get to the Monarch’s longboat. he tells her how the demons watched him go with hungry eyes. he tells her that he can still hear the screams.
Scarfield does not seek to kill Henry just because he is a traitor - Scarfield sees him with Carina, whom he lusts after. Henry might help her off the island, might protect her. Scarfield wants him out of the way so that he might possess. he has heard plenty of the ghostly crew and cares not that they are attacking british ships - every officer not himself that dies is a greater chance Scarfield will be promoted in the seniority-obsessed ranking system.
Jack is doing well when we first see him, the cunning fast-talker we’ve always known him to be. it is only after the rumours of a ghostly crew with a captain calling himself Salazar spread like wildfire around Saint Martin that he starts trying to drown himself in liquor to assuage the bone-deep terror.
when Salazar and his crew are freed, they don’t have a mild little cheer. no, they tear their hair and howl like madmen. they have been storing all their pain and hate against pirates and empires for decades - they are going to bathe the oceans in blood.
when we first see Shansa, she is hooded and cloaked, somehow able to track the movements of the dead. she takes her robe off and we see why: she is covered in scars from blades and fingernails and teeth, wounds left her when she was the “one man left alive” from a voyage into the Triangle many years ago, back when the Mary’s crew could not control their bloodlust as well as they can now. and that is terrifying to us - what they did on the Monarch was their version of being restrained.
we see the news of the dead crew spreading as they attack pirates and british ships alike. churches are overflowing with terrified citizens; people bar their doors and hold fast their rosaries and guns at night.
Jack’s crew were loyal to him up until they heard of the dead - now they must be paid off by Henry to rescue Jack, because every pirate in the Caribbean knows who Salazar is; and now that he is the undead, they daren’t let him find them. the rumours are coming back from men left alive that the crew of the Mary sing and laugh as they butcher without remorse, that the evil curse they lay under forces them to feast on human flesh just to keep going, just to feel anything. Jack’s crew do not mutiny later because he suggests it - they mutiny out of sheer terror.
the scene with Salazar and Barbossa’s first encounter is one of the few in the film where the horror element is quite prominent (the other being Salazar’s intro, and it isn’t a coincidence that these are two of the film’s strongest and most compelling scenes). very little about this would need to be changed to work, save for one thing: Salazar does not tap his sword five times at the end. instead he simply says, “you can take what’s left of them,” and nods to his lieutenant and his men, who all begin to smile as they turn to the crew. when we see them next, Barbossa’s crew are down to less than half. we never find out what happens to them.
when Salazar tells his story and we see the past, we are stunned. here is the crew of the Mary, working together, smiling, laughing at their victory. we see and hear them talking about how finally civilians will be safe; about how they can retire, go back to their wives and children and parents and siblings. we see them as normal men with a noble goal.
we see them awake and scream in pain and terror, and it is on their agonized screaming at the start of their decades-long imprisonment that we cut back to the present. now we can understand, at least a little, how once-good men became monsters.
Carina, Henry, and Jack would have far more dramatic reactions to the Mary’s crew on the beach. for Henry, these are the demons that slaughtered an entire crew as he sat in the brig, trapped and helpless and terrified that his horrific end was imminent. for Jack, these are men whom he’s seen before as humans, and whose hatred and bloodlust is directed at him. for Carina, who has never seen ghosts before, she is struck dumb. these men have horrific injuries, and they are looking at her with detached curiosity and bloodlust that seems a thousand times more horrifying than the looks Scarfield gave her. she can almost see what they would have done to her had they caught her.
there is no ridiculous wedding scene on at hangman’s bay. instead, the locals saw the giant ghost ship sailing into their waters. they know who it is the demons want, but are not aware that the Mary’s crew cannot set foot on land. they intend to give Jack up to the ghosts in exchange for their own lives.
Salazar still executes Barbossa’s men in the name of the king. he is completely mad, but some part of him still thinks himself a righteous naval officer.
Scarfield wants the trident, but more than that, he wants to use it and Shansa’s knowledge to control these dead men. he remembers the reign of terror Beckett wrought with the Dutchman. he would see it repeated for his own personal gain.
in the ship-to-ship battle, Henry initially tries to defend Carina until he realizes that the ghosts aren’t attacking her. they want her to lead them to the trident so that they can seize it for themselves. our heroes do not yet know that they want to end their curse. in fact, the crew of the Mary don’t really know that themselves - they’d much rather have the pirates surrounding them dead to rights, and then free themselves.
every time one of the Mary’s crew is dissipated due to contact with land, the others react. they scream and howl and gnash their teeth and their eyes flare gold. the viewer can feel how much they would like to crush the heroes’ bones into pulp.
when Henry is captured, the officers of the Mary cannot take their eyes off of him. he is terrified for his life, shaking the whole time. when Lesaro mentions that they have tried possession before, the other officers mourn their comrades who became trapped in human bodies and slowly died of thirst, still unable to leave the Triangle, all because they wanted to see the sun again. the viewer is conflicted - are we supposed to pity these monsters? there are flashes beneath the madness that suggests that deep down, they just want to be human again.
when the crew’s curse is broken, we see more of it. we see limbs regrow, bodies knit together again. we see the bloodthirsty monsters we have come to fear laughing and weeping with joy, embracing each other. we hear their terrified screams for help as Salazar finally demonstrates that his own bloodlust was decidedly not the byproduct of a curse as was the case for his crew and pursues Jack.
Barbossa climbs down the chain to kill Salazar, but the former spanish officer deals a mortal blow. just as he is about to kill Barbossa, Jack himself decides to muster up his courage and sacrifice to save those dear to him, which throughout the films, he has always done. he falls from the anchor, and together with his rival-turned-best-friend, he plummets to his death with one last jaunty sweep of his tricorne hat.
there are many dead from the battle. Barbossa’s pirate empire is in ruins, and british power in the caribbean has taken a massive hit. people everywhere are terrified. Henry, however, finds that his terror has stopped and resolves to be a braver man after witnessing what Barbossa and Jack have done. Carina pledges to honour her father and never again to disbelieve in ghost stories. she decides to become a pirate.
in this bittersweet ending, a glimmer of hope: the Dutchman surfaces, with two new crewmembers. Will hangs up his hat to Jack, with Barbossa as his first mate, and Jack is finally reunited with Bill, who has made amends with Barbossa. the old captain-versus-captain dynamic is back - and destined to play out forever. with uncharacteristic solemnity, Jack vows to ferry Salazar’s crew to the other side so that they can finally rest.
Will climbs aboard the Black Pearl, where the crew has elected Carina Barbossa captain. he asks if she might sail him to Singapore - his wife is the pirate king and lord of the south china sea, and that is where she holds court. Henry and Carina, true pirates, share a kiss as the sun rises and our heroes head off to find new adventure. the nightmare is finally over.
#potc#potc dmtnt#dead men tell no tales#jack sparrow#henry turner#carina smyth#hector barbossa#captain salazar#potc meta#boy this got long#anyway disney just hire me next time ok pls i have ideas listen i just wanna tal
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