#WHO PUT THESE ONIONS NEAR THIS SCENE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thesugarclubs-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Love In The Dark - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: fantasy au, prince james "bucky" barnes, he hates everyone but her, he falls first, OC works in his palace, rude comments to staff, smut, 18+

word count: 8k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1358436681-love-in-the-dark-davina

Masterlist

“Follow,” the old maid demanded of Davina who scurried behind her in old flats that barely comforted her from the cobblestone beneath. “Do not fall behind on your chores, do you understand girl? Speak!” She barked before Davina could find her voice. “You won’t last a week,” the old woman pushed her through a small wooden door into a massive brick-and-mortar kitchen.

“You’ll work here for the time being,” she looked over at Davina with disgust, and for good reason. Her blonde hair seemed ashen, laced with dirt and plaited back and tied with whatever string she could find. Her skirts were drafty and her blouse was ill-fitting but she was clothed and ready to work for the coin.

“You do not address the king, you do not leave the kitchen unless instructed by my hand,” the maid warned, “and for your own sake do not make yourself known to the Prince. He has a temper.”

“A temper?” Was Davina’s only question when she finally spoke.

“I will speak no further on the matter, heed my warning and mind yourself,” she rumbled up her skirts in her withered old hands and scurried like a mouse from the humid kitchen.

The blonde sucked in a deep breath as she watched the older maid rush up the stone stairs and disappear through a door. From behind her, she could hear the bustling kitchen, the smell of onions and game cooking wafted around. Davina's nerves settled in her stomach and as she spun around to get to work, she jumped backward, startled.

"Watch it!" One of the cooks shouted as they moved around her to slide a hot pan onto the plating surface.

"Sorry," Davina mumbled, waiting for another second before stepping into the scene.

"You, new girl, get those plates in the warmer! The king will have our heads if dinner’s cold," The woman barked, moving around to continue chopping.

She nodded sharply, taking the heavy stack of ceramic plates in her arms and heading to the warmer. Davina kneeled slowly in front of it, focusing her mind on settling her quick breaths as she placed the plates on the cold floor beside her.

The last thing she wanted to do was drop something on her first day, it would certainly make it her last and she couldn’t take that risk.

She opened the warmer door and placed the plates carefully inside it. When she closed it, she let her hand fall to the ornate iron legs on which it stood, admiring the work and detail put into the paws.

She had an affinity for the small wonders of the world. The details that no one took to notice or care for. Someone had hand-crafted the legs of the massive warmer with feathered swirls and filigree.

“Keep moving,” she was ordered by another voice. It didn’t take long until the sweat was pouring down her neck between her breast and shoulder blades.

“Run this out to the dining room,” a gruff-looking male servant shoved a pitcher of wine into her sore arms.

“But—” she tried to protest and explain that she wasn’t to leave the kitchen but before she could. The man had disappeared back to work near the hot stove.

Davina furrowed her brows and stared between the pitcher of wine and the stone staircase that led up to the main house. She was meant to be a kitchen servant, helping the cook and washing dishes, not seen by any one of the upstairs maids or especially not the royal family. But at this moment, there was no one she could protest that to and in the mere moments she'd been in the palace, it was evident that the family hated waiting for things.

With a sharp inhale, she balanced the pitcher in both her hands to ensure it didn't spill and made her way up the staircase. Surely someone up there could help her find the dining room, even if she just had to follow one of the other staff members.

"Okay Davina, you can do this, just keep your head down and look like you've been here forever," she muttered to herself, taking each step slowly and carefully.

The moment she entered the stretch of hallway from the servant's staircase, she felt like she was in a completely different building. Rough stone and creaking wood became intricate designs painted on smooth walls and richly colored woolen carpets on polished floors. Flickering flames lined the hall, and as she followed them down they led to two large wooden doors.

“That must be it,” she murmured to herself as faint voices drifted from that same direction.

Davina straightened her back and made her way with quick quiet steps. She wanted to deliver the wine and get back where she belonged without trouble. But it seemed that was too good to be true.

“What are you doing out here?” The same old maid who had taken her to the kitchens appeared beside her, seemingly out of thin air. “You are to use the stairway that leads directly to the dining hall if you are serving, and I believe I gave you strict instructions not to leave the kitchens.”

“I—I didn’t… I,” Davina stammered, clutching the pitcher to her chest.

“Careful, foolish girl, you’ll crack the pitcher squeezing it like that!” The maid snapped, gripping Davina by the upper arm and spinning her to face the wall.

Davina’s confusion quickly abated as the old maid drew back one of the wall hangings to reveal a hidden door, which she opened and shoved Davina towards.

“Servants travel in the servants’ corridors. We don’t want the likes of you cluttering up the hallways,” she snapped, before stalking away.

Tutting her frustration and wondering why the old maid wasn’t using the servants’ corridors herself, Davina entered the dimly lit walkway and shut the door behind her. It ran parallel to the hallway she had walked down and not too far along was a nondescript wooden door that looked as if it should open into the same room as the large double doors she had spied before.

She steadied her nerve and entered the room, careful to keep it against the wall as she made her way to the long table holding the desserts and fruits until it was time to serve.

She had never been in such a room before. Ceilings so high she needed to crane her neck to see the ornate designs of the crystal chandelier that hung from the vaults. The room was draped in rich, dark green wallpaper that Davina could only assume was more expensive than anything she had ever touched.

“Wine,” a voice snapped from behind her and she was sucked back from her daydream to the loud room. Plush royals picked at their meals while a shrill violin played melancholy music in the corner. The violinist wore a tight smile that felt painful to look at.

“Are you daft?” The voice said again causing Davina to focus. A horribly skinny woman in a pleaded bright yellow gown barked at her. “Wine, now.” She tapped a long, feeble-looking finger against her crystal goblet.

Davina chewed on the inside of her cheek and nodded softly once. She knew she was way out of her depths here, but who was she to say no to one of the royal families? Pinning her shoulders back, she took careful steps towards the table, allowing her gaze to drift around the table as she did.

Taking an inventory of everyone who sat in front of her, she didn't want to be the person who messed up on the names of the royals. King James sat at the head of the table as usual, with Queen Winnifred at the other end. On either side sat another couple, the skinny woman and a man who she assumed was said woman's husband. Finally, there was a younger girl, a brunette in a violet dress, who was paying no attention whatsoever to the dinner but instead, had her gaze fixed on one of the servicemen that stood along the wall.

Her eyes drifted over and she was met with the piercing blue stare of Prince James "Bucky" Barnes, who rather than paying attention to the girl he was supposed to, had his eyes narrowed at Davina, watching her carefully as she moved around the table.

With a sharp intake of breath, Davina turned her head, trying to focus on her task. She could still feel Prince James’ eyes on her, and it took everything in her not to respond to the pull of his gaze.

The woman holding her goblet tutted, clicking her teeth as Davina hurried around to her seat.

“Where is your sense of urgency, girl? I’m parched here!”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Davina murmured, “it’s my first day.”

She regretted uttering the excuse the moment it left her lips as the woman scoffed and turned to Prince James.

“I take it you’ll be doing an overhaul of the servants once you’re king, James? It’ll be needed.”

The Prince made no comment that Davina could hear and she dared to look at him once more. She wished she hadn’t as she saw his full lips Prince twist in a snarl of derision and his jaw clenched tightly as he turned his attention away from her and focused on the younger girl next to him.

He leaned over and whispered something in her ear, his eyes flashing with devilry as the girl burst into peals of laughter.

“Show some decorum, Rebecca,” the Queen hissed, glaring at her child.

“Sorry Mother,” the Princess replied demurely, trying to rein in her smile.

The wine poured into the goblet carefully despite Davina's shaking hands and she was able to find her spot against the wall once again, cradling the pitcher like it might protect her from the ill intent and dirty stares of the family. Her attention still carefully and quietly focused on the Prince and Princess, who seemed to have their own quiet language that no one else paid much attention to.

She cracked a small smile as the Prince pushed around his food on his plate to resemble a messy, gravy-covered painting that could have been a pig but Davina wasn't sure until Rebecca began laughing again and the King turned beet red as the Prince cast a devilish smirk across the table.

"You two will be the ruin of this family," the king muttered beneath his labor breathing.

"James, please," The queen gritted her teeth, setting her fork down, "Do not start this again"

Davina cast her eyes down into the pitcher, attempting to tune out the conversation that she expected to transpire, afraid she would hear something that she wasn't supposed to. When working for families of higher positions, there was always topics you would overhear and information that was meant to be kept between family members. Most servants would just push it away or discuss it amongst themselves, but it was never on day one that conversations of this stature were witnessed.

"No father, please, continue," Prince James grinned dramatically, "I for one love hearing how Becca and I are going to ruin this realm,"

Davina swallowed hard. It was the first time she actually heard the prince speak. His voice was deep but melodic. Playful.

She stayed in place as the family began to bicker. “James, don’t start,” the queen warned once more. “I do not want more china broken.”

The temper thing seemed true then, Davina thought as her gaze flitted to the prince. She lingered on his jaw, stubbled and tight as it clenched, and then dragged it upward to stormy eyes.

Stormy eyes landed on her, and Prince James furrowed his brow curiously. Davina couldn’t look away this time, transfixed on the way he was staring her down, his dark face framed by long hair.

She swallowed thickly, having to force herself to stop the inappropriate staring when James grunted and scraped his chair back from the table.

“I’m no longer hungry,” he stated, before turning to his younger sister, his voice suddenly a little softer as he continued, “I’ll be in the library, little butterfly if you wish to lose at chess again.”

“I only lose because you cheat, Bucky!” Princess Rebecca called after him as he left the table, much to the clear chagrin of their parents.

Davina could feel the air in the room grow tense as dinner came to a close and the family scattered among the castle walls. Davina finished what chores she had and walked home in the darkness. As the weeks turned to a month Davina settled into her responsibilities but her curiosity for the Prince never faded.

Smoothing down her dress, Davina made her way once more through the stone hallways of the palace. It was a warm summer's day, and she was thankful to be in the wing of the palace that had open hallways into the gardens.

As she walked, soft grunts echoed through the air and when the sight of Prince James came into her view, she stopped in her tracks. He was training outside today, moving swiftly as if he were dancing around his sparing instructor. Beads of sweat dripped down his throat to his chest, and his tanned skin glimmered under the sunlight, making the ocean blue of his eyes stand out that much more.

James parried a blow, blocking an incoming attack from the side, then swung his sword as he swiftly moved his feet in the opposite direction.

He was… beautiful. Davina hid in the shadows, hoping no one could see her as she watched every move the prince made.

He’s brilliant.

She could almost see the calculations he was making in his head, eyes moving fast as he accurately predicted his opponent’s next moves.

Lifting his sword, his muscles tensed as he snarled and brought it down with a mighty clash, metal to metal. Davina’s stomach swooped at the pure strength behind James’ movements, he was sculpted like the statues of the castle, a work of art.

Lost to her reverie, she was spooked by the clearing of a throat behind her.

“You’re not the first maid to stare at my brother and you certainly won’t be the last, not that I understand the reasons why,” the young Princess announced imperiously with a look of thinly veiled disgust.

“Your Highness…” Davina dropped a curtsey and bowed her head. “I wasn’t…I mean, I’m not…”

“If you say so,” Princess Rebecca smirked cheekily, her arms folded across her chest.

Davina stared at her feet, not wanting to admit that maybe she had been admiring the Prince. Even if the Princess was younger than her she was still a member of the royal family. Oh god, she was going to get in trouble for this, wasn't she?

"Ugh, ew!" Davina glanced up, only to see the Princess' nose wrinkled in disgust as she looked her over. "Don't servants bathe? You stink!"

The younger girl whirled around without another word, striding away with the imperious air that was typical of her station, leaving Davina feeling hurt and embarrassed. It wasn't her fault that she had no private place to bath where she lived.

"You kind of do," the Prince's low voice came from behind her, making her jump.

The hair on the back of Davina's neck stood on end as she slowly turned on her heel to face the Prince. Despite the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks she curtsied muttering a soft "Your Highness" before standing straight, taking a step back from his large frame.

Ocean blue eyes narrowed at her for a moment, "My sister, as brash as she is, is right. You need a bath." His words sent a burning sensation behind her eyes as she tried to hold back the tears from feeling the humiliation climbing through her veins.

"Yes sir," She said softly ignoring the shakiness in her voice.

He studied her once more before glancing behind him into the courtyard then up and down the hallways. Her eyes followed his own, finding themselves completely alone. Silence drifted between them before he glanced back at her, his eyes roaming her features as he took a step towards her and lifted his hand. Every muscle in her body tensed as the Prince's thumb brushed over her cheekbone wiping away at the smudge of dirt she had seen this morning but forgot to wipe away herself and watched as the blue in his eyes disappeared with something other than disgust.

Davina's breath shuddered while his hand lingered on her skin almost burning her with curiosity and a feeling in her belly that she should not be having for the Prince.

"There's a bath house for the servants on the edge of the grounds," He said, his voice huskier than before, "Use it. If you are told not to by any of the other maidens, you direct them to me."

Just as quickly as his fingers had found her skin, they were gone. His gaze lingered on her for a moment more before he turned and moved down the corridor, letting Davina force the breath she was holding out through her mouth.

She sighed to herself before going about the rest of her chores for the day in silence. When dusk came, she found the bathhouse that the Prince spoke of. It felt nice to be able to soak in the flowing water and to use the bath oils and hard goat's soap that she found.

Clean and dressed in a new hand-me-down shirt and skirt from an older maid, Davina took her small dinner in the servant's quarters before beginning her evening duties.

The breakfast for tomorrow morning needed preparing, bread dough to be proved and fruits to be soaked in syrup.

The small wooden clock on the mantle told her she was running behind and she hurried to the kitchens, blonde hair flying behind her as she fumbled to tie it back with ribbon. In her haste, she skipped the servant staircase, the castle was quiet and she doubted there would be anyone around to berate her now.

Past the great hall, left at the garden room and— oof

The library door swung open and she collided, hard and fast with the broad body of the prince, clad in soft cotton undergarments.

“Oh…oh my…I’m…your Highness!” Davina stammered, dropping into the lowest curtsey she could manage.

Her face blazed with embarrassment as she remained frozen, her head bowed as her hair slowly slid back out of the poorly-tied ribbon and pooled like satin around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I think perhaps I share some of the blame here,” the Prince rumbled. “Are you hurt?”

Davina looked up, surprised to hear what almost sounded like kindness coming from the usually closed-off Prince.

"Oh, ah, yes, I'm fine, your majesty," She curtsied again, her cheeks hot, "I should have taken the servant's hall, I am so sorry. It won't happen again."

"It's fine, there's no one else around," He murmured. She looked up, hesitating to meet his gaze. He was studying her intently, though what his thoughts may have been she couldn't tell, "You used the bathhouse, I take it?"

"Yes, thank you, sir."

"Hmm," For the second time that day, he reached out, but this time his fingers trailed the collar of her shirt. She struggled not to make a sound when he touched her neck, just barely before his hand dropped away completely.

"What was your name again?" He asked.

"Davina, your royal highness."

She watched as his tongue jutted out over his bottom lip. His plump pink lips glistened under the low light coming from the library after the action causing her breath to hitch in her throat.

“Please,” his voice low and raspy, “just Bucky. I detest the formalities.”

Davina felt the heat creeping slowly up her neck, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly.”

“Just between us,” he stated, tilting his head down slightly, a stray curl falling across his forehead as his eyes searched hers.

Her fingers itched with the urge to push the curl from his face. Realizing he had gone quiet, her eyes peeled from the soft tendril down to his blue eyes. "Of course...Bucky."

The name felt foreign to her lips, almost forbidden, and sparked something in her belly as he shifted in his boots, the corner of his mouth quirked up as he watched her.

"Do I make you nervous, Davina?" He asked in a hushed gravely tone that sent goosebumps up her skin despite the corridor being warm and humid from the night air. Bucky took a step towards her, closing the little distance between them.

Suddenly her throat felt very dry as if every ounce of air had been sucked out of her lungs, "N-no, of course not, I've just -" Davina cleared her throat and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, "I've heard stories," she admitted, finding herself unable to take her blue eyes off of his.

"Stories..." Bucky repeated, a small glimmer of a smirk appeared on his lips and his head tilted to the side as he watched her, "You've not worked here long, have you?"

"Nearly a month," She answered, still trying to hide the small shake in her voice as she took a step backward.

The prince hummed, nodding once and following her backward step with a move forward, staying close to her as his eyes traced her features. Davina was gearing up to hear cruel words drip from his lips as he bashed her for her stupidity. Despite being allowed to call him by his nickname, there was no way she could have prepared for his next words.

"I knew I couldn't be so blind as to miss someone so beautiful working in my palace," He rasped, reaching out to brush a stray piece of blonde hair off her shoulder.

Davina furrowed her brows and took in a sharp breath, "You... you think I'm beautiful?"

“Enchanting, really,” Bucky murmured softly, twisting a strand of her hair around his fingers.

Davina’s breath hitched, her gaze leaving his momentarily to trail the length of his body.

“Forgive me, Davina. I am in battle garments so often, I like to dress down most evenings. I usually stay in my rooms and don’t expect to bump into anyone.”

He peered at her through his dark lashes, blue eyes glistening as his cheeks flushed a soft pink. To see the Prince blush was a surprise.

“It was unexpected, I admit,” she replied, lightness in her voice.

His mouth opened and then closed, as if he wanted to say something but then decided against it. He tried again,

“Do you…read?” He asked, gesturing with his head towards the doorway he’d appeared through.

The tone of his question sparked something in Davina and she felt indignance rise within her.

“Do I read?” She blustered. “Why? Do you think one in a lowly station such as I am not educated? Because I am new here? Because that wretched old chief maid worked me so hard I hadn’t even had time to bathe?!”

Davina’s hands landed on her hips, her eyes blazing.

“Of course, I can read you arrogant ass!”

For a moment the Prince looked taken aback, instead of Davina being the one who was flustered, it was him floundering.

"I didn't mean - " he stopped abruptly and then laughed, his eyes crinkling slightly at the edges while his nose wrinkled up with the smile. "Forgive me, Davina, I didn't mean to imply you had no education. I meant, rather, to ask if you wanted to see the library?"

Who was this man and what had he done with Prince James?!

A shuffling at the end of the hallway startled them both before Davina could form a response. Headed straight for them was the very same wretched old maid she'd mentioned a moment earlier.

"Shit," she cursed quietly, before remembering who she was with. Her hand flew to her mouth, hoping neither the prince nor the maid had heard her.

Before she could think of a reasonable explanation to be caught with the Prince in a dark corridor, his hand grasped her waist as he shuffled to the side.

Davina was stunned- mostly from fear, but partially from the firm grasp he held through the thick fabric of her skirts. He had placed his body between hers and the old maid, who was just a few feet away from them now. Her heart lept to her throat.

“My lord, please forgive the new girl, she’s not right in the head-“ Bucky stepped forward just as the old maid approached with an outstretched hand, poised to slap Davina.

“How dare you speak about my staff in such a manner?” He practically hissed at her. The old maid shrunk at his sharp tone, her hand returning to her waist to smooth her apron.

“Your grace, I’m sorry,” she curtsied. Davina could see the old maid shaking as she averted her eyes. A part of her felt sympathy for a split second - this was another human, after all. And they both were only in this hallway because they served the man standing between them, and his entire royal bloodline.

She wanted to take comfort in the fact that Bucky seemed to be protecting her, but she also couldn’t ignore the fact that he was royalty and she was a mere handmaid.

“I’ll make sure she is punished and-“

Bucky cut the old maid off again. “You will do no such thing, wench,” he spat at her. She shrunk even closer to the floor as Davina started to actually revel in the verbal lashing he was delivering.

They may both be servants, but this woman was unnecessarily wretched.

"Return to your duties, Miss Davina serves me and only me from this night forward." Bucky turned his nose up with his words. His hand squeezed her side when she tensed next to him.

The old maid stood straight once more, her eyes bulging from her skull, "Your Highness, that's not--"

Davina froze once again, her gaze daringly flickered between the two of them just long enough to catch his brow raise and the slight tilt of his head.

"I will not repeat myself again." His words were harsh and firm with warning. The old maid bowed her head once before turning on her heel and away from them.

She felt herself let out a breath before stumbling out of his grasp, "You didn't need to do that." Davina hissed gently, "I shouldn't have been here."

Bucky turned back towards her, his fists clenching at his sides and a hard look plastered over his face. "That old maid has been bitter since I was a child and she abuses what little reign she has on the rest of the servants and clearly more-so you, so yes Davina, I did." She stared up at him, not believing the words she was hearing as his face softened and he reached for the large bronze handle of the Library door, "I'd like to get to know the maiden who will be mine from now on unless you'd like to return to the servants quarters."

The butterflies in her chest exploded and she wasn't sure if his words had a second meaning or not, but the corners of his mouth quirked up again softly creasing the corners of his eyes and showing her a different side of the rumored mean prince.

Davina cleared her throat and rubbed the back of her neck. She could still feel his hand at her waist. "If... If you want to show me the library, I wouldn't be opposed, sir."

There were rooms in the castle where servants weren’t permitted to enter unless working directly with a member of the family or under extraordinary circumstances. Sleeping quarters, private offices, and, Davina had been disappointed to learn, the library.

So given the opportunity now, as Bucky tucked her hand snuggly into the crook of his elbow, she was giddy to see the large collection of books she’d heard talk of.

“Oh, this is glorious!” She beamed as Bucky guided her into the room, letting her go to close the heavy doors behind them with a loud thunk.

Davina’s heart thundered against her rib cage as she turned to see Bucky watching her take it in, his expression soft. She was truly alone with the prince now, and he was looking at her like she was some creature from heaven.

“It is quite. I always felt there was something missing though, with the room.” He paused and took a large stride towards her, absentmindedly fixing an upturned frill on the shoulder of her shirt. “But I think I just found it.”

Her breath hitched slightly at his closeness, her senses becoming overwhelmed by the new environment. The light in the library was dim, with oil lamps turned down low and the fire in the grate almost at embers. The smell of woodsmoke, leather, and old paper permeated the air, combined with a scent that was so distinctly…royal.

“No one really takes care of them anymore,” he murmured, stepping up behind her. “They keep it clean and tidy but the books are so…neglected.”

“I’d look after them,” Davina breathed. “I’d organize them and make sure they were treated properly, the books,” she clarified.

“I thought you might,” Bucky hummed, his fingers moving from her shoulder to rest against the side of her neck, his thumb tracing small circles against her shoulder blade.

Davina was practically dizzy at the slightest sign of affection from this man. She so desperately wanted to arch her back into him but she couldn’t possibly be so forward, not after he offered her such a generous opportunity.

Gratitude bloomed in her chest as she realized the gravity of what happened here. She suddenly spun around to face him. Bucky’s eyes widened in shock as she stared up at him through her lashes. His hands fell to his sides, but she reached forward and grasped them with her own.

“Your grace, thank you so much for what you did back there. Thank you for- this library is-“

She was overwhelmed by the kindness the Prince was showing her. This was the most human she had felt in a month. Tears welled in her eyes and she sniffed, willing them to dry up and save her a lifetime of embarrassment.

Just as a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, Bucky reached up and wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. She choked down a sob as he grasped her chin and pointed her gaze toward him. He towered above her.

“You have nothing to thank me for.” He was being so gentle with her, but his tone was firm. She didn’t feel the need to question further.

He gathered her hands against his chest and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. She felt comfortable for the first time since she came to be part of the royal service.

“I meant it when I said you were mine now, you know.”

She brought her lip between her bottom lip, her eyes glued to his as the rest of her body melted into the warmth of his own. Though the doubts about their statuses still lingered in the back of her mind.

"I'm just a maiden..." Davina whispered, "And you...are a-"

She gasped as his lips slotted over her own, silencing her. His hand slid from her lower back up to the nape of her neck, holding her firmly against him as a whimper left her lips. Bucky pulled back gently, just far enough that she could see his eyes as she breathlessly finished her thought, "Prince."

"Tell me, Davina," he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. "Have I ever given you the impression that I am concerned with stations?"

She swallowed tightly, still dizzy from the kiss but Bucky's hands wrapped around her neck tighter keeping her eyes on him as she collected her thoughts. His rings felt cool against her flushed skin.

"Certainly not," she huffed, finally able to catch her breath, "but I may need more convincing your majesty."

James grinned down at Davina, his eyes dark in the dimly lit room. "Oh really? What could I possibly do to convince you, my Davina? " He slowly began backing them up towards a bench against the far wall, out of sight. "Another kiss? Or would my beautiful maiden want something... more?"

The word was a hushed, low rumble against her ear and Davina swore her heart was pounding so hard, Bucky could surely hear it. She drew back with a raised eyebrow as she tried to steel her nerves.

“Surely you have more decorum than to take a maid in the library, your majesty?”

Bucky laughed, rich and echoing in the vast room.

“Oh, my sweet Davina. We have much to learn about each other, but you know I possess little decorum. Especially around a maiden as intoxicating as you.”

He dipped his head then, brushing the cool tip of his nose up the line of her neck and pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear. Davina gasped as Bucky suckled lightly at her skin.

“Then I want more,” she breathed.

“Perfect,” he murmured against her skin, trailing his lips across her jaw and back to her mouth.

Davina flushed at the soft whine that escaped her throat, but it only served to spur the Prince onwards. Bringing his hands up to cradle her face he kissed her once more, capturing her top lip with his before deepening their contact and pulling her flush against him.

The heat radiating from his body made her overly conscious of his state of undress, clad as he was in only the soft cotton chemise and shorts he must sleep in.

"M-my lord," she gasped when his lips trailed across her cheek and he nipped her earlobe.

"Mmm, Davina," The prince growled, "I told you to call me Bucky."

They sank to the bench, Bucky caging her below him, but he paused, his eyes searching hers instead of continuing his affections. "Are you sure you want this?"

Davina blinked rapidly, "What?"

"Do you want this? Me?" He asked, before clarifying the question further, "I'm not interested in forcing this on you, no matter what my reputation may suggest otherwise."

She nodded her head, staring into his eyes. The blue of his eyes was only slightly visible, his pupils overtaken with lust.

“Words, Davina,” he chided lightly. She craned her neck to reach his lips but he pulled away slightly. She could still feel his breath against her skin.

“Please,” she breathed. “I want you.” She desperately needed to close the gap between them.

Bucky chuckled slightly as he started suckling her jawline. She moaned and arched her back up from the hardwood of the bench.

“Let me make you mine, little dove.”

"You already did," gasped as his fingers trailed along her side, tugging at the soft cotton until she felt the tips of them on her skin.

He smiled against her skin, moving from her jaw to the column of her neck, to the soft spot between her collarbone and neck, "but to hear you say it," Bucky rasped lifting his head as his hand palmed her breast, "is far more pleasing."

He rolled her nipple through his forefinger and thumb, the coolness from his rings sending jolts straight to her nerves as the fire began to burn in her belly. Davina smiled, combing her fingers through his long hair, pushing back the waves from his eyes, "Then please, make me yours."

Bucky's fingers made quick work of the laces at her breasts before shucking the camisole from her body and leaving her on display. Davina leaned against the bench on her elbows, propping herself up as Bucky sat back, lifting his own tunic from his torso.

Davina looked around, tempted to cover herself in fear of being caught in such a public space but the prince caught her hands before she could do so, clicking his teeth together in a disapproving sound. "I want to see you," he whispered in a tone that sent a spark coursing through her body to her toes. "All of you," his fingers tangled into the hem of her skirt, and tickled a line across her stomach. "May I?"

"Please Bucky," Davina whined, her hips instinctively bucking softly towards him.

Bending down, he placed light kisses down her torso as his fingers tugged her skirt and undergarments down her legs. Sitting back up, he haphazardly threw her bottoms into the dark of the library and grasped her calf in his hand, running his lips over the skin of her ankle and up her leg.

"Gods you're gorgeous," he rasped, peering down at her with a wicked smirk on his lips.

She whimpered softly, surprised that she'd even made the sound. The look on his face made her melt against the wood of the bench she rested against. He wanted her. Her.

Davina reached out with one hand, wanting to be able to touch any part of him that she could reach. "Bucky..."

Slowly, torturing her with each kiss that he pressed against her calf, Bucky moved up her leg. Each time his lips met her skin she whimpered, the heat building in her the closer he got to her hips.

"Is this okay?" He asked. He hadn't taken his eyes from hers, and she could see the fire burning in their depths. Despite experiencing this firsthand, Davina was still having trouble believing that a Prince was interested in a simple maid like herself.

"Yes?" She said, not entirely certain what he meant.

He smirked, pressing another kiss against the tuft of hair between her legs, fingers tickling along the soft skin of her thighs, "One of my greatest pleasures, Davina," He rasped, "Is feasting on the sweet nectar that comes from here."

His fingers pushed between her folds, making her gasp, and then dragged them up, circling her sensitive nib once before he pulled them away. Davina whined at the loss while he popped the soaked digits into his mouth. Bucky groaned deeply, "Fuck, you taste heavenly. Let me have more?"

“Gods yes,” She breathed, her heart hammering against her chest as his eyes bore into hers. Lust and adoration swirled into one, taking over his sea of blue.

“Please, Bucky”

His plump lips curled into a soft smirk at the sound of her pleas only fueling the fire inside of her.

“As you wish, my sweet.”

His sentence was a whisper against her center, just barely finished before he licked a stripe through her wet folds. Davina’s head fell back at the contact, a moan slipping from her lips as he circled her throbbing nub with the tip of his tongue. His fingers dug into the supple skin of her thighs as she bucked her hips into his lips.

His fingers slipped gently between her folds. He continued circling her clit with his tongue- it felt like he was spelling out a prayer with his tongue, treating her body with the utmost reverence.

Davina couldn’t stop her hips from lifting up from the bench. The coil in her belly wound tighter and tighter- “More,” she choked out.

He sped up his prayer, moaning into her cunt. In a haze, she took his hand from her thigh and placed his hand at the column of her throat. He pulled away from her with a whine, his fingers still lingering at her entrance.

Bucky’s eyes widened before he carefully placed his fingers around her neck. He applied no pressure to her throat, just resting his hands against her as he gazed up at her from between her legs.

“Do you still want more?”

Davina nodded, head spinning as she almost immediately felt slight pressure from his grasp on her throat. She wasn’t going to last much longer, especially as the cool of his rings soothed her burning skin.

He ducked his head back down and lapped at her clit while driving two fingers deep inside her. He didn't apply any more pressure at her throat, just enough so her cry was muffled as the coil inside her snapped. Waves of ecstasy crashed down upon her. Her hips bucked against him as he moaned against her, the lower half of his face slick with her arousal.

Davina's body shuddered through the pleasure, her lids heavy as she peered down at Bucky who was nipping at her inner thighs. His freehand had disappeared between them and she could make out the faint gesture of him stroking his length as he lifted his lips from her.

"You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted Dove," his voice was raspy and dark as he moved the hand around her throat to cup the side of her neck and moved to hover over her, "Where has this cruel world been hiding you?" Bucky muttered rolling his hips gently against her own as he settled his weight on her. The pressure ceased the gentle vibration of her body as her fingertips dug into the muscles of his shoulders.

She knew the question was rhetorical but she couldn't help the words as they fell from her lips, "in your family's shadow."

His brows furrowed for a moment before his lips pressed to hers, "You're filled with too much light to be kept in the shadows my darling."

That familiar burning sensation behind her eyes returned as he slid his knee between her thighs, nudging them apart gently as he peppered her face and neck with slow soft kisses, "Bucky," she whined in a whisper until she felt the head of his cock nudge at her entrance and a small gasp left her.

He lifted his head again, tangling his fingers into her hair, "Be my light Davina, please."

Davina's blue eyes searched Bucky's in the dim light of the library, almost waiting for herself to wake up from this perfect dream. Of all the people she thought would fall for her, a prince was never in her mind. The soft touch of Bucky's lips against her skin made her mind spin in the best way possible.

"I'm yours, Bucky," she whispered into the darkness, "I'm all yours,"

Bucky took in a sharp breath as he moved to capture her lips with his own as he pushed himself inside her, swallowing her moan. As he bottomed out, his hips stilled, feeling Davina wince, and clench around him. His lips shifted to pepper her cheeks with soft, wet kisses, trailing his hand down her body, and finding its home on her hip.

He pulled back just enough to catch her gaze, with a furrowed brow as he searched her face, "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

Davina nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck and tangling her fingers into the small curls at the base of his neck, "I'm okay, I promise. You can move, Bucky,"

With another breath and a soft kiss to her lips, Bucky pulled out of her and pushed back in slowly, taking his time to relish in every inch of her body as his blue eyes locked with hers in the warm dim light of the candles.

He watched as Davina's back arched in a beautiful bowing motion, making him smile. "Gods, you are so beautiful." Bucky lowered his head to kiss between her breasts as he slowly thrust repeatedly into her body, listening to her soft whines and moans.

Davina gripped onto the hair at the back of his head, already feeling the coil in her body slowly beginning to tighten again. "Bucky... please... faster please."

Bucky pulled back slightly, thrusting back into her with force, filling her to the brim. His hips began moving faster, hip bones digging into hers surely leaving bruises in their wake.

The feel of his length inside of her coupled with his warm breath against her skin and praises sent Davina into a frenzy. Electricity shot through her nerves and she pressed her lips to his shoulder trying to conceal her moans.

"Let go for me Davina," He groaned, his hips stuttering as he buried his face into her neck, "I have you."

His words sent her over that edge, clawing at his back as she sank her teeth into the skin on his shoulder not hard but to keep herself from screaming his name in the expanse of the library. Her body tightened, the rubberband in her stomach snapped and her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him to her.

"Bucky please," she begged him as his movements became erratic, his breath somehow hotter against her skin. He lifted his head, and a small ring of blue around his pupils glowed in the dim light before his lips crashed against her own, swallowing their groans with his release and sending her over the cliff with him once more.

As Bucky's hips stilled, the two of them collapsed onto the wooden bench beneath them. The coolness of the wood on Davina's back was a contrast to her hot sticky skin. She took comfort, nuzzling herself into Bucky's arms, his touch becoming light and gentle as he pressed soft kisses into her messy blonde waves.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" He rasped, trailing his fingers down Davina's arm and entangling their fingers together before bringing her hand up to his lips.

Davina hummed and let out a deep breath, smiling softly up at the prince as she met his eyes, "I'm perfect," she whispered, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"I hope you know I meant every word," Bucky stated, keeping his blue eyes locked with hers, "Everything I said to you, it wasn't just to get you into my bed. I meant it, Davina."

Her bottom lip found a home between her teeth as she took in his words. The thought had crossed her mind, that he was just being sweet to her for this but there was something about the way he looked at her, the way his touch felt against her skin that pushed that thought away.

"I believe you, Bucky," she answered finally, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Bucky sighed deeply, moving his gaze down to their hands as he played with her fingers, the soft hint of his real smile danced at the corners of his lips, "I didn't want this life," he finally said, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "The kingdom, the responsibility, becoming my father... It's not me. And yet, despite my best efforts, the rumors around the palace of my temper is just history repeating itself," his blue eyes moved back to meet Davina's, looking down at her through tired eyes, "But the past few weeks, having you around, everything felt different. The air in the palace was suddenly clear and every room I saw you in was someone brighter, but I could never find the opportunity to approach you. That old hag or someone from my family was always lurking about..."

"I'm here now, your majesty," Davina teased, bringing a soft laugh from his lips.

"Yes you are, my beautiful light in all of this darkness," Bucky leaned down and captured her lips with his.

Davina pulled back, resting their foreheads together, she brushed the tips of their noses together lightly, "Always," she whispered.

84 notes · View notes

operationfortune · 2 years ago

Text

Okay I know this post will gain absolutely zero traction but the more I think about it the more I want to cry about it??

slight spoilers for one of the character arcs in Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre ahead,,,

So I saw Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre in the cinema today. I was alone, it was reasonably full, the film technically only opened two days ago, and it's wider release isn't for another week, but I had time to kill and it was the only thing that piqued my interest. It sits in an interesting spot tonally, comparative, I'd say, to Netflix Exclusive Michael Bay movie 6 Underground, though to use a more recent marker I'd drop it somewhere near Bullet Train (though it's definitely much closer to 6 Underground). All this context to say that I went into this Jason Statham-lead espionage action movie with zero expectations and almost completely blind.

So please believe me when I say I was truly blindsided with joy to have canonical, casual queer representation in this Jason Statham-lead espionage action movie.

Maybe it's that I don't watch a lot of media now, but it's something I noticed while watching Glass Onion too, both with Benoit and Hugh Grant (ha, put a pin in that) and especially with the character of Peg, and it makes me a bit teary and excited when I think about it. There's something to be said for how far we've come, to the point that Casual Queer Rep is even possible. There's something about watching Peg get all flustered talking to Helen and knowing that it's because she has a crush, without it having to be flagged, spelled out, or otherwise othered by the film or its writing.

It's normalised.

Which I know shouldn't be a big deal, but right now, to me, it is. I didn't realise I could feel this way; to see a full character who just so happens to be gay, where the plot doesn't revolve around her being gay, but that part of her identity is still made clear?? I love Peg so much holy shit.

But Glass Onion is the second in a series that has established itself as a forerunner for casual diversity. Let me tell you about how Operation Fortune made me want to YELL in theatres.

It's the 8th of January, and it might be a bit early to call it, but Danny Francesco might be my favourite character of the year.

Is he perfect? God no, he's objectively not a great person; he's sleeping with his sister-in-law, he's a Hollywood diva, he's demanding, and he (spoilers, seriously) ends up engaged to a war criminal. Who happens to be the main antagonist. Who happens to be Hugh Grant. Danny is the light of my life, however, and I love him with my whole heart.

So in the beginning we're told that Danny turned down $10m because he didn't want to jump out of Greg (Hugh Grant)'s cake and sing Happy Birthday; whatever, I thought, Greg is a rich, eccentric with an obsession with celebrities, and Danny is the biggest star right now, I shouldn't read anything into it because Sometimes Rich People Just Do Things For Status Reasons. We're also told, and subsequently shown, Greg tries to take celebrity's partners/girlfriends. Cue Sarah (Aubrey Plaza) in a bright red dress that I will dream about for the next month.

Also, in the scene where Danny, Sarah, and Orson (Jason Statham) are joining the fancy party, there's some distinctly fruity vibes between the three of them, but I'm not here to push my Orson/Sarah/Danny polycule agenda, just know that I have one.

So obviously Greg is excited to see Danny, but later makes a Very Distinct Pass at Sarah, inviting both her and Danny to stay with him for the weekend, with an implied Wink Wink Nudge Nudge.

While they end up taking him up on that offer, Danny, who started the film having refused Greg's Rich Weirdo Request, and now having to spend time with him for the job, finds that he actually genuinely likes Greg, who appears to genuinely like him back, doting on him, even giving him gifts.

When Danny says to Sarah "(I'm paraphrasing, about Greg) he's really into you! If you don't take him up on his offer then I might!" my eyeballs were Out Of My Head. Like sure it sounds like a joke that would be written in to simply highlight Danny's materialism, a whole 'gay for pay' joke, something about his vanity, or even just an offhand joke that I might hear one of my straight friends who were super comfortable and confident in their sexuality say about their best friends, I was So primed for this to be something that the audience could laugh off or dismiss in hindsight. Like in my mind that solidified my headcanon of Danny as bi, but I was so used to queerbaiting and years of being told I was reading into things.

So as the plot continues, Danny's fondness for Greg goes on, turns into something incredibly genuine, and looking back, he clearly has a hero-worship crush on Greg by the end of the film.

The last shot we see of Danny and Greg is the pair of them getting into an elevator after Greg pulls a stone cold power move on the films secondary antagonists, which he had Danny assist with for flare after Danny asked specifically to stay with him for that event. In the elevator, Danny tells Greg that that was "the coolest thing he's ever seen someone do" and that's the last we physically see of them.

HOWEVER!! THE ICING!! THE CHERRY!!

At the very end of the film, one of the protagonists mentions how he's gone into the film industry, and the response he gets is;

"You better not be talking about Danny Francesco and his fiancee Greg Simmonds!"

an accurate depiction of me as the credits began to roll;

WE WIN THESE!!

BOTH DANNY AND GREG ARE CANONICALLY BI/PAN IN THIS JASON STATHAM-LEAD ESPIONAGE ACTION MOVIE IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 2023!! THEY BOTH LIVE UNTIL THE END!! THEY'RE ENGAGED!! THEY'RE BOTH ABSOLUTE DISASTERS!! THEY'RE BOTH FULL, ROUNDED CHARACTERS WHO HAPPEN TO BE QUEER!!

I get choked up thinking about it now, considering how quietly overwhelmed I felt in the theatre realising that Danny and Greg's comments and moments throughout the film weren't some elaborate joke, the dialogue that reminds me of my friends, the moments that felt true to my life as a queer person, they werent the setup for any kind of homophobic mixup, miscommunication, or microaggression; no, I finally, actually felt like I saw a part of myself, of my community represented in media.

Everyone in that movie is terrible in their own way, but Danny and Greg just happened to be terrible people who are also queer. Are they perfect representation? No! Thank fuck! I think we deserve more dumbass, disaster, unethical queers in media.

Even if I don't necessarily recommend this movie (it's pretty okay if you're a fan of the genre I suppose), I subjectively love it and especially it's characters, with my whole entire heart.

Danny Francesco is canonically a dumbass, bi disaster who fell for his sugar daddy, war criminal Hugh Grant. Good for him. It's what he deserves. 🥰🥰🥰

#operation fortune ruse de guerre #operation fortune #ruse de guerre #danny francesco #greg simmonds #hugh grant #greg x danny #danny operation fortune #greg operation fortune #josh hartnett #knives out #knives out glass onion #glass onion #peg glass onion #peg knives out #lgbtq #lgbt #lgbtqplus #fortunate ops

116 notes · View notes

talesfromaurea · 1 year ago

Text

Tales from Aurea - Session 3 Now Posted!

In honor of the darkest day, Session 3 - Fallen has posted on Royal Road (link here). Enjoy!

Chapter Summary: The companions head to Barsicum to deliver Astinos' letter to Lucretia but along the way the ones who have been hunting Kaja finally find her.

Taglist (ask to be +/-): @drippingmoon, @kainablue, @splashinkling, @space-writes, @aroyalpaininthecass, @thelaughingstag

Curious what this story is about? Check out the WIP Introduction here

Chapter preview under the cut

The sun had only just risen, yet the air burned with the oppressive heat of summer days in Aurelia. Kaja swayed miserably, looking as if she might pass out at any moment. She fumbled with her cloak and hood, but knew better than to remove it. Sakrattars handed her his fan and sidled closer to the temple steps, desperate for the meager shade they provided. There was nothing else that could be done without revealing her decidedly non-human nature. They would have to hope it would be cooler on the road than it was in town.

“Over here!” Leif waved. He approached with a friendly grin on his face and a travel pack slung over his shoulder. Behind him was Amale, who wore a sleeveless tunic, looking the most comfortable of them all in the sweltering heat. Leif wiped a stream of sweat from his brow. “This way,” he said.

The party wound through Orium’s largest marketplace, a maze of crowded stalls clustered at the foot of the temple to Aegis, patron goddess of Aurelia. A modest-sized but lavishly gilded statue of her towered over the scene, where farmers haggled with customers over the prices of eggs or bartered away onion baskets in exchange for cloth.

“Here we are,” Leif announced, gesturing to a line of wagons parked on the side of the road. Using his connections, he was able to secure a spot for the party in a small caravan bound for Barsicum. There were a few initial misgivings by the merchants but once Leif had explained that it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, they ultimately conceded. Of course, it had certainly smoothed negotiations when he mentioned that one of the party members was a natiuhan warrior.

The merchants, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, concentrated on overseeing the workers loading the last of their goods into the wagons, carefully counting to make sure everything was present and secured. Nearby, hired guards leaned against posts where their horses were tethered, whittling away the time until departure. Some checked their saddlebags or examined their weapons, others stretched or paced in bored circles. One man broke away from the bustle to greet the party.

“Remus!” Leif greeted him amicably. “Good to see you.”

Remus smiled politely but passed him by to get to Jo without a pause in his step. “So you’re the natiuhan,” he marveled. “I’ve never had the pleasure to work with one before. I won’t have anything to worry about with you around,” he chuckled. “As you can see, my regular guards are a bit lacking.” He jerked a thumb in their direction. Sakrattars looked over to see one of the guards yawning.

“I see,” Jo replied, uninterested.

“Here, why don’t you put your pack in this wagon.” Remus shoved a few sacks out of the way to make room. “The child can ride in here too and maybe one more of you.” He leered at Jo, a twinkle in his eye. “Come, let’s have you up by me. I’ll be driving.”

Humoring him, Jo followed and watched as he struggled to climb onto the driver’s seat. She was about to offer to lift him up, just to see the look on his face, but Leif had worked hard to get them here and she wasn’t about to spoil it for a bit of fun.

The pair of draft horses, who had been standing in relaxed boredom all morning, suddenly tensed when Jo got near. They snorted and trembled, their eyes bulging. Remus, confused by their sudden change in mood, cooed soft words to calm them but the horses were having none of it.

“I don’t think they like me very much,” Jo said, smiling wryly. She was having a bit of fun after all.

#my writing #pathfinder talk #writeblr #fantasy writing #original fiction #writers on tumblr

5 notes · View notes

ashortstoryaboutlove · 1 year ago

Text

2023 Drama Year in Review

I watched 21 Kdramas released in 2023. I am relatively new to this—I watched Extraordinary Attorney Woo last fall, then started watching things Netflix suggested in the new year, then started finding things on other platforms and wow! In total I watched 83 Kdramas this year 👀 (I also watched 17 Cdramas and 8 Jdramas this year). A lot of this was over the summer but yeah it’s a lot. Putting my list of favorites below the cut:

My favorites released in 2023:

Daily Dose of Sunshine was a hard watch but so relatable for someone like me who has struggled with depression in the past. This one has stuck with me for a while. Sad but hopeful.

Moving is one of the few I’ve recommended to people irl. My brother is a fan of Marvel & DC stuff and I know he’d enjoy it. It’s one of the best superhero series I’ve seen.

Tale of the Nine Tailed 1938 was a riot! I had so much fun watching this one and the wardrobe is A+. Also loved the gumiho bros getting a chance to reunite.

Love to Hate You was also super fun to watch! I watched this twice this year, once alone and once with my oldest kid (18). Love the chaotic bits and the romance was so satisfying!

Call It Love was quietly beautiful. The characters’ struggles made my heart ache and although it had a last minute reunion (I’m not usually fond of those), it was still a moving and steady show that stayed near the top of this year’s list.

My Dearest blew me away! Such a master class in character development and longing! Namkoong Min and Ahn Eun Jin stole the show with their acting but I was fond of the support cast as well. Unfortunately I wasn’t as satisfied with the second half of the series (pacing and double amnesia was meh) but it was still really good and near the top of my list for the year.

Perfect Marriage Revenge was a perfect makjang with what I consider some of the best pacing and romance of anything I watched this year. The villains were fantastically villain-y and the revenge was so, so sweet. Loved it!

D.P. 2 is somewhat different in tone from most of the stuff I watch but sometimes a serious show looking at serious social issues is just what I need. Love the way the characters fight for each other—their little found family dynamic is the best.

Twinkling Watermelon was lovely for the family dynamics—I loved the son getting to know his parents as teens. And I really liked the way deaf characters were a major part of the story as characters with feelings and relationships and not just one-off side characters.

Honorable mention: King the Land for romantic fluff with very little conflict, Moon in the Day for complicated past lives and ghosts and beautiful romance, Vigilante for Nam Joo Hyuk being badass, Castaway Diva for nice music and Chae Jong Hyeop playing an ML who was the greenest of flags.

Other faves I watched this year that were released before 2023:

Crash Landing on You will always near the top of my list. Love that found family.

Mr. Queen made me see that historicals could be fun and omg Shin Hye Sun being the best!

Tomorrow could have been too difficult, but even with the concept of trying to save suicidal people, it gave so much hope. The comfort women episode was so moving. Rowoon was also adorable.

Our Beloved Summer had one of my favorite soundtracks and a lot of heart. The scene where FL watches ML doing his art at the event was sweet.

25 21 was the best sport-related drama with perfect 90s vibes (haha I was a teen in the 90s), sweet friends-to-lovers romance, and a realistic (if disappointing) ending.

Crazy Love was so chaotically funny at the beginning and I loved it. I will never forget the revenge onions.

My Lovely Sam Soon was the oldest show I watched (2005) and I just adored Sam Soon. ML wasn’t my favorite but I can overlook that bc she stole the show for me.

My fave Cdramas I watched this year: Meet Yourself, Put Your Head on My Shoulder, Love Between Fairy and Devil, Love Like the Galaxy

Favorite Jdramas watched this year: On a Starry Night and First Love: Hatsukoi

Currently watching and enjoying: Tell Me That You Love Me (this will prob be at the top of my list next year if it doesn’t fall apart before it ends in January), Welcome to Samdal-ri, Like Flowers in Sand

Looking forward to what 2024 has to offer!

#my 2023 in review #kdrama #cdrama #jdrama

6 notes · View notes

lacependragonwrites · 2 years ago

Text

descent snippets; #4

From Chapter 4

cw for: panic attack and anxiety

I honestly just picked Liesel stuff. There's a scene after her in the chapter but screw that, have some Liesel.

(Please let me know what you think!)

#1:

Hand, door, turn, and Nat pulls open the door and stumbles into the brighter space of the apartment, proper. First, it is nothing but bright light and the smell of chicken and soy sauce and green onion. There is noise, the rise and fall of television voices, and Nat puts one hand to their head and wishes it would go away. The noise falls away, the lights dim, and Nat manages to squint and see. On a dark blue couch is a woman who looks mildly familiar. She holds a white carton and a pair of chopsticks. Her hair is a mane of black curls that make her round face seem rounder. She is tiny — slim and short and with her body all pulled together into one little place. All around them both, the mess of living, amplified. Several bins of sorted recycling next to a door that must lead to the hallway or outside. Dishes are stacked up, like with like, along the counter. There are no pots or pans among them, just plates, bowls, and mugs. And chopsticks. Maybe a dozen pairs, each different, each artistic. “You’re awake,” says the woman. Nat drags their gaze back toward the woman and stares at her. At her shirt, at her jeans, at her ankles and feet, exposed and bare— oh. The skin tone registers, deep rich brown that reminds Nat of summer, and a memory from earlier clicks into place. Her name is Liesel. They are roommates, now. What sort of city is this, that Nat can get a room in a place with a stranger when no one knows anything about them?

#2:

“I know you probably have a lot of questions,” says Liesel. Yes, Nat has a few. Like what spices are in this fried rice, and what is fried rice, and also where can Nat get more. Rice was near impossible to get up north these days, so Nat never had reason to learn how to cook with it. The carton is half empty. Nat sips water and tries to remember what they wanted to ask about, before the food consumed them. It’s hard. The food’s warm and delicious, and the smell blocks out any of the awful smells Nat’s been dealing with over the last few days. Like the copper smell. The smell that started after the— The lights flicker. Nat’s fork clatters into the carton, which thumps onto the coffee table. Nat grips their head and closes their eyes. Don’t think about it. “Nat?” Liesel’s voice is steady. She doesn’t sound scared. “Are you okay? Can I help?” Can she? The copper wire smell is back. A whimper slips from Nat’s throat. Nat opens their eyes. They turn enough so that they can lift their head and stare at Liesel. Not at her eyes, but at everything else. Details. Use the details. Nat’s head pounds. The too-fast drumbeat of their heart booms in their skull and behind their ribs, threatening to burst at any moment. Nat takes a deep breath. Focus. Liesel’s chin is square, her jaw sharp and angular up to flat ears decorated with golden hoops. Her cheekbones arch strong beneath her eyes, and her expressive eyebrows are pulled tight over the bridge of her wide, sharp nose. Nat’s gaze slips to Liesel’s. Dark brown with flecks of reddish brown. Like river mud mixed with clay. A rich, earthy colour that speaks of summer. Nat breathes in. They smell campfire smoke and taste the sharp juice of a roasted apple slice. They break their staring contest with Liesel and stare, instead, at her hands. They’re small. The nails are painted a soft lilac. “Um… do you feel better?” asks Liesel. Nat nods, quick and jerky. They return to their food, less enthusiastic than before. Their heart is slowing, but it’s still too fast. It aches against their lungs. They can’t breathe shallowly enough to stop aggravating it, so they stop trying.

#3:

“Just give me a few minutes,” says Liesel. “I promise this won’t take long.” Nat frowns. Learning a whole alphabet? Maybe some of it, but there’s no way she can memorize and recognize the whole thing in just a few minutes. Nat sneezes. Campfire smoke tickles their nose. The smell of it, anyway. And that sharp apple scent is there, too, mixing into memories of some of Nat’s favourite summer nights. They watch Liesel watch the video, curious what she’s trying to do. Nat’s mouth twitches up on one side as Liesel mouths the letters and moves her hands in time with the person on screen. Then, Nat blinks. They watch her hands more closely. Those gestures aren’t clumsy or novice at all. Liesel forms each letter with the grace of a pro. Each twist of her fingers, each shift of her wrist, all with the practiced ease of someone who’s been signing for years. Nat stares at her hands. Then, they stare at her mouth. It still mouths. They drag their gaze higher and watch her eyes. With Liesel staring at the screen, it’s easier to look at her eyes than before. She watches the TV, scarcely blinking, her gaze darting around the screen. The video ends. In the sudden silence of the room, Nat finds they’ve leaned forward and their chin is too close to Liesel’s shoulder. They jerk back, ears burning hot and loud, and stare at their lap.

#4:

A slow, wide smile stretches Nat’s face and they bounce slightly in place. Liesel’s a metahuman. Nat knows another metahuman. Nat can ask someone else about being a metahuman! The lights flare and the TV flickers channels before shutting off altogether. Nat squeaks and the lights dim again. Liesel is grinning. It’s clear in her voice even before Nat looks up. “You are amazing.” She stares at the ceiling, lights reflecting in her deep eyes. So are you, Nat wants to say but can’t. Instead, they wave until Liesel looks at them, then point to her and smile. She beams, dimples appearing on either cheek as her mouth stretches wide. Her front teeth are a little crooked. They bend toward each other, just slightly. Nat’s smile grows. What else can they ask? What else do they want to ask? Nat’s fingers flutter in the air. Static dances across their tongue and their teeth. There’s a lightness in their chest and Nat understands, in that second, what they’re feeling. Human. For the first time since… since before they’d left Heron, they feel human again. Like a person and not a shadow. “What’s your power, anyway?” asks Liesel. “I mean,” she gestures to the ceiling, “something with all this, but how wide is it?” Nat thinks. How to use one word to describe it all? E-L-E-C-T-R-I-C-I-T-Y. Liesel’s eyes widen. “You mean it’s not something within it? It’s just… all of electricity?” She gestures widely, painted and chipped nails flashing. Nat watches her hands move, swaying with her motions. Their ears swallow her words and Nat nods. “Wow. That’s amazing.” Nat’s face warms. No, they still think she’s cooler. To understand people, just by looking at them? Nat would give anything for that.

#writeblr #snippets #urban fantasy #queer writeblr #my writing #the metahuman initiative #snippet: descent #wip: descent #c: nat carter #c: liesel jaeger

10 notes · View notes

thescrapbookingscientist · 2 years ago

Photo

Biweekly Media Roundup

- Avatar: The Way of the Water (Movie) - My brother was hyped to see this so I went with him in my first theater going experience in a while. I’m not really qualified to talk about the problematic politics of the film, so personally my pros were stunning visual effects and environments, interesting alien designs and lore, and some fun whale bonding, while my cons were the dragged out length (especially in the extended whale hunting and ending action scene), mostly flat characterization, and some weird character decisions regarding the character “Spider” and the way people interact with him. I do think this was a bit better than the first one since the focus was on the alien characters and the Ocean tribe was a bit more interesting than the forest one, so I’m glad I saw it, though it’s more of a spectacle than a lasting experience. So uh in short I don’t care much for the story but I’d love to see the concept art designs.

- Glass Onion (Movie) - I’m not really sure what I expected from this but I liked it quite a bit. It kept me guessing on the mystery, I liked the protagonist, there's some fun dialogue, and who doesn’t appreciate a “fuck the rich” message. You don’t have to see the first one to watch it so if you’re in the mood for a fun mystery check it out. I don’t say this about most things but I’d be cool with this becoming a franchise, just Blanc solving various mystery’s and humiliating rich assholes in his funky little outfits.

- Chainsaw Man (Anime) - It’s so good to finally find another show that fits in with the flavor of weirdo casts as JJBA, Golden Kamuy, Dorohedoro and the like. I genuinely don’t know where the plot is going next which makes for a great watching experience, and so far I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how much I like each new freak they introduce to the main cast. Makima still has my heart as the gaslight gatekeep girlboss that she is, and the Devil designs are really cool, I can’t wait for the season finale tonight.

- Spy X Family (Anime) - Definitely one of my favorite anime this year, super wholesome, lovable characters, great comedy and reaction faces, stunning animation, this show’s got it all. My one complaint is that some of the more over the top side characters really overstayed their welcome but for the most part the cast was very solid and I could definitely see myself doing a rewatch in the near future for some easy catharsis.

- Mob Psycho 100 (Anime) - The end of an Era, Mob is definitely one of my fave animes of all time and some of the best messaging and best written child characters I’ve ever seen, I’m going to miss it but I’m glad it stayed strong to the end and wrapped up in a thematically cohesive way. Cheesy as it is I believe that the excellent execution of Mob’s “deep rooted message of self acceptance and self worth that tears down the ideology that only ‘naturally talented’ people have a place in society and instead gives worth to everyone regardless of who they are because it is our impact on our fellow people and our ability to be a good person that truly matters” (as the Shrek meme says) has made me a happier person. 10/10 essential watching for all anime fans.

- Project Eden’s Garden (Video Game) - Several youtubers I like put out reviews and or/ playthroughs of this fanmade Danganronpa game, so I did a watch through of the prologue. It’s intriguing so far, I like a lot of the character designs and had fun trying to figure out their animal influences, and thought the writing was pretty solid for a setup. I’ll defenitely watch more when it comes out, Danganronpa isn’t for everyone but I always have fun trying to predict each cases victim/killer and I doubt this’ll change that.

- The S Classes That I Raised (TV) - Trying to resist the urge to just read the webnovel given how much joy I find in the weekly updates but I’m pretty into this one right now, very excited to see what new little creatures Han Yoojin will befriend.

- Sense8 (TV) - Started this old supernatural drama about 8 people living all over the world whose minds become psychically linked. It is very interesting to see the diverse stories set across various cultures and with 8 separate plots happening there’s always something interesting in each episode. I do wish there were less sex, like I’m not sex negative or anything but uh I’m here for the plot and there's just a lot of sex scenes that make watching it with my sibling a little awkward. My favorite stories so far are Nomis, Suns, and Capheus while Rileys and Wolfgangs are a little eh.

- Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint (Webnovel) - I would fit right into the world of ORV because much like all the characters in it I cannot stop thinking about Kim Dokja and how badly I simultaneously want to punch him in the face and give him a hug. Stupid little rat boy.

I also watched Hook (movie), Predestination (movie), Groundhog Day (Movie), along with my normal amount of various youtube videos.

Listening to: Holy Water by Michael Ray, Hell’s Coming With Me by Poor Man’s Poison, Red Flags by Tom Cardy, Rasen by jon-YAKITORY, Waiting On A Miracle (Encanto OST), Soon You’ll Get Better, New Romantics, and Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift, I Really Wish I Hated You by Blink 182, Fallout by Marianas Trench, Shoutout to My Ex by Little Mix, Lent by Autoheart, Therefore You and Me by si-o, History Hates Lovers by Oublaire, Tot Musica by Ado

#weekly roundup #My posts

3 notes · View notes

ohbombaymilton · 30 days ago

Text

Discovering the Greatest Hakka Cuisines in a Restaurant in India Closest to You: Culinary Experience in Milton, Ontario

When searching for an exciting dining experience, many of us turn to the search bar, typing in keywords like “restaurant near me,” “Indian food restaurant near me,” or “best food in Milton.” But what if the ideal place you’re looking for blends the best of both worlds – offering a fusion of Indian and Hakka cuisine? Inside the Indian and Pakistani food centers of Milton, Ontario, lovers of fine dining enjoy their gold mine of flavor-filled options at Indian and Pakistani restaurants that infuse traditional Indian spices with Chinese Hakka-inspired dishes.

In this article, we explore the unique offerings of Indian restaurants in Milton that serve up a delightful selection of Hakka dishes, discuss the importance of halal dining options, and why Milton is rapidly becoming one of Ontario's top destinations for diverse and authentic cuisines.

What is Hakka Cuisine?

Hakka is also a well-known cuisine from the Hakka people in southern China. Its bold flavors made it popular for its dishes, which are mostly stir-fried and savory sauces, balancing the fresh vegetables, meats, and rice. Being able to be combined with other regional flavors, its beauty lies in its flexibility.

Chinese food has been easily accepted in both India and Pakistan, and thus this has given rise to Indian-Chinese food (Hakka Chinese food). This is essentially a fusion of the bold spices and ingredients of the land under Indian cuisine, cooked with the techniques and flavors of authentic Chinese food. The most popular dishes in the Indian Hakka, as seen in most restaurants, include items such as Chilli Chicken, Gobi Manchurian, Hakka Noodles, and Vegetable Spring Rolls.

The Indian Food Scene in Milton

If you’re searching for an “Indian food restaurant near me” or an “Indian cuisine restaurant near me” in Milton, you’re in luck. Milton is home to a growing number of eateries serving authentic Indian, Pakistani, and fusion dishes, including Hakka Chinese food. These restaurants cater to a diverse range of tastes and dietary preferences, ensuring that everyone has something to enjoy.

One of the qualities that distinguish Indian cuisine is the way of mixing complex flavors- making it one of the most loved food genres in the world. Putting together Indian spices with Hakka techniques is a match made in heaven for the palate. Be it spicy chicken, crispy Manchurian, or a sizzling plate of Hakka noodles, Milton's Indian restaurants deliver these flavors in abundance.

Hakka Dishes to Try at Indian Restaurants in Milton

Chilli Chicken One of the most popular Hakka dishes in India, Chilli Chicken combines tender chicken pieces cooked with onions, bell peppers, and garlic, all tossed in a flavorful sauce. The perfect balance of heat and sweetness makes it a crowd-pleaser.

Gobi Manchurian Gobi Manchurian is an excellent option for vegetarians. This dish is prepared by coating florets of cauliflower in a spicy and tangy sauce with crispy batter. It is a side dish and goes well with the steamed rice or as a good accompaniment to other Indian food.

Hakka Noodles Any Hakka restaurant would dare boast of no other dish but the Hakka noodles. Hakka noodles are stir-fried noodles loaded with vegetables, scrambled eggs, and your choice of meat or tofu, seasoned with soy sauce, ginger, garlic, and a mix of Indian spices to create an unbelievable taste.

Manchow Soup This is a very spicy, heavy vegetable soup filled with crispy noodles and rich broth, Manchow Soup, sure to delight anyone when the weather is chilly or as an appetizer to precede your meal.

Chicken or Paneer Spring Rolls Crispy, savory spring rolls filled with seasoned chicken or paneer (Indian cottage cheese) provide for an excellent snack or appetizer before plunging into all the main dishes.

Halal Restaurants in Milton: Convenient Dining Option

For those who follow a halal diet, it's imperative to find a halal restaurant. Milton is fortunate to have a fair number of eateries that are certified halal, meaning that Indian and Pakistani restaurants assure that the meats used in all dishes are halal. When searching for a "halal restaurant in Milton," you will discover many options that prepare traditional and fusion dishes made from quality ingredients.

Indian restaurants, when you have Hakka dishes, often have options such as chicken, mutton, or beef for halal meat. Hence, you can enjoy your favorite dishes with an undeterred diet.

Milton's restaurant scene is getting more diverse

Milton, a charming city in Ontario, is quickly becoming one of the most dynamic culinary hubs in the Greater Toronto Area. From sushi to Italian cuisine, to the best pizza in Milton, Ontario, this town has something for every palate. If you’re looking to explore a range of food experiences, here’s a quick roundup of some other great options:

Best Pizza in Milton Whatever your preference - be it a classic Margherita or a loaded meat-lovers pizza - the best pizza in Milton can be found in various Italian restaurants scattered all across the city. These eateries give an Italian dining experience that's second to none, with fresh ingredients, a variety of crusts, and a selection of wines to pair.

Sushi Milton Ontario For the sushi enthusiasts, Milton has a couple of outstanding sushi joints offering conventional sushi rolls, sashimi, and even fusion sushi rolls for those looking for something a little different.

Milton Ontario Chinese Food If you’re in the mood for traditional Chinese food, Milton also has an array of Chinese restaurants that cater to those craving authentic flavors. From sweet and sour dishes to Kung Pao chicken, the variety of options available ensures a satisfying meal every time.

Pakistani Restaurant Near Me Milton's Indian and Pakistani Restaurants present a wide variety of dishes flavored with authentic delights, from biryanis to kebabs and tasty curries, which is perfect for lovers of both Indian and Pakistani food. The union of these two cuisines brings the richness of the subcontinent right to your plate.

Italian Milton Restaurants If you like Italian food, Milton offers authentic pasta, pizzas, and risottos in Milton's restaurants, where patrons can indulge in the real Mediterranean cuisine.

Take Away Food in Milton: Enjoy Hakka on the Comfort of Your Home

For those who want to enjoy their meals in their home, many restaurants in Milton offer take-out services. Whether you need a spicy serving of Chilli Chicken, a plate of Hakka noodles, or a vegetable-packed Manchurian, ordering takeout from your favorite Indian or Pakistani restaurant near you is quite simple and convenient.

These take-out food at Milton are also prepared in such a way that your meal remains fresh and full of flavor even after you travel back home. So, many restaurants here cater to family-sized portions so that you can enjoy a complete spread of Hakka dishes and traditional Indian meals in the comfort of your home with your family.

Why Milton's Restaurants Among the Best Options in Ontario

Milton's best restaurants come with an outstanding reputation for delivering food quality and variety, along with exceptional customer service. Whether exploring the Hakka cuisine fusion of Indian restaurants or some good old comfort biryani, Milton has established itself as one of Ontario's best food destinations.

Not only does Milton contain a few types of restaurants serving Indian, Pakistani, Chinese, Italian, and many more, but it also houses some of the finest halal restaurants in Ontario, serving the diverse taste buds. The eclectic mix of restaurants of the city offers something to everyone, so naturally, this is a destination you must not give a miss.

Conclusion: There's a Delicious Fusion of Flavors Waiting for You in Milton

Whether it's an "Indian food restaurant near me" or something as unique as Hakka dishes, Milton has all kinds of options for all of your cravings. All combined, the fusions of Indian spices and Hakka cooking techniques provide an incredibly tantalizing dining experience-not to be missed in addition to the growing availability of mostly halal, Italian, sushi, and pizza restaurants, Milton becomes a food lover's paradise.

The next time you stand there wondering where to go for dinner, remember that Milton is home to many of the best restaurants Ontario has to offer. Whether you're in the mood for Indian, Chinese, Italian, or Pakistani fare, the perfect meal is around the corner. Therefore, start your search for "restaurant near me" and get ready for a flavor-filled adventure in Milton today!

#hakka dishes #italian #indian food #delicious

1 note · View note

katherinemathew · 8 months ago

Text

Eat your way around Rarotonga

When it comes to planning the ultimate escape, Cook Islands holidays undoubtedly make it to the top of many travel wish lists. Known for their captivating beauty and tranquil ambiance, these Pacific jewels offer a paradise for those looking to unwind. While many are drawn by affordable Cook Islands holiday packages and irresistible Aitutaki resort deals, the islands offer a wealth of experiences that go beyond sun, sand, and sea.

One aspect that sets a Cook Islands holiday apart is the rich culinary landscape waiting to be explored, particularly in Rarotonga, the largest of the Cook Islands. If you’re contemplating Cook Islands travel or have already booked your ticket, the gastronomic scene in Rarotonga is a journey in itself that you won’t want to miss. From traditional Polynesian fare to contemporary fusions, the island offers a multitude of flavours, making it a gastronomic haven for food lovers.

In an era where travel experiences are seeking to be as authentic as possible, Cook Island holidays present the ideal opportunity to immerse yourself in local culture — and what better way to do so than through food? As you map out your itinerary for Cook Island travel, be sure to carve out time to indulge in the diverse culinary offerings of Rarotonga. Whether you’re a die-hard foodie or someone who simply enjoys a good meal, the island’s culinary scene is bound to be a highlight of your trip.

So, buckle up and get ready to eat your way around Rarotonga. In this comprehensive guide, we’ll share insider tips and must-visit eateries that will take your Cook Islands holiday to the next level. From morning brews to midnight snacks, consider this your gastronomic roadmap to a fulfilling Cook Islands travel adventure.

Our Top 10 Food Picks For Your Holiday to Rarotonga!

The Cook Islands are home to fantastic fresh produce, so it’s no surprise that food is a very prominent part of every Cook Islands holiday. Restaurants and cafés use locally caught seafood, tropical fruit and island vegetables, but they also have the luxury of importing anything that isn’t able to be grown locally from New Zealand.

1. Local Delicacies at Te Vara Nui Cultural Show.

No holiday is complete with tasting local favourites! Here are a few must-try local dishes:

* Rukau: which is mashed taro leaves cooked with onion and coconut milk, its looks a little unappetising, but it tastes delicious! * Ika Mata: this is Cook Islands Raw fish which is marinated in lemon juice and served in coconut cream * Poke: This is a sweet banana dish, which is often purple in colour. It is traditionally eaten instead of bread or potatoes, but is often eaten as a dessert due to its sweetness and pudding-like texture. * Nu: the young green drinking coconut. You could try your hand at collecting and husking your own, but is much easier to buy Nu from a local stall, the markets or the supermarket! Tip: Put a few Nu in the fridge — Cold Nu is the perfect thirst quencher on a hot Cook Island summer day!

2. Fresh Fish Sandwiches from Mooring’s Café

This little café is actually a shipping container that has been converted into a kitchen. Located right on the water, fresh fish is literally caught in the morning and taken straight off the boat and into the kitchen. Moorings is famous for its amazing fish sandwiches, and at under NZ$15 these huge sandwiches will keep you going all day!

3. Pastries from LBV Bakery & Café in Muri

Specialising in freshly made pastries, this is the perfect place to grab a quick breakfast or takeaway a sweet treat to enjoy later in the day! They also have proper sit-down options, great coffee & lots of lunch options.

4. A Burger from Palace

Palace is a local legacy, located near town in Avarua; you can’t miss trying a ‘wet cheese’ or the MONSTER ‘Palace’ burger on your next Cook Islands adventure. Not for the health nut, these huge burgers are perfect after a big day of activities and at only NZ$15 for the biggest item on the menu — you are sure to leave satisfied and with plenty of money left over.

Read the full article to know more about Eat your way around Rarotonga

#spacificatravel #cookislandsholidays #cookIslandstravel

0 notes

alsjeblieft-zeg · 1 year ago

Text

428 of 2023

I HATE : When people sit too close to me. When people say “I love you” to the person they’re dating after one day of being together. People who don’t ever stop talking. Gossip. People with no common sense. Hair extensions. People with nasty attitudes. Broken cellphones. Dirty feet. Sushi or any food with fish involved. Disappointing someone I care about. Fast food. Sweat. When my hair is wet. When I feel like I smell bad. Not being able to go to the bathroom. My parents. Twitter. Being cold. Ouija boards. Thunder and lightning storms. When it rains on my parade. Bad music. Being stuck at home on the weekend. Fascists. The color orange. Ignorant people. Tea. Spoiled food. People who drive insanely slow. People who don’t use their blinkers. People who don’t know how to drive period. Rough, dry hands. Myspace. When someone initiates conversation and doesn’t continue it. When theres water in my ears. (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had swimmers ear.) Scene kids. (just the ones at my school) Anyone who hardcore dances. Anyone who puts X’s on their fists to show that they’re straightedge. Being sick. Septum and cheek piercings. When someone asks if I’m related to someone else. Not being able to finish something. Tests. Having nothing to look forward to. Slow school days. Perez Hilton. The sound that a ketchup bottle makes when it’s near empty. Country music. Untamed chest hair and eyebrows. Walking through spiderwebs. Tom Cruise.

I LOVE : Onions. Hamsters. Lady GaGa. Facebook. People who have nice hair. Beards. The ocean. Seahorses. Baby animals. Making/taking surveys. Fast computers. Acoustic guitars. Roses. Collages. Strawberries/Anything with strawberries on it. Mutual feelings. Spyro the dragon. Old nickelodeon shows. (Especially Kenan and Kel && All that) The good old days. Animal print when it’s worn correctly. Cooking. Junk food. Good hygiene. Texting. Phones with keyboards. Ska music. Arizona Fruit Punch. Fresh out of the dryer anything. Candles that smell like food. Hugs. When nothing goes wrong. Going into the city. Shopping. Freedom. Receiving money. Picture comments. Red. Having something to look forward to. Driving. Subway. Newbury Comics. Holidays. Summer. Old memories. Coloring. Pizza. Taking photographs. Having a good time. Coats with fuzzy hoods. Festivals. Disney movies. Getting shit done. Art in all forms. Cuddling.

#survey #bolding survey #themed survey #categorised survey

0 notes

rhetoricandlogic · 2 years ago

Text

Oops, I Just Bought a Planet: Norstrilia by Cordwainer Smith

Alan Brown Wed Jun 8, 2022 11:00am

In this bi-weekly series reviewing classic science fiction and fantasy books, Alan Brown looks at the front lines and frontiers of the field; books about soldiers and spacers, scientists and engineers, explorers and adventurers. Stories full of what Shakespeare used to refer to as “alarums and excursions”: battles, chases, clashes, and the stuff of excitement.

One of the lesser-known gems of the science fiction world in the mid-20th century is the work of author Cordwainer Smith. He brought an international flavor to a science fiction field that, for all its creativity, was deeply rooted in the culture and conventions of the United States. His stories of the Instrumentality of Mankind were intriguing, giving the reader science fiction tales with the storytelling conventions of fantasy and legend. And in the centerpiece of this future history, the novel Norstrilia, he brought young and naïve Rod McBan to the mysterious and dangerous planet called Earth.

As I recollect, the copy of Norstrilia I used for this review is the copy I bought about a year after graduating from college, and according to the title page is the third Del Rey edition, printed in 1978. That date would put my purchase in the Alaskan town of Sitka, a tiny seacoast community accessible only by air or water. There was only one bookstore in the tiny town, right across the main street from the Russian Orthodox church with its onion-dome spires. Fortunately for me, the store had a good selection of paperback science fiction that turned over regularly.

The work of Cordwainer Smith was not new to me when I found Norstrilia, as I had read some of his work in my dad’s Galaxy magazines during my youth. I had always found his stories intriguing, if a bit strange compared to the more straightforward adventures I was used to reading in Analog.

About the Author

Paul Myron Anthony Linebarger (1913-1966), who wrote science fiction under the name Cordwainer Smith, was an author and scholar who wrote influential works on psychological warfare and on East Asian politics. He was born in Wisconsin, and lived during his youth in the United States, Europe, Japan, and China, reportedly attending more than thirty schools. He spoke multiple languages, and attained a PhD at age 23. He began writing science fiction in college in the late 1920s, although his stories didn’t start appearing in the leading magazines until the late 1940s.

Commissioned as a lieutenant during WWII, Linebarger served in Army Intelligence in China and India, rising to the rank of major. He remained in the reserves, eventually attaining the rank of colonel. He was recalled to aid the British in a Malaysian guerrilla conflict, and recalled again during the Korean War. He was a professor at Johns Hopkins University, but is also reported to have been a behind-the-scenes advisor to the CIA and the US government.

Most of Linebarger’s science fiction work was set in a unique and evocative future history, the Instrumentality of Mankind. By using unusual terms and names without much explanation, he created the impression this universe was much larger than what appeared within the pages of the stories (I will have to dip into Linebarger’s other stories to find out what Mother Hinton’s Littul Kittons are, for example). This was a society that was anything but a utopia: so advanced that much of its science was akin to magic, with a hereditary ruling class, a brutal police state to enforce their will, space pilots called “scanners” whose brains were damaged by their work, and animals called the “underpeople” raised to human intelligence and near-human appearance, but treated as slaves. One of the programs of the Instrumentality was the Rediscovery of Man, which was intended to strengthen humanity and reduce stagnation by reintroducing disease and unrest to society. The human economy was dominated by stroon, a drug which extended life, and was only available from giant diseased sheep grown on the planet Norstrilia.

Linebarger’s body of science fiction work was not large, as he lived a busy life and died at the relatively young age of fifty-three. He wrote only a handful of novels, Norstrilia being the most widely known, and about three dozen short stories.

You can find some of Smith’s work on Project Gutenberg, including “The Game of Rat and Dragon,” one of his better-known stories, and some of his non-fictional works, including the seminal book Psychological Warfare.

Cordwainer Smith is not to be confused with Cordwainer Bird, a pseudonym sometimes used by science fiction author Harlan Ellison (the fact that a cordwainer is a kind of cobbler, and birds do not need shoes, amused Ellison). The use of this pseudonym was then made even more confusing when author Philip José Farmer began using the name for a fictional character in some of his own works.

The Lonely Protagonist

Rod McBan is a lonely protagonist, pulled out of his own world and culture with little to no notice, and thrust into a world he only dimly understands. And while reading Norstrilia, I realized that, while he is a lonely character, he is far from alone in the field of science fiction. The genre is full of characters who are orphaned, exiled, or just plain don’t fit in. When you consider that Linebarger spent his youth in many countries and dozens of schools, it is not surprising that he could skillfully depict someone who feels apart from his surroundings.

The frequency of lonely heroes in science fiction might be due to the prevalence of the familiar story structure known as the Hero’s Journey, which has appeared in literature throughout human history. One of the characteristics many mythical adventures share is the removal of the protagonist from the world they grew up in or are comfortable with. Looking through the books I have reviewed over the years for this column, I found that about a third of them feature a character that might fit the description of a lonely protagonist. Of course, being lonely does not mean that the characters are alone, as they encounter mentors, antagonists, guides, and love interests in the course of their journeys.

I’ve also noticed that many of the readers of science fiction share characteristics of loneliness with the fictional protagonists they follow. This type of character might be so popular because it speaks to the readers in a way they understand. Being a science fiction fan, especially when I was young, could be a lonely existence. For my own part, growing up in the 1950s through the 1970s, there were very few people I knew (other than my father and brothers) who were as enthusiastic about science fiction as I was. My intimate knowledge of Marvel comics, for example, was not something I mentioned to girls I wanted to date. In those days, choosing to be a science fiction fan was to choose something hard to share with others. And I’ve seen signs of this loneliness when I’ve met other fans.

That aspect of being a science fiction fan seems to be eroding in recent decades, as science fiction and comic book stories have come to dominate the entertainment business. You don’t have to wait to attend a science fiction club meeting or convention to find someone to discuss your favorite passions with—one of the positive aspects of social media is that it can bring together groups of people who enjoy the same things. I sometimes wonder if these changes in society might eventually have an impact on the literature of science fiction, and we might see fewer stories of isolated heroes and more stories about groups working in collaboration. Only time will tell…

Norstrilia

The book opens more like a fairy tale than a novel. While the story is science fiction, the form and narrative owe more to fantasy than the straightforward style of science fiction. Norstrilia begins by telling us, rather than showing us, what the story is about. This allows the author to introduce us to a great deal of backstory all at once, but because little of this information is explained, the reader is tossed into the literary equivalent of deep water, and must quickly learn to swim in this dense and sometimes inscrutable narrative.

We meet young Rod McBan, 151st of his name, who is on the cusp of inheriting the family ranch, the ominously named Station of Doom, where giant sickly sheep produce the precious drug called stroon. His inheritance is far from certain, however. Rod, unlike other Norstrilians, cannot spiek or hier telepathically (not reliably, anyhow). When he does hier, he can listen in to many people’s minds over wide distances. And when he spieks, he transmits powerful emotions, again over wide distances. In attempts to correct these deficiencies, he has had his childhood restarted a number of times, living those years over and over. Now, he must face what is called the Garden of Death, a trial that determines whether Norstrilians will be executed by drugs that kill them with happiness, or allowed to go on with their lives. His only friends are an old battle computer, hidden on the farm, which has educated him over the years, and his cousin Lavinia, one of the few people who is comfortable speaking to him with her voice in the old manner.

Rod’s trial board consists of three people, two local, and one surprisingly the Lord Redlady, a Commissioner of the Instrumentality. Redlady convinces the board that Rod’s different abilities are not a liability, but rather a gift. And he is allowed to live.

Rod’s survival angers an old childhood adversary, who is now a government official with the title of Onseck, a corruption of the ancient term Honorary Secretary. The Onseck has placed blocks on Rod’s inheritance of the Station of Doom. Rod visits his computer, which suggests that, working together, they could corner the market on stroon, making Rod richer and giving him more power over his destiny. They succeed beyond their wildest dreams, and after a long trading session, Rod finds himself not only the richest man in civilization, but also owner of the planet Earth.

Being incredibly rich turns out to bring problems of its own. The Onseck attempts to murder Rod with a genetically engineered bird, and there are rumors of kidnapping plots. The Lord Redlady appears to help, and convinces Rod to go to Earth. But to slip Rod past those who wish to harm him, they must ship him as cargo. So, in a sequence replete with body horror, an intelligent ape in Redlady’s service amputates Rod’s head, freeze-dries the rest of his body, and packs him up in a small box. When Rod is reconstructed, to protect him, he is molded into the form of an underperson descended from a cat, and married to the famously lovely courtesan, C’Mell. This reconstruction leads to additional dangers, as Rod retains a sense of privilege that could get him killed for violating the rigid laws that apply to underpeople. A servant from his ranch, Elanor, accompanies Rod to Earth, and agrees to have her body reformed into an image of his, throwing off the efforts of those seeking him. Lord Redlady, while he does everything in his power to ensure all Rod’s wishes for his trip to Earth are granted, also has his own agenda, as do the underpeople, whose leader, the mysterious E’telekeli, meets with Rod and gives him aid.

I won’t continue the recap further, as I don’t want to reveal spoilers (although I will say that Elanor finds she prefers life as a young man who resembles the richest man on Earth to being a female servant on Norstrilia…). Rod’s journey through the culture of Earth is absolutely fascinating, with many interesting asides. This culture is by no means a utopia, and is even ugly and cruel. But despite its dark and whimsical aspects, it also feels very real and plausible. Without being heavy-handed, the book deals with issues of free will, duty, diversity, racism, slavery, and the very nature of what makes a person. The journey tends to wander, but always in directions I found fascinating. And in the end, when Rod returns to Norstrilia, we are given a heartwarming ending that, in only a couple of lines, also becomes absolutely heartbreaking.

Final Thoughts

Cordwainer Smith is a writer who should not be forgotten. His work was rich and fascinating, and unlike the output of many other writers of his era, his tales have aged like a good whiskey. Norstrilia is available in a number of formats, and a few years ago, the NESFA Press put out The Rediscovery of Man, a collection of his short works.

And now, I look forward to hearing your thoughts on Smith’s work and his legacy. Are you as captivated by the Instrumentality of Man as I am?

#Cordwainer Smith #Norstrilia #mahreviews #long post

1 note · View note

flusteredloser · 3 years ago

Text

sugar sweet

richie tozier x fem reader

category: fluff, fluff, literally just fluff

word count: 3,3k

content warnings: swearing, stealing, slight nsfw (sexual innuendos... bc it’s richie tozier), a driving scene written by a bitch who can't drive, overbearing fluff, sonia

a/n: hello here’s a lil soft fic i wrote in a hyper state today <3 i had ‘beverly’ by ben wallfisch from the it 2017 soundtrack stuck in my head while i wrote the ending so !! enjoy

🎡

"sweetheart, if you don't put your head back in, i'm afraid i'm gonna have to marie antoinette you."

you laughed dismissively at his empty threat, feeling a grin take over. you let the wind crash against your face and through your hair, the scent of sea salt softly filling your nose. if richie thought that you were going to give this feeling up, oh, was he wrong.

despite what he was saying, the sight of morning sunlight streaking through your flying hair and your torso poking out the passengers' window was one richie wished he could get used to. despite his nagging for the past half hour, ranting about the dangers of vehicular manslaughter and mishaps, he couldn't help but beam at your laughter.

he almost hit himself in the head for getting all worked up about safety like eddie always did, but it was something he found himself doing often with you. keeping you safe and sound was one of the few things that kept him from staying up all night. besides, you guys were going to see eddie and the rest of the losers in a bit anyways. the designated role of the pedantic worrier would soon be shrugged off richie's shoulders.

keeping one hand on the wheel, richie’s free hand never left the edge of your knee, not once in the hour-long drive. no matter how far you reached your body out his car's window, his fingers stayed glued around you. you never said anything about the gesture apart from placing your hand over his. being his was something you never got used to, but you were far from complaining.

"richierichierichie i think we're here!" you exclaim, ducking your head back inside the car.

"you sure, dummy? the massive ferris wheel and circus tent means we're close to the carnival?"

your hand leaves his to go shove his temple, "fuck off, rich."

"i know i know, you're really excited," he taps your knee, "so am i."

he pulls into the parking lot, expertly navigating his way through the crowded area before finding a space. an empty space which was coincidentally beside a sketchy beat-up minivan painted with "URIS," in fat letters.

richie laughs, "what are the fucking odds.”

his hand moves from the skin on your knee to the back of your seat, his body shifting to face the rear. you subtly eye your boyfriend sitting in the driver's seat and tried not to physically express any of the thoughts firing in your mind right then. dear god, did he look good today. you end up shamelessly staring at him as he strains his neck to squeeze his way through tight space. his knuckles turn to this ghostly shade of white when he flexed them against the wheel, his rings glinting under the sunlight.

once he finally put the car in park and shifted his weight back to you, he catches your gaze. throwing a wink, he pulls out the keys and stuffs his belongings into his jean pockets.

you’re sure he has zero clue about the effect any of this had on you. sure, he was your boyfriend but sometimes you found yourself feeling scared at how much you liked him. this boy has you wrapped around his finger and he barely knows half of it.

you reach over and run your fingers through his unruly hair a couple more times, enjoying the way the curls bounce back. “you look so good, rich.”

he rolls his eyes at your remark, but you don’t miss the way a small blush reaches tips of his ears. “enjoy it while it lasts, i can’t let the guards recognise me again.”

“i still can’t believe you got fired and banned on the same day, rich. that’s genuinely so impressive, you know that?"

richie rolls his eyes but you see the hint of a grin on his face, “you going soft on me, sweets?”

“could never.” you ruffle his hair, letting your nails glide along his scalp and you laugh at the way his head naturally tips back. richie had no clue why the feeling of your hands in his hair that made him short-circuit, but he wasn’t complaining.

“do we really have to go see them...” richie groans, grabbing your hand and placing it back onto his head when you pulled away.

“richard tozier. i did not pester you to drive us an hour away just so you could fold at me playing with your hair.”

he side-eyes you. “why did i agree to this again?”

“because every day for the last month you wouldn’t shut up about ‘taking eddie’s slushee v-”

“ed’s slushee virginity, riiiight,” he breaks out in a smile, “jesus, can you believe sonia never let him near one in his entire life?”

you tug his fringe towards you and the rest of his head followed, “well, now that he’s all alone there, someone’s got to be there to guide him through his first time, right?”

he faux-pouts back at you, the mischievous glint in his eye sparkling brighter. “fine.”

finally, you let go of his hair and he pecks a kiss against your cheek before putting on his sunglasses and tipping his cap further down his face. opening his car door, you sit there dumbfounded as you watch the 6'2 disguised dork clamber out of his side with your tote bag on his shoulder.

he glances back, offering a hand as if you were going to climb out on his side as well, “c’mon, we don’t have all day.” and richie made sure you knew that by dragging you through the park, evading the guards left and right in under a minute. it was only so long before you spotted a group of idiots wandering aimlessly. bev’s bright red hair was the instant identifier, and watching this bill’s lanky frame grab a fistful of stan’s curls to yank it about sealed the deal.

“stanley, darling,” richie yelled through the crowd, “if you wanted someone to pull your hair that badly you could’ve asked me nicely.” “shut the fuck up, trashmouth!” stan yelled back. “wait. rich?”

you walk over and sling your arm around bev, “you guys haven’t been waiting long, have you?” she grins at the sight of you, “no, but if i have to hear mike argue one more time that the high striker is apparently ‘broken’ i’m going to kill somebody.”

“do me a favour and kill me, bev!” stan’s voice cuts through, followed by a shriek when richie too grabs a handful of his hair.

bev’s hand leaves yours to go smack both boys upside the head. “y’all better stop acting like children before i get fucking fired. i’m not going out like dumbass richie here did.” she eyes the rest of them, who all halt in their tracks.

“yes, ma’am,” the chorus sighed.

🎡

"ed's, i swear on your mother's smokin’ bod that blue is the. best. flavour. there's literally nothing wrong with it."

"you just called blue a flavour, richie-”

"because it can be. it doesn’t matter if blue and red colouring are the same, you can feel the difference.”

"no, i really can't. i don't understand how the colour blue could possibly be-"

richie groans, "fine, eat your mommy's packed lunch like the big boy you are." he teasingly starts to wave his cup in front of eddie's eyes.

"quit it, rich. if eddie doesn’t want toxins in his body, leave him be." ben interjects before sipping his own neon drink.

the boys huddled together around a picnic table they had managed to snatch before the carnival’s lunch rush swept over. richie and bev used to work in the carnival last summer, the two-week period spent with one another supposedly being “worse than the devil’s asscrack.” the comment itself earned richie five slaps, one each from the boys, and a high-five from bev. that was until richie got permanently banned (which you still don’t know how) and now bev carried on by herself whenever they roll back into derry.

currently, you and bev were on your way back from the concession stands, attempting not to spill anything. you each held at least four bags of carnival foods and drinks in your arms, bev also balancing the few candy bars she stashed under her shirt. teeter-tottering your way back to the boys, richie burst out in laughter at the sight of you struggling.

“as graceful as a job you’re doing with that, sweets, do you want some help?” he smirks, already swinging his leg over the chair.

“nope, nothing to see here,” you groan at richie’s smug grin. “rich, i swear to god if you come near me i am going to-”

“hurt me, hit me, murder me, mmhm. i’m sure you’ll do a whole lot of damage.” he winks, swiping the bags from your arms.

“freaky.” stan muttered, churning his slushee with the straw. you grumble at richie’s endearing irritating act of heroism and plop yourself next to stan empty-handed.

“here, you want some?” stan raises an eyebrow, offering his blue slushee towards you.

“thanks stan, but he’s got my...” you glance towards richie, half-expecting to see him distributing the snacks, only to see him aggressively nudge the slushees in eddie’s face. “you know what, i’ll take it.”

stan scoffed, “what, you thought i was offering this from the depths of my generous heart? i thought you knew me better-"

the sound of plastic crinkling and eddie’s yelp cut through stan’s sentence.

you look back at the sight of richie threatening to pour the ice into eddie’s hair, eddie shrieking and wildly missing punches at richie. dear god, your boyfriend was such a menace. richie and eddie never spent a day where they weren’t at eachother’s throats though, but anyone with a pair of eyes could see that they deeply loved one another. rich had that effect on people, you think. he was rarely overtly loving, but it’s not like he needed to be. you guys just knew.

ben smiles sweetly between you and your gaze on richie. “you’re staring again, y/n.”

you immediately snap out of it and go to slug ben in the shoulder. “was not.”

“was too.”

"was. not."

"was too!"

you narrow your eyes at ben who sheepishly smiles in innocence. he reaches over to grab a couple onion rings from your bag to which you lightly slap the back of his hand. he groans, trying again from another angle, “just because i pointed out your goo-goo eyes at trashmouth?”

bev snatched a couple rings from across you and threw them at ben. he chuckles gleefully at the perfect catch. “you know, he’s not wrong,” she points out.

“for the last time, i wasn’t staring,” you groan.

“not about that, genius. the way you’re absolutely whipped for that dick.” she smiles. “i mean,” you barely conceal your smirk, “the dick is pretty g-”

"not what i meant," bev sighs while the rest of them groan at your words.

“seriously though,” bill asks with genuine curiosity, “how did you even end up together? how do you even like someone that much?” bev tuts from the other side, “tread lightly there, denbrough.”

“shut up, you know what i mean. it’s trashmouth we’re talking ’bout here.” bill grins, “it’s a mystery how someone can shut him up so quick.”

you laugh to yourself, thinking about the few times you get to see richie completely speechless. “it’s not that hard, you know?” you shrug softly at the way the losers nod. you may all pretend to hate the life out of him but he always had a special place in each of your hearts. “he cares with everything he’s got, no matter what. he’s always there for you even if you don’t want him to be. i just...i don’t think he’s been anything less than...”

“-if you say ‘perfect’, i’m going to hit you.” stan says.

you roll your eyes at stan, “fuck off, but... but yeah. it’s so easy to love him and i honestly owe you guys an apology for being so annoyingly whipped for that dork,” you joke.

aside from the distant bickering coming from richie and eddie in their own little world, a silence hung over the six of you. it was too quiet. wondering if you said something wrong, you scan over them, only to be met with six variations of a smirk. more than confused, you chuckle nervously. “i was joking about the apology thing but if you really want-”

“you said ‘love.’” bev laughed.

“what?”

“you said ‘love,’” she repeated. “that you loved him.”

“i... of course i love him, he’s..” not trusting any more of the words coming out of your mouth, you cut yourself off and gather your thoughts.

of course you loved richie. each and every one of you loved your resident trashmouth, he was one of your best friends. the two of you were the closest of friends, an insufferable duo for years before you began dating. it might have only been a few weeks since he asked you out, but it’s not like too much changed from when you were friends.

there was only more love, more affection, only slightly more sexual innuendos (majority of them were solely just to piss off stan).

so of course you loved him. more than you did when you were friends. which he’s gotta know... right?

“fuck, maybe i do owe you guys an apology.” you joke.

“don’t think twice about it, this is nothing compared to him. if i took a shot for every time he went on some sort of love ramble about you, i’d be fucking dead.” bev replies, “and then he would carry on.”

you laugh, shaking your head in denial, “c’mon, he does not do that.”

“are you blind?” mike speaks up. “you’ve had him since the first day you joined us at the barrens. i can still see fourteen-year-old richie ogling you clear as day.”

you stammered at your response, tripping over your words. “mike, i think you broke her. she’s become bill,” stan teases.

you go to shove stan again and sorely miss. “anyways, my point is...”

you avoid their eye contact and go back to churning stan’s slushee. “he has my heart, fuck, he’s got all of our hearts. like, is he an asshole? sure. does he get on my nerves every other day? definitely. will he be the death of me? probably. but i l-”

“i sure hope you’re winding up to something there, sweets.”

you snap your head up from your dreamy rambling to see richie smirking next to you and eddie squeezing himself next to bill. you feel yourself go bright red at the realisation that he had been listening.

“i- no. that was it.”

“you sure? you going off about me... ‘but’...” richie pushes, quoting your words.

“richie, if you genuinely think you have redeeming qualities, i suggest some self-reflection.” stan quipped. “yeah, i was just pointing how much you bother us. no ifs, no buts,” you jokingly agree.

“mean,” richie rolls his eyes, shifting back in his seat next to you.

he’s gotta know... right?

you wink and stick your tongue out playfully, to which richie raises an eyebrow at. he glances between the blue drink in your hand and your tongue, his gaze on your lips making you nervous.

“now, what?” you sigh, wiping the ice from your mouth and pretending that you weren’t dying to know what was churning in that brain of his.

“nothing,” richie shrugs smugly, “just that i’ve always wanted to know how my cock looked blue.”

the comment took you off guard, your instant blush only fuelling richie’s grin. without hesitation, you lean over with a faux-pout, an act that has richie’s eyes wide. “careful there, trashmouth,” you tease loudly. “you keep this up and you’ll see how stan’s looks blue.”

bev immediately gasps with her hand over her mouth, followed by mike’s stifled cackle as he slapped richie’s back. the rest of the group looks frankly stunned, and stan’s face is on a whole different level of red.

richie doesn’t even look the least bit angry. his jaw is dropped slightly and he runs his hand over his jaw, trying to stop the chuckle that leaves his throat. if anything he looks proud.

shaking his head with a smile, he slings his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer. “that’s my girl,” he grins.

“yeah, that for sure is tozier’s,” bill says.

there’s no way any of you miss the way richie’s face goes red under that comment and your heart skips a beat when he squeezes your side. when no one’s looking, you lean up and kiss by his ear, absolutely delighted by the deeper shade of red on his face.

“darl, if you don’t stop that i’m going to go as red as stan,” he whispers into your hair. the both of you look back at the boy who’s trying to concentrate on his slushee and not the blush that’s continued to creep to his neck. “i’m actually getting concerned.”

you giggle, “shh, he’s fine.”

“no really, i give it a couple seconds before eddie pulls out his medical fanny pack,” richie says.

you look up at him as you’re tucked into his side, his arm still slung around your shoulder. his dark hair and eyelashes caught the sunlight, his blue eyes glinting as he glanced back. his lips were tipped into their signature cheeky smile, almost like a cue that he was going to say something out of hand. you felt the swell of your heart grow as he raised his eyebrows, prompting what he knew you were going to say.

“you know, earlier...” you whisper, looking down to his hand intertwining with yours. “i just... i wanted to say that i... you know... that i-”

“i feel like i should be offended at how hard it is for you to tell me you love me, sweets,” he whispers back, clearly trying to keep a straight face. fuck. “oh god please, you know i-” richie shushes you, kissing the crown of your head. “it’s okay, i know.” you can feel the curve of his lips against your hair. “i love you too.”

trying to tame the aggressive blush and stupid smile that reached your face, you follow his gaze over to eddie. just like richie joked, he had this fanny pack laid on the table in front of stan. you weren’t listening to anything they were saying, but you watched the way stan was squirming from eddie, insisting he did not have heatstroke. mike stood right behind stan, pinching his cheeks and periodically wrapping his strong arms around stan to stop him from squirming. bev was leaning across ben and bill’s laps, joining in and poking her fun at eddie and you notice how bill’s hands traces figures along bev’s side. ben gazes at the group of them, chiming in every so often when stan’s quips got too violent.

it was one of those moments you wish you could freeze.

after a while, richie whispers into your ear. “do you think they’d even notice if we left for the ferris wheel?”

you break your eye contact from the group to gaze up at him. “nope, not at all. you think you can sneak us some tickets?”

“please, you think i got kicked out of here for nothing?” he scoffs.

“is this how you’re going to get banned again?” you grin, poking his side, “stealing tickets for your girl?”

with a soft smile, he takes your hand to subtly stand and back away from the group. with stifled giggles, the both of you manage to make it at least twenty feet without the losers even noticing. the second you two were out of earshot, richie wraps his hand around yours and begins to run, “i wouldn't want it any other way."

🎡

530 notes · View notes

sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years ago

Text

42 Hours

Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k

A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys. I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy and miss alex @darthstyles for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3

{masterlist}

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law. Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her. The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time. She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.

“Always look both ways before crossing the street. Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”

“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”

All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl. Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years. To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning. And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume. However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.

Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.

“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment. When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”

Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things. The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.

It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.

“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”

The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado. These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”

“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”

The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am. It’s cancelled.”

“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in. The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today. I’m the maid of honour. I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”

Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath. Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her. What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright. Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”

“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice. We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again. It could be a day, or it could be five. If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment. In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.

…

It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to make it to the wedding.

Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old. They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails. From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild. Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused. Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop. Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice. To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur. Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce. Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD. Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack. In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.

And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.

The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name. It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer. She always does.

Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N! Has your flight landed already?”

“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”

Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous. Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”

“Uh huh.”

“What about that my wedding is in one week?”

“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”

“Bitch.” Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”

Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”

“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.

“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”

“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”

Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point! I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go! A car would be completely useless to me!”

“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”

Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already. There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”

“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. “It’s over forty hours. She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”

“But—”

“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out. I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands. I promise.”

“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine. We can work around this. We’ll find a way.”

…

The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.

Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking. The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room. When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.

When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.

“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”

Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you doing here?” She demands. She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.

Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.

“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour. And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”

“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not? It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.”

Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor. Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.

“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her. Alright. So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal. But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything. Even Harry.

As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life. While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah. That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.

Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened. Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”

Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”

Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod. She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”

“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”

“So? He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her. She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”

“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”

Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”

Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes. We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”

Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through. Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room. When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear. If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.

Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go. Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks. As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.

…

“What are you doing?”

Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car. Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.

“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”

“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist. I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”

“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car? You’re one of those guys?”

Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses. He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”

Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”

“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes. Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”

“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”

“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”

Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep. Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours. Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.

Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts. Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message. Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.

BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight? Want to grab some dinner?

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction. Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.

Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright? Is it Laure and Jo?”

“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”

Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”

Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody. Maybe once I’m back?

“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”

The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”

“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”

“Boring, you mean—”

“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”

Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”

The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait. She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her. She knows she shouldn’t take it. And yet—

“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening. Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”

“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N. Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car. Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.

“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”

Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”

“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him. But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”

Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them. Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything. However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.

Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there. She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt. Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language. You don’t really want him. He—what’s his name?”

Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”

The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant. Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time. You’re wasting his time, too. Poor Brant.”

“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”

“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”

An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type. Right. What is my type, then? What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”

Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road. With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel. Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window. Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—

“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own. He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that. And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right? Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date. But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine. But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday. Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail. Just like you.”

Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks. She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.

Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”

Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”

“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks. If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”

The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”

Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.

“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”

“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”

Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment. His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago. Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.

She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

…

As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.

She’s not sure what her first hint should have been. Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself. When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.

“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”

“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left. It’ll do you two nicely.”

“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”

Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N. The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms. I got one room left. Everything else is booked.”

Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together. No way in hell. They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff. If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.

“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”

“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which. Now do you want to share the room with him or not? If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”

Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own. She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height. When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.

“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.

The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right. To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned. However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.

Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”

Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder. She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way. For that.”

Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”

Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”

“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly. To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.

Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”

“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.

Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in. The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas. Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college. Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.

Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N! How was driving today?”

“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”

“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day? Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert? Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”

“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”

“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass. He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly. If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear. It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it? He named it, Jo. He talks about it like it’s a person!”

A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating? Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”

“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”

“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”

“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too. I didn’t ask for his opinion.”

“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person. You know that.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that. But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”

“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”

The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone. On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence. Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.

Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.

Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated. There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.

Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive. Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle. His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes. Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.

As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again. For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right. Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.

But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.

“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”

“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”

If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes. He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.

She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable. His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips. His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—

“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground. He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.

“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”

Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”

Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.

“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”

Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”

The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder. He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest. Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.

When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.

…

“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala. His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”

By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles. Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”

“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”

Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”

Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot. She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.

Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”

“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse. I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”

“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”

At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face. Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.

“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it? Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”

Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject. Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”

Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner. Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it. And I can’t sleep.”

“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.

There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”

“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”

The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason. It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.

“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”

It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”

Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears. Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know. However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites. She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”

Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”

A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”

“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes. There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.

“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds. I’m not a fan of big crowds, really. Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”

The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff? Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”

“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them. Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.

Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other. As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.

“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”

“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile. His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”

Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile. It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same. Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight. And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her. Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort. Not in the slightest.

She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.

…

“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle. She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner. The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.

Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before. I want a souvenir.”

“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really? Does this seem like the best place?”

Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway. If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter. The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower. Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”

Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it. She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting. He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back. And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”

When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else. Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while. Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.

While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory. Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern. Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop. Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them. She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop. Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach. Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.

“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”

When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen. She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach. Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her. It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.

“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly. She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.

An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”

“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”

Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No. I wish something had happened to you. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”

Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”

“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough. Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”

…

The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice. While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.

When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief. Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted. When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table. She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.

Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel. She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato. Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.

An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips. It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film. As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in. Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.

Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID. She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”

What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N. I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”

“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine. How are you?”

“Oh, alright. Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip? I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”

“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”

“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though. And our weekly dinners.”

A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N. Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind. Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.

“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?

“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day. I’m tired.”

“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with? Have you been taking turns?”

Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him. Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?

Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t. All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone. Why had she done that, she wonders? She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once. When she talked about the wedding, probably. As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding? About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life? Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read. Had the topic ever come up in detail?

“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth. She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her. She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”

“Oh, Colorado. That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead. Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call. The time 3:09 blinks back at her.

Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call. She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true. She hadn’t lied. And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care? It’s just Harry. There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again. Things are different between them. There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks. They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that. So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell. Nothing at all.

Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right. Nothing to tell.

…

When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands. He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs. His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.

“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning. You drink it black, right?”

Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”

Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know. I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”

Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before. Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.

The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip. As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel. It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment. The silence between them. It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension. It’s…refreshing.

A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”

Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion. One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough. I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”

Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”

“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality. Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”

“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all” type of sentence.

Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”

When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”

Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”

Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering. The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose. I told you, the walls were thin.”

“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior. She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.

Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes? Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”

“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.

“Am I wrong? It’s not like you know for sure—”

Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry! Now!”

Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal. Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral. While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry. Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.

“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”

Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him? You don’t even know him!”

Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”

“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air. It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to. We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”

Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you. It’s supposed to be a joke. Isn’t that what friends do?”

“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends. I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”

Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips. His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment. Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way. Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does. It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives. Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes. It’s always been what she likes.

Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends. Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then. Let’s go.”

…

“Hello! My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”

“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away. Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.

The last hour has been almost unbearable. After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard. Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.

A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together. She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry? Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue. They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.

Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news. Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?

The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”

“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”

Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”

“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please. And a water, as well.”

Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen. A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.

Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before. There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him. Which, honestly, is saying something.

She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.

“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.

She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”

“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”

Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand. Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.

Y/N recognizes the papers immediately. It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”

“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”

A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right. Of course.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”

“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”

“Fine. Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them. His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”

It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”

When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse. His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.

“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here. I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away. When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me. I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty. I thought it was wrong. I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it. And then I met you’.”

Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same. There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best. If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you. I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me. I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world. I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt. I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were. I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible. I promise to love, period. I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”

Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye. She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.

“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”

Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”

Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her. Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”

Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”

Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words. The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you. ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel. ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close. I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing. The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want. I want us to be permanent to each other. Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart. Committing to you isn’t any trouble. It’s as easy as breathing. I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us. I love you, permanently. I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out. I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that. I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you. You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it. I love you permanently, Laure. I’ll never stop’.”

As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table. She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”

Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right. They really…love each other.”

Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face. His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows? I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people? Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people? Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone. The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it. When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them. However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days. The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence. She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine. Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself. After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it. His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room. Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep. Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal. But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder. The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him. She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair. It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see. It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth. He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did. I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head. She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder. That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice. He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then. And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me. No one stopped to help me. I felt like I was…trapped. Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out. I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity. And just something about it…I don’t know. It changed me. I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it. I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really. A side effect. We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse. I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight. I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know. I thought we were getting along better. For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends. I think…I don’t know. I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah. Me too. I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this? I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes! It was the very first night we met. We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—? He was a classmate of mine! I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

��You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong. You were all of those things. But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know. Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you. I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me. I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N. When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time. It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry. She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own. He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning. Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)

7K notes · View notes

makeste · 3 years ago

Text

BnHA Chapter 325: Deku VS the Outside of U.A. ~Conclusion~

Previously on BnHA: Ochako was all “dear bloodthirsty mob, this kid you see standing before you has fought harder than anyone and put his life on the line to protect you all, so please chill the fuck out, jesus christ. like, putting aside that he’s humanity’s best hope and so it’s very much in your best interests to let him rest and recover someplace safe so that he can keep fighting for us, are y’all seriously going to turn away an injured and exhausted child in front of his sobbing mother?? seriously?? come on now.” I’m paraphrasing here but that’s basically how it went down. Anyway so then the mob was all, “...” and Deku collapsed to his knees in tears, and Gigantic Fox Lady and Kouta ran over to give him a hug but then the chapter ended.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “FINE, YOU CAN HUG HIM”, which, was that so hard?? The U.A. Clown Mob is all “come to think of it, we’ve kind of been taking the heroes for granted this entire time, maybe we should be less passive in the future. anyway so Deku if it’s not too much to ask, can you please save everyone and fix everything.” Deku is all “I sure can, and by the way I forgive you for swarming around all menacingly two minutes ago and trying to deny me basic shelter and stuff.” Ectoplasm is all, “hey Todogang get a load of this. [walks in a circle].” Hawks is all, “that’s literally the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.” Rat Principal is all, “anyway so that’s what your students did today, hope you’re enjoying your new *~*ROBOT LEG*~*, Aizawa.” Aizawa is all “[lots of exposition about Kurogiri and for some reason, Toga, while being all brooding and sexy].” All Might is all “[standing here right outside of U.A. doing absolutely nothing and being foreboding AF]” and that immediately sucked away all of the warm fuzzy feelings from the hugs, goddammit.

each new week has become a waiting game of “when will Deku finally get to take a bath so people will actually be willing to go near him and give him the hugs he deserves.” the stakes have never been so compelling. I’ve almost forgotten about AFO entirely

lmaoooooo

me: for the love of god will someone please give Deku a hug before I die of old age

Mineta: YOU GOT IT!! --

Iida: [SWIFTLY CUTS HIM OFF] NOT YOU

fucking losing it at Mineta’s crying face. he really wanted to hug him. I legit feel bad but this is also the funniest thing I have seen all week, omg

somehow Kouta, who last week was only a hand’s breadth away from touching Deku’s head, is now twenty miles away from him in this new chapter

can I make a Loki reference here. is this recap a good place to insert a joke about someone using a TVA time-rewinding device to fuck with my poor boy Kouta over here. well anyway there it is

AND NOW HE’S BACK ALL OF A SUDDEN OMG

(ETA: since when is he “niichan” omg?? can’t handle this cuteness.)

BUT THEY’RE STILL NOT HUGGING HIM FFFFKFFFFF. WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO. WHO DO I HAVE TO BRIBE AND/OR BLACKMAIL

OH NO KOUTA IS CRYING THAT’S IT I’M DONE FOR

“when I heard that lady I knew that I had to go, but then stop again within inches of actually touching you because you smell like week-old rotten onions.” listen Kouta, I’m not saying I don’t get it, but you all can’t keep doing this to me. it’s the way you guys keep teasing it. like, if you’re gonna hug him, hug him. don’t just stand there with your arms held rigidly out in front of you like a molded action figure

OH MY GOSH BUT HE SAID THE THING

KOUTA SWOOPING IN AT THE LAST MINUTE TO TAKE ALL THE CREDIT FOR FIXING DEKU LIKE THAT ONE KID IN THE GROUP PROJECT WHO DOES ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BUT STILL TAGS HIS NAME ONTO THE REPORT ANYWAY, WHAT A KNAVE

GASP

( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ )

SHE PICKED HIM UP LIKE A LITTLE BABY OMG?? she just leaned right over and lifted this child like he was a small animal. like a lil baby futon that she was about to hang up to dry. oh my god

-- HEY WHAT

(: well that’s extremely fucked up. though sadly not too surprising given what we just saw these past couple chapters

incidentally, I hope that anyone who was legitimately defending the civilians’ perspective earlier takes note here of how quickly that line of thinking -- “we’re just trying to keep our families safe” and all that-- can lead to straight up bigotry. if you’re willing to deny a child shelter and protection simply because he’s not YOUR child, and because you’ve decided based on Internet rumors (no real-world parallels there, I’m sure) that he might present a threat, it’s really not that much further of a leap to discriminating against entire groups of people simply because you perceive those groups as being dangerous. I’m sure the people who turned Gigantic Fox Lady away also told themselves afterwards that they did it to protect their families. “better safe than sorry.” “she’ll be fine, someone will take her in, but as for us, we can’t afford to take that risk.” people can come up with all kinds of justifications for treating other people as less than human, and the really scary thing about it is how fucking easy it is

one last quick side note, which is that Horikoshi does a great job here of showing how scapegoating works, given that AFO is the one who’s really to blame and who presents the actual threat, and yet Deku is the one who ultimately winds up being the target of the mob’s fear and outrage despite him being as much of a victim as they are. gotta love that irony, which unfortunately plays out far too often in the real world as well.

anyway I’ll get off my soapbox now, sorry about that. let us continue

YES, FINALLY OH MY GOD!!!!

AND THAT’S THE STORY OF HOW GIGANTIC FOX LADY BECAME THE GREATEST HERO. PACK IT ALL UP, WE’RE DONE HERE KIDS

holy shit. the real MVP right there. thanks for getting it done champ

jesus christ I have had it up to here with these people

literally the bar is set so low at this point that I’ll go ahead and take it. helping him because it offers them a tactical advantage is at least one step up from not helping him at all

“WHY NOT SHIKETSU” MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR TO GOD

-- thank you!!

okay this one guy with the antennae hair is having himself a character development speedrun here

-- okay, but this part?? fucking this part, right here??

can we repeat that again?? the part where this guy acknowledges that the problems of hero society were caused not just by said heroes, but also by said society?? the part where he acknowledges that they treated the heroes like celebrities who were putting on a show for them?? the part where he acknowledges that when push came to shove, the vast majority of those heroes, when faced with a situation that offered no reward, were nonetheless willing to put their lives on the line to protect the very same people who then turned around and blamed them rather than thanking them?? are the civilians of BnHA even allowed to have actual deep thoughts about this stuff. holy shit

bro!!

ANTENNAE HAIR GUY SHOVING KOUTA AND GIGANTIC FOX LADY OUT OF THE WAY TO SLAP HIS NAME ONTO THE END CREDITS AS EXECUTIVE PRODUCER. CONGRATULATIONS SON YOU FIGURED OUT THE CORE PHILOSOPHICAL QUESTION AT THE VERY HEART OF THE MANGA. WAY TO GO BUD

meanwhile, on today’s episode of “one more chapter to go till the big volume cliffhanger, how else can I drag things out let’s see”

it’s a panel. of people’s feet. just a bunch of normal feet. with sneakers and shit

this All Might shirt guy is getting more screentime in this arc than 90% of the class 1-A kids

I guess I’m supposed to feel sorry for this dude now that he’s all “if we let you stay here do you promise to somehow magically fix every single problem that we are now currently facing?” those are some ridiculously exacting standards my dude. come on now

KACCHAN SIGHTING

thank fuck I’m not the only one who’s thoroughly unimpressed by absolutely all of this lol. I feel better now. meanwhile Iida and Kouda and Kiri are ready to run over there and hug them all. you guys are way too forgiving. damn you and your pure hearts

anyway so Deku’s like “yeah, definitely”

(ETA: almost forgot to comment on the “I’m no longer alone” part – he basically corrects the guy and says “sorry, but you’ll need to direct that question towards all of us, not just me, because moving forward we’re a team.” good stuff.)

you know what though, all joking aside... fuck yeah. because perfect victory, right. the strongest guys don’t settle for anything less. so I guess Deku has pretty exacting standards himself

also can you all just take a look at this fucking kid who’s got so much light in his eyes now that I’m gonna need eclipse goggles. hot damn. “you’re welcome” says All Might Shirt Guy as he is frantically interviewed by several local news networks asking him how he daringly managed to save Deku all by himself. “well I guess I’ve just never been the kind of guy who can sit back and let a bunch of rabble-rousers blame a little kid for all of humanity’s problems. someone had to step in and take action, you know?”

oH MY GOD THE SCENE IS FINALLY ENDING

don’t let the door hit you on your way out All Might Shirt Guy

but meanwhile, sudden Tododrama action??

oh shit

there are honestly so many ways in which Ochako’s very moving speech could have wildly backfired that I genuinely have no clue where this is headed lol. how exciting!!

so now Horikoshi is once again stalling for time with random filler panels, but this one is 10x better than the shoes lol omg

(1) was Ectoplasm’s jacket always this oversized. (2) did you guys know that if you go back to chapter 319 you can see that Horikoshi gave us a sneak peak at Enji’s Sad Detective disguise and I in fact made a joke about it in the 319 recap not realizing it was actually the stone cold truth. (3) did Shouto deliberately speed up out of impatience because Hawks was walking so fucking slow and he couldn’t take it any longer. (4) and what, I ask you, is up with these dramatic speedlines. so many mysteries here. what a masterpiece

everyone is acting all shocked about something ahh what’s going on

wait what

what the heck. did they just loop around behind everyone. what was the point of that lol. “anyway, so this is what they look like from the back” well okay, thanks for that Ectoplasm

(ETA: so it seems like they were actually hanging out someplace else away from the crowd this whole time, I guess? here I thought they had more faith in Enji’s disguise. I guess Shouto and Hawks don’t particularly want to attract this crowd’s attention themselves right now either, though.)

I am so fucking confused lmao

speaking of All Might WHERE THE FUCK IS HE lol. but yes, good, OFA brings everyone together, and Hawks is very deeply moved about this out of the blue all of a sudden. you know how it is

aw heck yeah now this is another filler panel I can get behind

Mineta really wants that hug, good lord. I genuinely love this actually. Mineta if you could just stay little and cute and keep crying about how much you love your classmates in a non-gross way for the rest of the series I would be so appreciative. you’re doing great

IIDA IS HOLDING DEKU’S HAND THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ONE TIME WASN’T ENOUGH FOR MY MAN HE’S ADDICTED NOW

what did I tell you. Kiri wants to get all of the mob’s autographs now. Kiri you’re a peach

Shouji having a conversation with another mutant type is a very nice touch! we really need to get to his backstory soon. I feel like that casual remark from GFL earlier was kind of hinting at more to come

is this the first time we’ve ever seen the Yaoyorictionary in action?? never forget that Viz tried to call it the “Yaoyorozu Reference Book” because they hate fun

last but not least, KAMIBAKU IS BACK ON THE MENU, FUCK YEAH. Kaminari trying to spice things up and introduce a little bit of controversy by smacking Kacchan on the back of the head for god knows what. I will be deeply disappointed after this if I can’t find at least one person unironically declaring that KamiBaku is now toxic and abusive

lfkdlWLWK TODODRAMA??

oh my god. Shouto’s face. Enji’s face. the back to “oyaji” again. the blunt, not-taking-no-for-an-answer, “I don’t know how much louder the universe can scream at you that doing things alone is not it, so hopefully you got the point” directness of it. fffdlkslj I’m so ready for this Horikoshi please don’t fuck it up my expectations are so high

HOLY FUCK

I SCROLLED DOWN AND HE WAS ALL “( ❛‿❛)” AND I JUST WASN’T FUCKING EXPECTING THAT OKAY. JESUS CHRIST. GIVE ME A SEC

lol okay moment over and now Enji’s pulling his hat down all dramatically like a world-weary Cowboy

OH MY GOD WERE YOU FACETIMING??

AHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: not to put Iida down or anything, but it’s kind of strange that Aizawa is all “the class rep sure did great” when Ochako is the one that was giving that whole big speech for like twenty minutes just now lol.)

(ETA 2: “thank god Iida stepped in just in the nick of time to keep Mineta from hugging Deku.” sorry Mineta I really do like you lately but it’s still low-hanging fruit lol.)

HE LOOKS SO SAD??! HE LOOKS LIKE HEARTBREAK ITSELF??! I AM BESOUGHT WITH THE URGE TO REACH INTO MY SCREEN AND PULL HIM INTO THE SAFETY OF MY ARMS??? MY GOD, AND I THOUGHT DEKU NEEDED HUGS

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH okay I was gonna just hold down the letter H for a full minute and count it out loud but within about ten seconds I realized I needed to chill lol

-- but then again NO, I DON’T NEED TO CHILL, I HAVE ZERO CHILL, ACTUALLY, BECAUSE IT’S AIZAWA WITH A ROBOT LEG AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

COMPLETE WITH ROBOT TOES FOR THAT EXTRA TOUCH OF AUTHENTICITY!! I LIKE HOW HORIKOSHI PUT ALL THIS EXTRA “!!!” EMPHASIS AROUND IT IN CASE WE COULD SOMEHOW POSSIBLY FAIL TO TAKE NOTICE. “REMEMBER, EVERYONE?” SAYS HORIKOSHI HELPFULLY. “REMEMBER THAT TIME AIZAWA CHOPPED OFF HIS OWN LEG?” oh wow now that you mention it we somehow forgot all about that. like who do you take us for

OH NO NOT THE SAD BOYFRIEND ANGST THAT I WAS SECRETLY LOOKING FORWARD TO WITH GLEE

well at least he’s not M.I.A. or back with the villains again like I thought he might be. still, that’s gotta be brutal to know your friend is in there somewhere, but to not be able to reach him again no matter how hard you try. that’s the kind of angst that pays off in final battles just when you most expect it. such is my hope, at any rate

what’s this now??

trying to decide if this is Horikoshi’s way of saying don’t worry about that, or his way of saying definitely worry about that lol

anyway so Aizawa is out here being all irresponsibly handsome once again. when is someone going to do something about him

here for Sexy Robot Leg Eyepatch Aizawa clenching his fists and making speeches about revenge. pretty sure we’re all here for that

WELL, WELL, WELL

IT’S ABOUT FUCKING TIME

I’M VERY GLAD YOU’RE ALIVE AND SEEMINGLY WELL, THOUGH!

BUT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK THOUGH, ALL MIGHT

ffff. bracing myself for that cliffhanger next week. you’d better not touch one hair on this man’s head Horikoshi. I’m watching you

#bnha 325 #midoriya izuku #u.a. clown mob #class 1-a #aizawa shouta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

240 notes · View notes

creativeashproductions · 4 years ago

Text

Back to the 118 // Evan Buckley

IN WHICH: Buck meets the firefighter he replaced as the reader transfers back to the 118. The reader never expected to fall for a co-worker the first day back at the 118 after two years spent at the 155 in Los Feliz.

Warnings: Swearing, sickness, hospitals, health issues, pregnancy, angst and a shit ton of fluff

Words: 5.9k

A/N: So this is obviously a modern au for jatp to fit in the 911 universe. To make this work, Buck replaced Reader instead of Tommy after many failed probies. Eddie then later replaced Tommy.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

Your e/c eyes scanned the outward appearance of the first firehouse you’d worked at fresh out of the Academy. The place that had become a second home from the increased tension-filled house your parents still lived in. A place you had escaped as quickly as you could for a dream career. A career your parents hadn’t been proud of in the beginning, with the danger that came with being a firefighter paramedic.

“You the new recruit?”

Your eyes fell from the building to the male individual standing near the open bay the engine and ladder truck both used. The male in question must have joined the 118 after you transferred to the 155. The stranger towered at least six feet minimum with blue eyes and short blonde hair with the slightest wave.

“No-”

“Flint!” The excited voice of the only other female paramedic called out. You only saw dark navy before you were pretty much tackled.

Hen and Chimney had equally taken you under their wings when you initially joined as a rookie. You’d been the second female firefighter-paramedic at the 118 and the youngest by far. As if you’d summoned him, you felt the arms of Chimney sandwich you against Hen.

“Flint?” The stranger parroted, blinking his eyes at the rather unusual scene of Chimney and Hen wrapped around an unknown girl.

“What are you doing here?” Chimney questioned, stepping back. Hen scoured your entire form for any differences that had occurred.

“Y/N decided to come home,” Bobby spoke from a few feet behind the reunion with the beaming smile on his features. His lips pulled into a smile directed at the first recruit he’d taken on his first year at the 118.

“Bobby!” You grinned, meeting the father figure in the middle of the distance between you two. Bobby wrapped you up in his arms tightly, a certain lightness cocooning the Captain as he took in his friends.

“You’re back here?”

“Everything is squared back at home now, thankfully, and while I loved working with the 155, it wasn’t home. This will always be home.”

“Buck, this is Y/N Patterson. She worked her first two years with the 118 before transferring to the 155 in Los Feliz. Y/N, this is one of our newest members, Evan Buckley.” Bobby gestured towards the previously nameless firefighter.

“Who would leave the 118?” Buck questioned, unable to come up with a valid reason to leave the family at 118.

Buck’s opinion didn’t stand with his only workplace after successfully becoming a firefighter solely was the 118. Never had he worked in another firehouse. He’d been a fire marshall and volunteered his time in the Austin wildfire, but he always came home to the 118.

“Family issues.”

2018, Firehouse 118, Los Angeles

A fresh-faced, albeit dirty from sweat and soot, jumped down from the engine truck’s high steps. The synchronized slam of doors sounded from your colleagues and friends Hen and Chimney. All three individuals famished for the casserole Bobby had premade during the slow morning.

“Baked Mac n’ Cheese.” Tommy breathed from his position by the driver side. Tommy Kinard was a stoic man towering over six feet. He was always a gentle giant after you’d bonded after a hard call.

“Clean up, and I’ll have it in the oven. It’s Chimney’s time to make the salad and Flint’s turn to set the table.” Bobby spoke with barely a glance to the ground ahead of him.

Your Captain jogged towards the stairs, whereas his team made their way to the locker rooms for a well-deserved shower. You and Hen split away from Tommy and Chimney to the women’s locker room that had gotten an upgrade.

Well, before you joined the Academy, the locker room had been used as a glorified game room, all thanks to the misogynist Captain from hell. Hen often had over the years mentioned how lucky you got with Bobby being your first Captain.

“Chimney better not put those onions like he did last time.” You spoke from under the stream of warm water. Nothing beat the warmth of a shower near the end of your shift erasing the evidence of your job.

“Man needs to learn the complimentary salad to the main dish.” Hen piped up from across the shower room.

You and Hen had both showered and redressed in a fresh uniform in under five minutes, the dirty one placed in a laundry bag. You’d managed to beat the boys to the upstairs by a few seconds. Enough to set half of the able before Chimney began to making his salad of choice.

“Looks great, Cap.” Tommy complimented the gooey homemade pasta Bobby religious made every third Thursday. He alternated between pasta recipes with the odd new recipe every once in a while.

“What are you waiting for? The bell?” Bobby quipped to the unmoving bunch of hungry individuals. His words started the boisterous meal time preceding the end of shift.

“So, we’re halfway through dinner and Amber-” Your phone interrupted the disaster date Tommy had begun telling. He continued as soon as you waved him to go ahead while you took the call.

“Hello?” You breathed into the phone.

“Hi, sweetheart.” The warmth infused in your mom’s voice soothed the ruffled feathers from the call you’d come back from, “How are you?”

“I’m good! We just finished eating. My shift is almost over, and I’ll have to go straight to the store for groceries-”

“Y/N, we found him.”

The him was easy to figure out given your brother had run away from home three months prior with only his dreams in mind. You’d spent most of your off time, sometimes even during shift out on a call, to scan the environment for Luke. You became a regular in questioning hospitals and homeless shelters.

“Where was he?”

“His band had been about to play at some big venue last night.” Mom’s word choice concerned you. Her voice dripped with sadness instead of the typical disappointment and annoyance on anything to do with Sunset Curve.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“A few nights ago, the boys got hotdogs-”

“Streetdogs.” You interrupted with evident anger in your tone at the mention of those death dogs Luke consumed. You can’t even give a number to how many times you had told him how unsanitary and dangerous the food is.

“Something was wrong with the food. They got ill fast. Alex and Reggie are being kept for observation but will be found with a few days of rest.”

“What about Luke?”

“He tried to call 911; he was weak and fell. Y/N, he hit his head. He’s in the ICU in a coma.” Emily Patterson’s voice cracked as soon as she acknowledged the current state of her youngest child.

The colours of the world dulled as soon as your mind clicked that Luke was in the hospital. Your little brother had put himself in danger all because he had a big dream. Your mind flashed through your life growing up with him.

You remembered talking to your mom’s growing bump when she was pregnant with Luke. You remembered five-year-old Luke unable to settle unless you sang to him. Your voice was nothing special, but it soothed the little boy when he had a nightmare. You could vividly recall teaching Luke how to play the guitar when he was thirteen; the brunette a complete natural at it.

“What’s his prognosis?”

“Too early to tell. The doctor is hoping Luke will be in a general room after tomorrow if the swelling goes down. I wanted you to know as soon as possible.”

“How’s Dad?”

Emily hesitated from her position by a hospital bed. Her brown eyes carefully scanning the male sleeping soundly in the bed.

“Mom?”

“Your father had a heart attack last night. That’s why I haven’t been able to tell you sooner. He’s currently sleeping, but he’ll have a barrage of tests later today-”

“I’ll be there as soon as my shif-”

“No. Don’t drop anything. I can keep you up.”

“Excuse my language, but there’s no way in hell I’m staying away from my family. I’ll take a few days off. I’ll see you in a couple hours.” Your thumb tapped the red circle on the bottom of your screen.

The 118 didn’t bother pretending they hadn’t been watching your form during your phone call. Bobby felt like something had drastically changed in a few minutes you’d been busy on the phone.

“Everything okay?” Bobby inquired from his position at the kitchen sink. His hands in the sudsy water to scrub the empty pan.

“My brother and my father are in hospital. I’m gonna need some days off.” You informed your boss with a look of utter defeat coating your expression.

Those few days transitioned to transferring to the closest firehouse to your childhood home and the hospital. The medical bills from both your brother and father had begun to overwhelm your mother with the current single source of income. Emily didn’t ask you for anything, but you started renting the home you’d bought for extra money.

It was a silent agreement that you paid rent as a cover to helping with the bills piling up.

Present Day, Firehouse 118

Buck followed behind the welcoming group to the girl that seemed larger than life. Buck was impressed by the sacrifice you’d made for the good of your family. You’d willingly given up the family of the 118. Buck didn’t know if he could do the same.

“Welcome back.” Hen cheered on her guidance to the heaven everyone called the kitchen. Your department issue duffle bag dropped out of the wall on the top level.

Your eyes zeroed in on the spread of your favourite foods prepared by the only person aware of your return. It was only one look of gratitude towards the father figure before everyone dug in.

A few changes had occurred since you’d last sat at this table. Tommy Kinard had left the 118 for the 217 shortly after your departure. He’d been replaced by the ready to impress Buck. One thing that hadn’t changed was the delicious food Bobby made.

Your eyes found the sole empty chair at the long table, “Didn’t you say the house took on two new recruits since I left?”

“Buck took your position when you left. We had a revolving door of firefighters before Buck permanently joined.” Chimney supplied with a mouth full of lettuce and grated carrot. Hen whacked his arm for his lack of manners.

“You’ll meet Eddie on the next shift. He took the day off. It’s his son’s first birthday since his mom died.” Bobby informed you with that pinched wrinkle between his eyebrows, “He joined after Tommy left.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet the entire team.” You replied, looking past to the circular table behind Bobby’s spot. Sam and Ryan both waved happily upon catching sight of you back at your unspoken seat.

You listened intently as Hen shared the changes Denny had gone through in the time you’d been away. Chimney was ecstatic to point out the faint scar on his forehead.

“You had rebar go through your skull, and you’re completely fine?” You questioned, floored by the pure luck Chimney had.

“Oh, it was nasty. Went in from the back of the skull to the front.” Buck spoke enthusiastically, recounting the scene. Chimney deadpanned a look at his younger coworker, “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s like you never had it happen.”

“Doc was shocked at how positive the outcome and healing was. I was back at work within a month on light duty. I beat my record getting in my turnout gear.”

“And yet my little brother was comatose for two months.” You grumbled under your breath. None of the people could make out the words, but the grimace on your face was enough to show them it was personal.

In true 118 fashion, the bell rang throughout the firehouse with the disembodied voice declaring the type and location. Yoru e/c eyes found Buck climbing into the driver’s seat where Tommy had once commandeered. It was odd not having the man who’d became an older brother to you.

“How’re your parents?” Hen questioned, sitting diagonally from you. Her fingers repositioning the radio on her chest.

“Dad’s recovering pretty good. Mom’s started attending her knitting club again.”

Buck’s eyes raised to the rearview mirror to meet yours in interest, “What happened?”

“Uh...my dad had a heart attack a couple years ago. He took a long time to recover with the further stress that caused it.” You piped up, understanding the news would come out at some point, “My little brother was in an accident that left him in a coma. Life was just as messy after he woke up.”

“He’s okay?” Chimney questioned, “I know we’ve never met them, but it really gutted you.”

“Well, physically, he’s fine, but emotionally he’s upset. He was in a band, and when he came out of the coma, he found out some devastating news.” You continued to explain, but unfortunately, or maybe, fortunately, you’d come to the scene.

It was a little known place most teenagers discovered as a hang out spot just on the edge between your county and the next. The location was the infamous spot of cliff jumping; you knew because this was something you’d recklessly done in high school.

“He’s over here!” A blonde male of average height called from the edge of the cliff. His blue eyes were bright even from this distance, matching the detailing on his swim trunks.

Surrounding the edge with the boy was a group of teenagers his age, all in different versions of swimsuits. You found the scared brown eyes of a beautiful girl you vaguely knew from the few shows of Sunset Curve you had watched. Her dark blonde hair plaited out of her face. Her face clicked as Carrie Wilson, Bobby’s sister or cousin.

You jogged towards the edge of the cliff to look over. It was easily between fifteen to twenty feet from the edge of the cliff to the water. You recognized Hen crouching by your side, looking at what you were looking at.

On the rocks was a prone body of a teenage male with bruises already forming on his face from where you could see. His thick shoulder-length hair laid still half in the ponytail and around his head.

“Head trauma.” You murmured to Hen, scanning from a distance, “I can’t tell much from this height and angle.”

“Either a broken tibia or fibula. Spinal injury is definitely a concern.”

“Okay, his name is Willie Young. He’s eighteen years old. His sister Kayla was dared to jump off by doing some kind of flip. Willie took her dare and didn’t jump far enough or tripped over a rock.” Bobby listed having been talking with the group of teenagers all shook up.

“I can rappel-” Buck began to speak before you cut him off firmly.

“It would take too long, and the angle is difficult. Nobody rappels down it; the cliff isn’t stable enough. It crumbles pretty easy, and the unofficial name of this cliff is Devil’s Dive.” Your eyes found Carrie’s tear-filled once and the utter devastation in who you pegged as Kayla.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve jumped off this cliff for years as a teenager. You’re looking at the resident champion of self reckless endangerment at Devil’s Dive.”

Hen, Chimney and Bobby each stared, shocked at your revelation of stupid teenager decisions.

“Then how are we gonna get down there,” Buck questioned, staring at the unconscious teenager lying on the rocks.

“Easy, I can jump from here into the water and climb onto the rocks to where Willie is. I have the experience of how and where to jump safely.” You spoke to your Captain with complete confidence in your abilities, “You can lower down the kit, radio and backboard by a rope. There’s a mansion beyond the trees that you can ask to borrow a boat from the owner. He’s eccentric and questionable but nice enough.”

Bobby nodded his head to your plan. You unbuttoned your uniform shirt to strip down to the department t-shirt with the emblem on your chest and across your back. You kept the boots and emptied your pockets of anything. The butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the height of the cliff you hadn’t jumped from in years.

“I’ll jump where-”

“Excuse me?” You scoffed at Buck’s assumption he could follow you.

“You’ll need another pair of hands to roll him on the backboard. I don’t have anyone waiting for me at home. This is kinda what I do. Bobby cleared it already.” Buck shrugged with a half-smirk on his handsome face.

With a roll of your eyes, you quickly gave Buck a rundown on how to jump correctly before you tossed yourself off the cliff. The cold water momentarily shocked your system as soon you submerged under the water. You swam to the surface before swimming towards the rocks. Willie hadn’t moved an inch.

“Whoa! That was so cool!” Buck cheered once he’d appeared on the surface of the water, “No wonder you used to do that!”

His excitement both annoyed and amused you, “Eh. I was just an idiot kid who thought they were invincible.”

The two firefighters lifted themselves onto the rock formation, where blood stained the rock. While Buck retrieved the backboard and essentials from the rope, your hands moved across Willie’s body, checking for breaks. You caught the c-collar Buck tossed without looking. You quickly but gently put the collar on Willie.

“Hi, Willie. My name is Y/N, and I’m a paramedic. I’m gonna check you over for injuries.” You informed the teenager closely. You’d only just opened his eyes to flash a light on them, “Buck let Bobby know Willie’s pupils are reactive to light and the same size.”

“Got it!” Buck called out from the open medkit, “I’ll splint his leg.”

“W-what happened?” Willie wheezed sluggishly. His brown eyes were unfocused.

“You got hurt trying to jump off the cliff. You’re in good hands, Willie. I’m a paramedic with the Los Angeles Fire Department. This is my coworker Buck.”

“Kayla?”

“Perfectly safe, but you did give her a scare. Willie, can you feel this?” Buck questioned, gently touching his right foot. Buck and you both gave a sigh of relief as Willie confirmed he felt it.

“Okay, we’re gonna roll you on to the backboard. On three: one, two, three.” You counted before rolling Willie on his side with Buck. Willie’s cry echoed around the surrounding as you settled him on the board.

“Need a ride?” Chimney asked as a very nice boat floated towards the three people on the rocks. Hen and Bobby helped load Willie onto the boat, “Mr. Covington agreed to let us use the boat if we don’t get blood on the seats.”

“Can you call my boyfriend?” Willie sluggishly asked when he was loaded into the ambulance on the cliff. Kayla sliding into the seat in the back of the ambulance with their items.

“Alex is meeting us at the hospital.” Kayla told her older brother, “You absolute idiot! You should have just let me jump!”

“And let you be in the back of the ambulance? Dad would kill me if I had let you do it.” Willie scoffed. Their conversation was silent as Chimney and Buck closed the back doors of the ambulance.

Bobby, Buck and you climbed into the fire truck to follow the ambulance to the closest hospital. Hen and Chimney rolled the gurney to the doors with Kayla hot on their heels. You’d just turned to head back to the truck when you saw three teens loitering near the entrance.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You grumbled, marching away from Bobby and Buck to the teen who was supposed to be in class.

Luke had been forced into private tutoring to catch up to his friends in his grades, meaning every afternoon. The watch on your wrist confirmed Luke was definitely supposed to be with his tutor at the community centre.

“Luke!” You shouted, stomping right up to the wide-eyed teen.

Luke’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as his older intimidating sister caught him like his hand was in the cookie jar. You didn’t give Reggie or Alex a second look while you gripped Luke’s ear to tug him away.

“Ow!” Luke whined from the angle you dragged him at.

“What the hell are you doing across the city? You’re supposed to be in your session that our parents are paying a great deal for.” You snapped, crossing your arms in your wet t-shirt.

“We need every chance we can to-”

“Make it big in the industry.” You parroted the past discussions on Luke’s dream as a band, “Do you remember how I got mom and dad off your back? An agreement that you finish high school on time. Not dropping out.”

“So many musicians have dropped out! Green Day’s frontman dropped out his senior year to focus on the band. Several others like Elton John and Kurt Cobain!” Luke enthused, gesturing with his hand to emphasize his words.

“Luke.” You warned, “It’s either catch by with a tutor with some time dedicated to your band, or it’s a military school.”

Luke’s hazel eyes minimally widened, “They would-”

Your stoic expression stayed the same as the energetic seventeen-year-old bounced in his spot across from you.

“There’s only so much I can do before you lose everything. I know you feel anxious after what all happened, but music isn’t going anywhere.” You reached to squeeze Luke’s hand in yours, “So, I’ll clear it with my boss to have you ride the bus to the station. You’ll have your tutor sessions with my supervision, so I know you’re attending.”

“Y/N!” Bobby called from next to the firetruck, “We gotta go.”

“I’m guessing the Alex that Willie is dating your best friend?” You questioned with one raised eyebrow. Luke nodded in response, “Let mom know you had to be there for Alex. She’ll let skipping your session go this once.”

“Thanks!” Luke chimed, lunging to hug you. Your mouth barely opened before he was racing towards a jittery Alex and a grinning Reggie.

Reggie lifted his arm to wave with his flushed cheeks a darker red colour. You found Reggie’s crush on you to be absolutely adorable. He was a friendly kid.

“He looks good for a kid who was in a coma not long ago.” Hen breathed as the teenager entered the ER with his best friends beside him.

“Oh, he healed quickly. He was crushed after he fully recovered from his head injury.”

“That was your brother?” Buck inquired, and he was just as focused on your features as he had since he first met you.

“Yeah! He was in a coma for ten months when he was sixteen. He’s spent the last two years catching on on school to graduate with his friends. Well hopefully. He’s dead set on dropping out.” You heavily sighed, leaning your temple on the glass window, “He was supposed to be at a tutoring session. I’ll be chaperoning to make sure he goes.”

“If you need to have them at the station, send me a schedule, and I’ll make it work. Luke’s just as much family as you are.”

The rest of the shift was smooth sailing as Buck followed you around with the sole purpose of getting to know you. The friendship came naturally to the two of you. He didn’t hold back with you like he did with others. Fridays off became hangouts that varied from just Buck and you to spend it with Eddie and Christopher.

Everyone could see Buck had developed feelings for you and vice versa. Unlike the man Buck used to be, he was cautious. He wanted to do this right. And Buck did. With the help of Christopher, he asked you out.

Months Later

Buck’s eyes fluttered open in the dim lighting of your new home’s bedroom he often found himself in. Before, you had alternated staying at his apartment or yours before a significant change happened. Luke moved in to finish his senior year with the help of your tutoring, as agreed with your parents. That led to you giving up your former home, the one that coincidentally Buck’s sister Maddie had rented from you.

“Luke! You better be awake!” Your voice came from the main floor of the home. Your voice alone seduced the firefight to leave the warm sheets.

His bare feet pattered down the hardwood floor stairs into the kitchen coated in all different kinds of breakfast food. Waffles to imported maple syrup to bacon spread across the counter.

“Morning,” Buck grumbled, stepping up behind you to tug you against his chest.

Unlike Buck’s softer footsteps, your little brother tore down the stairs like a stampede of elephants. Luke wore a vintage band shirt modified sleeveless; you’d be getting a voicemail about dress code violations. The chains hanging off his black jeans.

“You have to hurry, Lu. Buck and I can’t be late. He needs to get to his apart-”

“I don’t see why he doesn’t just move in. He’s here almost every night. He helps buy groceries.” Luke’s hazel eyes stared at the plate he towered food on.

Buck raised one eyebrow in response, “You just moved in. You should be settled before we make-”

“Dude. Your lease is up in like a month; just move in already. No feathers will be ruffled. Besides, the band’s taking off now that Nick got his dad Ryan to check our music out.” Luke sprouted with a beaming smile at the good news his new band received.

After Luke had recovered from that coma, he’d woken up in a world where Alex, Reggie and Bobby, no Trevor, now continued the band. Then when Alex and Reggie couldn’t go on, the rhythm guitarist betrayed Luke. He stole every song he could get his hands on and proved successful.

“Ryan Evans, right? His sister’s some bigshot on Broadway? Sharpay, right?” You questioned recalling in the early 2000s the success of Sharpay and Ryan in some kind of Disney films based on them.

“You’re about to be the sister and brother-in-law of a certified rockstar.” Luke’s attempt at smirking made him look like a chipmunk with full cheeks of food, “I don’t need a ride. Alex’s picking me up.”

“Straight to school, Luke. You’ve got two weeks left before you can leave that behind.” Buck pointed his coffee cup in the direction of the passionate musician. Luke returned a smile of acknowledgement.

The kitchen was quiet as Luke shoved as much food in his mouth in such little time while you watched. In a flash, he’d stuck his dishes in the dishwasher before sprinting out to the van beeping continuously.

“Think we can have you moved in by tomorrow? Your one-bedroom place will be a little cramped for five people.” You simply spoke as you rinsed your coffee cup out. You could hear the wheels in Buck’s brain turning as he thought.

“Five people?”

“Yeah. Luke, Albert, me, you and baby Buckley.”

The entire home went completely still as the announcement bled into the house you’d made a home. One hand resting against the smoothness of your belly. That hand covered by the calloused one of Buck’s. His blue eyes gleaming in utter adoration and excitement.

“Baby Buckley?” Buck marvelled, turning you to face him with tears running down your cheeks, “You’re pregnant?”

“I am. I guess we’re giving Maddie’s daughter a cousin.” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Now I’m obligated to see your parents regularly, and I still grimace at the first introduction.” Buck winced, recalling the foot in mouth syndrome he’d developed.

Buck had never been as nervous as in this moment. Not when he had to tell his parents the first time he got kicked out of college. Or when his teenage self sat beside one of his flings waiting for the results of a pregnancy test. Not even on his first date with Abby.

“You’ll be fine.” You soothed the anxious man standing by your side on the doorstep of your childhood home. The door opened, revealing Luke standing with a grimace, “Oh Mom, made you wear that.”

Luke had been stuffed into one of the only long-sleeved shirts he owned by your mother. It was a magenta maroon hued corduroy shirt and set off his chocolate hair perfectly. Apparently, your mother hadn’t been able to get him into a pair of pants that weren’t skinny, black or ripped.

“We’re meeting your boyfriend, not the damn Pope-”

“You wouldn’t be wearing that if the Pope was involved.” You retorted, stepping to tug the younger Patterson into your arms. The only thing you adored about your little brother was he never denied a hug. Physical touch is his love language, so he never went through a phase.

“Lucas, don’t let them freeze on the front porch!” Emily shouted from within the Patterson home. Luke rolled his eyes at his mother’s request.

“Luke, this is my boyfriend, Evan Buckley. Buck, this is my not so little brother Luke.” You swiftly introduced the most important males in your life.

Luke and Buck got along better than any previous partner you’d brought home. He got along with your parents really well. Even when he slightly embarrassed himself as the time came to go home, whether it was his place or yours. He kissed your mother’s cheek and shook hands with your father.

“No offence, but thank you for having a heart attack and a coma. If you hadn’t, I’m sure I would have never met Y/N.”

Luke snickered at Buck’s odd choice of words, as did your parents. A part of Buck dreaded the next time he’d see your parents.

The gentle press of lips against your cheek pulled you from your thoughts of the first family dinner. Despite the issues between Luke and your parents, they were great people and parents; Buck had felt like he finally fit in. Even with that awkward thankful he gave your brother and dad, he was family the minute Mitch and Emily saw the mutual looks.

“How are we gonna do this?”

“Well, as the pregnant one, I’ll carry the little Bean until it’s time for them to enter the world. Then we’ll-”

“I get that but with our jobs?”

You felt guilty at the dread of not getting to do what you love, but you were excited, “I’ll keep working as a paramedic. I’ll stay away from fires, and then I’ll go on mat leave. We’ll make this work, Buck.”

Buck leaned down to rest his forehead against yours with his eyes closed, envisioning how life was about to change. Buck adored children. He had loved Christopher from the moment he’d first met him. Buck himself was a kid at heart.

“I didn’t think I could fall more in love, but you continue to surprise me each time,” Buck murmured with that gorgeous smile that utterly melted your heart from the first time you saw it. Back when you tried to deny any feelings beyond friendship.

“We’re so lucky to have you, Evan Buckley.” You breathed as you leaned up to kiss him with as much passion as you could. Although it was mostly clashing of teeth with the matching wide grins on your face.

“This little girl is gonna be a heartbreaker but no boyfriends or girlfriends until they’re thirty.” Buck declared, tugging you into his arms. His blue eyes twinkling in the natural lighting.

“It could be a boy.”

“Or maybe neither. Boy, girl or non-binary, I’ll love them just as much.” Buck spoke once more.

Gideon Buckley was born in the early morning to the pride of his parents and extended family. He was a healthy solid 8 pounds with sparse dark blonde hair and the trademark grey-blue newborn eyes. You everyone but Buck and your surprise Gideon wasn’t alone. Grace Buckley followed her older twin brother eight minutes later.

You rested against the propped up pillows spent from the exhausting hours of labour, but it was worth it. The two tiny babies snuggled beneath the swaddling blanket concealing your bare chest. Skin to skin contact was absolutely the best part of being a parent.

“Did you steal a baby?” Chim joked upon entering the hospital room with Maddie in tow. Right behind them were your parents and Luke.

“I’d like you to meet our twins Gideon and Grace Buckley. Surprise!” Buck quietly cheered in the nearly silent room. Buck’s curated newly parents playlist gently playing in the background.

Mitch and Emily came closer to look at the little loves they proudly got to claim as their first grandchildren. Emily’s heart melted upon hearing Gracie coo in her sleep. Grace and Gideon’s fist pressed against each other.

“Congratulations.” Maddie breathed, bending to catch a peek at the twins’ faces.

“Luke. Would you like to meet your goddaughter and godson?” You questioned the nervous musician. The nineteen-year-old tiptoed his way to the hospital bed.

“I’m both their godfather?” Luke choked as soon as Buck gently transferred Gideon onto his uncle’s chest.

“There’s no one else in the world I’d choose to help guide them in the right direction. You always found your way back onto the right path. You’ll do the same for them.” Buck answered with Gracie nestled on his chest.

Buck was the first to hold them followed by you and then their godfather Luke.

Gid and Gracie, although unseen, had been in Luke’s graduation pictures and watched as Julie and the Phantoms signed with a record label. Where Gid was, Luke wasn’t far beyond; the special bond melted everyone. Likewise with Gracie and Alex.

Gid overall was a happy baby compared to Grace. Loved visiting the firehouse. Loved the people working with their father and previously their mother. For the entire first year of Gideon and Grace’s life, you stayed at home with the utter support of Buck.

“First day back.” Hen spoke from beside you on the bench in the women’s change room. As a fellow mother, she’d been watching your behaviour.

“I miss them. I feel guilty that I abandoned them-”

“Okay, your feelings are valid, but you aren’t abandoning Gideon or Grace. You’re teaching them that you can be a great mom while also being a badass firefighter. I was the same when I went back to work after we got Denny.”

“Do you ever wish you could be a stay at home mom?”

“I love Denny with my entire heart, but I couldn’t do that. I was meant to be a paramedic firefighter as much as Denny’s mother. Besides, I can see Maddie pushing in the double stroller.”

Your head snapped to see your sister in law beaming with the double stroller carrying Gideon and Grace. Maddie’s daughter sitting on the seat made for a toddler. Maddie and Chimney had come to a decision for Maddie to work part-time.

Hen watched as you bounded out of the changeroom in uniform to scoop the twins into your arms. In a split second, Buck was down the stairs cooing at the absolute loves of his life. His partner and two children.

Buck would forever be grateful for finding his way to the 118, where he found his true family. A place of acceptance, love, trust and loyalty. Buck found his place in the world, and that was beside you.

Tag List(s): (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

Julie and the Phantoms Taglist

@safehavenmuse @siennanoelle01 @whiterose291 @mell-bell @blackhood5sos @ficrecsideblog @ifilwtmfc @deadpoolgirl23 @crappy-unicorn @sunsetcurve-h @elioelioeli0 @lovesanimals @popcrone818 @lolychu @deepsleepnat @tenaciousperfectionunknown @aunicornmademedoit @just-a-writer-here @simp4reggie @faithiebrock01 @overlyhypedup @differentsoulrascalsalad @aesthetic-lyss @versaceapa @carleywhittaker @lostgirl219 @itsalexx21 @elllaoo4 @merxxleighann @mediocremunge @fantomlovesjuke4ever @dpaccione @oswin05 @kaylinfayezink @aberette13 @faithie-brock-gillespie01 @eharvey0218 @overlyhypedup @benstormy @auriandthepussicats @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @whothefuckstolemykeds @siriuswvrld @princessvader15 @xoxbloodreinaxox @heimdoodle @joshy-obx @lovesanimals @oopsiedoopsie23 @am3l1a-24 @flying-solo-without-you @jaskiers-sweetkiss @lostrandomfangirln @must-be-a-weasley-92 @jatp-holland @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @dxlanhxlland @dasexydevitt13 @ifilwtmfc @arianagrandes-things @kinda-really-lost @marinettepotterandplagg @ssprayberrythings @morgandamrose @thedarkqueenofavalon @zukoshonourr @crybabyddl @spooky-season-bitch @kcd15 @morganayennefertyrell @magnet-girl @all-in-fangirl @kinda-really-lost @tenaciousperfectionunknown @badwolf00593 @blowakissbabe @talksoprettyjjx @thesweetestsinner @kaitieskidmore1 @writerinlearning @aiofheavenandhell @sageellsworth05 @link-102 @merceret @kexrtiz @biqherosix @lukewearingbeanies @dangersolns @soverignparker @omgdani17 @julessbrown

9-1-1 Taglist:

@julessbrown @msmarvelsmain

#evan buckley imagines #evan buckley x reader #julie and the phantoms imagines #patterson!reader x brother!Luke Patterson #sunset curve #911 imagines #911 oneshots #oliver stark #evan buckley oneshot #luke patterson #jatp au #jatp modern au #evan buck buckley #evan buckley #911 imagine #caitsy and ash productions

447 notes · View notes