#as her creator I don’t think she’d have been able to take care of the issue at that time for various reasons

[unicorn-bl00dxd]

Ik she’s my header but here’s my ldb Eerie! She’s a mage as you could probably assume by her attire and she’s a dagi-raht furstock (yes I know that you can only be cathay in Skyrim and a few other tes games but I ultimately do not care) (name still pending bc when I picked up Skyrim again I forgot how khajiit names worked and decided to go for a pun) she specializes in lightning and storm magic specifically so destruction and a bit of alteration in terms of schools but also uses some conjuration (storm atronachs :D) and illusions but isn’t as proficient. When I do draw her I plan to take inspiration from Iberian lynx’s but I plan to keep her funky face coloration :)! And that’s about it for an intro on her :]

[mothmanssweetsucculentass]

Clockwork Headcanons

Yknow, Clockwork is another OG/classic Creepypasta fandom character I never really touched all that much. I don’t think I ever had any issues with her as a character nor her ships or anything like that, she just wasn’t that interesting to me.

Also this should go without saying but just in case, I don’t endorse anything any of the OG creators have done in terms of bad shit. I heard clockwork’s creator was added to the list of “OG CRP creators that are POS” and. Yeah.

Expect canon typical dark topics beyond this point

Is physical the oldest human resident out of everyone, somewhere in her early 30s

Is the newest resident, however

When she was a little kid, she lost her eye in an archery accident at a summer camp

Usually wears an eyepatch, but does have a glass eye underneath

The older she got the more expressive she got with her fashion, especially steampunk related things. Has both a clock themed eye and a working watch face on her eyepatch

Wears a dark green coat with many pockets and belts that’s two sizes too big for her

Has her hair cut really short, chin length and a spiky scruffy mess

Has a military family, specifically her father and grandfather. Her father wanted a boy but got stuck with Nat and her sister instead

If he was still alive today he would’ve gotten what he wanted cause surprise, Nat’s sibling ended up transitioning when he was 20

Due to the harsh way Nat was raised (corporal punishment, like I’m talking her father believed in more than just spankings) she has a pretty high pain tolerance and an even higher disdain for authority and discipline

And because of that she’s also very brash and blunt. She’s not mean on purpose but she’ll call it how she sees it

The BIGGEST IDGAF Queen like holy shit Nat doesn’t care about anything anymore

It’s not that she doesn’t have motivations, but it takes A LOT to get any kind of reaction out of her

Nothing fazes her anymore, which is why most of the residents have stopped bothering in trying to make her tick

Has one of if not the smallest hair trigger among the others. She’s a stab first questions later kinda guy

All this impulsivity isn’t for nothing though, she’s specifically an impulsive chaotic mess because of how unfazed she is by shit

She’s constantly chasing every new high she can get her hands on just so she can feel something other than all her repressed trauma. Which she has a lot of

But I mean so does everyone else, she ain’t special

Because of how new she is, her disobedience has relatively gone unnoticed by the head honcho, but Clockwork will continue to keep living the way she is even if punishment is in store for her

The others swear up and down that she’s gotta be a masochist at this point

She’s not as durable as Nina or Jeff, but what she lacks in bulk she makes up for in whoop ass

No but seriously if you were to spar with her she’d knock you on your ass before you could blink

Yeah she’s pretty adept with bladed weapons and handguns, but her real strength is her bare hands

The one thing she’s grateful her father and grandfather taught her is self defense and combat

Unfortunately that too came to bite her in her ass

Spent a few years in juvie after beating the snot out of one kid within an inch of his life, all because the poor kid made fun of her.

It wasn’t even a good scathing insult either, it was barely anything, but Nat reacted way out of proportion

She brags to the others that she’s been to and made it through prison already. Even though she hasn’t. I doubt any of them fully believe her

Because of her problem child tendencies, her family disowned both her and her sibling before either turned 18

Her brother was able to get a steady foot back on life, but Nat? Well…

She’d pick up a lot of odd jobs to stay afloat. Most ended up being more on the illegal side

But hey, being hired muscle pays well enough, so for nearly a decade she continued this line of work

Until the boss of her boss’s boss pissed off the wrong guy. And let’s just say no one who had connections to that specific guy got to make it out alive

Nat was kidnapped, tortured, and forced to endure all kinds of inhumane shit before they dumped her body in the woods

By all accounts they swear up and down she died, or was basically on the way out when they dumped her

But a couple months after her and her colleagues were disposed of, talk of “the grunt with the eyepatch is back” began circulating in the crime world

She’s littered with a lot of scars now because of this, including the scars on her cheeks she’s constantly stitching up

Nat isn’t as hellbent on revenge as someone like Ann is, but she certainly revels in taking out anyone associated with her murder

Is friends/close with: Jane, Nina, Puppeteer, and Jeff

Has a tolerable relationship with/is neutral about: Eyeless Jack, Liu, Ann, Masky, Hoody, Sally, and Kagekao

Hates: BEN/Ben, Helen, Jason, and LJ

Doesn’t give two shits about Slenderman. She doesn’t hate it, she doesn’t love it, all she does is acknowledge the fact it’s what’s keeping her alive

Is in an on-again-off-again relationship with Jane. Buuuuuut because of her intense nonchalance, the two are constantly going on breaks. Nat swears she cares about Jane genuinely, but so far her actions have yet to match her words.

A lot of the others dislike her solely because of how new she is. That, and her abrasive personality

So it’s no wonder she gets along with Jeff pretty well

After adapting to her new “life” living alongside other monsters and criminals, one of the first things Nat did was go out and kill her father

Her grandfather had long since passed even before the family disowned her and her brother, but she knew for a fact her father was still kicking

Besides the whole raised military thing and physical abuse, Nat’s father was generally a piece of shit guy

The kind of guy that’s all smiles in public but behind closed doors is a menace to his family

I’m talking shitty father of the year award here

Luckily, Nat’s mother finally gained enough sense to divorce his ass after news of Nat’s “murder” went public. Because Nat was fully willing to kill her too if it meant leaving no witnesses

No one’s ever really asked her about how she feels about her past life, it’s a touchy subject for anyone living this life, but if she were to be approached about it, she wouldn’t be able to give you a straight answer on if she misses it

Like yeah, a lot of them miss their old lives and desperately want to go back. Jeff, Eyeless Jack, Ben, Sally, Tim, Jane, Liu. But Nat? She falls more in line with the likes of Helen and Brian. She’s just not willing to admit it yet.

[docholligay]

Ep 6: Bullet points

Hello! This is about up to Episode 6 of Yellowjackets, and ONLY episode 6 of Yellowjackets. I have not seen beyond the sixth episode, at all, and know NOTHING about this show. Please do not spoil it for me.  Things that are spoilery in nature, for me, include: saying things like  “Just wait!!” confirming or denying anything I put forward, outside information about the cast interviews or creator statements, leading questions like “Do you think “blank moment” means anything?” etc. Remember  that Y’ALL HAVE SEEN THE SHOW AND I HAVE NOT. This informs the way you  talk about things relating to the show. Just be really careful is all  I’m asking. Also: If there is LITERALLY any stance I  could take on this show or character that would make you upset, please  just fucking block the tag

If you WOULD like to discuss the show and my takes on it, the Discord is right here! I don’t go there, so it’s a great place to get every emotion out.

Please thank @sailorsunspot and @moonlight-frittata for backing this odd way of doing a liveblog, and remember my tip jar is always open

They’ve been there about three or four months, if we assume that May or June is when the girls left--I would assume May because of prom. I know this because deer shed their velvet in late August or early September here. 

I do not have time this exact second in my lie, but I would really like to go over the opening, which In think is showing us a bunch of stuff that is going to happen, maybe, but in ways we won’t possibly be able to contextualize until we’ve seen it. 

Did Jeff or Callie hide Shauna’s postcard? I doubt it’s Callie because that would involve Callie giving one solitary shit about her mother, but Jeff I could see doing that. What did he think that would do? Did he think it would help? 

I am absolutely not buying the baby eating thing. Can’t make me. I’ll believe it when I fucking see it. I wasn’t sure where to put the abortion bit, and maybe my current style of dividing the posts into each of the girls is going to work less and less well, but, I think the idea of her trying to give herself an abortion in the woods is among the most crackers things I have ever heard. Shauna’s such a coward on the subject of Jackie that she’d rather maybe die than tell her the truth. 

I continue to not give a shit about Nat and Travis’ awkward cruise toward their weird codependent bullshit. But Jackie is right! They should not be quite literally FUCKING AROUND while everyone is going hungry. They are so so immature. God. I love how much I loathe this whole thing. 

Me talking to Jetty about this show: When you were watching this, did you see Taissa and think of me? Jetty: Oh, IMMEDIATELY and always. 

I wonder if Coach Ben is Less Heterosexual Than Originally Assumed given what I know about Seattle cruiser culture in the 90s

Line of the episode: I can’t do crazy right now, Lot! What a beautiful moment for like, what would living with this sort of thing really look like? Even in a generally positive way? 

[dewdrop-writes]

i was wondering: what if (friendship lv.10) yanfei was the only one to side with the imposter au reader? i imagine the whole “those who dare wear the face of our god/goddess must be punished blah blah blah” is not only unfair & unlawful but also like,, have any of them *cough* zhongli, ei, xiao and diluc come to mind instantly *cough* ever thought that perhaps their deity decided to bless the “imposter” who’s just been minding their own business and not trying to abuse their lookalikeness by giving them the same looks???? bet they’d feel stupid after the truth comes out and they realize yanfei’s the one who saved their god from getting murdered on spot. . .

srry for rambling. this yanfei main just wants any crumbs for their main;-; + i rlly don’t think she’d go “must kill the heretic” without at least hearing us out bc shes a lawyer and stuff and there’s no way she won’t be able to find a loophole/obscure law to protect us from everyone’s wrath while we’re finally given a chance to share our side of the story

In the name of justice

You are absolutely right, anon! Yanfei cares about justice, and is an overall kind person, so I would imagine she would not be one to jump on the "imposter" hate bandwagon just like that!

PS: this is super late of a response but I was really feeling a Yanfei mood recently so here it is! It ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, but I might write more eventually!

Length: 2k words

cw: slight mention of injury

Screaming.

There was so much noise.

Your shaky feet bouncing off the pavement as a warm hand engulfed yours like a flame, dragging you behind them.

Dragging you through the labyrinthine streets of Liyue.

Only when the crowd's horrific angry sounds were muffled by the distance, did the warm hand release its grip on yours. You were quick to snatch it towards yourself, fearful eyes raking over the figure of none other than the legal advisor of Liyue.

She motioned a raised index to her lips, ushering you towards a smallish cramped building - you were unable to speak due to the ashy metallic taste in your mouth - lungs burning from the recent fleeing.

Finally, as she'd seated you down and bolted up the door, you managed to gather yourself enough to utter out a few words in succession.

"Why are you helping me?"

She frowned.

"Well, you're clearly being unjustly persecuted," she stated, crossing her arms huffily.

"Yes, you may bare a striking resemblance to the creator - but so what? If anything, people should take it as a divine blessing," she ranted, beginning to pace in front of the bolted door.

"Besides, its not as if you were claiming you were the creator," she added, raising her hands in frustration.

"I mean, I tried to reason with the Qixing on this - but I suppose when it comes to the creator, everything goes out the window," she sighed, leaning against the door once more.

You nodded slowly.

You were still somewhat confused by the whole creator aspect, but Yanfei seemed to be on your side at the very least.

You supposed you could do worse in terms of allies.

"I see...thank you, Yanfei."

She smiled brightly, before the expression faltered.

"I never did introduce myself," her brows furrowed as she cast a confused look your way. "How did you know my name?"

You stuttered, nervously glancing around the room, searching for an answer.

"Well...of course I know the legal advisor of Liyue...you're known far and wide," you laughed nervously, shifting in your seat.

"Oh. Well...I'm glad to see my reputation precedes me," she rubbed the back of her head, an awkward smile on her features.

"Where are you from, then, creator lookalike?"

"The name's (Y/n)," you spoke nervously, trying to stall for answers. As your gaze shifted over a worn map hung up on the wall, your eyes scanned the nations.

"And I'm from a small village in...Natlan."

"Oh, that's quite far away! I don't think I've met another person from Natlan before!"

You smiled and nodded nervously.

"Oh! Where are my manners," she chuckled. "Would you like some tea and a bite to eat?"

You nodded eagerly - the long sequence of running having drained you of all energy.

The meal went by without much fanfare - Yanfei made idle conversation, and you spilled stories of the nation you claimed to be from - mostly stringing together what little content there was about it in game and outside of it. For the most part - she seemed content with what you provided her with.

"Well, I say its about time for you to get some rest," Yanfei stated after glancing at the time.

"I'm afraid it isn't that safe in this shabby place - but no worries! I have a safer spot in mind," she explained, rising to her feet and hopping over to an antique teapot.

You recognized the item immediately, having had a similar one yourself in game.

She smiled at you mischievously.

"Hang tight!" she warned you, before raising the lid of it.

In a swirl of colors, you awoke on a quaint meadow - the skies painted gold with an eternally setting sun. Occasional sandbearer trees along with bamboos covered the mostly flat ground. Off in the distance, you could see a couple more floating islands.

You stared at your surroundings in awe, coming to a halt on the three story Liyue-styled house that had a lovely garden of wildvests and glaze lilies sprawling around it.

Yanfei came to a stop before you, reaching out a hand. You took it gently, allowing her to pull you to your feet.

"Let me show you my real abode," she said giddily, ushering you inside.

You were greeted by the scent of a roaring fire - and a sight of bookshelves littering the walls.

"That's...quite a lot of books," you spoke, awed.

She smiled sheepishly.

"As a legal advisor, I've collected every edition of Liyue law!"

"And have you had the time to read all of it too?"

She nodded happily.

"I've had more time to study than most people would think," she winked, hinting at her true nature as an adeptus.

You nodded slowly, following her through the entry hall.

"I've got a spare bedroom for you - it's right through here," she explained, before pushing a wooden door open.

The room was simple - clad in amber and brown hues - a bed by the wall, along with a matching dresser, bedside table, and a folding screen with a lovely scene painted upon it.

"It's not much, but I hope you don't mind - I haven't had guests in a while," she admitted, smiling sheepishly once more.

"No, no! It's perfect!" you exclaimed, taking in the room with a befuddled expression.

"That's a relief," she sighed. "Anyway - I have some work to do. I need to start building your case," she spoke, glancing at the looming library behind her.

"We gotta make sure you'll be safe from the rest of Liyue once we leave this place."

You nodded.

"I don't know how to thank you..."

"There's no need for that! I'm simply doing my job. Where there's an injustice - I will always be there to object."

With a brief goodnight, Yanfei set off to do research. Having nothing better to do, you settled in - getting changed out of your dirtied rags and into the silky salmon sleepwear you found in the drawers of the dresser. You crawled into bed, and with a heavy heart, you manage to battle your way to sleep.

Days in the teapot went by peacefully -Yanfei was pouring over legal papers throughout the days, accompanying your for meals and doing her best to host you. You felt yourself opening up to her a little more - sprinkling in little truths about your life back home and the friends and family you'd left behind.

A part of you ached to tell her the full truth - but you'd gone so long with those little white lies that you could never really speak your mind, afraid you'd lose the little haven and support you'd found.

Yanfei seemed to sense there was something you were keeping from her, but never pressed the matter - she was always cordial and understanding with you. It was no wonder most held her in such a high regard. She was kind, intelligent and sociable - everything packed in a fiery little package.

Eventually, the calm days of the teapot had to come to a conclusion, however.

"I think I've finally built up a case strong enough to present to the Qixing," she stated as she poured you a cup of tea, her chipper voice having an excited edge.

"Wow! That's great!" you responded eagerly, grinning up at her.

"I think - if it's fine with you - we should go and meet with them today."

You nodded slowly, feeling excitement mixing with anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

"You'll have to wear something concealing while we get there, though," she hummed in thought. "I should have some clothes with a hood. Something to hide your face with."

You allowed her to pick out a nice silky robe for you - one with a large hood that cast a shadow across your face - making you unrecognizable and unable to stand out too much in a crowd.

With that done, Yanfei gathered up her notes - her tomes, and grabbed your hand in her delicate warm one - exiting the teapot and stepping foot back inside that dingy house in Liyue.

"Well. Let's be on our way, then," she spoke, holding her hand out for you to take.

"Let's prove to the world you're a blessing, not a curse, hm?"

You chuckled.

"I like the sound of that."

"We are here to request a hearing with the Qixing," Yanfei spoke to the secretaries, allowing you to keep a slight distance.

"It's concerning this so called 'imposter' situation."

Soon, there were footsteps hurrying away to gather up the members of the Qixing.

You felt anxiety squeezing at your lungs, restricting your airways.

Yanfei cast you a reassuring smile.

You could do this.

"So, you've brought the imposter to us, very good, Yanfei," Ningguang spoke from her seat across the room, her gaze landing on your uncloaked form. You swallowed thickly, feeling her gaze pierce through you as sharply as the rocks she commanded.

"No, actually," Yanfei spoke firmly, pulling out her paperwork.

"I'm here to prove they're not breaking any law just by existing."

"Oh? Is that so?" Ningguang spoke, leaning forward, placing her elbows elegantly on the table before her.

"I'd like to see how you can argue that, when they're stood right beside you, wearing the face of the creator."

"They were simply born with that face. If anything, it should be a blessing."

Ningguang scoffed - her reaction mirrored by the other members of the Qixing.

"Our law dictates that no one is to be judged by their social or financial standing - nor their appearance," Yanfei spoke, flipping trough her book to find the according law.

"I would say this situation falls under this law."

"Maybe so, but you are forgetting that there is also a law dictating that you may not impersonate someone you are not."

"If I may be so bold - they were not claiming to be the creator. They simply entered Liyue - and were attacked and chased before they could even do anything," Yanfei had a confident smirk on her delicate features, her back straightened proudly.

"Well...yes, I suppose that's true, but still.."

"And as long as they never claim to be the creator - we have no right to persecute them on any grounds," Yanfei continued, confident in her win.

"I know this situation concerns the creator - trust me, I too take such matters very seriously, but we must not act rashly. It could reflect badly on Liyue, if we turn someone blessed by the creator, into a petty criminal."

Ningguang leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms and seemingly deep in thought.

"I suppose you are right in that regard..."

Yanfei grinned.

"Alright. I suppose we will not convict them of any crime. But we will be needing to keep a close eye on them - lest they get any ideas."

You cast your gaze aside, feeling anxious.

Would Ningguang's employees dig into your supposed past? Would they find out you had none in this realm?

"Alright. I suppose we will call off this hunt for them. And the two of you are free to go. But I do warn you - we will keep a watchful eye on you," she spoke, staring directly at you.

You felt a chill run down your spine.

As you turned to leave, you kept your gaze glued in front of you, back straight and trying to seem as confident as you could. However, you cursed your clumsiness as you tripped over your own feet. In mere moments, you were plummeting towards the ground.

Your head made contact with the smooth polished floor below you with a sickening thud.

Your ears were ringing as your vision swam - you were certain you could smell something tangy and metallic lingering in the air around you.

Suddenly - you heard multiple pairs of feet rushing towards you - the soft thuds echoing throughout the room and amplifying the ringing in your ears.

"Someone call a medic!" you heard what sounded like Keqing exclaim.

"Your grace! Oh geo lord..." you heard someone else speak frantically.

Slowly, your vision faded to black, along with the voices echoing around you.

[thewriterthatghostedyou]

Shadows and Scars

Chapter 14

I can’t tell if I’m reusing gifs or not lol but here’s another chapter! Super excited for the next one. Im taking a very well deserved break from studying to post this lol.

Creator of the banner below is maysdigitalarts give them a like or reblog!

Since that night, two weeks ago, you had stopped going to your dinners with the general and had instead joined the other grisha in the dining room.

The table was set in a triangle shape, with one black chair on the top, with the etherilki on its left, and the corporalki on its right. The materialki sat directly across from the chair. The general never typically came to the public dinners, so Ivan usually has the highest ranking officer there.

The first time you had walked in, he looked at you with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing, while Feydor excitedly waved to you with a smile.

You had waved back and found a random seat to sit in next to two gossiping heartrender and and another quiet healer. Throughout that meal, the two heartrenders made easy conversation with you, and you learned that their names were Andrei and Vera. The two were engaged and had outgoing personalities. You were surprised by how good the conversation felt, since coming back to the Little Palace you had practically isolated yourself from the rest of the Grisha.

And you tried not to worry as Anya had not yet responded to your letters.

After a few attempts to talk to the shy healer next to you, you found out that her name was Mariya. She was less extroverted compared to Andrei and Vera, but the two of you talked for the majority of the meal after the couple decided to retire early.

Now you always sat with the other three and the four of you had become closer, even talking and training together outside of meals. You felt yourself grow more confident and able in your abilities as the two heartrenders shared what had helped them learn their abilities.

Even though you had started to make new friends, you still always made time for Genya, who had visited you more and more since your conversation. She seemed drained the more you saw her, but you knew that she’d never admit to the pressure of the Tsar and the Tsarita getting to her.

The only person you hadn’t seen as much as before was Alina. You had nothing against the sun summoner. In fact you truly did enjoy her company, but being around the person who has the affection of someone you care about can be too painful and you had progressed too far to be pulled back into the general.

Tonight started as any other had. You and Mariya walked to the dining hall together and had been giggling about something that had happened earlier that day.

As the two of you approached the dining room, you heard excited whispers and saw that more grisha were here than normal.

“What’s happening?” Mariya asked Vera, who was fixing her fiancée’s hair and fussing over his kefta.

“Vera my love it’s fine, stop worrying.” Andrei said soothingly.

“The general is here.” She said excitedly. “He never joins the rest of the grisha for dinner! Something must have happened.” She fretted as she twisted her long brown hair nervously.

Your stomach flipped at the mention of the general, but shook the thought of him away.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” You said, leading the three others into the room. “Perhaps he just enjoys keeping us on our toes.” You sat in your regular seat and scanned the room for him.

“You’re probably right.” Vera said, taking a deep breath and sitting next to you. “You know I don’t like changes to the schedule.”

The three of you snickered at that, thinking back to the time that Vera had gone nuclear over the change of location that training was being held at the last second. “It’s impolite to change things at the last minute.” She had said defensively.

The four of you quieted down when you heard a metal utensil clink against a glass cup.

Everyone in the room quieted at the noise and looked at the front of the room to see the general standing there. “Perhaps we should begin.” He said, projecting his voice across the room.

The people sitting the closest at his sides were looking around the room, proudly displaying their rank to the others. But noticeably, Alina was not present.

With that, the general sat down and the food was brought out. The room erupted into polite chatter and you caught the general looking at you. Darting your eyes away, you focused on the delicious cut of bird meat being placed in front of you. One thing that you loved about the little palace was the lavish food, it was much better than what you had at the front and you always cleaned your plate.

The meal passed by rather quickly and you noticed that the general barely spoke throughout it, instead giving multiple glances your way and remaining focused on his meal. Only occasionally saying a few words to Ivan. Miraculously, only Mariya seemed to notice and turned to you with a questioning look. You shook your head slightly, trying to say that you’d explain later, and she apparently got the message to not bring it up at the moment. Mariya seemed to be more observant than most, a fact that made up for her usual quietness.

The two of you had clicked very quickly since out of the four of you, only you and her and been stationed on the Front. She had been stationed at the Fjerdan border while you were between Kribirsk and Novokribirsk.

“Perhaps you could talk to him.” You heard Vera whisper to her fiancée.

“I’m sure that the general has more important issues to worry about, my love.”

It was no secret that Andrei wanted to fight. He seemed like the heroic type and held honor high in his values. The only reason he hadn’t argued his station here was because of Vera. She didn’t ask for him to stay behind with her, but he had confided in you that he valued his time with her more than any glory that could be earned in battle.

The two of them continued talking quietly, and you pushed your empty plate away, surprised to see a letter underneath it. You tried not to flinch as you could feel the general’s intense look.

Clearing your throat, you stood up and addressed your friends. “I’m feeling a bit tired, I think I’ll turn in early.” You discreetly slipped the paper into your kefta pocket.

“Of course,” Andrei said with a comforting smile. “You made a lot of progress today, get some rest.”

You nodded at them, before walking out of the room with a group of tide makers.

The paper seemed to weigh heavily in your pocket and you fiddled with the corners of it as you walked back to your room.

You could guess who it was from, but decided not to open it until you had reached the safety of your room. The second the door closed behind you, you whipped the letter out of your pocket and ripped open the envelope.

In a masculine scrawl there were only five words and initials scribbled below the message.

Midnight tonight. The war room. -AK

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours (II)

Content: part 2 to 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!! includes a karaoke bar in Cleveland, Ohio, sharing of motel rooms (oh my god there was only one bed 👁️👁️), and a lesbian wedding in the Catskills

Warnings: language, alcohol, NSFW content, making fun of Nebraska and The Notebook

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 32k

A/N: okay can I just say that I am so glad this is finally done. I have been working on this fic for over a month!!! the entire thing is over 51k in length!!!!!! my word doc is almost 100 pages!!!! this was meant to be a fun story about enemies to lovers stuck on a road trip!!!!! what happened!!!! but thank you guys so much for all the love and support and interest in this story <3 I was really nervous about splitting it up (which looking back was a good choice because again. it’s so long.) but you all showed so much love for the story and the characters!!!! I’d like to give a special shout out to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and miss alex @darthstyles​ for proof reading, and miss andrea again for this pretty header image!! if you’re looking for any good reads after this, I highly recommend checking out their masterlists!! and as always, if you like this fic, please like it AND reblog it!! and shoot me a message about it!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by ALL content creators, and is the main motivation for us to create more for you all to enjoy!!

{masterlist}

{masterlist}

here is everyone’s wedding looks!! and HERE is a lil moodboard of Jo and Laure’s wedding so you can sense the vibes!!

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!!

It’s almost instantaneous, Y/N notices, how quickly and easily she and Harry fall into a rhythm of friendship. From the moment she wakes up the next morning to a blue sky, the storm long passed, and Harry holding out a cup of black coffee for her, the stress and anxiety of the previous day is gone. There’s no watching herself around Harry, biting her tongue to stop herself from snapping over every small motion he makes as he fidgets in the driver’s seat.  There’s no irritation caused by the way he taps his fingers on the steering wheel, or how he asks any question that crosses his mind, speaking out his random chain of thoughts just as often.  

The thing that Y/N’s come to realize is that Harry is so much more interesting than she’d ever thought. He’s certainly more interesting than the endless fields of corn that whip by her window as he drives down the interstate.  His jokes are dumb, but he says them with such a big grin on his face that she can’t help but laugh.  His comments are strange, but Y/N finds herself enjoying the weird words that slip from his mouth without being caught by a filter.

“If we were in a Children of The Corn situation,” Harry begins, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel. “Do you think you’d be able to outsmart the cult?  Or would you get sacrificed to He Who Walks Behind the Rows?”

Y/N half chokes on the bottle of water she’d just raised to her lips, and coughs the liquid from her lungs as she turns to give Harry an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“We’re in Nebraska. That’s where it takes place, right?” Harry asks, glancing at Y/N from behind his sunglasses. “There’s, like, a weird child cult, and they kill all the adults in town for the corn harvest, or something, and then this couple on a road trip discovers them, and tries to stop them.  Do you think you’d be able to?”

“Do I think I’d be able to stop a child cult?  Or would I get sacrificed to their weird corn god?  That’s what you’re asking me?” Although she can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of the question, her mind is already appraising the situation Harry’s proposed. “I think I’d be able to stop them.  They’re just kids, right?  You just can’t be afraid to—you know—” Y/N drags her thumb across her throat, and Harry quirks up an eyebrow at her casual response.

“You’d kill a bunch of kids?”

“If the kids were evil and wanted to kill me?  Absolutely.” Y/N leans her head back on the head rest, still keeping her eyes locked on Harry. “Wouldn’t you?”

Harry lifts one shoulder in response. “I don’t know.  I’d try to reason with them, I think.”

Y/N extends a finger gun at him, clicking her tongue in sync with the motion. “And that’s why they’d sacrifice you and not me.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head slowly as he turns his attention back to the road. “Lovely. Wouldn’t you try to save me?”

Y/N hums, pretending to think the question over. “That depends on how annoying you’ve been that day.”

“You’re such a sweetheart, Y/N, you really are.” Harry laughs more, but stops abruptly as he spots a sign to the right of the road. “Oh!  There’s a souvenir shop at the next exit!”

A groan falls from Y/N’s mouth as her head flops back, already sensing defeat. “No, Harry, you don’t need another keychain—”

“You don’t know that! Maybe I could get a corn stalk keychain!”

…

“You know, I could drive for a bit.  If you’d like.”

Harry looks up at Y/N with an apprehensive gaze, his nimble fingers halfway through attaching a new silver key chain in the shape of Nebraska to his key ring. “What?”

“You’ve been driving for three days straight.” Y/N leans over the passenger side of the car, resting her arms on the sun-warmed roof. “I could drive.  I know how to; I just don’t do it in L.A. because the traffic is annoying. But the interstate is practically empty, so…”

“Uh, no offense, Y/N, but…” Harry opens the drivers door, a small smile curving the corner of his lip. “No one drives Stevie but me.  And besides, she’s a stick.  Have you ever driven one?”

“Well, no.” Y/N admits, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “But you could show me.”

Harry inhales deeply, glancing around the souvenir shop parking lot.  Y/N can tell he’s surveying the area, searching for a reason to say no, but as far as she can tell, there isn’t one.  There are no other cars around, and the area is mostly flat, giving her a good space to practice driving in.  With a defeated look on his face, Harry exhales sharply and gives a quick nod as he takes a step back from the driver’s side. “Fine.  Get in.”

Y/N and Harry swap sides in the car, although Y/N is much more enthusiastic about it than Harry is. From the moment she climbs in and begins adjusting his seat, a pained look comes over Harry’s face, making her roll her eyes.

“Oh, come on.  You’re a giant, Harry, I have to adjust things so I can reach the pedals.” Y/N scoffs, reaching up to adjust the rear view mirror. “You can put them all back later.”

“Yeah.” Harry sucks in another breath before pushing his sunglasses up into his chestnut curls. “Okay, so…there’s three pedals on the floor.  The right one is gas, the middle is the brake, and the left is the clutch. And then here—” Harry takes Y/N’s right hand and places it over the gear shift. “This is how you shift.  There’s six gears, right?  And their use depends on the speed you’re going, so you’re going to start with one—” His hand squeezes hers as he shifts the gear shift over and up to the left with ease. “Which is here.  Here’s two—” He shifts the gear shift down to the left, and continues to move it as he speaks. “Three.  Four.  Five. And reverse.  Got it?”

“I think so.” Y/N nods, her hand flexing beneath Harry’s large palm.  His rings feel cool against her warm skin, and she has to admit, it’s not the worst feeling in the world. “Up left, down left, up middle, down middle, up right, down right.  Right?”

“Right.” Harry lifts his hand off hers to point towards her feet, which are sitting on the carpet cover in front of the pedals. “You want to start with your foot pressed firmly on the clutch, the one—yeah.  There, to the left.  Keep it pressed there.  Is it pressed there?”

“Since you first told me to press it, yeah.” Y/N furrows her brow in concentration, which is caused both from learning how to drive manually, and the effort it takes to stop herself from laughing at the nervousness in Harry’s voice. “Now what?”

“Take off the parking brake.” Harry pulls the lever down himself, making sure Y/N is focused on her other movements. “And the car is in neutral, so you can turn the key in the ignition.” He holds out his keys towards her.

Y/N takes the cool metal from his hands, quickly finding the right key for the Impala and slipping it in. The car roars to life, a sound which is now familiar to her ears. “Okay.  There.”

“Good.” Harry pauses for a moment before reaching across Y/N’s body and buckling her seatbelt, which she had forgotten in the excitement to drive. “Safety first.” He sits back in the passenger seat, fixing his seatbelt across his own body. “I have a feeling we’ll be needing these.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N sticks her tongue out at him, her eyebrows and nose wrinkling as she makes a face. “What do I do now?”

“Now…” Harry fidgets with his seatbelt again as he moves forward in the passenger seat, one hand bracing against the dash as he directs her. “Press the clutch and the brake at the same time, like that.  Now move the gear shift into first gear.”

Y/N does as he says, pushing the gear shift over and up to the left.  It takes much more pressure for her to move it without Harry’s help, she notes, but doesn’t let the effort show on her face. “Then?”

“Take your foot off the brake.” Harry instructs, caution laced through his voice. “And slowly—slowly! —release the clutch as you press down gently on the gas.”

“Okay…” Lifting her left foot first, Y/N does her best to match the motion with her right foot, pressing down at the same pace as she lifts the other.  Her movement, however, isn’t as smooth as she wants it to be, and the car lunges forward in a choppy motion.

“Careful!” Harry says loudly, twisting his body to face Y/N as he continues bracing himself.  His entire body is tense, his shoulders practically up by his ears as he appraises Y/N. “You have to do it at the same time!”

“Alright, alright—” Y/N tries again, focusing on matching her feet to each other.  This time, the movement is smoother, and the car begins to drive forward slowly, moving faster as Y/N presses down more. “Is that—am I doing it?” Y/N asks nervously, navigating herself slowly through the parking lot. “Is that it?”

“That’s it.  You’re doing good, yeah.” Harry nods slowly, but Y/N can see the strain in his jaw from the corner of her eye. “Now let’s try…let’s try shifting gears, so you can speed up.”

“Try not to sound so terrified.” Y/N mutters, turning the wheel to guide the car around a lamp post.

Harry ignores her comment. “You’re going to do the same motion, but this time release the gas while pressing down on the clutch.  Then move the gear shifter to two, like before, and—”

Before Harry can finish speaking, Y/N attempts to change into second gear.  The car lurches again as she releases the gas and presses on the clutch, and the jagged motion only gets worse after she shifts into second.

“Slowly, Y/N—” Agitation is clear in Harry’s voice, and his knuckles turn white as he grips the dash. “Slower!”

Another lunge of the car shifts Y/N to the side, and her foot slips off the clutch completely. With a sickening sound, the car lurches to a stop, despite Y/N’s foot still pressed on the gas.  “What—?”

Harry, who’s been wincing throughout the entire ordeal, sucks in a sharp breath. “You stalled her.” He says, shaking his head with a quiet horror.

Y/N tugs on her bottom lip as she glances at him from the corner of her eye, her voice hesitant. “Is…that bad?”

“Is that—?” Harry’s green irises snap to meet hers, wide open and shocked. “Yeah, it’s bad. That’s enough practice for today, I think.  I’m driving again.”

Y/N tries to protest. “But—”

“Nope!  Out!” Harry shakes his head firmly, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car in one swift motion. “Come on!”

With a defeated sigh, Y/N unbuckles herself, climbing out of the driver’s door that Harry’s just opened for her.  “Sorry.” She mumbles, walking around to the passenger’s side and climbing back in.

Harry gives her a small smile, albeit a pained one, as he begins to move his feet over the brake and clutch, shifting the car into neutral. “It’s fine.  That was pretty good for a first practice, really. Just…maybe it’s too soon for highway driving.”

Y/N buckles her seatbelt as Harry restarts the engine, and within a few minutes, he has his signal flipped back on to head back to the highway. “You know, mostly I wanted to drive so that I could pick the music.” She says casually, resting her chin in her hand after propping it up against the arm rest. “I’m getting a little tired of The Beatles on repeat.”

Harry laughs, raking his hand through his curls before shifting gears with ease. “Oh really?  What would you put on, if you had a choice?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N shrugs, taking a moment to think. “We could listen to a nice sonata, maybe. Oh!  Or Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake.  I haven’t listened to it in full in a while.”

A sound of surprise and indignation leaves Harry’s mouth. “Tchaikovsky—?  No!  No, you can’t listen to classical music on a road trip!  You need music that you can scream the lyrics to!”

“Is there a rulebook about what you can and can’t listen to on a road trip?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she poses the sarcastic question. “I wasn’t aware.”

“There’s an unofficial rulebook, yes.” Harry risks a glance over at Y/N, his green eyes alight. “And one of the most important—if not the most important—rules is that any song you listen to has to be able to be sung loudly while driving down a highway. Everyone knows that.”

“My bad.” Y/N says sarcastically, toeing off her shoes to better cross her legs beneath herself. “So, in short, we’re stuck listening to your playlist, huh?”

“Now you get it.” Harry shoots her a cheeky grin, pointing with his free hand. “You can change the song, though.  If you’d like.”

“Really?” Y/N reaches down to the small catch all tray between them, where Harry’s phone sits connected to a car charger.  She picks it up carefully, raising an eyebrow in question. “May I?”

When Harry nods, Y/N clicks on the screen, which displays the controls to the Spotify playlist currently being projected through the car’s speakers.  Unsurprisingly, a Beatles song is moving across the scene, causing Y/N to press the skip button immediately.  The next song is by The Killers, called “Spaceman,” and while she likes it, it’s not really something she feels like listening to in the moment. She hits skip again, passing over “Night Moves,” “Piano Man,” and “Seven Wonders,” (the last skip earning a sound of protest from Harry) before a familiar album cover pops up on the screen.

“Hold on.” Y/N says, mouth agape as the 1990s Vocoder sound fills the car. “You listen to Cher?”

“Are you kidding?” Harry’s surprised expression matches hers. “Of course!  She’s a treasure.” He taps his fingers to the beat of “Believe” while his head bops to the same pattern. “I love this song.  It’s a good one.”

Making a sound of agreement, Y/N lets her gaze drift to the window, watching the agriculture fields that whiz by. “Yeah.” She murmurs, losing herself in the beat. “‘No matter how hard I try…you keep pushing me aside’…”

“‘And I can’t break through’…” Harry’s voice joins with hers, louder and surer of himself than hers had been. “‘There’s no talking to you’…”

Y/N’s head turns from the window, locking eyes with Harry for the split second he looks away from the road ahead of them. “‘It’s so sad that you’re leaving…it takes time to believe it’…”

“‘But after all is said and done’…” The grin playing on Harry’s pink lips grows, popping out his dimples as he continues to sing. “‘You’re gonna be the lonely one’…”

With a grin pasted across her own face, so big that her cheeks ache, Y/N joins Harry for the chorus, yelling the lyrics more than singing them. “‘Do you believe in life after love?  I can feel something inside me say…I really don’t think you’re strong enough’!” Harry’s hand drifts down to the volume dial, turning the music up until the bass thumps through the entire car.  Y/N can feel it in her chest like a second heart beat.

“‘Do you believe in life after love?’” Encouraged by each other, Harry and Y/N scream the lyrics even louder on the repeat, straining their necks as much as their vocal cords. “‘I can feel something inside me say…I really don’t think you’re strong enough’!”

When Harry’s hand moves again, Y/N thinks that he’s reaching for the dial again, perhaps to turn it down, but then his hand makes a questioning motion, and Y/N realizes that Harry, ever the one for dramatics, is acting out the lines.

“‘What was I supposed to do?  Sit around and wait for you?’” Harry points at Y/N then, an exaggerated look on his face as his whole body moves to the beat. “‘Well I can’t do that!  And there’s no turning back’…”

Not wanting to be one upped, Y/N pushes up the sleeve of her sweater, exposing her wrist enough that she can tap on it. “‘I need time to move on’…” A fit of giggles interrupt the next line as she and Harry both raise their arms to flex their muscles. “‘I need a love to feel strong’…” Y/N taps on her temple as she sways her body to the beat the best she can in the car. “‘Because I’ve got time to think it through’…” When she turns to point at Harry, she finds him already pointing at her, once again in sync with her thoughts. “‘And maybe I’m too good for you, oh’!”

They repeat the chorus in the same way as before, screaming the lyrics as loud as they can, pulling dramatic facial expressions and dance moves to match.  Halfway through the repeat, Harry attempts to mimic the classic Cher move of pushing hair over the shoulder, and the ridiculous sight is enough to send Y/N into another fit of laughter.  She almost misses the entrance for the bridge, but recovers just in time to yell the lyrics in sync with Harry.

Forming fists and dragging her arms towards her dramatically, and Harry doing the same with his free hand, the two of them screw their faces up as they sing passionately. “‘Well I know that I’ll get through this…because I know that I am strong’…” The flexing of arms returns for a moment before being replaced by impassioned pleading hand gestures. “‘I don’t need you anymore…I don’t need you anymore…no, I don’t need you anymore…no, I don’t need you anymore’…”

Although they’d been energetic in the previous choruses, Harry and Y/N give their all for the final chorus, bouncing and yelling and gesturing as much as they can as they drive down the interstate at sixty-five miles per hour.  They quiet for a moment as the beat falls out, singing the lyrics at a slightly lower volume, but when the beat returns, they scream the lyrics one final time in unison before the music fades out.

The song changes to “Baby Driver,” and Harry reaches to lower the volume as he and Y/N both struggle to catch their breath.  They laugh between pants, hands on chests as they rapidly rise and fall.  Y/N lets her head fall back against the back of the seat, shifting her legs so only one rests on the seat beneath her thigh.

“That was a good one.” She admits, pushing her now-sweaty hair out of her face. “I’ll give you that. Cher was a good choice.”

“Do you see what I meant, now?” Harry asks breathlessly, his grin still plastered to his face. “Do you still want to listen to Tchaikovsky?”

In lieu of a reply, Y/N reaches for Harry’s phone again, skipping songs until “Jessie’s Girl” begins to drift through the speakers. “Turn it up again, Harry.”

There’s a twinkle in Harry’s eyes when he does as she says.

…

“I can sleep on the floor.” Harry volunteers, tugging his hand through his stretched out curls as his eyes scan the interior of the motel room. “Make a little bed out of pillows.  Then you can have the bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry.” Y/N shakes her head adamantly, setting her bag on the small table in front of the room’s mirror. “You can’t sleep on the floor!”

Harry purses his lips. “I’ll take the chair, then.  I can stretch out on it—”

“Please, you have limbs like Gumby.” Rolling her eyes, Y/N unzips her bag and pulls out her toiletries. “You can’t sleep comfortably in a chair.  We can deal with one bed for one night.  It’s not the end of the world.”

Four days ago, Y/N might have considered having to share a bed with Harry the end of the world.  If someone had told her about the lack of available motel rooms on the road, Y/N might have never left L.A.  And that first night in Utah, she remembers, she would have rather smother Harry in his sleep than share a bed with him.  Now, however, they’re in Iowa City, and for all her talk of how much she despised Harry before, she’s found herself quite fond of him in a short period of time.

There’s a list of reasons why that’s happened, she thinks, as she pulls out her charger to plug into the wall.  Their forced close proximity in the car and motel rooms probably has something to do with it, as well as Harry being her only company for the last four days.  And maybe, just maybe, a small part of it is due to the way Harry looks in the dim motel room light as he flops back on the bed, his red and black striped t-shirt riding up just the slightest bit to expose the fern tattoos lining the bottom of his stomach.  The way his jade irises manage to sparkle in the light of the lamp, or how his chipped nail polish still manages to look elegant as his fingers dance along his chest and twist his rings over his knuckles.  The way his lips, despite his constant habit of biting them, look so soft and so pink, and how Y/N thinks she could just—

Y/N clears her throat, stopping her thoughts in their tracks.  It’s really been too long since she’s been around another human being, she thinks, keeping her back to Harry as she roots through her suitcase for her pajamas. Four days is too long for her to be with the same person, with hardly any alone time, and she’s wondering if she’ll be able to have alone time any time soon when her fingers brush over the familiar smooth silicone surface of her vibrator.

Y/N pauses, pulling her fingers back as if she’s been burned.  Right.  She’d tossed that in there just before leaving L.A., just in case she needed some stress relief.  Glancing back over her shoulder subtly, Y/N sees that Harry has his phone out now, his nimble fingers tapping along the screen as he lays on the bed.  Maybe some stress relief is exactly what she needs.

Grabbing the first articles of clothing she can get her hands on, Y/N carefully wraps her vibrator within the fabric, trying to fold it so that it doesn’t look like its hiding a small purple sex toy.  Once that’s done to the best of her ability, she grabs her toiletry bag, tucking it under her arm as she quickly makes her way to the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower.” She mutters, closing the door behind her without waiting for Harry’s response.

Although the ritual of stripping from her clothes, starting the shower and adjusting the temperature settings, and relaxing her muscles underneath the (albeit low pressure) stream of water is familiar, it takes Y/N a few minutes to work up the courage to run her hands down the length of her body.  She takes her time as her fingers dance over the planes of her breasts, down her stomach, fluttering over her hips before making their way to the crevice where her thighs flow into her core.  Taking a deep breath, Y/N begins with just her fingers, running them through her wet folds slowly and carefully.

She allows herself the time to warm herself up, waiting until she can dip her index finger inside her slick entrance and circle its way around her clit before grabbing her vibrator from the shower ledge.  She flicks it on to its lowest setting, making sure the electronic buzz is hidden beneath the sound of the shower before gently circling the tip around her clit.

The relief, Y/N finds, is instantaneous.  A breathless sigh slips past her lips as she rubs the toy over her folds, delighting in the fluttering sensation it leaves behind.  Without breaking contact, Y/N turns the toy up a level, biting her lip to keep from moaning as she presses it back to her clit.

Despite the tension building up in her body as Y/N works herself to an orgasm, this is the most relaxed she’s felt in days.  The tension, she finds, is so much sweeter than the anxiety and stress she’s been experiencing throughout the road trip.  Although her shoulders tense, it’s different than the knots worked into her muscles from hours in the car.  Although her leg feels as though it may cramp from its position perched on the bath tub ledge, the burn is more welcome than the ache of being stuck in one seated position.

If someone were to ask her what crossed her mind when Y/N brought herself over the edge, what thoughts drifted into her head as she gripped the wall of the shower with one hand as her core convulsed in the most delightfully sinful way, Y/N would tell them that it was nothing specific.  Strong hands, she’d say, smoothly and knowledgeably caressing her body.  A low voice whispering dirty nothings in her ear. A deep breath flowing down her neck as cherry lips and white teeth nipped and kissed down her skin and across her collar bones.  Nothing specific.  And Y/N would believe it when she’d say it.

But if anyone were to be listening at the exact moment that she thrust the vibrator inside her, panting and whimpering as her index and middle finger worked over her clit and brought her to climax, they’d hear the breathless whisper of a name that Y/N herself didn’t even know she was saying.

The nice thing about getting off in the shower, Y/N thinks, once she’s regained enough function in her head to do so, is that cleanup is a breeze.  Within fifteen more minutes, Y/N’s washed her body, shampooed and conditioned her hair, and is climbing out of the shower with the motel towel wrapped tightly around her body.  Within another few minutes, she’s towel dried to the best of her ability, and finally realizing that the pajamas she’d grabbed in her quick bid for the washroom happened to be the pink silk set that she’d tucked at the bottom of her suitcase four days ago.

Cheeks burning, Y/N weighs her options.  She could wrap the towel around herself, she thinks, and instruct Harry to look away as she snuck back to her suitcase and grabbed the sports bra and boxers she’d been sleeping in for the past few nights.  Or…she runs her fingers over the lace trim of the set.  These pajamas were quite comfortable, and the silk would feel so nice on her body after multiple nights of scratching motel sheets.  And, if she’s being honest with herself, her other pajamas are quite dirty from a new nights of use.  Now that her body feels completely relaxed and clean, she’d like to put on something to match.

When she steps out of the bathroom, Y/N does her best to seem casual and calm, still running her towel through her set hair, her clothes and toiletry bag (where she’s hidden her vibrator) tucked under one arm. “The shower’s free.” She says to Harry, barely glancing at him as she returns her items to her bag. “Although the water pressure is pretty shit.”

A low chuckle echoes from Harry’s mouth. “I expect nothing less.” He says, and Y/N thinks she may be in the clear when the laughter stops abruptly.

Biting back a sigh, Y/N straightens her back, knowing that she can’t avoid the conversation forever. “What?” She asks, tossing her towel on the motel room chair.

Harry is sitting up on the bed, his phone still held loosely in his right hand as his left props his body into an upright position.  As his eyes scan over Y/N’s body, his tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting his lips without Harry being aware he’s doing it. “What—” His voice cracks, and a flush creeps up Harry’s pale neck as he clears his throat. “What are you wearing?”

Y/N begins to comb her fingers through her hair, sectioning it off before she begins to braid. “Pajamas.”

A scoff leaves Harry’s mouth. “No, no, those aren’t pajamas.  That’s…lingerie.”

“Yeah, well…I brought them as pajamas.” Y/N mumbles, twisting her hair into the desired pattern before tying it off with the ponytail on her wrist. “Look, I—my other ones are dirty, and I didn’t want to put a sweaty sports bra back on right after showering.  But…if it makes you uncomfortable, then I can—”

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Harry cuts over her, giving a quick shake of his head. “I just—we’re sharing the bed tonight, so I wasn’t sure—as long as you’re comfortable—”

“I am.” Y/N says quickly, cheeks beginning to burn as the conversation continues. “I’m comfortable.”

“Alright then.” If Harry’s cheeks are any indication, then he’s feeling the same thing Y/N is. “I’m…going to shower, then.”

And that’s how, two hours later, after watching a rerun of When Harry Met Sally, Y/N ends up in bed next to Harry Styles in lingerie that she’d bought to impress her ex-boyfriend.

Harry, to his credit, is doing his best to draw a line between them.  His lanky body is practically hanging off the edge of the bed with how far he’s pulled himself from her, his defined back turned towards Y/N. Her own posture mimics his, back turned from Harry, clinging to the edge of the bed in an attempt to respect his personal space.  The problem, Y/N thinks, exhaling hard as she shifts under the covers, is that she doesn’t like sleeping on her side like this, and she especially doesn’t like tensing up to make sure her limbs stay in their designated zone.  It feels awkward and uncomfortable, and after laying in bed for over an hour, she finally huffs before turning onto her back, her hands settling down over the sheets.

“Harry.” She whispers, twisting her head to the side as she struggles to make out the shape of his body in the dark. “Are you awake?”

The bed creaks as Harry’s body shifts towards her, twisting on his hip to be able to meet Y/N’s eyes. “Yeah.  Can’t sleep.”

“Me either.” Y/N rolls over again, propping herself up on her side to face him as he matches the motion. They’re closer now, their faces about six inches away as they rest their heads on their pillows.  Y/N can smell the mint of Harry’s toothpaste on his breath. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder as best he can while horizontal. “Dunno.” He mumbles, voice low in the quiet darkness. “Don’t think I’m used to sharing a bed with someone and not…being close to them.”

“Yeah.” Y/N matches the tone of her voice to his, as if speaking quietly and gently will preserve whatever it is hanging between them. “Feels weird.”

Moving his hands from his chest to tuck them under his pillow, Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, a nervous look apparent in his eyes even in the darkness. “Would it be okay if I moved closer?” He asks, caution written into every word. “It’s just—staying on the edge isn’t very comfortable.”

Four days ago, Y/N would have shoved him off the bed.  Now, however, she finds herself nodding, pulling her top leg into a bent position, her bare knee brushing over Harry’s beneath the sheets. “That’s fine.”

Y/N watches the way Harry’s body visibly relaxes, the tension she didn’t even know he had leaving his body.  Trying his best to move without disturbing her, Harry turns over to lay on his toned stomach, and the sheets pull down around his body enough that Y/N can see how his Rolling Stones t-shirt has ridden up his back.  Without thinking, Y/N pulls one hand from beneath her pillow and reaches for the sheets, pulling them back around Harry to his mid back.

“Thanks.” His voice is raspy, half muffled by the pillow as he tucks his hands beneath his head, eyes still locked with hers with an intensity that, during daylight hours, would have made her cheeks burn.

But in the safety of the darkness, Y/N simply returns her hand to its previous position, allowing the lack of light to masquerade the concern written onto her face. “You’re welcome.”

…

“I’m not saying The Notebook is a bad movie, I’m just saying that it doesn’t make sense!”

Harry gives Y/N an incredulous look as he flips on his turn signal, shifting gears in the car so he can exit the highway and head towards a gas station. “What do you mean, it doesn’t make sense?” He demands, turning the car over the curve of the road. “They’re in love!  Noah reads to Ally to help her remember that!  What about that doesn’t make sense?”

“Well, the dialogue for one.” Y/N shrugs, tapping her fingers to the beat of “Heroes” that’s drifting through the speakers.

Harry scoffs as he pulls into an empty gas station, slowing the car to a gentle stop in front of a pump. “Give me one example of the dialogue not making sense!”

“‘If you’re a bird, I’m a bird’?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she quotes the movie. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“What do you mean, what does it mean?” Harry demands, shifting the car into neutral and pulling the emergency brake before turning off the ignition. “It’s romantic!  It’s talking about—about reincarnation, and past lives—”

“And what about how Noah and Ally first met, huh?  She was on a date with someone else!  She wasn’t interested in him!” As she rants, Y/N’s volume grows, almost drowning out David Bowie completely. “And then he climbed up a Ferris wheel, demanded that she go out with him, and said that if she didn’t, he was going to kill himself!”

Harry points an accusatory finger at her, his expression fierce. “Don’t!  It was romantic—”

Y/N pushes his finger away, holding her stance adamantly. “It was creepy!  And don’t even get me started on the arguments, and the lying, and—and she was engaged to someone else!  Noah was a homewrecker!”

Harry takes a deep breath, squeezing his keys in his hand as his eyes close for a moment. “I’m going to fill Stevie with petrol.” He says, his tone careful and controlled. “And when I get back, I am going to give you a very long lecture on why you’re wrong.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she grabs Harry’s sunglasses from the cupholder next to her, slipping them onto her face as she sticks her tongue out at him. “Whatever.  Go pump the gas, Styles.”

With one last withering look, Harry climbs out of the car and slams the door behind him, turning his attention to the rusted gas pump in the middle of nowhere along the Illinois interstate.  Y/N can’t help but laugh at the irritated look on his face, and how he flips her the bird when he catches her laughing.  Small giggles still roll through her as she turns her attention to Harry’s phone, choosing a new song as David Bowie slowly begins to fade out. She’s just begun scrolling through her options when her own phone begins to vibrate from where she has it tucked underneath her leg.

Y/N sets Harry’s phone back down on his seat as she grabs her own, her eyes widening when she sees Brant’s name lighting up her screen.  She should answer, she thinks, as she hasn’t spoken to him in person since their conversation in Colorado.  That conversation seems like a lifetime ago, and Y/N’s thumb hovers over the “accept” icon, her teeth tugging her bottom lip over and over.  She should answer.  She should.  Brant will probably want to discuss work, and find out when she’s coming back so they can plan another dinner, because he always likes to schedule things at least a week in advance.  He’ll tell her about his coworkers, what the weather in L.A. has been like (as if it ever changes), and maybe, just maybe, if he has time, he’ll tell her about a new Netflix series he’s just starting to watch.  Y/N should answer.

The driver’s side door opens with a creak, and Harry bends down to poke his head inside. “Alright, I’m going to go inside the petrol station and get us some snacks, and then I’m going to explain to you exactly how wrong you are.” He says firmly, mouth pressed into a flat line of determination.  His expression falters for just a moment as he sees the conflicted look on Y/N’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Y/N says quickly, pressing “ignore” and tucking her phone back under her leg. “Just go get the snacks while I create my counterargument, alright?”

Harry rolls his eyes, reaching into the car and pulling his sunglasses off Y/N’s face.  He slips them over his own eyes, his expression back to its determined look. “Fine.  Do you want Cheezies?”

“Uh huh.  The crunchy ones!” Y/N reminds him, grabbing his phone from the seat again to continue selecting a new song.

“Right.  The crunchy ones.” Harry shoots her a finger gun as he shuts the car door. “You can eat them as I prove you wrong!”

“You wish!” Y/N yells back, the phone call all but forgotten as she watches Harry walk into the gas station.

…

“We should go out tonight.”

Y/N sets her duffel bag on the queen-sized bed situated in the center of the motel room, giving Harry a confused look as she registers his words. “Go out?” She asks, tugging on the zipper of the bag. “Go out where?”

“To a bar.” Harry flops down on the bed next to her bag, leaning back on his elbows as he speaks. “All we’ve done this entire trip is drive, and we’re getting to the Catskills tomorrow.  We can have a bit of fun tonight, can’t we?”

Y/N snorts as she rifles through her bag, pulling out her phone charger and favourite book. “It’s a road trip; driving is the point, isn’t it?  Besides, what kind of bars are in Cleveland, Ohio?”

Harry shrugs lightly. “We passed a sign for one on our way into town.  And we haven’t had dinner yet, so we should go get something to eat anyways.  And I haven’t had a pint in forever.”

“I doubt you’ll like the pints from a dive bar in Cleveland, Harry.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she plugs her charger into the wall. “I don’t think they’ll be up to your standards.”

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” Harry matches her eye roll with ease before turning his expression into something more endearing. “Please?  We don’t have to stay too long if you don’t want to!”

Y/N sighs as she sits down on the bed next to him. “Harry—”

“Just one drink!” Harry pleads, pouting out his bottom lip. “Please?  To celebrate not killing each other on this trip?”

In spite of herself, a small laugh falls from Y/N’s mouth. “The trip’s not over yet, Harry.  Don’t count your eggs before they hatch.”

“Y/N…” Harry whines, turning onto his side as he looks up at her. “Come on!”

Y/N tugs her lip between her teeth as she looks down at Harry.  It’s true, she thinks, that all they’ve done for the last five days is drive and sleep in motels.  Maybe they could use a break before tomorrow’s final day.  And they’ve been getting along so well today that Y/N would hate to put a damper on their moods now…

“Fine.” She relents, ignoring how there’s a turning feeling in her stomach when she sees Harry’s green eyes light up. “But just one drink!”

…

“I’ll take another Old Fashioned, please!” Y/N says to the waitress, raising her voice to be heard over the man singing a bad cover of “Take on Me” on the small bar stage. “And—Harry, do you want another?”

Harry bites back a laugh, barely managing to cover it with a cough as the waitress turns to him. “Uh, yes, please.” He smiles charmingly, flashing his eyes to Y/N between his words. “I’ll have another pint.”

With a quick nod, the waitress begins to work her way from their table to the bar, pushing through the crowds of people scattered around the bar.  

Y/N leans over to Harry as she twirls her straw through the remnants of ice in her empty glass. “You picked a good bar!” She says loudly, gesturing to the people around them. “Who knew this would be the center of Cleveland’s drinking scene?”

“I did!  I have good taste!” Harry replies with a laugh, lifting his pint glass to his lips to drain the remnants. “And here I was, thinking that you’d be whining to go home after the first drink!”

There’s something about the way Harry says “home” that turns Y/N’s stomach.  Or maybe it’s the Old Fashioneds, she thinks, as she eyes the three empty glasses sitting in front of her. “Oh.  Yeah.  Maybe we should go…?”

Harry groans, waving off her suggestion without a second thought. “No!  We’re having fun!  When was the last time you went out?”

“Uh…” The alcohol makes it hard for Y/N to think back in her memory, but she does her best to focus for a few moments to search for the answer. “I think…a few months ago?  Jo came to visit, and we went out for drinks…”

“That’s just sad.” Harry shakes his head, feigning disappointment.  Or maybe not feigning it, Y/N thinks, because a deep sigh leaves his lips right after. “You live in L.A., a place with so much culture and so many opportunities, and you don’t take them!”

“I take opportunities just fine!” Y/N defends herself, a pout working its way onto her lips of its own volition. “I’m just busy—”

“You’re always going to be busy!” Harry argues as the waitress approaches them with their drinks. “You—thank you—” He says to her as she hands him his pint and Y/N her Old Fashioned. “You have to take time for yourself, to enjoy things!  Or else life is just going to pass you by, and soon you’ll be old and grey in your apartment, with no cool stories to tell!”

Y/N takes the straw from her previous drink and slips it in her new one. “I have stories!” She argues hotly, a flush coming over her face from both the alcohol and the argument. “I have plenty of stories!”

Harry takes a gulp from his pint, wiping away the drop of beer that drips from the corner of his mouth. “Oh yeah?  Tell me one.”

“Like—” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “Like now!  The story of how I had to go on a road trip with a guy I hated to make it to my best friend’s wedding on time!”

“I’m not really a fan of that title, honestly.” Harry purses his lips, his brow furrowing as he sets his pint back down on the table. “How about we call it the story of how you had to go on a road trip with a guy you hated to make it to your best friend’s wedding on time, and along the way, you and the guy actually realized that you got along pretty well, and became friends?”

A small smile plays on Y/N’s lips, and she raises her glass towards Harry. “Sounds like a plan.” She says softly, barely audible over the noise of the crowd.  Harry lifts his pint glass and clicks it against her drink.

They both take a sip of their drinks, and when Harry lowers his glass, there’s a mischievous glint in his eye that immediately makes Y/N uneasy. “I have another idea for a story.” He says, setting his glass down and pointing towards the stage. “How about the story of us singing karaoke at a bar in Cleveland, Ohio?”

Y/N snorts, half folding herself over their table as the snort turns into a full laugh. “Not a chance in hell, Styles!” She says through her laughter, tapping her fingers against the wood table top.

Harry pushes her shoulder, making her sit up again as he tries to convince her. “Come on!  We’ve been singing in the car for two days straight! There’s tons of songs we could do—”

“The car is completely different than a stage!” Y/N argues, shaking her head firmly. “No way!”

“What, are you worried about making a fool of yourself?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he gestures around the bar. “Is there anyone you know in the audience?  The audience that’s full of people who are pissed out of their minds?”

Biting her lip hard for a moment, Y/N gives a reluctant shake of her head. “No.” She mumbles, looking down. “But I just—I don’t sing karaoke.”

“And you didn’t spend five days in the car with me, either.  Until you did, and we had fun.” Harry points a ringed pointer finger at her, and the annoying glint in his eye means he knows he has her trapped. “There is literally no better place to try it than right now, in this bar, where you know no one.”

Y/N glances around the bar, appraising her surroundings.  She knows Harry has a point; besides himself, she knows not a single soul in the building.  They’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, and she won’t ever find herself in this bar—or, honestly, Cleveland, Ohio—again.  If there was ever a time to try karaoke, it would be now.  

And hasn’t this trip been full of trying new things?  New foods, new conversations, new ways of thinking…Y/N finds herself locking eyes with Harry, losing herself in his intense gaze.  Y/N’s not sure what’s swirling around in his irises, whether it’s alcohol or something else entirely, but it’s intoxicating.

Y/N lets out a harsh exhale, pulling the straw out of her drink and downing it entirely in one swift motion. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she slams the glass back on the table before looking back at Harry to find a new grin pasted across his pink lips.

“Alright.” Y/N slips off her stool, stumbling for just a moment until Harry catches her elbow. “You go pick the song.” She says, pointing towards the DJ near the stage. “I-I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

Harry nods, catching his lip between his teeth as his hand squeezes her arm. “Are you alright?  You stumbled there—”

“I’m fine!  Perfect, actually.” Y/N assures him, pulling away and walking towards the washroom.  She calls over her shoulder to him as she does. “Go pick the song!  I’ll be back in a moment!”

When Y/N reaches the washroom, she’s surprised to find it empty, and she’s even more surprised when she catches her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Is that really her? She wonders, propping herself up on the counter as she leans closer to examine herself.  Her skin is flushed from the alcohol, all across her cheeks and neck, and it only gets warmer as the heat of the bar finally hits her. Y/N undoes the top few buttons of her plaid shirt, exposing her chest to the air.  Cocking her head to the side, Y/N studies herself for a moment before undoing the rest of the buttons and rolling up the sleeves to wear the shirt like a cardigan, leaving her bralette exposed.  It’s a different look than anything she’s ever done, but…she likes it, she realizes, as her eyes scan over her reflection.  She likes this.  Being somewhere that no one knows her, somewhere filled with people that won’t judge her for drinking too much, somewhere that she doesn’t have to worry about stories getting back to her work.  Y/N likes the wild look in her eyes, the breathlessness stirring inside her, the plumpness of her lips from the ice of her drinks.   When she looks at herself, she sees a different person. Someone she doesn’t recognize. Someone who seems to know what they want.

Her phone vibrating in her back pocket pulls her from her thoughts, and it takes Y/N a moment for her intoxicated self to manage to pull it out.  When she sees Brant’s name flashing on the screen, she only hesitates for one second before hitting decline.  That one second of hesitation, however, is all it takes to make her contemplate herself in the mirror again, second guessing what she sees.  She tucks her phone away before washing her hands, and splashes a little bit of cold water on her cheeks to help cool herself down. Giving herself one last look over, Y/N buttons the few bottom buttons of her shirt back together, tying it into a neat knot to cover her stomach.  Even if no one here knows her…she can’t get too wild.  She still has to be who she is.

After exiting the bathroom, Y/N returns to the table, expecting Harry to be waiting there for her. All she finds, however, is his jacket tossed over the back of his chair, and his now empty pint glass sitting on the table. Y/N turns in a small circle, wondering where he is in the crowd when she hears his slightly slurred voice magnified over the speakers.

“Y/N.  Up here, love, c’mon.”

Y/N turns towards the stage, her eyes wide as she realizes Harry has a microphone in one hand and has the other hand wrapped around the microphone stand.  His smile is practically glowing underneath the stage lights, and his eyes seem to be doing the same.  He releases the mic stand to run a hand through his hair before beckoning her forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Cleveland, this—” Harry points towards Y/N, and she almost swears that every person in the bar turns towards her. “This is my very good friend Y/N. And five days ago, she hated my guts!” The crowd boos, and Y/N stares at Harry with incredulous eyes.  What is he doing?

“No, no, don’t boo, it’s alright.  I hated her guts too.” Harry says with a shrug, leaning against the mic stand again. “But everything’s alright now!  We’re getting along, she’s stopped being such a control freak, and she even said she would let me pick a song for us to sing tonight, isn’t that nice?”

The crowd cheers as Y/N walks towards the stage, stopping just before it to stare up at Harry as he continues his drunken monologue.  If she was sober, she’d probably pull him down from the stage, grab the front of his patterned button down shirt, and drag him back to their table.  But the alcohol running through her system is making her bold, and with her head swimming in the amber liquid she’d been consuming, all she can do is laugh and stumble her way to the stairs to the stage.

Someone wearing a t-shirt with the bar’s logo on it helps her up the stairs, handing her a microphone once she makes it onto the stage.  Harry, realizing she’s where she needs to be now, motions to the DJ behind her, and a familiar beat that Y/N can’t place begins to play.

“Harry—” Y/N speaks without raising the microphone to her lips. “What song—?”

“Don’t worry, you know it.” Harry assures her, his eyes flickering over her appearance quickly. “You look great.  Just go with it!”

There’s really no choice but to go with it, she thinks, because within a moment, Harry has a simpering smile on his face as he lifts the microphone to his lips, his body turned towards the audience but his eyes flickering to you.

“‘I wasn’t jealous before we met…now every man I see is a potential threat’.” He sings in a confident voice, and Y/N watches the split second it takes for the crowd to realize he’s actually good.  And it’s not just his voice, she thinks.  It’s his demeanor.  The part of Harry’s personality that had first irritated her, the part that lives for a spotlight, the part that can draw someone in with a snap of a finger…that part shines on a stage.

In contrast, all Y/N can do is stare with a shocked expression painted across her face as Harry continues to serenade the crowd.  He makes eye contact with specific people as he croons the next lines, his hand confidently wrapped around the microphone “‘And I’m possessive, it isn’t nice…you’ve heard me say that smoking is my only voice’.”

It’s then that Harry’s attention turns back to Y/N, his eyelids hooded, half hiding his emerald eyes as he saunters back towards her.  It’s like a switch has flipped in his head, because Y/N is certain that he’s never looked at her in this way before. “‘But now it isn’t true…now everything is new’…” The closer Harry gets to her, the less Y/N can breathe. By the time he’s a foot away from her, she feels like her breaths are stuttering in her chest, giving barely enough oxygen to her body to keep her going.  

Harry, it seems, is unaware of the affect he’s having on her.  His long limbs are loose and free as he continues to move closer, the smirk on his face intertwined with something deeper that Y/N’s drunken mind can’t quite put her finger on. “‘And all I’ve learned, has overturned…I beg of you’…”

The scent of cologne, alcohol, and sweat that emanates from Harry as he gets close enough to press his forehead to hers reminds Y/N exactly where she is, and what she’s supposed to be doing.  Just managing to bring the microphone to her lips in time, Y/N shoves Harry on his shoulder, pushing him away enough that she can walk past him and distance herself. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion’…” She sings, glancing at him over her shoulder as she moves away.  Harry watches her with darkened eyes, a hungry look on his face as Y/N begins to sway her hips to the music.  It’s fun, she realizes, being on stage like this, and playing the part with Harry as she sets down a challenge. “‘Lay all your love on me’.”

The crowd cheers as Harry begins to take measured steps towards Y/N again, looking like the cat who wants to catch the canary.  Y/N, ever the competitive player, refuses to give in so easily, and quickly extends a hand to two people sitting in front of the stage.  They give her support as she slides down from the platform, working her way through the tables without so much as a glance behind herself at Harry, who she knows is following her.

“‘It was like shooting a sitting duck…a little small talk, a smile and baby I was stuck’.” Y/N finally turns around, pausing her walk to see Harry hopping down from the stage. She points at him slowly, giving a small shake of her head as she sings the next line. “‘I still don’t know what you’ve done to me…a grownup woman should never fall so easily’…”

Harry’s smirk only grows, and he runs a hand haphazardly through his sweaty curls.  He’s enjoying playing the part too, and Y/N can tell by the way he allows her to cross the seating area, so that they’re walking parallel to each other towards the bar.  He’s not chasing her down.  He’s taking his time, knowing that he’ll get her in the end.

“‘I feel a kind of fear…when I don’t have you near’…” Y/N pauses at a table of two men and a woman, leaning down between the latter two.  She only takes her eyes off Harry for a moment to give a questioning look to the man, who gives her a smile of permission.  Y/N runs her fingers across his shoulder and down his arm, but keeps her eyes glued to Harry the entire time. “‘Unsatisfied, I skip my pride…I beg you dear’…”

When he sees Y/N’s fingers trace down the collar of someone else, Harry’s brow furrows in jealousy, his jade eyes shifting even darker than they were before.  He keeps pace with Y/N as she begins to move again, but there’s an air of tension in his saunter that wasn’t there a moment ago.  When he sings, it sounds like half plea, half demand. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’.” Harry rounds a table of people before beginning to close the distance between him and Y/N, each of them now standing in front of the bar.  With the tension between them now palpable, the crowd is moving out of their way discreetly, watching as the two approach each other. Harry licks his red lips before singing the next line. “‘Don’t go sharing your devotion…lay all your love on me’.”

Y/N releases her bottom lip from between her teeth, running her fingers over the finished wood of the bar before pulling herself to sit atop it.  She crosses her legs carefully before leaning her weight on one hand, giving a small shrug, knowing that Harry’s eyes are glued to her every motion as the bartender pours him a shot. “‘I’ve had a few little love affairs…they didn’t last very long and they’ve been pretty scarce’…”

Harry’s lips wrap around the shot glass, throwing it back just in time to sing the next line as tequila drips from the corner of his mouth.  The drop of alcohol runs down his chin to trace the muscles of his neck, and as Harry pulls himself to sit next to Y/N on the bar, the only thing she wants to do is lean forward and lick the liquor from his skin.

“‘I used to think I was sensible’…” Harry passes a newly poured shot to Y/N, meaning for her to take it from him, and he nearly stutters over his next line as Y/N wraps her hand around his own, guiding him to guide the shot to her mouth.  There’s a sharp intake of air into the microphone before Harry can sing again, and Y/N smirks at the small victory as she wipes her mouth doing her best to hide how the bitter taste of the tequila affects her. “‘It makes the truth even more incomprehensible’.”

Y/N brings her microphone to her mouth again to sing the next verse with Harry, their eyes locked together as they lean forward into each other.  Despite the cheering of the crowd, Y/N can’t help but feel as though she and Harry are the only two in the bar, as if this—very public—performance were small and intimate and just between them.

“‘Because everything is new’…” Harry grips the knot in Y/N’s plaid shirt, easily pulling it undone with one hand.  His eyes break away from hers for only a moment to canvas over her newly exposed midriff and lace bralette before snapping back to her gaze with a renewed vigor. He keeps the tails of the shirt clutched within his strong hand as he begins to lean back on the bar, pulling Y/N down with him.

“‘And everything is you’…” Y/N almost falls over before she catches herself, bracing one hand beside Harry’s head on the bar to support her weight as he lays down fully. She can feel how tightly he’s gripping her shirt by how the hem of it is pressing into her skin, and the pressure of the fabric cues another kind of pressure to begin to curl inside her stomach. When she sucks in a breath, she can taste tequila and Harry’s cologne on her tongue, and she struggles to bite back a whine while Harry wraps her shirt tighter around his hand.

“‘And all I’ve learned has overturned’…” Harry releases the wrinkled fabric of her shirt, his now freed hand trading the cloth for the skin of her exposed waist.  The coolness of his rings against her flushed skin makes Y/N’s breath stutter, and she curls her body over him more in response.  The taste of Harry’s touch has sparked a need to be closer, as well as a new fluttering in her core, and judging by the way Harry keeps licking his lips, he knows it.

Refusing to be the only one affected by their close proximity, Y/N moves her supporting hand from the bar to Harry’s hair, tugging on it harshly as Harry opens his mouth to sing the next line.  As Y/N sings “‘I beg of you’…” with a pleading glance, Harry grunts deep in his throat, just managing to pull the microphone away from his lips so that Y/N is the only one to hear it.

Although getting a reaction out of Harry was her goal, actually hearing that reaction is another story entirely.  Heat rushes to Y/N’s face as Harry grips her waist tighter, pressing her thighs and hips to his own as he guides the two of them to the beat of the music.  The cheering and wolf whistles from the crowd are the only thing that keep Y/N grounded and in the moment, reminding her that—despite how it feels—there are people watching the two of them.

“‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’.” Harry grinds his hip against Y/N’s once more, moving them in a steady and consistent pace.  Y/N repositions her body in return, spreading her legs so she can straddle Harry’s hips more easily.  She knows, though, that she needs to start pulling back.  She has to do something to get away from him, to break the trance that his touch has her in, before she does something she’ll regret.

“‘Don’t go sharing your devotion’…” Y/N slowly sits back up, letting go of Harry’s hair in order to trail her free hand down his chest. Although she knows that she’s supposed to be distancing herself from him, she can’t resist digging her nails in just the slightest bit, delighting in the hiss that leaves his mouth. “‘Lay all your love on me’…”

Harry sits up slowly as the key changes, his eyes glued to Y/N’s lips as she sings a line by herself, her voice growing ever so slightly fainter every time Harry tugs on his red lips with his teeth, soothing the mark with his tongue a moment after. “‘Don’t go wasting your emotion…lay all your love on me’…”

Now that they’re both sitting upright, Harry grips their bodies and turns them so that their legs once again dangle off the bar.  Y/N can feel the blood rushing from her head as she drapes her arm over Harry’s shoulder, her eyelids fluttering as Harry digs his fingertips into her waist. “‘Don’t go sharing your devotion’…” Harry’s pupils are so blown that his irises practically look black.  His chest is heaving with every breath, his exposed skin flushed and sweaty.  His curls are a mess from Y/N tangling her fingers in them.  If Y/N didn’t know any better, she’d say Harry looks freshly fucked, and then she wonders if she looks the same.  By the way Harry’s looking at her, she thinks it’s safe to say that she does.

“‘Lay all your love on me’.” They finish together, hungry eyes locked with each other while the wolf whistles and clapping gets louder as the final notes of the song trail off.  This is where they should break apart, Y/N thinks, her chest moving rapidly with every ragged breath she takes.  This is where she should climb off Harry’s lap, climb down from the bar, return the microphones to the DJ, and gather her things and go.  This is the end of whatever the hell just happened during that song.  This is where she says “Harry, we have to be up early tomorrow to drive, so we should go back to the motel.”

To her credit, Y/N tries. She swallows hard, her mouth as dry as it’s ever been, and sucks in another breath, almost whimpering at the taste of his cologne in the back of her throat.  Don’t, she tells herself.  She needs to say what she needs to say.  Their game is done.  It’s over.

“Harry—” She begins, and that’s all she manages to say before Harry is kissing her.

Her body reacts before her mind does, but between the overwhelming sensations all around her and the copious amounts of liquor that her brain is swimming in, Y/N can only register every third movement.  The microphone falling from her hand onto the bar as she tangles her fingers back in Harry’s curls, twisting and pulling and receiving the most delightful gasps from him in return.  Harry’s teeth catching her bottom lip, just barely tugging on the tender flesh. Ringed hands keeping a firm grip on Y/N’s sides as Harry helps her down from the bar, his lips still pressed firmly against her own.  The lingering taste of tequila on Harry’s skin as Y/N kisses down his jaw, unable to completely pull away as Harry struggles to settle their tab with the bartender.

She’s never felt like this before; Y/N didn’t even know it could feel like this.  She didn’t know that she could feel an ache so deep inside her, both painful and pleasurable at the same time, and be so completely aware that the only cure for it is the touch of another person.  Y/N had been convinced that this rush was something that was fiction, made up by steamy romance novels to entice lonely housewives to dive beneath their pages. And yet here she is, stumbling out of a bar in Cleveland, Ohio, with Harry Styles, someone that she swore up and down that she hated five days ago.  Here she is with Harry’s jacket draped over her heated shoulders, his hands slipped underneath, rubbing at her exposed skin as he guides her back to the motel.  Here she is with his lips connected to her neck the moment their motel room door is closed, his fingers fumbling with the locks on the door as he refuses to pull away from her.

Yes, Y/N thinks, as she grinds her hips against Harry’s, relishing in the strangled moan that he breathes into her mouth: it’s never felt like this.

“Y/N—” Each pant of her name from his lips sounds like a song. “Fuck, Y/N—” Harry pulls back from her just enough to suck in a full breath, the first in what feels like hours. “I—we—”

“Shut up.” Y/N uses her grip on his hair to pull his head back, trailing open mouthed kisses over his jugular. “Just shut up, Harry, I need—I just need—”

“Need what?” Harry demands, eyes dark as he pushes himself away from her.  An involuntary whine at the loss of contact escapes from Y/N’s throat, and Harry has to steel himself again before he can continue. “What do you need?” He asks, struggling to keep his voice controlled. “You—you have to tell me, so that—I need you to be clear.”

Y/N licks over her swollen lips, eyes blown wide with lust as she stares up at Harry, struggling to find the words.  “I need…” She swallows once more, inhaling sharply as he grips her shoulders to steady her. “I need you, Harry.  Just fuck me. I-I need you to—”

Before she can finish her request, Harry has scooped her up into his arms, tossing her on the creaking motel bed as if she were a rag doll.  A gasp of shock leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she’s barely managed to sit up before Harry is caging his body over hers, forcing her back down as he kisses her hard.

Y/N’s hands go straight to the hem of his shirt, tugging roughly on the fabric, shoving it up Harry’s body before he gets the clue to half sit up and pull it off himself. After that, it’s a rush to remove clothes, each of them blindly pulling off shirts and bras and pants.  Everything is rushed, and that’s what Y/N wants. She doesn’t want time to lay down and explore, and allow herself space to second guess her decision.  All she wants is Harry to do something about the ache in her core, to fill her up so completely that she’ll be feeling him for days. It’s that need that makes Y/N tug on his hair to get his attention as he begins to kiss her thighs.

“No.” She shakes her head haphazardly, and the room spins slightly when she finishes the motion. “No, I just—I just need you to fuck me.  I’m ready, Harry—”

“But—” His teeth tug roughly on his bottom lip, mimicking Y/N’s actions from moments ago. “I want to taste—”

“Please, Harry.” Y/N whines, throwing her head back on the motel pillow. “It’s been so long since I’ve been full…please…”

The lewd admission catches Harry off guard. “Fucking hell—” He spits out, his hands tugging on his hair as he sits up. “Yeah, I—okay.” He closes his eyes for a moment to steady himself, the struggle to have a coherent thought clear on his face. “Okay, I need…”

Harry’s eyes begin to search the room, and the moment they settle on his bag in the corner, he rushes towards it.  Y/N watches the muscles in his back shift beneath his smooth skin as he unzips the bag, rummaging through it before pulling out a tiny foil square.  He tucks the package between his teeth as his hands fumble with his belt, undoing it quickly and pulling it off to toss to the floor.  He undoes his button and fly as he climbs back onto the bed, doing his best to waste no time as he situates himself between Y/N’s still spread legs.  

“Y’look so hot like this, y’know that?” He can’t stop himself from muttering the words as he pulls his pants down just enough to free his cock.  Y/N stares hungrily at how swollen he is, only half listening to Harry’s words as she watches his hand stroke himself, the other lifting the condom package to his teeth.  He tears the foil open, spitting the little tag from his mouth as he removes the condom from the foil.  That foil is soon tossed to the ground before Harry gives himself one last stroke, quickly but carefully rolling the condom down the length of his shaft.

Placing his hands on either knee, Harry spreads Y/N’s legs even wider, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of her bare core. “You’re dripping.” Harry says in a low voice, and before Y/N can reply with anything, he runs a ringed finger over her folds and slips it into his mouth.

“Ah—!” Y/N gasps at the unexpected sensation, the minimal contact enough to send her reeling. Harry grins at the response, loving how the pleasure from the small action is clearly written across her face.

“Sorry.” He says with a small shrug, lining himself up with her entrance. “Just wanted a little taste, tha’s all.  Couldn’t resist.” Harry drags the tip of his cock along Y/N’s slick core, a look of concentration overtaking his features. “I’ll go slow—”

A sound of protest leaves Y/N’s mouth. “No.  Go fast. I need it, Harry, please—” Her plea is cut off by Harry thrusting inside her with one sharp movement, and then Y/N stops talking completely.

There’s a slight feeling of pain, as she wasn’t lying when she said it’s been a while since she’s been with someone, but underneath that pain, pleasure is quickly building as Harry begins to snap his hips towards hers, finding a rhythm within a few thrusts. Y/N knows immediately that Harry is probably one of the largest men—if not the largest man—she’s ever been with, but that’s exactly what she needs right now.  The moment he filled her for the first time, there was a feeling of completeness that she’s been missing in her life for a long time.  She needed this, she thinks.  She needed to be stretched, to be filled, to be fucked, and Harry is the only one that could have fulfilled those needs this well. She’s convinced of it.

It’s far from the most romantic sex Y/N’s ever had; it’s all teeth clacking, biting, scratching, tugging, and growling.  And she knows that she should be concerned about how Harry’s teeth biting down on her shoulder is going to leave marks, especially when she has to wear a bridesmaid dress in less than 48 hours.  But all of that is exactly what she needs.  She doesn’t want Harry to whisper how much he loves her, how close he feels to her, how happy he is to be with her.  She doesn’t want to hear him say anything, except—

“Feel so fucking good around my cock.” He growls, his fingertips digging deeper into the flesh of her hips. “So bloody tight, Y/N…”

A sharp gasp tumbles out of Y/N’s throat as Harry swivels his hips, finding the exact spot she needs him the most. “Oh God, Harry, I—” Y/N scratches her nails down his back, surely leaving a trail of angry red marks in her place, as her other hand twists the sheets within her grip. “Fuck, right there, right there, right there—”

“Feels good, yeah? You like it?” Harry manages to bring a hand to her hair, tangling it within her locks and pulling hard. “Tell me.” His voice is so much lower than she’s ever heard it, his accent so much thicker, and the combination sends Y/N’s eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Tell me how much you love my cock, and—fuck—how much you love me fucking you.”

Y/N’s mouth falls open, a strangled whine echoing from the back of her throat as the head of Harry’s cock presses against her G-spot again. “I-I love it, Harry, I—your cock fills me so well—don’t stop, please don’t stop—!”

Using her moans as fuel, Harry begins to thrust faster, tugging on Y/N’s hair one last time before grasping her hips between his hands to gain more control.  If his flushed skin and the sweat covering his entire body is any indication, Y/N can tell that Harry is just as close as she is.  Her breathing quickens just as the sound of the bed creaking does, and she brings one hand down to her clit to rub fast circles, desperate to reach her release.

“Harry—” She gasps for what seems the millionth time that night, her body shuddering as she pushes closer and closer to the edge. “I’m so fucking close, Harry, please—”

The growl that falls from Harry’s mouth almost doesn’t sound like him.  It’s deeper, more animalistic, and so unlike the careful and slow voice that she’s gotten used to over the last five days.  Releasing one hand from her hip, he pushes her hand out of the way, replacing her fingers with his own to rub circles over her clit. “Cum for me, Y/N. I know you need it, baby, so just—” Harry groans as her walls squeeze his length. “Just cum.”

The command combined with his motions is all it takes to push Y/N over the edge.  A breathless gasp falls from her open mouth, and she screws her eyes shut as pleasure courses through her body.  It’s so much more intense than anything she’s felt before, so much more pleasurable, so much more dizzying, and just so much more. Small whimpers and Harry’s name are the only things she can think to say as her orgasm makes her movements stutter before falling limply back onto the bed.

“Fuck—” Harry moans roughly as he kisses her one more time, his mouth falling open against hers as her orgasm triggers his own.  Although the rhythm of his thrusts stutters, they don’t completely stop, and he continues to slam his hips against her own as he rides out his orgasm. “That’s it, baby—squeeze me tight—” Harry pants into Y/N’s mouth, barely registering anything he’s saying, let alone the pet name that’s begun to fall from his lips. “Christ…”

Things become a blur after that.  After Harry pulls out, all Y/N can focus on is how empty she feels without his thick cock filling her to the brim, and she doesn’t even realize that he’s gotten off the bed until he returns, his weight causing the whole bed frame to creak once more. With both of them so sweaty, Harry only pulls the top sheet over their panting bodies, pressing his head into the crook of Y/N’s neck as his eyes close.

Neither of them says anything, and for multiple reasons.  What exactly is there to say?  And, more pressing, what exactly is Y/N capable of saying right now?  There are no words running through her mind. All she can do is think in terms of physical contact and needs, and those two things tell her everything she knows in this moment.  She knows that Harry is in just his boxers now because she can’t feel the rough fabric of his pants against her bare skin.  She knows that she needs his hands on her, cupping her breasts the way he is. She knows that if he were to move away from her, she’d go chasing after him.  She knows that she’s completely worn out—completely fucked out, really—and above all else, she knows that whatever needs to be discussed between them can be discussed the next morning.

Harry, however, seems to have a different approach.  His face still pressed into her neck, he mumbles something against her sweat soaked skin, low and deep and completely inaudible.  Y/N feels an open mouthed kiss pressed to her neck, and then hears another mumble, this one even quieter than the last.

“Hm?” Y/N barely manages to hum the syllable in her exhaustion.

There’s no response, no repeat of the quiet phrases, and it takes Y/N a few minutes of feeling Harry’s breathing even out to realize that he’s fallen asleep.  If she were sober and had the mental capacity to examine things, Y/N would wonder what it was that Harry whispered into her skin.  But her brain is swimming in exhaustion and endorphins and tequila, and the only thing she can do is close her eyes and allow her breathing to sync up with the rise and fall of Harry’s chest.

…

The first thing Y/N registers the next morning is the shrill ringing of her cell phone, which somehow made its way to the bedside table in her drunken fervour the night before. The second thing she registers is the pounding of her head, like she can feel each pump of blood to her brain, and the uncomfortably dry feeling in her mouth, as if it’s been stuffed full of cotton. The third thing Y/N registers is—

“Christ.” Harry groans into her neck, his voice raspy from sleep and laced with irritation. “God, who is calling right now?”

Right.  The third thing she registers, probably the most complicated of all, Y/N thinks, is just how much of Harry’s taut and tattooed bare skin is pressed against her own.  His strong arms are thrown over her waist, clutching her tight to his chest. In the back of her mind, she’s vaguely aware of the chain of Harry’s cross pressing into her breast, probably leaving a small red indentation along with the other marks he left on her last night.

Last night.

Y/N lets out a small whine as the previous evening comes rushing back to her.  It’s a blur of alcohol, ABBA, and Harry.  Harry is everywhere, in every blurred picture her hungover brain can conjure.  Laughing at her from across the table.  Smirking at her on stage.  Staring at her with a hungry look in his eyes as he pulled her down on top of him on the bar, grinding his hips into hers.  Kissing her.  Kissing her multiple times.  Coming back to their room with his hands leaving scorching imprints over every inch of her.  And now, him laying next to her, clutching the two of them together like they’ve always done this.  Like it’s natural.

The phone rings again, louder than the last time, and Harry curses under his breath, the short exhale of air leaving goosebumps along Y/N’s neck.  He lifts his head just barely as he reaches across Y/N’s body, grabbing her phone from the bedside table and not bothering to check the caller ID as he answers.

“Hello?” He says, the rasp of sleep still clear his voice.  Within three seconds, Harry’s entire body tenses against Y/N, his arm constricting around her waist enough to shift her on the bed.

Y/N lifts her head up when she feels the change, finally opening her eyes just enough to read the change in Harry’s body language.  What she finds are dark and stormy green eyes, a swollen red mouth pressed into a thin line, and a deep crease between his furrowed brow, all of it such a contrast from the hazy memories of him the night before.

“I—yeah, she’s right here.” Harry mutters, his eyes snapping to Y/N’s face for just a moment. “I’ll—oh. Yeah, no, the trip’s been…good. Yeah.  Not too much traffic.” His arm moves off her waist as he pulls away from her, rolling onto his back as the bed creaks beneath them.  With his newly freed hand, Harry covers his eyes, rubbing them for a moment as the irritation on his face grows. “Yeah, it was nice of me to give her a ride.  Yeah.” He sucks in a breath. “Well, she’s—she’s awake now.  Here.  I’ll let you two talk.”

Y/N props herself up on one elbow, careful to keep the sheet pressed to her chest so that she’s not exposed. She knows that Harry’s already seen everything, touched everything, and kissed everything, but the sudden change in his demeanor is telling her that she needs to be guarded, even if she has no idea what caused it.

Harry holds out her phone for her, his face stony as Y/N slowly accepts it. “Harry—?” She begins, but he just gives a rough jerk of his head, and offers no other explanation.

Eyes still glued to Harry’s face, Y/N brings the phone to her ear, clearing the sleep from her voice. “Hello?”

“Hi.” The familiar cadence of Brant’s voice crackles through the phone speaker, an indication of how far away he is from her. “It’s good to finally hear your voice; I haven’t been able to catch you the last few days.”

Y/N keeps her eyes on Harry as her body goes cold, pressing the sheet tighter to her chest. “Brant.” She whispers his name unintentionally; her body won’t allow her to say it any louder. “Hi.”

At the sound of Brant’s voice leaving her lips, Harry throws the covers off of himself, jerkily pulling himself off of the low motel room bed.  He snatches his jeans off the floor, and doesn’t give Y/N another glance as he walks to the small bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.

“Hi.” Brant says again, completely unaware of what’s happening on the other end of the telephone line. “I’ve missed you.  Where are you now?”

“Uh, Cleveland.” Y/N says weakly, stumbling her way out of the bed to her duffel bag.  She grabs a new bra and t-shirt, along with her comfiest pair of pants.  Without Harry beside her, she’s freezing. “Today’s our last day of driving.”

“Oh, well, that’s good.” Brant replies easily. “The wedding is tomorrow, then?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N’s eyes flicker to the bathroom as the sound of the shower starting travels through the wood of the door. “And tonight is the rehearsal dinner.”

Brant makes a sound of acknowledgement on the other end of the phone. “That’ll be nice!  Do you know if you’re flying back?”

“Uh—” Y/N pauses her movements, her pants half pulled up her legs.  That, honestly, is a good question, and one which seems as though the answer is changing with every passing moment. “I guess I’ll call the airline and…see if I can fly back.  Maybe the storms will have passed.”

“You must have driven through them, right?  In Utah, or wherever they were?” Brant asks curiously. “Did they seem that bad? Honestly, I’ve always found thunder to be relaxing.  I think most people do.”

Y/N tugs her t-shirt over her head with one hand, accidentally bumping her chin as she does so.  The motion causes her to bite down on her tongue, and she lets out a curse under her breath, not even bothering to correct Brant.  It doesn’t matter, she thinks.  He probably wouldn’t remember. “Yeah.  Relaxing.”

The sound of the shower turning off catches her attention, distracting her from what Brant says next. “I—sorry—” She mutters in a distracted tone, raking her fingers through her sleep and sex mussed hair. “What was that?”

“I said let me know when you’re on your way back from New York, so I’ll make us a dinner reservation.” Brant repeats himself without suspicion of Y/N’s distracted tone. “We just got some new files at work that I think you’ll be very interested in.”

The bathroom door creaks open, and Harry emerges from the cloud of shower steam.  He’s dressed in just his pants, his marked chest still damp from the shower.  Although he catches Y/N’s eye for a moment, he quickly looks away, rubbing his towel through his wet curls as he turns to search for a shirt.  The red marks of Y/N’s nails are prominent on his otherwise unmarked back.

“Dinner?” Y/N repeats slowly, chewing on her cuticle as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Are you—you still want to get dinner?”

“Of course.  I enjoy our weekly dinners, don’t you?” Brant asks, confusion finally slipping into his voice. “I’ve missed them.”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat, rubbing her thumb absentmindedly over her bottom lip. “Okay.  Yeah.  Dinner. I’ll, um, I’ll let you know when I book a flight home.”

“Sounds wonderful. Well, I’ll let you get on the road. Let me know when you’re available.” Brant’s voice already sounds more and more distant. “Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Y/N replies lamely, letting her phone drop to the crumpled bed sheets.

There’s a rustling behind her, the sound of a belt clicking, of the zipper on a duffel bag being pulled shut.  Y/N waits for a moment, to give Harry the chance to say something to her, but nothing comes.  Finally, she twists around on the bed, her nerves running on high.

Harry is completely dressed now, a black t-shirt covering his previously bare chest, and he’s tied his familiar green bandana into his damp chestnut locks.  His sunglasses are hanging on the neck of his shirt, but even without them covering his emerald eyes, Y/N can’t decipher anything that’s swirling within them.

“That—that was Brant.” She says finally, scratching a nail over the palm of her hand.

Harry jerks his head in a nod as he shoulders his duffel bag. “Yeah.  I heard.” Tapping his fingers against the leather strap, he finally spares a glance at Y/N. “He wants to take you to dinner, huh?”

Running her teeth along her bottom lip, Y/N takes a moment before she replies. “Harry, I—”

“I’ll be in the car.” He mutters, taking long strides to the door and unlocking it with a harsh turn of his hand. “Just hurry up, yeah?  I want to get on the road soon, so we’re not late to the rehearsal dinner.”

When he slams the door behind him, Y/N breaks.

…

And just like that, it’s like they’re back at square one.

It really feels like the first day all over again, Y/N thinks, in every sense of the sentiment. From the way she and Harry sit in silence, each avoiding the other’s gaze, to how every single one of Harry’s movements is filled with a tight and tense irritation.  Even the sound of Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” is familiar, echoing through the speakers of the car like a soundtrack to an old memory.  

After four hours, the silence is finally getting to her.  She can’t stop shifting in her seat, her muscles seizing from hours on end in the same position—although, frankly, her soreness may partially be a result of her and Harry’s activities from the night before—and with every short and hard breath Harry sighs, Y/N gets more and more antsy.

“Harry.” She says finally, risking a glance at him from the corner of her eye.  He has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift, both grips tight enough to stretch his skin over the bones of his knuckles until it goes white.  At the sound of Y/N’s voice, his jaw flexes, but he shows no other evidence that he heard her.

A frustrated sigh falls past Y/N’s lips. “Harry.” She says again, firmer this time. “Are you going to ignore me all the way to the Catskills?”

Realizing that he can’t feign deafness, Harry lets his shoulders lift once and drop down again in a quick motion. “’M not ignoring you.” He mutters, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

“We’re not talking. At all.” Y/N taps her fingers against her knee, just slightly off the beat of the music. “Shouldn’t we talk about what happened?”

“Why?” Harry asks, his voice flatter than she’s ever heard it. “What’s there to talk about?”

Y/N twists her body in her seat, her seat belt nearly cutting into her throat with how quickly she moves. “What the hell do you mean, what’s there to talk about?  There’s plenty!  Last night—”

Harry cuts over her with a sharp tone, still refusing to look away from the road. “Last night we got drunk, and we made a mistake.” His grip tightens even more on the gear shift as he moves it to accelerate the car. “And it shouldn’t have happened.”

It takes a few moment for the words to register in her brain, and Y/N blinks slowly as the process unfolds. “You think it was a mistake?” She tries to ask the question as nonchalantly as possible.

“I do.” Harry nods tightly, and while Y/N thinks that she can detect something else underneath his tone, his dark sunglasses hide the truth of his thoughts from her. “We got caught up with trying to—to pretend we’re not who we are.  But we know who we are.”

If Y/N’s brain couldn’t process Harry’s words a moment ago, it’s working in overdrive now as she draws a million different conclusions from the conversation.  What the fuck does “we know who we are” mean?  Wasn’t the whole point of this trip—the long lesson they’d learned together—that both of them were different than the other had thought? Hadn’t Harry proved to her, over and over, how he was so much more considerate and empathetic than she’d previously imagined?  Hadn’t she shown him that she wasn’t the Ice Queen he thought she was, wasn’t as controlling, wasn’t as perfect?  Hadn’t that been a good thing?  Hadn’t they bonded at roadside fruit stands, small souvenir shacks, ghost town gas stations, and dingy motel rooms?

But maybe…maybe she had imagined all of that, because the way that Harry is actively avoiding her gaze is telling her that he isn’t thinking the same thing.  Everything from his body language, to his tone of voice, to his attitude, is telling her that he’s just as stubborn and closed off as he was when they first met.  He hasn’t changed.  If he had, he wouldn’t be refusing to do something as simple as look at her.

Still, something about the interaction doesn’t sit right with Y/N.  Although she turns to face the windshield again, she keeps Harry in the corner of her gaze. “Is this…” She swallows hard. “Does this have something to do with Brant calling?”

A harsh snort is all the response she gets. “Christ, no.  Trust me, nothing that prick can do has that much of an affect on me.” Even from behind his sunglasses, Y/N can tell that Harry is rolling his eyes. “Although I suppose it is a reminder of where you belong.”

A flash of irritation rips up Y/N’s spine. “A reminder of what?” She repeats, eyes narrowing.

“You heard me, Y/N, don’t make me say it again.” Harry taps a finger to the song, perfectly on the beat. They’re out of sync, Y/N realizes. Had they ever been in sync?

No, she decides.  They hadn’t.  She’d just been fooling herself.  Being in the car for five days with only Harry for company had deluded her, but soon she’d be with Jo, and a million other people, and when she’s not in stuck in Harry’s car, smelling Harry’s cologne, listening to Harry’s music, she’ll have a clear head.  She’ll be able to think straight.

“Fine.” Y/N crosses her arms firmly over her chest, leaning her head against the cool glass of the passenger window.  A sign welcoming them to the state of New York whizzes past. “I won’t make you say it again.  You don’t have to say anything.”

…

“So?  What do you think?”

Y/N steps over the threshold of the cozy cabin, analyzing every little detail of the room as quickly as she can.  The interior seems to be one open concept room, cleverly split up with small architectural dividers.  The living room and kitchen flowed into each other smoothly, with a kitchen island dividing the space.  To the left of the living room is a small reading nook, holding a comfortable looking wicker swing chair and a half-size bookshelf that seems to be well stocked. Separating the reading nook from the rest of the cabin is the staircase, which Y/N presumes leads up to the master bedroom and bathroom that’s lofted above on the halved second floor. Between the wall of windows giving a beautiful view of the forest, the fire quietly cracking in the living room, and the potted plants scattered around the cabin, Y/N has to admit that she thinks she could live in this space for the rest of her life.

“It’s beautiful, Jo.” She finally replies, setting down her suitcase and duffel bag as she continues to look around.  She walks to the living room first, brushing her fingers over the cable knit blanket that’s draped over the back of the comfortable looking couch. “Is this for you and Laure?”

“Nope.  It’s for me and you.” Jo replies, walking to the kitchen and opening the fridge.  She pulls out a bottle of rosé, motioning over her shoulder to the cupboard. “Grab a couple wine glasses, would you?”

Y/N crosses to the kitchen, searching through the cupboards until she finds the glasses.  Setting them down on the island, she gives Jo a confused look. “Me and you?”

Jo gives her a familiar grin as she uncorks the wine, and the sight of it lights a warm fire in Y/N’s chest.  It feels like home. “It’s tradition for the bride not to see the bride before the wedding, isn’t it?  So after the rehearsal dinner, Laure and I will say goodbye until the ceremony tomorrow, and you and I—” She fills Y/N’s glass liberally. “Will have one last night of single girl fun.  And then you can have the cabin to yourself tomorrow night, because I will be on my honeymoon, and, hopefully, getting laid.”

Y/N smiles back at her as she lifts her glass, clinking it against Jo’s. “Sounds like a plan.” After taking a long sip, Y/N leans her elbows on the counter, propping her head in her hands. “I can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow.  Married!”

“Yeah, well, that’s old news.” Jo waves her hand as she lowers her wine glass from her lips, her inquisitive eyes alight with mischief. “I’d rather know how the trip with Harry was. Are you two finally getting along? The last time I called, you actually sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”

Y/N pauses with her wine glass half lifted to her lips.  Part of her wants to tell Jo everything, because she always tells Jo everything. It feels wrong to have a secret from her.  But then again, she’s never had a reason to have a secret before.  Right now, however…the last thing Jo and Laure need the night before their wedding—three hours before the rehearsal dinner—is to be stressed because the maid of honour and the best man had a drunken one night stand in Cleveland, Ohio.  

“I wouldn’t say we’re getting along.” Y/N says diplomatically, taking a sip of wine between her words. “We’re…a bit better, I suppose.  But we’re not that close.”

“Really?” When Jo raises an eyebrow, Y/N almost swears that she can detect a hint of disappointment in her voice. “But Harry said—”

“He said what?” Y/N asks quickly, the diplomatic tone disappearing immediately.

Jo tugs on her bottom lip as she gives a small shrug of her shoulders. “Nothing, I guess.  I don’t know.  I overheard him and Laure talking last night, but I couldn’t really make much of it out.  It sounded like you two were at a bar.”

The new information makes Y/N pause.  Harry had called Laure while they were at the bar last night.  Harry had felt the need to call Laure while they were at the bar last night.  What had been so urgent, so pressing, that he needed to speak to her right then and there?

“A bar, yeah.” Y/N finally replies after a moment. “It was alright.  We just had a couple drinks to relax from being in the car.”

“Just drinks?  That’s all?  Nothing else?”

Y/N clears her throat, gulping down the rest of her wine before answering. “That’s it.  Nothing else.”

…

“Here you go, Miss Bride.” Y/N grins at Jo as she tops off her mimosa, fixing the tie of her pink silk robe as she settles back down in her chair. “Something to relax you, yeah?”

Jo glances up at Y/N, her pen pausing over the page of her notebook.  She’s careful when she moves her head, so as not to disturb the hairstylist that’s carefully curling her hair, but still manages to meet Y/N’s eye. “I’m relaxed.” She argues, but takes a sip of the drink nonetheless. “I just love mimosas.  You can’t blame me for that.”

Y/N gives a slight shrug as she brushes a strand of her own carefully styled hair over her shoulder. Jo, being Jo, had insisted on sleeping in as much as she could that morning, so when the hair and makeup lady had arrived two hours ago, Y/N had been the first one to get made over. Which, honestly, she quite enjoyed, but the real feat would be remaining picture perfect until the ceremony, which is still two hours away.

“Will you do something for me?” Jo asks suddenly, her pen still scratching over her notebook.  She finishes signing her name with a messy signature, waiting until the hairdresser has paused her movements to rip the page from the notebook and fold it up.  She quickly writes Laure’s name on the front and extends the note to Y/N. “Will you bring this to Laure?”

Although Y/N accepts the note from her automatically, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her voice. “This isn’t an explanation of why you’re leaving her at the altar, is it?”

Jo flips Y/N off with an elegantly painted fingernail. “No, you jerk.  We agreed to write letters to each other right before the wedding.  As a little keepsake.”

A sudden lump develops in Y/N’s throat as she turns the note over in her hands, her mind flickering back to the last time she’d read something Jo wrote for Laure.  How Harry’s voice had sounded reciting Laure’s words for Jo. “You two are sickeningly sweet, you know that?” Y/N finishes her mimosa before standing up, tightening her robe once again. “I’ll take it to her now. Where’s her cabin?”

“Just down the path towards the resort.  Take a left when you reach the arrow sign.” Jo instructs her, setting her notebook down beside her before relaxing back into her chair.  Her eyes close as the hairdresser continues styling her hair. “You’ll find it.”

Y/N nods, slipping on her scuffed up Vans before dashing outside.  When the slight chill in the morning air hits her, she pulls her silk dressing gown around her tighter, and debates whether or not she should grab a proper jacket.  She decides against it, however, and ignores the goosebumps popping up on her bare legs as she begins to walk down the path Jo mentioned.

It’s a quiet and calm morning, and Y/N can hear birds chirping and flittering through the pine trees around them.  The trees themselves add a wonderful scent to the air, in addition to the faint smell that indicates it may rain later.  Glancing up, Y/N can see that the sky is overcast, giving another indication of future weather patterns.  A small sigh escapes her.  A storm would be just the thing that’s needed today, she thinks wryly.  

When Y/N reaches the arrow sign, which points towards the lake, the main resort building, and the cabins, she takes a sharp left.  And practically slams into Harry’s chest.

On instinct, Harry’s strong hands grip her arms, steadying her as she stumbles back from him.  Y/N’s eyes widen as she registers who she almost walked into, and she can tell Harry is just realizing it’s her.  His grip on her tightens for just a moment before it releases, and he takes a step back from her, creating space between their bodies.

“Sorry.” Y/N says after a moment, clearing her throat. “I was just—”

“Yeah.” Harry holds up his hand, and for the first time Y/N realizes that he’s holding a note identical to hers. “You’re on messenger duty too, huh?”

Biting her lip, Y/N nods slowly, holding up her own note. “Mhmm.”

The two of them stare at each other for a moment, and Y/N doesn’t miss how Harry’s green irises pause during his scan of her bare legs.  Crossing her ankles together, Y/N lets her eyes wander too, admiring for a moment how Harry’s grey sweatpants cling to his hips.  But only for a moment.

“Well, here.” Y/N pushes the note towards him, taking the note that he trades her in return. “How’s Laure doing?”

Harry gives a half shrug, turning Jo’s note over and over in his fingers. “Pretty decent, except she won’t eat anything.  Says she’s too nervous.”

Y/N cracks a small smile at the image of Laure, someone who is usually so self assured and confident, being too nervous about anything. “Tell her she can’t have a drink until she eats.  That’s how I got some toast into Jo.”

“I’ll do that.” Harry says with a terse nod.  

A beat of silence falls between the two of them, the only sounds audible being the chirping of birds and the wind in the trees.  The latter sends a shiver through Y/N, and she wraps her arms around herself to rub her bare skin, trying to find a bit of warmth in the shade of the forest.

A crease appears between Harry’s brow as he registers the motion, and he quickly shrugs off his own jacket.  Before Y/N can refuse, he’s draping the fabric around her shoulders, careful not to touch any bare skin.

Although Y/N fixes the drape of the jacket, her mouth opens to protest. “Harry—”

“I should go.  I have to give this to Laure, and get her to eat something.” Harry’s voice is gruff as he takes a step back. “I suppose I’ll…see you at the wedding?”

Y/N nods slowly, her fingers still grazing over the hem of the jacket. “Yeah.” She should say more, she thinks.  She should voice her anger, or her hurt, or whatever the hell it is that’s curdling like a hot ball of lead inside her stomach, but she can’t think of the words. “Yeah, I—” I’m sorry.  I miss you. I wish I could take it back.  I wish I could do things over. “I’ll see you at the wedding.”

…

“Uh, hello.  Can everyone hear me?”

Y/N watches with expectant eyes as Harry leans forward over the podium, his pink lips brushing against the microphone for just a moment before he takes a step back.  He looks so different than the last time she’d seen him with a microphone, she thinks.  He’s dressed so much more formally, in a striking emerald suit that matches the colour palette of the wedding, along with Y/N’s dress.  His cheeks are flushed from champagne, his eyes bright, but there’s a hint of nerves under his thick accent.  

Harry raises his fist to his mouth, clearing his throat quietly as he unfolds a piece of paper and smooths it on the podium. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Harry Styles.  I have had the honour of being Laure’s best man today, as well as her best friend since we were teenagers.” Harry pauses his speech to smile at Laure, the fondness for the bride apparent in his eyes. “We’ve been through a lot together—I’ve watched her go through a lot, too—and she’s always come out on the other side better than ever.  An example of this is when she made the decision—after living in England her whole life, never leaving, living in the same small brownstone for eighteen years—to move to America for university.”

Y/N lifts her champagne to her lips, taking a small sip while keeping her eyes glued to Harry.  The more he talks, the more relaxed he appears, as he naturally falls into the role of a performer again.  Out of the corner of her eye, she can practically see him charming every woman in the room, and it takes all her concentration not to roll her eyes.

“She’d made the decision a bit impulsively, and—in true Laure fashion—stuck to it like the stubborn person she is.” Harry laughs lightly, shaking his head at the memory as Jo nods in agreement beside Y/N. “She was so certain that moving was what she wanted, so determined to do it—and then the night before her flight, she showed up at my house in tears, talking about how she couldn’t possibly go through with the move.  She couldn’t leave behind everything she’d known.” Glancing down at his notes for a moment, Harry takes a deep breath before continuing. “It freaked me out a bit, I won’t lie.  To see someone who’s usually so sure of themselves question such a big decision. But I assured her that everything would be fine, that moving forward was always scary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do.  Life always pushes us forward, whether we’re ready for it or not.  So Laure left, and a month later, I decided to go visit her in America, expecting to find her incredibly homesick, in tears, a mess.” A small smile begins to play at the corner of Harry’s lip. “Instead, I arrived to find her adjusted, happy, and about to go on a date with a girl she had met named Jo.”

A laugh ripples through the wedding guests, and Y/N can’t help but smile in spite of herself.  

“And I, uh…I was at a loss for words that day.” Harry’s eyes flicker to the head table, settling on the two brides with a happy smile, and yet…something in his eyes looks flatter, like he’s trapped in a deep thought. “I thought I was going to visit my friend, and comfort her, and instead I found her on a date, completely fine.  She didn’t need me to comfort her.  She was—and still is—so incredibly resilient. She always has been.”

Harry’s eyes travel again, but this time, they settle on Y/N.  She shifts in her seat as he looks her over, his eyes phasing emotions again while his tongue swipes over his lips quickly. “So anyways—” Harry quickly looks away when he catches Y/N’s eye, turning his attention back to the audience of wedding guests. “I suppose I’m the one to thank for this marriage, because if I hadn’t pushed Laure to come to America, she would never have met Jo.” An easygoing smile pulls at his pink lips as the crowd laughs lightly. “And now, Laure…you’re at that same place again.  A new beginning.  Except this time, you’re not alone.  You managed to find something that most of us…” Harry hesitates again. “Most of us spend our entire lives searching for, and when we find it, we manage to f—screw it up.” His eyes flicker to Laure’s grandmother when he catches the curse word, and Y/N hides a small laugh behind her champagne glass. “But you didn’t. You and Jo…you’re lucky.  You figured out what you wanted, and you didn’t let anything—fear, anxiety, or your…your own pride—” Harry swallows hard, his eyes flickering to Y/N once more, and the glance makes her skin burn beneath her dress. “—stop you.  You’re both an inspiration to all of us.  I love you two.  To Jo and Laure!”

Y/N murmurs the toast with the rest of the crowd, raising her glass of champagne and draining it as her head spins with Harry’s words.  A waiter walks by and quickly refills the glass, grazing by Harry as he makes his way back to his seat on Laure’s right side.  Y/N barely gives herself a moment to catch his unreadable emerald eyes before she stands, carefully picking up the hem of her dress as she walks to the podium. It’s her turn now.

Stepping up to the microphone, Y/N clears her throat, resting her free hand against the wood to steady herself. “Thank you, Harry, that was…lovely.” Y/N begins, allowing herself one more stolen look at him.  His brow is furrowed, hands folded together over the cream tablecloth as his eyes focus on her.

“My name is Y/N, and I’m the maid of honour.  Jo and I have been best friends since the first day of kindergarten, when she punched a boy in the nose for me, which, funnily enough, wasn’t the last time she’d have to do that.” A laugh rolls through the room, and Y/N gives an endeared look to Jo’s sheepish grin before turning to face the wedding guests again. “I’ve had the good fortune of having her on my side from day one, and…I know just how lucky that makes me.  There’s so many times where I’d…I wouldn’t have been able to handle what life threw at me if I didn’t have Jo with me.  She’s kind, and compassionate, and fiery, and just…the very best person I know. And if you know her, then I’m sure you’d agree.”

Y/N takes a moment to breathe, her parched tongue swiping quickly over her lips. “I’ve, um, I’ve never been a perfect person.  I’ve never been very good at…articulating what I feel, or—or making a hard choice. I’ve always followed a safer path, out of…fear, I suppose.” Not for the first time since she began talking, Y/N’s eyes travel to Harry.  He still has the same stoic expression over his features, but his eyes…she can tell he’s hanging on every word she’s saying, and is analyzing every syllable.

“But Jo has never done that.” Y/N continues, shaking her gaze from Harry to settle on her best friend. “Even when she’s been afraid, she’s pushed forward, usually dragging me along with her.  And it’s a good thing she has, because I wouldn’t have half the stories I have now if not for her.” Y/N cracks a smile. “But she just—when Jo loves you, you know it. She never hesitates to tell anyone. She never worries about it being too much.  She has the biggest heart, and if you’re lucky—really lucky—she’ll keep you inside it. And I used to worry about her, because in my mind, that was dangerous.  Being so open was so terrifying to me, I was certain that it would backfire for Jo.  And then she met Laure.”

Although it’s a struggle, Y/N manages to train her eyes on Laure without letting them travel to Harry. “Laure and Jo may seem different on the surface, but they both share giant hearts. And their differences balance each other out so perfectly.  You two—I never really believed in soul mates until I saw the two of you together.” Y/N admits, biting down hard on her lip when she catches Harry shifting in his chair from the corner of her eye. “But the way you two know each other, and speak to each other, and love each other…anyone who sees it can’t help but know that you’re meant for each other.  That you’ve been meant for each other since the beginning of time. Every choice you made, every path you took—all of it led you two to each other, because that’s what was destined to happen.  You—” Y/N’s voice catches in her throat, and she takes a moment to compose herself before speaking again. “You’re going to be happy together, because you were meant to be.  It’s as simple as that.”

Y/N knows that she can’t say anything else without beginning to unravel, so she simply raises her champagne glass in the air, deciding it’s best to leave it at that. “To Jo and Laure.”

Above the echoes of the wedding guests, Y/N can hear Harry’s unmistakable voice.

…

“‘She’s like the wind…through my tree’…”

With her champagne glass raised to her lips, Y/N pensively watches as Jo and Laure turn to the music in each other’s arms, holding one another close as the voice of Patrick Swayze drifts through the speakers.  When the pair had originally told Y/N that they wanted to dance to a song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack for their first dance, Y/N had laughed at the choice.  Now, however, as she watches Laure brush back a strand of hair from Jo’s face, her lips drifting down to whisper something in her new wife’s ear, Y/N has to admit that the song is the perfect choice for them.

“They look happy, don’t they?”

Y/N recognizes Harry’s voice, not needing to turn her head away from the couple on the dance floor to know that he’s moved from his chair three seats down.  Although the feeling of his warm breath on her neck is enough to make her shudder, as well as bring back memories of the nights they spent together, Y/N does her best to keep herself composed.

“They do.” She agrees after a moment, setting her fluted glass down on the table.  She keeps her fingers around the base, gently gliding them over the smooth crystal absentmindedly as she finally turns her head just enough to catch a sight of Harry.

He’s moved himself to Jo’s chair, with one hand braced against the table and one hand lightly settled on the back of Y/N’s seat.  He removed his suit jacket after his speech, but his waist coat is still buttoned properly, despite the sleeves of his dress shirt now being rolled to his elbows, exposing his tattoos.  His face is just as pensive as it’s been all day, but there’s some sort of change that Y/N can’t quite put a finger on.  There’s less of a guard in his emerald eyes, she thinks, before turning her attention back to the dance floor.

“Do you…” Harry licks his lips once, swiping a hand through his carefully styled curls before brushing over the back of his neck. “Would you like to dance?  With me?”

Y/N’s movements against the crystal flute pause.  That question was the last thing she expected him to ask. “I…” Clearing her throat, she keeps her eyes focused on the swaying of Jo and Laure. “I don’t know.”

A vibration on the back of Y/N’s chair lets her know that Harry’s tapping his fingers against it, the pattern familiar after watching him play the same rhythm on the steering wheel for five days. “You don’t have to, so—don’t feel like you have to say yes.  But I just…I don’t know.  I thought it would be nice.”

Yes, Y/N thinks wistfully, pursing her lips slightly at the nervous tone in Harry’s voice.  It would be nice.  To be wrapped in his arms again, his body close enough that she can feel the pounding of his heart beneath his formal clothing.  To feel his calloused hands within her own again, and resting on her waist, pulling her closer to himself with every passing moment…

“It…” Y/N glances down for a moment, fixing a crease in her dress with careful attentiveness. “It would be nice, yeah.  Until we try ripping each other’s throats out in the middle of the wedding.”

The joke is only half a joke, and Harry’s laugh is only half in amusement. “I didn’t really plan on that.”

“Well, it seems that things we don’t plan on keep happening, so…” As the music begins to fade out, Y/N finally turns her head to look at Harry straight on. “That’s not really a reassuring statement.”

A flicker of irritation flits through Harry’s eyes, a sight that’s become familiar in all her years of knowing him. “It was a simple question, Y/N.  Do you want to dance or not?”

As Y/N’s own irritation escalates, she knows that she should say no.  The best thing for her to do right now would be to distance herself from Harry, to get some space to clear her head, and to keep herself from making a scene.  Whatever there is to talk about—if there even is something they need to talk about—can be done at a later date, preferably not in the middle of a wedding.  And yet—

“Fine.” Y/N finished off her champagne glass, setting it back down on the table gingerly as a new song begins to drift through the speakers.  “Let’s go.”

Harry stands from his seat first, extending a hand to Y/N to help her up.  Although she’s wary, she takes it, the sensation of his cool rings against her own fingers growing more and more familiar with each moment she spends touching them.  

A few more couples have joined Jo and Laure on the dance floor now, and Y/N and Harry fit right in as he leads her to the center, keeping her hand held firmly in his own as his free hand finds her waist.  Y/N rests her own hand on his shoulder, gripping his sturdy frame carefully.

“‘Is love so fragile…and the heart so hollow’…”

The song, Y/N realizes, doing her best to focus on anything but the way Harry’s gaze is locked onto her with a frightening intensity, is one that she’s heard a few times over their road trip together.  The beat of the song is as familiar as a memory as the two of them sway to it, their motions careful and controlled.

“‘You’re saying I’m fragile; I try not to be…I search only for something I can’t see’…”

Harry’s hand on her waist, Y/N can’t help but notice, is so much more unsure than it was a few nights ago, when he pulled her close on top of the bar.  When he guided her movements in a way that was so much more frenzied than he’s doing now, and in a way that she misses.  She’s missed it, that breathless feeling.  The feeling of not knowing what’s coming next, and being enthralled by the unknown of it all.

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today…give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

The corner of Harry’s lips quirking up ever so slightly lets Y/N know that he’s listening just as intently to the lyrics as she is, and has the same events and memories floating through his head.  His hand begins to get braver, tightening his grasp on her as his hand begins to rub gently over her hip.

“Harry…” His name slips from Y/N’s lips involuntarily as she meets his jade eyes in question.  From the corner of her eye, she can see Laure and Jo watching the two of them as they dance, whispering into each other’s ears like girls gossiping in a school hallway. “What—?”

“Sh.” The sound is soft as it falls past Harry’s red lips, the crease between his brow slackening slightly as he sighs. “Just…don’t speak.  Not right now.”

“‘You in the moonlight…with your sleepy eyes…could you ever love a man like me’…”

The request is easy enough, but Y/N can’t make herself listen to it as she cocks her head to the side, the furrow of her own brow matching Harry’s. “Why?”

“‘And you were right…when I walked into your house…I knew I’d never want to leave’…”

The breath that Harry sucks in is mostly taken through his teeth, his lips pursing immediately after as he contemplates his answer. “I just want to…remember this moment. Properly remember it, before tonight ends, and we…”

“‘Sometimes I’m a strong man…sometimes cold and scared’…”

“…We go our separate ways.” Harry finally finishes, his eyes shifting to the floor as he pulls Y/N even closer to his chest.  Her elbow is completely bent to her body as her fingers drift further from his shoulder, moving closer to where the slope of his neck begins.

Although the explanation makes sense, the thought of going a separate way from Harry catches Y/N’s breath in her throat, so much so that she can barely choke out a reply. “Okay.” She manages, the lump in her throat growing with every passing second.

“‘Lovers forever face to face…my city your mountains…stay with me stay’…”

Eyes drifting closed of their own accord, Y/N leans her head forward, settling her cheek into the curve of Harry’s shoulder.  The smell of his cologne lingers in the fabric of his emerald waistcoat, intoxicating her further with every breath she takes.

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today’…”

Something warm and soft presses against the top of Y/N’s head, and she knows that it’s Harry’s own cheek resting against her.  A gentle sigh falls from his mouth, and Y/N feels every moment of it, from the rise and fall of his chest against hers to the breath of air that blows slowly from his lips.  She memorizes the motions, something for her to play in her head again later when she’s alone on a plane back to L.A., where her regular life is waiting for her. Where Brant is waiting for her.

“‘Give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

Y/N quickly lifts a finger to her eye, wiping away the moisture that’s pooling on her lash line before returning her grip to Harry’s shoulder. “If I said…” She hesitates, taking the time to choose her words carefully.  She needs to choose them carefully. “If I said that I loved every moment of the road trip…would you believe me?”

“‘Lovers forever face to face…my city your mountains…stay with me stay’…”

Harry squeezes her hand in his own, his entire body tightening in response to her words, and for a moment, Y/N fears that she’s overstepped.  An apology is already forming in her mouth, about to spill from her tongue, when Harry’s response cuts her off, his voice hesitant and anxious and so quiet that she almost can’t make out the words.

“If I said that I loved every moment I’ve ever spent with you, and not just these last five days, would you believe me?”

“‘I need you to love me…I need you today’…”

Y/N’s eyes snap open, her head quickly lifting from Harry’s shoulder to look at him with wide and astonished eyes.  Although the struggle is written clearly upon his face, he doesn’t shy his eyes away from hers, and instead holds her gaze as the voice of Stevie Nicks continues to croon over the speakers.

“‘Give to me your leather…take from me my lace’…”

As the music fades out, another song begins to fade in, increasing the tempo and causing the other couples around them to break apart and mill around the dance floor.  Only Y/N and Harry stay pressed together, stuck in a bubble of all their own, frozen in a moment of change, and unable to move forward or back in the same way they once had.

Over the fabric of her dress, Y/N can feel Harry’s thumb brushing against her hip, sending electrifying pulses throughout her body.  A loose curl has fallen from his styled hair into the path of his eyes, dusting over his eyelashes lightly as he blinks.  Did she believe him, she wonders?  Could she believe him?

“Can we…” Her mouth is dry when she tries to respond, and she licks her lips quickly, noticing how Harry’s eyes flicker to follow the motion. “Can we discuss this after the wedding? I just—I don’t want to take attention away from Jo and Laure—”

“Yeah.” Harry nods roughly, his hand squeezing hers one last time before he slowly drops it, stepping back from her with great care.  Y/N has to bite her tongue to stop herself from whining in protest.

“Yeah.” Harry repeats the word as he fixes his hair, his eyes drifting from hers. “We can discuss it later.”

…

Later, after Jo and Laure cut the cake, after each of them danced with their parents; later, after the staff members began to clear the plates from every table, after everyone waved goodbye to Jo and Laure as their car drove off to the honeymoon cottage snuggled further up the mountain side; later, after guests began to depart in their own cars; later, after Harry snagged a bottle of merlot from the kitchen, after Y/N slipped off her heels during the walk back to her cabin, the feeling of the ground beneath her feet oddly comforting; later, after Y/N opened the door, allowing Harry to step in first before following…

Later is each of them standing in the kitchen, still in their formal clothes, more disheveled than they were at the start of the day, as Y/N opens the cupboard and reaches for the two largest wine glasses she can find.

“Here.” She sets them down on the counter, allowing Harry to fill them to the brim with the crimson liquid. He pushes a nearly full glass towards her before taking the other in his hand, each of them bringing the glasses to their lips for a long drink.

Harry is nervous, and Y/N can tell.  She’s gotten a bit better at reading him over their journey together, and she can see the anxiety that’s running through him in his body language.  However, although the tapping of his fingers, the rubbing of his lips, and the crease between his brow is a major indication, she knows the real reason she’s aware of Harry’s nerves is because she’s hyper aware of her own.

“You, uh—” Harry clears his throat quietly, the action half reflex, half habit. “You looked really pretty today.  Beautiful, actually.”

A light flush heats Y/N’s cheeks, both from the wine and his compliment. “Thank you.” She murmurs, glancing down at her forest coloured dress. “I’m just glad the dress survived the car.”

A chuckle falls from Harry’s lips as he lifts his wine glass again. “Yeah.  A real miracle, huh?”

Y/N taps her fingers anxiously against the kitchen island, the coolness of the countertop a nice contrast to her heated skin. “Well, considering all the things that didn’t survive…” She trails off, watching as Harry’s face falls when the meaning of her words washes over him.

Still, Harry steels his shoulders, resolve painting itself over his pained features. “You mean us, yeah?” His tone is blunt and to the point. “After we…?”

“I just—what the fuck was that, Harry?” Y/N asks, her voice every bit as exasperated and exhausted as she feels. “I thought we—and then you—and now, saying you—you’ve always…?”

“I know I’ve been—I know I fucked up.” Harry drops his head, shame clear in his voice as he twists a ring around one of his fingers. “I know that, Y/N.  I’m so sorry—”

“I’m just so confused, Harry.  Really, I—” The words spill out of her now, faster than they ever have. “I know we were drunk when we fucked, but I…I liked it.  And the next morning felt so good, and so right, and then Brant called, and it was like…a switch flipped inside you.  And you called us a mistake.  So I just—I don’t understand how you could say that less than forty-eight hours ago, and then tell me you’ve always loved being around me tonight.”

Harry’s tongue swipes over his lips once before he inhales slowly, collecting and preparing himself for the conversation. “I’m sorry.” He says lowly, his accent thicker with remorse. “I didn’t want to—I felt like it was a mistake, but not because of anything you did.  It was because I knew that I had feelings for you, and I knew that you didn’t have feelings for me.”

The admission of his feelings was clear in his speech before he actually spoke the words, but the verbal acknowledgement of them still leaves an ache in Y/N’s chest as she refutes the statement. “You didn’t know that!” She says hotly, her hand tightening around her glass with every breath. “You wouldn’t let us talk about it, so how could you know?”

“Because Brant called!” While Harry’s voice doesn’t raise in volume, it does in intensity. “Brant called, and asked you to dinner, and you said yes!”

“What, did you want me to break things off with him right then and there?  Over the phone?” Y/N demands, an incredulous look on her face as she appraises Harry. “I’m not a bitch, Harry.  That would be heartless, and I’m not—I don’t want to hurt anyone. And maybe, maybe, it would be different if I felt anything for Brant, anything that was even a fraction of what I’ve felt for you, the good and the bad, but I don’t!”

Y/N’s words hang heavy in the air between them, flickering through the room like the dim light of the light fixture above them.  There’s just enough light, however, that she can watch as her words roll over Harry, sinking into every pore of his body until all the defiance rolls out of him.

“What—” His voice cracks with emotion, and he takes a moment to compose himself before he tries again. “What do you feel for me?”

Turning her eyes down to her wine, she raises the glass to her lips, draining more than half of it in one swift motion.  When she speaks again, her voice is slick with the liquor. “What does it matter?” She asks softly. “If you couldn’t believe it enough to not try to push me away the moment I let myself be vulnerable?”

“It wasn’t—your vulnerability wasn’t apparent to me.” Harry lifts the wine bottle automatically, refilling Y/N’s glass with merlot. “It was mine that scared me.  Brant called, and you spoke to him, and I felt like—it was like that first date all over again, when you gave your attention to that guy from your class.  I felt…” Staring into his own wine, Harry mulls over his words as if the liquor can reveal the perfect thing to say. “I felt like a jealous teenager again, like a proper idiot.  And I—you’ve always been so much more put together than me, and refined, and steady, and Brant clearly fits into your world neatly, so I—”

“Stop fucking doing that.” Y/N’s voice is as sharp as ice, as harsh as frostbite. “How many times can we prove to each other that we’re more than our projections of the last seven years?  How many times until it sticks?”

Harry studies Y/N’s face, his emerald eyes scanning over every slope and curve of her expression before he replies. “I didn’t think you felt anything for me.  I’m still not…sure…”

“Harry, I feel—I feel everything with you.” Y/N’s voice drops to a hushed whisper, as if what she’s admitting is top secret. “I feel like I can be myself.  I can be as stupid or serious as I need to be, and you’ll just…accept it.  The only person I’ve ever felt that with before is Jo.  No one else.  And it—it’s terrifying, but good, and then you pushed me away again, and that fucking hurt.  You have the ability to hurt me now, and the moment you got it, you did.”

“I didn’t know.” Harry mumbles the words, rubbing his hand over his flushed cheeks slowly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.  If I’d known—”

“But you didn’t even ask. You can’t do that, okay?” When Y/N looks up at him, she can see the vulnerability on her face reflected in Harry’s eyes. “Please.  I don’t care if you get jealous, or angry, or—or anything else that’s as irritating as I know you can be—” A soft snort echoes from Harry. “Just be honest with me. Tell me.  Ask me.”

“What about…” Harry reaches across the kitchen island, taking Y/N’s hand in his own and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “What I said to you earlier?  I told you how I felt.   And I asked what you feel for me.  Can you be honest with me about that?”

“I can.” Y/N says carefully, pursing her lips for a moment. “I…I’m not sure if I’m ready to say something as…decisive as you do.  I’ve never really—I know that I feel…more intensely for you than I ever have for anyone else.  I just don’t know…how intense, or…I can’t describe it.”

“Maybe I can help.” Harry tugs gently on Y/N’s arm, bringing her around the kitchen island to his side of the room.  With his hand still holding hers, he leads her to the couch, sitting down and pulling her with him.  He’s mindful of the skirt of her dress, fixing it carefully so that it doesn’t get caught beneath her. “To me, love is…wanting to be near the other person. Do you want to be near me?”

Y/N nods softly. “I do.” She whispers into the darkness, the cabin quiet save for their breathing and the chirping of crickets outside.

“And what about…” Harry lifts a hand to caress her face, his calloused fingers gentle against her warm skin as he brushes over her cheekbone. “This?  Do you like being touched by me?”

Y/N’s skin burns beneath his touch. “I do.  A lot, actually.”

“And even when we were arguing…when we weren’t speaking to each other, and wouldn’t look at each other…” Harry worries his bottom lip between his teeth, the motion staining his lips an even darker pink than they were before. “Did you want me as badly as I wanted you?”

Harry’s other hand begins to rub Y/N’s thigh over her dress, still heating her skin even with the layers of fabric preventing actual contact.  Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the sensation. “Yes.” She breathes, leaning her head against the back of the couch. “I did.  I still do.”

“Obviously, I…I’d like it if you could know exactly how you feel, but…” Harry shrugs slightly, his hand drifting down to rest on the side of Y/N’s neck. “I know that it’s different for you.  You’re not used to it.  You don’t have to put a label on it, yeah?  I just want you to be comfortable with me.  As long as you’re mine, you can take as long as you need to express how you feel.”

Relief spreads through Y/N’s body at Harry’s words.  The freedom to take her time, to feel like she doesn’t need to have all the answers right away, is something that none of her past partners have ever offered her, and a familiar sensation begins to curl itself around Y/N’s core as Harry caresses her neck. “Yours?” She repeats slowly, her senses feeling like they’re processing through molasses. “Am I yours?”

“I’d like you to be.” The corner of Harry’s pink lip pulls up, but there’s an air of anxiety in his words. “Are you?”

The fabric of her dress swishes beneath Y/N as she pulls herself into Harry’s, managing to settle one knee of either side of him beneath the layers of tulle. “I am.” She murmurs, her hands wrapping themselves around his sturdy shoulders.  Their noses bump together as she moves closer, breath mingling in the small space between their lips. “I’ll be yours.”

Harry’s breath washes over her as he sighs gently, the fragrance of merlot and champagne settling on the back of her tongue. “Laure and Jo will be happy.”

A small laugh, mostly an exhale of breath more than anything else, sounds from Y/N as she twists the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck between her fingers. “Mmm.  Probably because they won’t have to break up any more fights.”

“No, no, we’ll still fight. It keeps things interesting.” Harry’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, his nose brushing over Y/N’s once more as he tilts his head to the side. “We’ll just have a lot more fun when we make up with each other.”

Harry’s fingers find the bare expanse of Y/N’s back between the straps of her dress, gliding his fingertips over her warm skin.  The sensation of his cool touch against her sends a shiver up her spine, and she twists herself closer to him in return, but keeps the inch gap between their lips. There’s an anticipation between them, but also a stubbornness.  A refusal to be the first one to break.

“A lot more fun?” Y/N questions, massaging the tips of her fingers into Harry’s scalp.  She lets her painted nails scratch along him gently, just enough to make his eyelids flutter at the sensation. “What exactly do you mean?”

“I could tell you…” Harry purrs his words, pressing his head back into the palm of her hand. “Or I could show you.  It’s up to you.”

His words offer Y/N a choice.  Will she continue to push him?  Or will she give in?

When her hands retreat from his hair, Harry whines quietly, his half lidded eyes staring up at her in confusion.  Y/N braces herself against his shoulders as she carefully removes herself from his lap, picking up the fabric of her dress with one hand while grabbing the half empty bottle of wine with the other.

Harry watches as she takes a step backwards, her eyes glued to his as she appraises him.  As comfortable—and as attractive—as he looks on the couch with his emerald slack covered legs spread, sleeves half rolled up, chest heaving from their close contact, Y/N needs him somewhere else.

Harry’s tongue glides slowly over his parted lips as Y/N raises the bottle of wine to her mouth, taking a small sip before turning on her heel and walking to the staircase that leads up to the master bedroom of the cabin.  She only gets two steps up the stairs before she feels Harry’s hot breath on the back of her neck, his back and arms bracing against her as she climbs slowly.  With one hand still holding her dress out of her way, Y/N steps over the summit of the stairs, not waiting for Harry before she makes her way to the bedroom.

The bedroom itself has been tidied by the hotel staff since Y/N last saw it, and she’s never been more thankful for it; she and Jo had left it in a mess in their efforts to get ready that morning.  Instead, the staff have perfectly made the bed, complete with all the decorative pillows that Y/N had tossed onto the floor the night before, set fresh candles on the night tables and dresser, and left carefully rolled white towels on the edge of the bed.

A pair of tattooed arms wrap around Y/N’s waist, and a smile lights up her face as she falls back into Harry’s strong chest. “Your room is lovely.  Much nicer than those motels.” He rasps in her ear, teeth just barely grazing her lobe as he speaks. “Do you have a lighter for the candles?”

“You want to light candles?” Y/N raises an eyebrow as she drops her dress from her hand in order to trail her fingers over Harry’s wrist. “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

Pressing a light kiss to her neck, Harry shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.” He murmurs. “We were so rushed last time.  I want to enjoy tonight.”

A smile creeps over Y/N’s face as she carefully unlaces Harry’s hands from her waist. “The lighter is in the bedside table, on the left.”

As Harry turns his attention to searching through the drawer, Y/N sets the wine down on the dresser, appraising her reflection in the mirror propped on top of it.  She begins to unpin the hair that had been carefully styled that morning, her hair only a fraction as put together as it had been. Setting the pins down on the wood surface in front of her, she takes her time taking off her earrings and bracelets, her eyes following Harry’s movements in the mirror.

The broad expanse of his back is still covered by his green waistcoat, rumpled as it stretches over the slope of his body.  With each movement, a new flicker of candlelight begins to glow in front of him, illuminating the silhouette of his body with soft flickers of orange and yellow.

“You’re a bit of a romantic, aren’t you?” The question slips from Y/N’s lips before she’s turned around completely to watch Harry’s actions without the aid of the mirror. “You like this sort of thing—the candles, the cabin in the forest, coming from a wedding…”

Harry’s body shakes as a laugh rolls through him, his side profile barely visible as he turns to light another candle next to the bed. “I suppose I am, yeah.  Are you not?”

Y/N gives half a shrug, tucking her now loose hair behind her ears as best she can. “I don’t know. I’ve never really considered myself one…never saw the point in grand gestures.  They’re not very realistic.”

“They don’t have to be realistic.  That’s why it’s a grand gesture.” Harry says easily, sauntering towards her with a dimpled grin on his face.  He reaches carefully behind Y/N, his thumb flicking the lighter to spark as he tilts the candle towards the flame. “And I’d hardly call candles a grand gesture. Haven’t you ever been properly romanced?”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she contemplates the question. “Not…really? I mean, there’s been a few things, but nothing…I don’t know.  We were always busy—”

“You can always make time for someone if you want to.” Harry sets the lit candle back down on the dresser, repeating the motion with two more before setting the lighter down as well. “Hasn’t Brant ever—well, I know he hasn’t, actually—” A snort leaves Harry’s mouth as he begins to run his hands over Y/N’s bare shoulders, massaging the skin gently. “Haven’t any of your exes asked you what you wanted, or…done something spontaneous for you, like a surprise gift, or trip, or…?”

Harry trails off as he registers the expression on Y/N’s face, and feels the tensing of her shoulders beneath his hands. “Um, not really.” She says, doing her best to keep her tone light. “We were always very…scheduled.  A surprise trip wasn’t really feasible.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth tugs down into a frown, his hands continuing to work over the knots in Y/N’s shoulders as he turns her around.  He presses himself behind her, moving her hair to one side of her neck before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her spine. “The more we speak, the more I see why you’re so guarded, love.” He murmurs, his tone carefully controlled. “You don’t need to be like that with me.  If you’re…afraid of what I’ll think, or…you know I tease you, but you’re always fine with me.  We can be serious—”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head adamantly, glancing at Harry over the curve of her own shoulder as she rests one hand over his own. “I don’t want to be serious.  I’m so sick of being serious.” She maneuvers Harry’s hand to her back as she speaks, guiding his fingers until they find the zipper of her dress. “I like that you tease me, and aren’t afraid to irritate me, and how you care enough to listen to what I say…”

The sound of her zipper slowly being tugged down pricks Y/N’s ears, and she watches Harry’s movement in the mirror.  There’s a clear look of concentration painted onto his expression as he helps remove her dress, but the moment he catches her eye, he locks into her gaze.  As he finishes pulling down the zipper, he keeps his emerald eyes glued to hers in the reflective surface, his stare becoming more and more hypnotic with every passing second.

“So what you’re saying is…” Harry’s lips brush against her ear as he leans closer to her, pressing a sensual kiss right over her pulse point. “You want me to romance you, but still annoy the shit out of you?”

Although it’s breathless, the sound that leaves Y/N’s mouth is unmistakably a laugh as Harry begins to trail kisses down her neck, slipping the strap of her dress down her shoulder. “Yes. It’s oddly endearing.”

“Oddly endearing is my middle name.” Harry’s laugh matches hers as his hands continue their task of removing her clothing.  Once Y/N’s straps are free of her shoulders, Harry helps her step out of the hunter green dress, carefully maneuvering the full skirt to the corner chair without creasing it.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty dress, now would—” Harry freezes mid sentence as he turns back around, his mouth falling slack as if seeing Y/N for the first time.

Despite having been naked and underneath his body less than forty eight hours ago, Y/N crosses her arms over her body.  The black teddy bodysuit she’d purchased to wear under her bridesmaid dress had, at the time of purchase, been more for practicality than anything.  The underwire of the strapless bra supported by the corseted middle was comfortable enough to keep her properly situated in her dress without a wardrobe malfunction, as well as serving as a barrier between Y/N’s sensitive skin and the stitched seams of the gown.  It’s not until this moment, with Harry staring at her with a hungry stupor in his eyes, does Y/N realize how racy the undergarment is.

“What?” She says after a moment, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice. “I—it’s not like you haven’t seen me before.”

The nerves woven into her tone are enough to snap Harry from his thoughts. “This is…different.” He approaches her again, his steps slow and measured as he lays a hand on her lace covered side. “I was pissed last time I had you…didn’t get to properly take in the sight of you…” Harry scratches his nails over one of the mesh panels, his jade eyes darkening another shade once more.

“I didn’t get to enjoy you, either.  And yet you’re still fully clothed.” Y/N begins to fiddle with the buttons of Harry’s emerald waistcoat, working them open one by one as she forces herself to steady her breathing. “That’s not very fair, is it?”

“I suppose it’s not. Not fair at all.” Harry allows her to pull his waistcoat from his body, and it’s not until Y/N reaches the third button of his button down shirt that she realizes how much he’s enjoying her undressing him.

Every breath that Harry takes is ragged and shallow, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself controlled as Y/N’s fingers trail down the exposed skin of his chest.  The sight of Harry’s throat tightening as her nails scrape his skin is too much for her to resist, and she quickly attaches her lips to the base of his neck as she pulls the now unbuttoned shirt from his body.

Swiping her tongue over the new mark at the base of his throat, Y/N manages to pull a moan from Harry, and her lips pull back into a small smile against his hot skin at the sound. “You sound really nice when you do that.” She murmurs, her hand trailing down to his belt as she speaks.

She can feel Harry swallow again, and when he replies, his voice is as low as she’s ever heard it. “Then you’ll have to make me do it more, won’t you, pet?” His eyes are blown darker with lust as he grips Y/N’s hips tight, pressing the pads of his fingers into her flesh. “Are you going to give me moans that are just as pretty?  Or am I going to have to pull them from your stubborn little mouth?”  

Y/N’s breath hitches in her chest at his dominant tone, her mouth falling open in a gasp against Harry’s collar bones.  She can feel the vibrations of his laugh in her lips, the tingle not unlike the burning she feels in her core, and Harry’s hand travels from her hips to her chin as the burning increases.

“Cat got your tongue, hm?” Harry grips Y/N’s chin between his thumb and forefinger as she fumbles with his belt, the action clumsier without her looking at her movements. “Don’t get all shy now, m’love.  It’s just me. We’ve been here before.”

Pulling his belt from his dress pants, Y/N tosses it to the side, her fingers resting on the warm skin of Harry’s abdomen. “I know.  It just feels different now, that’s all.  After everything we said, and…” Her eyes are unable to hold his as she drifts off, and she drops her gaze to his swallow tattoos as her cheeks redden.

A gentle tap on her chin brings her eyes back to meet Harry’s intense gaze. “I know it feels different, but that’s not bad.” Harry’s voice softens as his thumb begins to stroke over her skin, the motion slow and gentle. “It can be really good, actually. I told you, I can properly enjoy you now.  If you’ll let me, that is.  It’s up to you.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip as she reaches behind her back.  Her fingers quickly find the laces at the back of the garment, and she pulls the tie undone slowly, making sure to keep her eyes locked with Harry’s the entire time. “I want that.  I want you, Harry.  I want…all of you.”

She barely has her laces undone before Harry is grasping at her hips, pulling her body tight against his again for another desperate kiss.  His lips glide between hers smoothly, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle before he lets his teeth nip at her bottom lip, tugging at the flesh in a hungry way.  With her lingerie hanging loosely off her body, Harry easily yanks the material down her body, fully exposing Y/N’s breasts and stomach.  

The sight of her exposed skin is enough to grab Harry’s attention from the removal of clothing, and he leaves the lace bodysuit hanging at her hips as his kisses begin to travel down her jaw, her neck, her collar bones, to her breasts.  A breathless gasp falls from Y/N’s mouth as Harry’s open mouthed kisses become wetter and longer, until his hot mouth is wrapped around her stiff nipple.

“Harry—” Y/N tangles a hand in his already ruined curls, yanking hard at his hair as his teeth scrape against her sensitive skin. “God, be careful—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry murmurs the phrase against her breast, barely pulling his mouth off enough to speak.  His eyes, although half lidded with lust, flicker up to her with a playful look. “Y’really want me to be careful, pet?  Or do you want me to devour you?”

His words send another flood of heat to her core, and it takes all of Y/N’s focus to keep herself standing upright. “Shut up.” She mutters, voice pitched higher than normal as she tugs on Harry’s hair again, half in need and half to solicit a groan from him.

The groan he emits, however, just adds more sensation to his teasing as the sound causes a vibration against her nipple, and Y/N barely manages to pull Harry away from her before her knees buckle.

Harry, however, wastes no time, and it’s only the moment after Y/N pulls him off of her that he’s kissing her again, teeth clacking against teeth as he backs her up towards the bed.  When the back of her legs hits the mattress, Y/N stumbles back, but Harry catches her in time to lower her gently to the bed.

There’s an unmistakable tenderness in the movement, and the action catches Y/N right in the throat. “Thought you weren’t being careful?” Despite her ribbing tone, Y/N’s voice is breathless as she settles back into the soft sheets. “Isn’t that what you just said, pet?”

A growl rips from the back of Harry’s throat as he cages himself over her shaking body, his mouth already reattached to her chest to leave a fresh trail of bruises from her sternum to her abdomen. “You’re such a bloody minx, y’know that?”

Although she opens her mouth to reply, the only sound that leaves Y/N’s lips is a gasp as Harry quickly lifts her hips to pull her teddy completely off, tossing it to the side without so much as a glance.  He leaves one last bite on her lower abdomen, just hard enough to leave an imprint of his mouth, before soothing the mark with a wet swipe of his tongue over the red skin.

“Knees up, minx.” Harry’s accent is thick, dripping from his voice like honey as his hands rub her lower calves, helping to push them up on the bed until Y/N’s legs are bent and spread open in a position he likes.  The way that Harry’s tongue swipes over his lips tells Y/N of his intentions right away, and she braces herself on her elbows on the bed before pulling back.

Harry, who had been leaving open mouthed kisses along Y/N’s knees, makes a disgruntled sound at the loss of contact. “Where do y’think you’re going?” He asks in frustration, pulling himself onto the bed and crawling after her.  Gripping one of her ankles, he spreads her open again, resuming the path his mouth had been making to her core a moment ago. “Trying to get away from me?”

A breathless laugh falls from Y/N’s mouth. “More like trying to get comfortable.  It’s been so long since I’ve had someone…” Despite Harry’s position between her legs, Y/N can’t bring herself to say the words.

“Had someone what? Eat your cunt?” Harry asks crudely, raising an eyebrow as he kisses her inner thigh.  His hot breath rolls over her core, causing Y/N to sigh as she relaxes back into the sheets. “That’s a tragedy, love.  Especially when you taste so sweet.  I remember from a few nights ago…I just barely got a taste when we…”

She should know better, Y/N thinks.  She should know, now that she knows Harry well enough, that something like this is coming, especially since it’s exactly what he did last time he was between her legs. Still, when his ringed index finger runs quickly between her folds, becoming coated in her wetness just for Harry to pop it into his mouth like a satisfied and smug ass, Y/N half jumps off the bed.

“Sensitive, are you?” Harry laughs around his finger, taking great care to lick off every bit of her wetness. “Just as sensitive as you are sweet.”

Y/N struggles to prop herself up on her elbows, doing her best to give him a scathing look. “You could’ve warned me, you—”

Her complaint is cut off abruptly by Harry licking over her slit with the flat of his tongue, collecting every drop of arousal before suctioning his lips over her clit. “What was that?” He mutters between his actions, flicking his tongue over Y/N’s clit as she grasps the sheets between her fingers. “I didn’t quite catch it, love.”

Falling back onto the pillows, Y/N allows her eyes to close for just a moment as she twists the cotton sheets between her hands. “Shut—shut up.” She moans, one hand releasing the sheets to latch onto Harry’s curls.  She tugs harshly, and the moan he releases sends shivers from her core into her spine.

Although Harry laughs against her, his smirk detectable against her folds as his tongue continues to work over her, a silence falls between them as he continues to eat her out. It shouldn’t be surprising, she manages to think as she tugs on his curly locks, that Harry is giving her the best oral she’s ever received.  Everything he does to her, from irritating her, making her laugh, to pleasuring her, is so intense that it only makes sense.

Harry’s tongue dips inside Y/N’s entrance, proving that thought to be true for what seems to be the millionth time that night.  Y/N can’t help but writhe on the sheets now, her body unable to contain the pleasure that’s building inside her core like never before.

When a gasping whine echoes from Y/N, a sound she’s never even heard herself make before, one of Harry’s hands moves from its position on her thigh, where he’s been holding her open so he can continue to work.  It travels up her leg to her pelvis, pressing flat on her lower abdomen and keeping her hips secure to the bed.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you, pet?” Harry’s mouth is red, coated with her wetness when he glances at her.  He begins to rub circles on her abdomen, both soothing her and creating an ache deep inside her that she knows can only be satisfied by his cock. “You’re going to be a good girl and cum on my mouth, yeah?”

Y/N whimpers in response, barely managing to keep her eyes open as she nods desperately. “I-I need—your fingers, or—”

“No, no, pet, you don’t need that.” Harry assures her between long licks over her clit. “I’ll fill you later, but you’re going to cum from my mouth.  I know you can do it, love.  I know you can.”

“I—” Harry’s hand pressed to her abdomen is the only thing keeping Y/N from rutting her hips into the air in desperation. “Please, Harry, I—”

“You can do it.” Breath hot against her entrance, Harry dips his tongue within her again, moving it in and out slowly as his nose brushes against her sensitive bundle of nerves. “You—fuck—you’re so ready, Y/N, I know you can do it…just relax, pet…let go…”

Let go.  The command is so simple, and yet, isn’t that all Y/N’s ever wanted?  Isn’t that exactly what Harry has managed to allow her to do this entire trip?  No sooner does the thought cross her mind that Harry’s teeth graze over her clit, tweaking it ever so gently before pressing the flat of his tongue against it once more.  He gives a harsh suck, mouthing something she can’t understand, and then Y/N is tugging on his chestnut curls with a renewed desperation as she falls over the brink of pleasure.

“Harry, Harry, Harry…” His name is the only thing Y/N can repeat as she orgasms, her head falling back against the pillows while the waves of her pleasure wash over her.

Harry untangles her hand from the sheets, weaving his fingers through her own to give her something solid to hold onto as she loses herself in the sensations.  Although he keeps his mouth pressed to her, his actions are gentler, just licking the wetness that drips from her entrance as she rides out her orgasm.

It takes a few moment for the pleasure to recede enough that Y/N can become aware of her surroundings again. Chest heaving, she lolls her head to the side, her hand falling from Harry’s curls and onto the crumpled sheets.

Harry finally pulls away from her then, pulling himself from between her legs to the side of Y/N’s shaking body.  He licks his wet lips, savouring the last drops of her arousal before pressing softer kisses to her stomach, her sternum, her collar bones, until he reaches her lips.

“You alright, love?” Harry asks, voice quiet in the hum of the night as he settles beside her.  He brushes a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead, and the motion is so gentle that Y/N almost tears up. “Just take some deep breaths.”

“I—” Y/N sucks in another breath as Harry wraps an arm around her stomach. “I’m alright.  Just…trying to catch my breath.” She laughs nervously as her cheeks redden in a post-orgasm haze. “You’re, uh, you’re really good at that.”

Harry’s laugh is much more amused than hers. “Thank you.  I quite enjoy it, so it would be rather sad if I wasn’t good at it.”

“That’s true.” Y/N hums, rolling her head onto Harry’s shoulder.  He rubs small circles on her waist, and the action gives her something to focus on as she evens her breathing.

Harry sighs in satisfaction. “You know, if you had shagged Brant, I doubt his cunnilingus skills would have been as good as mine.” He says thoughtfully, as if he’s been pondering the idea for a while.

Y/N groans, bracing her hand against is muscled chest to shove him away. “Do not mention Brant while I’m lying next to you naked!  Christ, I shouldn’t have to say that!”

Harry laughs as he readjusts himself, pulling his body over hers while his lips work against her neck. “I’m sorry.  I won’t bring him up again, I swear.”

Huffing slightly, Y/N settles herself back into the sheets. “Good.”

“But for the record—”

“If you keep speaking, I’m not giving you a blowjob.” Y/N warns, shooting Harry a warning glance. “Are you prepared to give that up?”

The speed at which Harry’s face falls is almost comical.  His brow creases as his ruby lips pull down into a pout, his arms keeping himself suspended above Y/N as he relents. “Alright, I’m sorry.  Truly, I am.  I’ll stop.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes focus on Harry’s shining green irises. “Good, because I really want to blow you.”

The crude admission catches Harry by surprise, his eyebrows jumping up in shock as he rolls to the side. Propping himself up on his elbow, he rakes a hand through his messy curls as he answers with a measured tone. “You do?”

Y/N nods slowly, pushing herself up to sit on her knees as one of her hands begins to trace over the muscles of Harry’s chest. “I do.  Like you said…I didn’t get to last time.  And I bet you taste good.”

Harry sucks in a breath through his teeth as he gives a sharp nod. “Yeah.  Okay.  If you want to—”

“I do.” Y/N presses on Harry’s chest to push him back again, but this time she does it carefully, settling him back into the sheets like he did for her.  Moving so that she’s on her knees beside him, she gives him a quick kiss, only letting herself enjoy his slightly chapped lips against hers for a moment before she directs her attention to the bulge in his Calvin Klein boxers.

Y/N trails a finger over the line of hair leading to the waistband, feeling the muscles of Harry’s abdomen contract under her finger. “Sensitive, huh?” She asks quietly, mimicking what he had said to her before earlier.

Harry inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “Yeah.  So don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.  I’m just…warming you up.” Y/N continues the motion for a moment before her fingers drift to the elastic of his boxers.  She dips a finger beneath it, continuing to tease his abdomen before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his clothed bulge.

Harry’s hips jerk in reaction, his mouth falling open as he spits out a curse. “Bloody hell…”

“Feel good?” Y/N only lifts her mouth enough so that the soft murmur can be heard.  She can feel Harry’s cock twitching as her lips move over it, and the thought that she’s turning him on enough for him to twitch in his boxers sends a flood of heat between her thighs.

“Feels really good, yeah.” Harry’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and the effort it takes to keep his voice controlled is apparent on his face. “Keep going.”

Y/N hums in response, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulling them down his legs as Harry lifts his hips.  She waits until his boxers are completely removed to turn her attention back to his cock, and the sight of it makes her mouth water.

It’s just as big as she remembers, with a slight curve along the length leading to the red and leaking head. Y/N can practically see the heat radiating off of it, she thinks, and when she wraps her hand around the base, her suspicions are confirmed.

The weak groan that falls from Harry’s cherry red lips is the only thing that keeps Y/N from getting completely distracted by admiring him.  She pumps him slowly a few times, and his length throbs in her hand as more blood floods to his pelvis.  Licking her lips once, Y/N leans down and gives a small kitten lick to the leaking tip, collecting the precum on her tongue.

A garbled moan sounds from Harry’s chest, and Y/N watches from the corner of her eye as one hand tucks into his own curls before the other gathers her hair within his fist. Although he’s holding her, he doesn’t force her down, or try to guide her motions.  He wants to see what she’s going to do of her own accord.

Y/N takes her time, licking slowly from the head of Harry’s cock to one of the pulsing veins that runs down his shaft.  She traces the line with the tip of her tongue, enjoying the sounds that the action pulls from Harry before taking the head of his cock between her lips. Mindful of her teeth, she sucks slowly, pushing herself further and further down his length until her nose is just touching his pelvis.

“That’s it, minx.” Harry moans his words, his voice breathless and strained as he cards his fingers through her hair.  His flushed chest is rising and falling prominently as Harry takes deep breath after deep breath. “Doing so well, aren’t you?”

The praise sends a wave of delight through Y/N, and she begins to bob her head faster, working what she can’t fit into her mouth with her hand.  Harry, she learns, is extremely vocal during sex, which isn’t exactly surprising now that she knows him better.  Still, his moans and whimpers are all the encouragement Y/N needs to keep her pace, slowing down only to tease him.  And she loves to tease him.

“Fuck—” A groan rips from Harry’s chest as Y/N slows her motions again, trailing her tongue up his length before focusing on his tip with great interest. “C’mon, darling, don’t be mean to me.  I wasn’t mean to you.”

“I’m just enjoying myself, Harry.” Y/N says innocently, batting her eyes at him as she kisses the head of his cock. “Don’t you want me to enjoy myself?”

The question is simple enough, but the sinful context makes Harry buck his hips into her hand. “Y’know I do, pet, but you’re torturing me…”

Y/N lifts her mouth from his length with a quiet pop as her strokes slow down. “Am I?”

“Fucking hell—” Another moan forces its way through Harry’s clenched teeth. “You won’t be laughing when I’m fucking you at the same pace you’re teasing me right now.”

Y/N’s movements stutter for the first time since she began. “What?”

“Didn’t think of that, did you, minx?  Thought you could tease me, and I wouldn’t get you back?” Although Harry’s words are domineering, he pants through them, throwing his head back against the pillow. “That—Christ—That’s not how it works.”

Speeding up her stroking of his length, Y/N leans over Harry’s body, sponging a kiss just at the corner of his lips. “You don’t mean that, Harry.  You need to fuck me just as badly as I need it.”

“You need it, do you?” Harry’s eyes snap open, lust completely clouding the jade green of his irises. “How badly?  Tell me.”

Y/N kisses him once more, pulling back the moment his tongue tries to pull her in for more.  She returns her mouth to the tip of his cock, letting her tongue flick over his slit before sucking on him again. “So badly, Harry. I’ve never felt as full as I did with you in me…”

“Oh fuck…” Harry’s words slip into drawn out moans as he tugs on his own hair, his hips stuttering up into her hand again. “Stop.”

The sudden command makes Y/N pause, and she pulls her mouth off of Harry’s length to stare up at him with wide eyes. “What?” Her hand pauses its motions, but stays wrapped loosely around his base. “Is—is everything okay?  Did I hurt you?”

The concern and fear in Y/N’s voice is enough to snap Harry out whatever headspace he had been slipping into. “No, pet, you didn’t hurt me.  I just need to be inside your tight cunt.  Can’t stand another moment without it, if I’m honest.”

The twitch of his cock in her hands confirms his words, and Y/N gives one last lick to its biggest vein before releasing him.  She keeps her mouth in use, however, by sponging kisses up Harry’s already marked chest, stopping only once she reaches his lips.

The kiss they share is passionate, with a rhythm finally established between the two of them as Harry slots his plump lips neatly between hers.  There’s no awkward turning of their heads, trying to find a way to slip a tongue into a mouth, and no teeth clicking together.  Already, each of them knows the best way to fit together, as if they were meant to all along.

“How do you—” Harry mutters the words against Y/N’s lips, his breath flowing into her own panting mouth with every gasp. “How do you want me, love?”

Y/N takes a moment to think, but only a moment. “On top.  I like…” Her cheeks flush with even more heat. “I like feeling you over me. And holding your hands…”

Harry raises a surprised brow at the confession she spills into his mouth. “My hands?”

Forehead still pressed against his, Y/N nods, picking up one of his hands and lacing his ringed fingers through her own. “Mhmm.  They’re strong, and…and they fit in mine so nicely.” Y/N glances at Harry through her lashes, shy despite having his cock in her mouth less than a minute ago.  It’s the intimacy, she realizes.  A sexual act is nothing new to her, but putting emotion behind it…

“They do fit together well, don’t they?” Harry agrees, squeezing her hand as he leans forward, pressing puckered lips to her forehead. “Alright, then.  Lie down for me.”

After Harry grabs a condom from Y/N’s bag and rolls it on, it takes a moment for the two of them to get positioned comfortably.  Y/N leans back on the rumpled sheets, fixing one of the pillows behind her head with Harry’s help.  Once he knows that she’s comfortable, Harry spreads Y/N’s legs again, situating himself between them with his arms propped up on either side of her body.

Although it’s the same position as the last time they had sex, Y/N can’t help but feel like it’s entirely different in every single aspect.  While the drunken need that she felt for Harry had been exciting, and while he had satisfied her incredibly, there’s something different about knowing that she has feelings for the man who’s so interested in pleasuring her, and that he has feelings for her in return.

Harry moves one hand to his length, rubbing the tip of it between Y/N’s soaked folds as his other hand grasps her own. “Are you ready?” He murmurs, his lips hovering just over her own.

Y/N nods quickly, squeezing his hand tightly. “Please, H.  I need it.”

The first thrust into her is slow.  Painstakingly slow.  Y/N knows that she should be appreciative of the restrain Harry has, and that she needs a moment to adjust to his size, but the way he stretches her makes her feel so complete that she can’t help but whine for more.

“Faster, Harry.” She pants, squeezing her eyes shut as he continues to enter her slick entrance. “I…”

“Sh, love.  Just spreading you open first, yeah?” The effort to control himself shows through the strain in his voice, but Harry still manages to sponge a quick kiss over her lips. “Besides…I warned you, didn’t I?  Said I’d tease you if you teased me…”

Y/N whines loudly as Harry finally bottoms out, his hips pressing flush to hers and bringing a kind of euphoric fullness that she’s never felt before. “Oh God…” She drags out her speech, her eyes barely managing to flutter open in time to catch the look on Harry’s face as he feels her walls squeeze him.

His brows are drawn together, an all too familiar crease appearing between them.  It’s a look of concentration, but the pull of his mouth and the quiet pants leaving it tell Y/N that it’s so much more than that. His pupils are blown out, dilated so much that she can barely see the green that she loves so much, and every few moments, Harry’s eyelids flutter, times perfectly with the contraction of Y/N’s pussy around his length.  

“Move, Harry.” Y/N begs, grasping his free hand and squeezing it along with his other hand. “Please.”

Her pleading sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, and he begins to thrust in and out of her slowly, letting her adjust to each pace before gradually increasing his movements. “Like that, pet?” He asks, voice low and thick with pleasure. “Is that what you wanted?”

A whine is all the answer he gets, as Y/N is so far gone past the point of being able to reply with a coherent sentence.  The only thing she can think of is how good it feels to have Harry fill her.  How the feeling of his cock inside her is simultaneously too much for her, the most content she’s ever felt, and not enough to satisfy the ache deep within her.  Every one of her senses is consumed with Harry—the touch of his skin to hers, at her pelvis, over her abdomen, his hands squeezing hers with desperation as he thrusts inside of her repeatedly.  The scent of his cologne mingled with his sweat, so hot and all consuming that the air feels thick with it.  The taste of that scent on the back of her tongue, along with his Merlot flavoured kisses that linger in her mouth.  The sight of him caged over her, his sweaty curls and flushed skin being all that she can see.  The sound of his moans, hot and low in her ear.

Everything is Harry. Had there every been a time where it wasn’t?

When Harry pulls his hands from Y/N’s, a small whimper stumbles out of her mouth, growing louder when his thrusts begin to slow and the ball of tension in her core begins to uncoil. “What—?” She begins, the question still half formed on her tongue when Harry moves his grip to her knees.

In one swift motion, Harry has her left knee over his shoulder, quickly repeating the movement with her right leg as he sponges stuttered kisses over the newly available skin.  “Need to be deeper.” He mutters, pressing a wet and breathless kiss to Y/N’s lips before sitting up for more leverage.  Weaving his fingers back through hers, Harry begins to thrust again, the head of his cock rubbing against new areas with every motion.

And oh.  It’s like an entirely new feeling.  The moans and whimpers are leaving Y/N’s mouth in a steady stream now, with any ability she had to filter her volume gone the moment Harry’s cock presses against her G-spot.

“Fuck, Harry, right there, baby—” Y/N releases one of his hands to throw her arm around his shoulder, digging her nails into the muscled skin as the words of pleasure slip past her lips. “That’s it, that’s so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” Harry grunts, bracing himself against the bed so that he can increase the speed of his movements. “You like how my cock fills you?”

Y/N nods desperately, the movement stuttered as she shakes from both her pleasure and the force of Harry driving his hips into her own. “Yeah, I—fuck, you’re going to make me cum…”

Harry’s face twists in concentration as he removes his braced hand from the bed and trails it down Y/N’s body, pausing just enough so that he can tweak her nipple as he passes by. He continues on until he reaches his destination, and settles his large thumb over her clit to rub fast and concise circles on the bundle of nerves.

“Oh—” Y/N’s back arches off the bed as her nails dig into the skin of Harry’s shoulder, as well as the back of his hand.  She barely manages to pant through her whimpered words. “Fuck, I’m going to cum—”

“Please, baby.” Harry pleads with her, his expression desperate as he stipples more kisses to Y/N’s knees, the only inches of skin that he can get his mouth on as he drives himself harder into her. “Need you to cum for me, I—fuck, minx, I need it more than you know.”

A sharp gasp falls from Y/N’s slick mouth as Harry hits her G-spot again, and the sharp repeated motion combined with his stimulation of her clit is enough to send her barrelling headfirst over the edge.  A desperate sound leaves her mouth, half moan, half whine, as the coil in Y/N’s core snaps, sending shockwaves of pleasure through every inch of her body.  

The reaction is almost instantaneous.  As her body shakes with pleasure, abdomen contracting and releasing over and over, Y/N feels Harry’s hips begin to stutter, his movement growing sloppier as the constriction of her core works Harry to an orgasm.

“Y/N—that’s it, pet, just—yes—” Harry’s words are more coherent than hers, but still just form a string of half put together phrases as he presses himself deep inside her, his eyes snapping shut as he spills inside the condom.  A choked sound works its way out of his throat, pulling from deep within his chest, and the pads of his rough fingers dig into her thighs as he grounds himself throughout his orgasm.  

Y/N’s shuddering climax finishes before Harry’s does, and all she can do is collapse back in the sheets, enjoying the feeling of his cock throbbing inside her one last time before he pulls out slowly to clean himself and throw away the condom.  An involuntary whine, quiet but audible, falls from her lips at the empty feeling that’s left behind, but it’s soon satiated after Harry returns to the bed, wrapping his shaking arms around her and pulling her tight into his chest.

His chest, like her own, is soaked in sweat, covered in dark bruises, and heaving from the aftermath of the orgasm he’s just finished, but it’s the only place Y/N wants to be.  She presses her ear into his skin, his racing heartbeat thumping beneath her head, and she focuses on the pounding pattern as she attempts to catch her breath.

Harry speaks first, clearing his throat before his wrecked voice fills her senses. “That was…that was so fucking good.  I was worried that it wouldn’t be as good as the last time, because we were more sober, but…”

“It was better, yeah. I know.” Y/N agrees, her voice filled with exhaustion and contentment as she kisses over a purple bruise forming on Harry’s collar bone. “I think…I think knowing how we feel made it better.”

“I agree.” Harry’s hands move over her back, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns onto her sweaty skin. “Passionate sex with someone you care for with candles lit…all after the wedding of your best friend…was that romantic enough for you?” There’s a teasing edge to his voice, just barely audible beneath the rasp.

A tired smile lifts the corners of Y/N’s swollen lips. “I suppose so.  But it’s not hard to be, in comparison to others…”

“Well, from now on, you’re going to be comparing to me, yeah?” Harry shifts his arms around her, tightening his grip before reaching for the crumpled sheet to pull it over their bodies. “This’ll be the marker, I suppose.  And I’ll have to work on raising the bar with everything I do for you.”

“What about what I’ll do for you?” Y/N just barely manages to raise her head off Harry’s chest enough to look at him. “This is a two way street, you know.  I have to romance you, too.”

“Mm.  True.” Harry hums as he resumes tracing patterns on Y/N’s skin. “How about you stop making fun of my taste in romantic movies?  I’d like to watch The Notebook without you poking fun at it.  If you’re laughing at all the emotional scenes, it makes me feel pathetic when I cry at them.”

Y/N laughs quietly as she rakes her fingers through Harry’s sweaty curls. “That’s asking too much from me. How about…I can still make fun of your taste in romantic movies, but I’ll hold you and comfort you when you cry at the really dumb scenes?”

An exhausted snort rolls through Harry’s chest, but there’s a degree of tenderness hidden in the sound. “I suppose that’s the best offer I’ll get, isn’t it?”

“You suppose right.” Y/N sighs contently, her eyes drifting shut as she settles herself into Harry’s chest.  The feeling of the subtle rise and fall of his muscles is enough to soothe her to sleep, and she’s just settling in for what she thinks may be the best sleep of her life when her head suddenly drops as Harry abruptly pulls away from her.

“Harry—” Y/N’s eyes snap open as she pulls herself into an upright position, any feeling of calm that she had a moment ago gone out the window. “What the fuck?”

A sheepish Harry smiles at her from the dresser. “We left the candles lit, love.” He says, blowing out the three lit candles on the wooden surface before walking to one of the bedside tables, where four more candles are lit. “It’s not safe.”

“No, you know what’s no safe?  Jerking your girlfriend from her sleep when she’s exhausted, and has to be up early tomorrow.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she flops back into the pillows.

Harry blows out the last candle before sliding back into the bed. “Would you rather I let the cabin burn down?  That wouldn’t be very romantic of me, now would it?”

Turning over on her side, Y/N faces the wall away from Harry. “You’re an asshole.”

“Don’t be mean.” Harry’s pout is tangible in the press of his lips to her bare shoulder. “We were having a moment!”

“Not anymore.”

“You don’t mean that.” Harry laughs as he wraps his arms around Y/N, pulling her to spoon into his chest. “Just go to sleep.  You’ll be less grumpy in the morning.”

“Fuck off.” Y/N mutters, but she allows herself to be held against Harry as his breathing once again soothes her to sleep.

…

“Are you sure I can’t drive?”

Harry laughs as he shuts the loaded trunk of the Impala, the sound echoing off the trees around them and scaring a few birds that had settled in the branches. “After that disaster in Nebraska?  No way.”

“Did you let her drive Stevie?” Laure asks, shock woven through her voice as her eyes flicker between Y/N and Harry. “Really?”

“No, I let her try to drive Stevie.  And then she stalled her, and lost all driving privileges forever.” Harry replies with a snort, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders as his keys jangle in his hands. “So I’ll be driving the forty-two hours back to L.A.”

Y/N crosses her arms with an irritated sigh. “Whatever.  Don’t complain to me when you get stiff from being in one position for eight hours a day.”

As Harry rounds the back of the car, he shoots Y/N a smug grin, walking up behind her to wrap his warm arms around her waist. “But you’ll give me massages, won’t you, baby?  I’d really appreciate them…”

“Okay, this is still weird for me.” Jo says slowly, shaking her head as her eyes flicker between their intertwined pose and Laure, who looks equally as bemused. “A week ago, we had to practically beg Harry to drive you, Y/N, and now you’re…?”

“It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?” Harry asks, resting his chin on Y/N’s shoulder with a smirk. “No woman could last five days with me while resisting the Styles charm…”

Y/N shrugs his chin off her shoulder with a snort. “Right.” She scoffs as she unravels his hands from her waist. “The Styles charm.  We’ll pretend that’s a thing.”

Harry pouts as Y/N pulls away from him, his arms still outreached and trailing after her. “It is a thing!”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N walks over to Jo, wrapping her arms around the girl tightly as the crisp morning air sends a shiver down her spine. “Congratulations, Jo.  Have fun on your honeymoon.”

Although Jo hugs her back with a smile, there’s something lingering under the sweet expression. “Thank you.” She speaks in her normal tone, but waits until her lips are right by Y/N’s ear to lower her voice. “The moment you arrive back in L.A., I expect a three hour phone call explaining how all of this happened.  Is that understood?”

“You’re so demanding. I would have thought you’d be more mature now that you’re married.” Y/N laughs as she pulls out of the hug, turning to Laure and giving her a tight squeeze before walking to the car.  She leans against the cool metal of the passenger side as Harry rounds around to the driver’s side, having said his goodbyes right after she did.

“I’m serious!  The last time we talked about Harry, you threatened to cut off his—”

Laure takes Jo’s hand, squeezing it hard as she bites her lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, darling, that’s enough.  Just be thankful they’re not arguing anymore, yeah?  Maybe we’ll finally be able to have a wine night that doesn’t end with someone flipping a charcuterie board.”

The memory of Laure and Jo’s four year anniversary party brings a sheepish smile to Y/N’s face, and she watches as the realization hits Jo, who gives a satisfied nod to Laure before the latter presses her lips to her cheek.

Harry, however, is less amused, and shoots a questioning glance at Y/N over the hood of the car. “Wait, when did you threaten to cut something of mine off?”

“Oh, it was just a joke, Harry.” Y/N waves off his concern as she opens the passenger door with a click. “It’s nothing you have to worry about, as long as you don’t piss me off too much.”

“Right.” Harry says slowly, climbing inside the car as Y/N does the same.  “I’ll do my best.”

Harry starts the car with an easy and practiced motion, shifting it into reverse and pulling away from the mountainside resort as the two of them give one last wave to Jo and Laure through the passenger window.  Once they’re back on the winding mountain road, Y/N grabs Harry’s phone from its usual spot in his cup holder, scrolling through his music library with interest.

“What do you feel like listening to?” She asks curiously, her eyes scanning over the now familiar titles indecisively. “Something fast?  Something mellow?”

Harry shifts the car into second gear before grabbing Y/N’s free hand, brushing his pink lips over the back of her knuckles in a gentle motion. “I don’t really care.” He says with a shrug, winding his fingers through her own before lowering their hands between their seats. “Anything you want.”

The comment of free reign causes Y/N’s eyes to widen in disbelief. “Really?” She asks incredulously, and when Harry gives a confirming nod, she quickly settles on “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” leaning back in her seat as the familiar guitar riff fills the car.

From the corner of her eye, she watches Harry’s nose wrinkle as his eyebrows crease beneath his sunglasses. “Actually, I changed my mind.” He says lowly, swiping his thumb over her knuckles in a motion of apology. “Not this song.”

Y/N lets out a groan as she presses her head back into the head rest. “For fuck’s sake, H—”

“I’m not feeling it! It just doesn’t suit this time of day, or this scenery—”

“We have forty-two hours left in this trip, and you’re already pissing me off.  Do you want something to get cut off?” Yanking her hand from his own, she grabs his phone again and opens it with a harsh sigh. “Okay, what do you want to listen to?”

“I told you.” Harry taps his fingers against the steering wheel as he risks a glance at her, gauging if the irritation in her voice matches the irritation on her face. “Whatever you want to listen to.”

Y/N allows herself a quiet snort, but makes no other comment on the contradictory statement. “Fine.” She says shortly, scrolling through his songs for another moment before clicking on “Strangers”. “How’s that?”

Harry raises his now empty hand defensively before finding her own again, squeezing it gently. “Good, love.  It’s good.”

“Good.” Y/N gives a short sigh of relief, settling back into her seat again as a new guitar riff begins to sound through the car speakers.

The first verse of the song has barely finished when Harry clears his throat thickly, the corner of his lip just barely twitching up. “You know, actually—”

“Stop the car.”

[shewhotellsstories]

i really dont wanna annoy you but you post about racism in fandom sometimes so i thought you'd be the right person to ask. i hope this doesnt come off as expecting u to be my teacher. yesterday someone said they didnt trust white zk shippers and i thought it was mean but then people started sending the them all these nasty messages and i started to worry maybe op was right. honestly a lot of this stuff is pretty new for me. i think our fandom is inclusive & unlike the rest of the atla fandom we actually like katara. but i'm trying to learn.

why would it be a problem that a lot of zk fics have katara looking after zuko? i always just felt like he needed it more bc he was abused and kataras better at dealing with feelings and she's good at taking care of people. is fire lady katara still ok? is there racism in our fandom? there are a lot of woc zks and i've seen them get hate for it. but the messages op got were pretty bad too. i know i'm asking a lot of questions i just hate the thinking that we might be as bad as the z*kka stans have been saying all year.

This is gonna get long so I’m just gonna jump right in. When I listened to fansplaining’s episode on fandom racism one of the guests said white fans who can acknowledge that fandom racism exists tend to frame it as “just a few bad apples” and get caught up in worrying about not looking like a “bad apple” instead of making fandoms spaces that aren’t hostile for BIPOC. Jag offs hiding behind anon to tell women of color who ship zutara that we have a creepy fetish for imperialism and colonialism suck, but your biggest concern really shouldn’t be the optics or if you can claim superiority over zukka stans.

Yeah the “katara’s a homophobe” nonsense didn’t come from our end of the fandom, but it feels naive at best or dishonest at worst to act like the zutara fandom is uniquely immune to fandom racism. A creator I follow made the excellent point that allyship conditional upon if a poc talks "nicely" about racism is still white supremacy. I believe poc need to be allowed to vent and be salty or angry without being tone-policed. I definitely have my days where I’m like “ugh white people,” or "why must white fans be like this," so I get where the OP was coming from. Ironically the folks that sent them anon hate proved their point. You can always count on hit dogs to hollar.

Fandom is only escapist for some people. It doesn’t exist in a vacuum so you’ll find racism in fandom because there’s racism in the world. Navigating that gets exhausting. There are certain things I enjoy, but for the sake of my sanity I'll only talk about it with friends in real life or only follow fans of color. Before I follow white fans I need to see first that they’re not the kind of person who inspires posts about fandom racism. A good friend of mine loves Star Wars, Kpop, and gaming but after years of attempts at calling in she decided that she’d only interact with woc in those spaces. Again, you get tired.

ATLA wasn’t on my radar until last year so I definitely haven’t read every zutara fic out there but I have noticed a lot of fics do tend to have Katara being the one comforting and supporting Zuko. It’s not inherently wrong of course, it’s just in the grand scheme of things in fiction woc are often cast as eternal caretakers and confidants in fiction:

“How characters of color are portrayed in fanworks, especially fanfiction, is worse than the actual films. They are portrayed as supportive, almost invisible understudies. Any characteristics which they possess in the [MCU] films are stripped and given to other white characters. It is not only erasure. It’s a theft of identity.

Characters of color are positioned within storylines to support the main, white characters. Even within the slash biracial pairings, the character of color is underdeveloped and in a position of servitude within the relationship.”

TheNavyLanguage, Fansplaining

As the quote above points out this honestly happens in a lot of fandoms. I’ve read fanfic for books, movies, tv shows, and comics and I can’t help but notice that in fics the writers often have the non-white character or-- if neither character is white--the darker skinned character being the care-taker, the bodyguard, or the person who is performing all the emotional labor. It’s not inherently wrong to have a character of color have a nurturing personality, you just have to remember that since Black and brown folks have been saddled with narrative after narrative where we exist to serve leaning into dynamics where the non-white or darker skinned character is providing all the emotional support and getting very little in return has some unfortunate implications.

It’s not better if instead of being defined as the avatar’s girl, Katara’s the fire lord’s girl. Part of the appeal of zutara for me is the idea that Katara could lay down some of her burdens and get some much needed support. I always imagine she’d have some major issues after the war.

"i always just felt like he needed it more bc he was abused and kataras better at dealing with feelings and she's good at taking care of people."

I’m going to push back against that statement. Yes, Katara didn't grow up in an abusive household but she has pain and trauma of her own. In fact I’d argue that her believing it’s her job to take care of everyone is rooted in her trauma. Katara needs support and care just as much as anyone else does.

Having read a lot of fics revolving around abuse victims in different fandoms I’ve observed that if fans feel a character’s trauma wasn’t properly addressed in canon, they’ll give them a lot of TLC in fics. But again, reducing the non-white or darker-skinned character to a glorified therapist has some implications.

I feel like the Fire Lady Katara headcanon's been talked to death so long-story short, it’s not inherently racist but it can problematic if it's not clear that Katara is Katara of the Water Tribe wherever she lives. Fics and art where her crown has a crescent moon, she wears blue, or Zuko wears blue when she's in red are the executions I'm fondest of.

When in doubt just listen when poc talk about uncomfortable trends in the fandom. Give fansplaining’s episodes on fandom racism a listen here, here, and here. And very loosely quoting my favorite professor just remember that if a marginalized person says they’re distrustful of a group of people or institution it usually happens after a lot of bad experiences. Don’t center your own comfort and hurt feelings.

“If we truly believe in fandom’s progressive credentials, then perhaps it is necessary for us to listen to critiques that make us uncomfortable rather than those that keep arguing that the status quo is perfectly acceptable—even as there is plenty of evidence to the contrary. Perhaps then we will be able to come at these, yes, these very complex and nuanced discussions with the type of openness and good faith that is required for them to succeed, rather than approaching them with hostility.”

-Rukmini Pande, Fansplaining

[theolsentimes]

Mary-Kate Olsen's Singular Style

She came to fame as a twin, but the actress's cultish look is entirely her own. Here, with Lauren Hutton, she pays homage to another fashion inspiration, Grey Gardens. Written by Laura Brown, with photography by Peter Lindbergh (Harper's Bazaar, 2007)

VIEW GALLERY

Mary-Kate Olsen may be the only young actress who breezes into her local Starbucks wearing towering, fashion-fierce Balenciaga boots, who arrives at her latest premiere (in Mary-Kate's case, for the new season of Showtime's Weeds, in which she plays a devout Christian with a pot fetish) sporting an oversize cross, and whose favorite band is Led Zeppelin. She may, in fact, be the only young actress who knows who Led Zeppelin is. MK, as she is known to her friends and family, is also a punctual and professional sort. She arrives for a poolside tea in Los Angeles 10 minutes early, ordering a hot chocolate while explaining her fetish for all things sweet — "I'm a candy girl, like Tootsie Rolls and Swedish Fish" — and objecting when the waiter tries to take the sugar bowl away. She is wearing a nautical striped T-shirt (her mom's, from the '70s), tucked into two black Wolford slips rolled down and turned into a tight, Robert-Palmer-video-style mini, and multicolored sparkly Christian Louboutin stilettos. She's just had her hair colored, returning to a sunnier shade after some experiments with both peroxide ("I woke up one morning and was like, I want white-trash hair today") and the dark side (an auburn-haired near-Goth moment last year). She's carrying a large black fringed leather Prada tote — she doesn't do small bags — and her fingers are covered with rings, most notably two vintage coiled gold snakes stacked on top of each other. ("They remind me of twins, sort of double headed.") Altogether, the effect is less her famed "bag-lady chic" than an edgy, body-conscious, and, yes, sexy silhouette. If she weren't 21, she could be 40. And French.

Few people need reminding that Mary-Kate — with her twin sister, Ashley — literally crawled into celebrity aged nine months (courtesy of Full House) and has not been out of the spotlight ever since. She has been a celebrity for more than two decades. Perhaps that's one reason she seems as if she came out of the womb worldly, the textbook old soul. "Yeah," she says with a small shrug. "I get that a lot." With all of that attention and all of the money (her and Ashley's company, Dualstar, has famously become a "billion-dollar business"), Mary-Kate could easily have ended up the type who wears pink terry cloth and carries a variety of small dogs. "Could you imagine?" she says with the politest version of a snort. "No way." She credits her exceptionally close-knit family (she has five siblings) and, interestingly, early stardom with helping her keep her perspective. "I think it helped that I started in front of the camera, so it didn't come as a shock. If I was a teenager and was thrown into the spotlight, I don't know how I would react, to be honest." Though the tabloids are all too keen to brand her a skinny, nervous deer in the headlights, in person Mary-Kate is easy in her skin, confident and surprisingly tactile, curling up in her seat and touching you on the arm to make a point. She laments the generic style of most actresses and cites only men as style inspirations: "Heath Ledger, Johnny Depp. Men, they just dress the way they want, and they don't think about Who Wore It Best." She doesn't much care for Who Wore It Best, noting she avoids those pages by "wearing vintage so often. I just dress the way I feel instead of looking for what's the new handbag." If Mary-Kate and Ashley have their way, more people will be wearing clothes and carrying bags the way they do. They have just shown the fifth collection of their ready-to-wear line, the Row, and recently launched a contemporary label, Elizabeth and James, named after a sister and a brother. The Row's holiday collection (in stores next month) is a slick mix of skinny leather pants, razor-cut blazers, butter-soft, slouchy tees, and a destined-to-be-cultish pullover fur. Lauren Hutton, who stars in the Row's Spring '08 look book, says, "The clothes are extraordinary. A man I was with just loved them. The pieces are just so genius, soft like a baby's skin. Simple minimalist stuff, but really spectacular." Mary-Kate, designer, faces an interesting challenge. She has to marry Dualstar — which has made its fortune selling tween-tastic DVDs and pastel Mary-Kate and Ashley T-shirts at Wal-Mart — with her increasingly edgy and subversive taste. Dualstar executives, some of whom have worked with her since she was a child, often nag her, mom-style, about pulling her hair back "or wearing a color," she says with a laugh. "I had this event recently, and I was like, They're going to be so happy that I'm wearing ... purple. I actually have to think about those things, though, you know, so I don't get trashed." Get trashed sometimes she does. Hutton says, "Once in a while, she'll wear something and I'll think, Oh, baby doll, take another look. But to have the bravery, to take the chance to do that, is pretty wonderful. She is making her own way, which is hardly ever done in Hollywood." Of Mary-Kate's penchant for gigantic Balenciaga heels, Jenji Kohan, the creator of Weeds, says, laughing, "I'd be like, 'It's Tuesday. Do you really want to be wearing those shoes?' But she pulls it off." Designer Giambattista Valli, a friend, says, "She likes to take risks, but because she has such strong personal style, she always manages to make it work. Even if she had nothing on, she'd have style." And MK chic is spreading. "Sometimes I'll look at people or at a magazine and I'll do a double take because I'm like, Oh, my God, that's my outfit, but that's not me," Mary-Kate says. Playing with her wire-rimmed aviators, she jokes wryly that she should have bought shares in Ray-Ban. (She and Chloë Sevigny pretty much brought back white '80s Wayfarers.) She tends to fall in love with a look, then wear it until she's done. "If I put together a good outfit, I'll wear it for three days and then switch it up with a blazer," she says. "I still love my vintage jeans, my tights, and my pants, though." She didn't start wearing heels, in fact, until a couple of years ago: "I kept watching Ashley walk around in them so gracefully, and I'm such a klutz. But I ended up loving heels, and I don't usually take them off." She wears precisely one pair of flat shoes: Chanel's knee-high patent-leather gladiator sandals. This season, it's Balenciaga's fall collection — all of it — that has Mary-Kate obsessed. She is close to designer Nicolas Ghesquière and says, "He is so talented, but he's the nicest, most down-to-earth guy, and that makes everything he does more brilliant. I bought everything, but I haven't got anything yet," she says like a girl impatiently waiting for Christmas. Will she wear the new pieces with her infamous clodhopper boots? "Uh-huh. Wore them the other day, actually." Mary-Kate always goes with her gut, even if some people (back to those tabloids) don't quite get it. "The tabloids say things about me? What do they say?" she asks archly. "People are going to write what they want, and everyone's going to have their own idea of who I am. But I'm not trying to be friends with the people who are reading them, really." After a rough couple of years filled with near-forensic scrutiny of her weight, she'll have you know that she does eat. "This is not going to sound good," she laughs, "but I like making crispy tofu sticks with peanut sauce. I love my sashimi and my salmon and my vegetables." She observes, "Stress plays a big role in how I look day-to-day. I've always been very active — Pilates, yoga. I grew up horseback riding every day for hours. I love dancing. I usually last longer than anyone on the dance floor." A common image of Mary-Kate has her emerging from a coffee joint with an oversize cup. "I always get creamed for having my Starbucks cup," she says, sighing. "But the only time people get photos of me is when I'm getting coffee, when I can't sneak away from the camera." She also resents the pictorial implication that she and Ashley are dilettantes. "They take photos of us going into our offices, and it's 'Mary-Kate and Ashley shopping again.' But I'm going to work for eight hours, and we're working so hard. ..." She trails off. "It just shows how people want to think of you." Mary-Kate is not above celeb watching herself, however. Newly obsessed with Victoria Beckham, she notes she avidly watched Beckham's Coming to America documentary: "She's running around in a bikini and heels, and I'm like, Oh, my God! I do that, too!" How positively Grey Gardens. "I run around my house naked with heels all the time. It's so funny. All my friends will tell you I love running around in kimonos and jewelry or naked with jewelry." More people will be watching Mary-Kate soon, thanks to her role in the Emmy-nominated Weeds. "I am a very good Christian girl," she says with a wink. "She has her moral beliefs — and she happens to smoke pot." Of her newest cast member, Kohan adds, "Mary-Kate is complicated. She's a big celebrity, a huge media icon, but you have to separate the media images from someone who has the same issues, the same desires, as anyone else." Of course, Mary-Kate's image, in all its incarnations — from high fashion to small screen — is her strongest asset. And she has yet to settle on one. "I feel like I've lived 10 different lives already and I'm only 21," she says, almost as a reminder to herself. "But I also feel like I'm entering a new chapter." One thing on which she is clear, though: She doesn't need to be looked at all the time. What would she do for a day if she were invisible? "I would probably go to a restaurant with my friends, who would be able to see me, of course," she adds pragmatically, "and I would sit outside and enjoy a nice lunch with them. Then I would walk down the street." The old soul takes a sip of her little-girl-sweet hot chocolate. "That's what I would do."

[musette22]

Hi Minnie! Hope you can help me settle an argument my brother and I are having about EG!Steve. I'd love to hear your thoughts about this with shipping goggles off, looking at it purely in terms of characterization, narrative, and good writing. Better hang on though, it's going to be a long ask! (sorry in advance for spamming you!) 1/7

So my brother and I were watching FatWS and once again got into a debate about whether Steve's last actions were a disservice or in line with his characterization and narrative, given that the Russos confirmed (and therefore it's Word of God/canon, even if it did sound reactionary to the immediate backlash after EG) that Steve created an alternate reality when he went back, and didn't just live in hiding in the past of the OG timeline. 2/7

Because of this, my bro argued that: 1) the total character assassination that is the idea of Steve just sitting back and letting all the shit happen happen is no longer a problem - for all we know, the alternate reality oldman!Steve came from might have become utopic already due to his presence and foresight. He played coy when talking to Sam so we don't know for certain he didn't save Bucky, get rid of Hydra, and enact social reform when he had the chance. 3/7

Likewise, 2) the accusation that Steve would rob Peggy of her husband and children is a non-issue as Steve went back to a time before Peggy and Daniel got together - I argued here that it was still wrong for him to do given that he KNEW for a fact that Peggy lived a happy life, whereas it was a gamble if he could give her the same. My bro shot back when you truly loved someone, you want them to be happy and to have what's best for them. 4/7

So if Steve chose to go back to Peggy, he had to have believed that he could give her the best life. That Steve based that decision purely on his own assessment is pretty in character (e.g. pushing to become a soldier because he thought that was how he could do his part, even though at the time, he'd have just been a danger to himself and other soldiers; not signing the Accords because he believed in his team's judgment in crises above gov't oversight that might be influenced by politics). 5/7

And lastly 3) he might have settled into the past and started to move on, but what was wrong with him choosing to be selfish and going to the past when given a chance? Why was it wrong for him to go back to a time he knew, where he was beloved by both Peggy and the public, and when he could also save Bucky early? In terms of character growth, wouldn't it be fair for him to finally learn he could be a bit selfish and choose happiness, after a lifetime of nearly suicidal selflessness? 6/7

Our debate was based on confirmed canon with shipping put aside. So I put forth the sin of leaving a traumatized Bucky, Sam, and world behind, that Steve's actions were surely the result of a man broken by grief again and again, and that choosing the past was him running away - which, I argued, was a horrible way to end his character arc. But my brother asked me why I thought so, because wasn't this the so-called 'soft epilogue' that Steve deserved, one that was most in line with canon? 7/7

***************

Hey love! Very interesting argument you and your brother are having here… I’m sure he’s a great guy but I have to say that I vehemently disagree with him (as you probably already guessed lol). Soooo many people have done an excellent job at explaining why, shipping aside, Steve’s ending in EG was absolute bollocks, and I’m certain I could never argue this case as well as all of them have. Nevertheless, I’ll do my best to explain why, in my opinion, your brother is wrong :p I’m going to put my reply under the keep reading tag, because it is long.

1.      The Russos and Markus & McFeely (the writers) never managed to agree on whether Steve really did go back to an alternate timeline, and if so, how that would have worked, exactly. When they were asked, after EG had been released, about whether Steve would have just sat back and let everything he knew was happening/going to happen in the decades to come, both to Bucky and to the world at large, they came up with this ‘alternate timeline’ solution, but they kept contradicting each other on the logistics and technicalities of it (like how would old man Steve suddenly be able to jump timelines to come back to give Sam the shield in EG? And how did EG Steve attend Peggy’s funeral, like they also suggested, which would technically have been in a different timeline?). Which makes it pretty clear that this wasn’t something they’d considered beforehand or even all agree on afterwards, and therefore it can’t technically allowed to play a role in judging the rightness of Steve’s ending in EG if we’re looking at it from a ‘the creator’s word is law’ perspective. Moreover, there is nothing to indicate in EG itself that Steve knew he’d be able to create alternate timelines, so that would’ve been a crazy gamble on his part. Also, him ‘playing coy’ in that final scene with Sam really isn’t a convincing indication that he was actually, canonically, talking about anything besides marrying Peggy.

2.      Which bring us to point two: Peggy had literally told Steve she’d lived a happy life with her family, and told him in no uncertain terms to move on. If Steve really loved her, he would have accepted her wishes and allowed her the dignity of her choice (something Peggy herself, in CA:TFA, had told Steve was important to do when you care about someone) to move on from him once she believed him dead. Steve deciding that he would be better for Peggy because he believed was a better man than the person she ended up marrying originally would be the most un-like Steve thing to do, ever. Steve has never once shown that he thinks of himself as the hero or better than other people – he simply wants to do the best he can to help make the world a better place. He would never say “Peggy deserves the best and I believe I am the best, therefore she will have me, regardless of what she thinks or wants.” Steve drinks respect women juice, that’s clear from all of his movies, and deciding the course of her entire life for her, taking away her agency, whether in his own timeline or another, would be utterly disrespectful to Peggy.

3.      As for the next point: of course there’s nothing wrong with Steve being selfish for once – Steve is human, and all humans are selfish sometimes, and that’s okay. But, as Chris Evans already explained multiple times prior to Endgame, Steve had already made selfish decisions in the past, namely when it came to getting Bucky back and keeping him safe. Shipping aside, Bucky was presented in all the Cap movies as Steve’s very best friend, and was even called his ‘soulmate’ (platonically or otherwise) by M&M (the writers). So when, in Civil War, Steve was presented with a choice between duty/what was expected of him by the government versus saving Bucky/keeping Bucky safe, Steve was selfish and chose Bucky. That, canonically, made sense. Peggy being presented as the ultimate love of Steve’s life, who he loved and valued more than anyone or anything else in the world (which is what happened in EG), canonically does not make sense. 

In CA:TWS, Peggy told Steve to move on. When Peggy died, Steve buried her and mourned her, and then not long after, he canonically kissed Peggy’s niece. Then, in Infinity War, Steve saw Bucky turn to dust before his very eyes in the “Blip” (a conscious decision on the writers’/directors’ part to show how Steve once again lost what was most important to him while helplessly standing by) – and the next thing we know, Steve is leading a support group for other people who lost loved ones in the Blip, and starts talking about losing… Peggy? Huh. Also, Steve going back to a time which your brother calls “a time when he was beloved the public” doesn’t add up, either: technically, Steve went back to a time where people loved an idea of him, but also believed him to be dead. So either he would have had to have found a way to convincingly stage his own resurrection (meanwhile possibly leaving the other version to vegetate in the ice..? depending on how this timeline malarkey was supposed to work), or he would have lived his whole life hidden behind some fake persona – which does not sound like Steve at all, does it?

4.      Finally, let’s talk about Bucky some more, because I think we need to to be able to assess the situation properly. I understand that your brother may believe that shippers are often delusional and only see what they want to see etc, but there is ample evidence, canonically, of Bucky being the most important person in Steve’s life – the person he would give up the shield for, the person he would give up his other friendships for, the person he would give up his life for. Peggy may have been a recurring character in character in the three Cap movies, but she was never presented as the principal motivator of his actions, or as the love of Steve’s life. You know who was? Bucky. Sure, that love wasn’t canonically romantic in nature, but there can’t be any doubt that Bucky meant more than anything to Steve. Therefore, Steve choosing to have a ‘soft epilogue’ that entails him spending the rest of his life without Bucky – and, more importantly, Bucky to spend the rest of his life without Steve – contradicts everything we’ve learned about their relationship (platonic or otherwise) in the rest of the movies, does it not? 

Also, the Russos have said something to the effect that Bucky and Steve were now both mentally ‘well enough’ to not ‘need’ each other anymore (because as we all know, that’s exactly how friendships work…), but it’s pretty clear from EG that Steve was still traumatized by everything he’d been through, and going back to the 50s would have meant he would never be able to get proper help with that and in fact could only talk about any of it with Peggy and Peggy alone. Moreover, M&M have literally said in interviews that Bucky wasn’t all that well yet, mentally, and TFAWTS also shows convincingly that Bucky was not actually in a good place when Steve left him. So that would have meant that Steve either did not see this (unlikely, given how close they were) or did not care (unlikely, given how close they were). 

It would have meant that for the first time in all these movies, Steve decided “to hell with Bucky’s needs, I’m gonna just be selfish because I’ve earned it and claim my trophy wife because actually I am the best man for her, despite the fact that she’s already lived a happy life that I will be negating against her wishes, but that’s fine because maybe I’ll be able to create a different timeline, and maybe I’ll be able to save Bucky from all his trauma anyway, but then again maybe not, but that brings me back to my first point of to hell with Bucky’s needs” - which does not make a lot of sense to me, personally. Not to mention that, in exchange for his ‘soft epilogue’, Steve would also leave the world to sort out the post-Blip mess without him, and leave all the other friends he still had left and clearly cared about a lot to boot. I would not call that character growth, I would call that character disintegration. If your brother insists on taking the creator’s word as gospel and that we have to accept that Steve really did do what he did at the end of Endgame, and that wasn’t just a case of bad, lazy writing fuelled by greed, then to make a decision like this, Steve would have been either an asshole in disguise all along, or mentally extremely unstable.

There you have it, my two cents! I hope this helps a little in settling the argument with your brother, anon! Lots of love ❤️

[wizkiddx]

the worst case scenario 2

i did decide to make this a little parter thing, but really want to be as sensitive as poss (honestly using this as a sort of therapy for what I see myself ah). So please   do not read if anything in the warnings may trigger. I very much am not trying to ‘romanticise’ these sorts of situations in any way but also be aware medically this is NOT accurate.This part is short but I think there will be more.

warnings: hospital - ICU, respirators / mention of death , maternal mortality / talk of family dynamics and abandonment of a child

[previous part]

The sight Nikki walked into is something that as a parent you never want to see. Walking into this cold and otherwise empty ‘relatives room’ to see her son collapsed in a world of pain onto his best mates chest. Tom was too busy sobbing to even notice her entrance but her and  Harrison instantly locked eyes . Not even able to muster up a greeting smile, Harrison just nodded her in, admitting her entrance to the most horrific situation. 

It was about half an hour since she had been texting Haz, arranging when they’d be able to come and visit the newborn in hospital or whether it would be better to just wait till the new family got settled back at home, when Nikki had got a call from Tom’s number. With an excited grin she had instantly whipped her phone off the kitchen counter within one ring- a facial expression that didn’t last long at all. 

Met with the distant sound of crying first, Harrison’s deeper voice then emitted itself from her phones speaker, alerting her to the fact everything was very not right. He’d asked her to come to the hospital, said it was Y/n, that the baby was fine and then hung up. Dom immediately agreed to come with her but right now he was still parking the car, having dropped Nikki off right at the front. It had sounded that bad. 

Now, she knelt down infront of Haz and Tom, the latter who still was leaning over the arm rest and currently silently crying into his friends chest. Haz didn’t miss Nikki’s hands shaking as she reached out and rubbed up and down her sons back, the action prompting him to suddenly lean up to face her. He was broken. Totally and completely broken. Wordlessly, Nikki looked up for a second, communicating with Harrison so as if rehearsed he stood up and Nikki took his place in the chair - giving him a break from being Tom’s support. Beyond appreciative of how well Nikki could read a situation, Haz quietly but still in a hurried fashion made his way to the door. 

Because he was about to crack too - Tom couldn’t see him like that, not right now at least. And so his legs, completely of their own volition, carried him down the hallways. He had absolutely no idea what time it was, all sense of time passing had completely been thrown off earlier in the morning. He was oblivious to a lot, very much in his own thoughts and only realised where he had ended up when a nurse he vaguely recognised managed to garner his attention. 

“You’re here for baby Holland? She’s just round here.”

“I-“ He couldn’t respond but the nurse just nodded and then started off down the hallway, practically forcing the blonde to follow a couple of meters till they got to a perspex viewing window. 

“She’s the little cutie in the far corner over there.” The brunette middle aged lady softly spoke as she pointed through the glass to the incubator in the corner. “ Don’t worry about all the equipment, the doctors already come round and cleared her. She’s good to go home when you guys are…are ready.” Her words had trailed off, Harrison guessed she didn’t know how to phrase the current ‘situation’ Tom and Y/n were in either. After a couple of moments, the nurse placed a gentle hand on Harrison’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You want to have a cuddle? I know your not dad but…”

“Yeh-yeh…please.” 

Harrison just felt awful. The little girl was barely hours into life and yet she wasn’t receiving nearly as much as love as she should be. Instead unnamed and alone in a cold and clinical setting. So he silently nodded away, taking in all the instructions the nurse gave as she sat him down in the arm chair next to the incubator. 

Once she placed the little blanket wrapped bundle in his arms the nurse smiled gently up at Haz “You want to feed her? I’m sure she’d prefer it from you than me love?” Ah. Now Haz really was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She’d never been given a feed before - except presumably the midwifes. 

“I-uh Y/n hasn’t even  so I probably shouldn’t…”

“I can promise you Miss Y/l/n would probably want her baby to be cared for by someone that loves her and that Miss Y/l/n trusts herself.” Ooof. How were nurses so intuitive? She literally read his mind and broken down all the ill-founded ideas Harrison had built up. 

“I’m not her Dad.”

“But you care.” Looking down once and briefly at the squished little face that wormed herself into Harrisons broad chest a little more, he then immediately nodded in agreement. Looking almost relieved, the nurse handed him a bottle and directed him as to how to hold it. After mere moments she gasped happily, leaning back whilst the blonde boy waited for her input. 

“She’s latched on easy peasy. You’re doing great, I can leave you to it if you want - I’ll only be round the corner.”

“Can you check if there’s any news on Y/n?” The kind lady nodded, before promptly exiting the room - leaving the two actually alone for the first time ever. 

He didn’t even think about it, whilst Haz cradled her in one arm and held the bottle up at the angle shown by the nurse, he quietly spoke to the little bundle. 

“I’m sorry you were lonely… your mum and dad love you lots and lots… we all do.” Not realising he was crying, Harrison almost scared himself when a single strangled and repressed sob escaped from his chest. “ You’re mum…. She’s a pain in the arse right?” Haz laughed a little wetly “ She’s sarky as hell and she always has an answer… you’d probably think she’s a badass… she is. And-and…. Your dad is just scared… He loves you I promise, he just… he’s worried about you mum.” Now there was actual tears welling up and overflowing his lower lash line, not matter how much he tried to blink them away. “But whatever… whatever happens. You got all of us kiddo… you got me.”

Jolted out of his thoughts by the ladies knuckles rapping twice on the door, Harrison immediately shook himself out of it, wiping his face on his arm to hopefully remove all the evidence of the slight emotional breakdown. 

“Mr Osterfield… the doctor wanted me to let you know he’s on his way to talk to Mr Holland.”

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Harrison managed to get back to Tom, Nikki and now Dom before Dr Webber returned, so with a greeting nod to Dom he too took a seat opposite Nikki and Tom. His best mate wasn’t crying anymore, which could be considered a positive were it not for the sinisterly empty look in his eye. He looked almost robotic, staring almost straight ahead at the light grey wall, sat straight and rigidly except for his one hand clasped in Nikki’s. 

“You went to see the baby?” Nikki broke the silence, making Harrison smile sadly over at her with a nod. It didn’t even look as though Tpm heard his mum speak, even if he was sat right next to her. “She’s okay?”

“Yeh…I gave her a bottle. She-she’s very cute.” Harrison could see Nikki’s face morph into one of kindness before she looked left toward her son. Nikki was still yet to see to unnamed girl but just thinking about her made her heart flutter. And then stop when she thought about what that little girl was already going through, barely hours into existence. 

“You hear that Tom? Maybe you could go down and see her soon? After we’ve spoken to the doctor?” Nikki was only trying to do the best thing, Harrison knew it and deep down Tom did know it too. But now really really wasn’t the time for some gently encouragement from his mother, it wasn’t just Tom being a little stubborn. This was his whole entire world falling apart around him. He didnt have the energy or focus to even shoot down his mother, instead Tom chose to stay completely still - engrossed in his own thoughts. 

From the outset, when you take that leap and say to a person ‘I think we should try for kids now’ you are completely putting yourself at the mercy of the other. But when they agree? Then it’s a commitment. Not it the same way marriage is - because that’s a completely selfish gesture, you get married because YOU want to be married to each other. Rather, agreeing to have a kid is a promise, a promise of something more. Promising that you are bringing this life into the world - and half of that life is yours. You create it together and it becomes a joint responsibility. You can never, no matter what people think, ever stop being a parent. At the end of it all there will be another person that knows, scientifically, it is half you. Even if they never met you - they still ‘knew’ you. They would know you had to exist, they would see things in themselves that cannot be explained rather than the influence of their creator. 

And sure, it didn’t always work out that way. A parent would up and leave, a child always with questions and a sense of betrayal. But that child… they know you. Because there is half of you in them. 

So it was Y/n and Tom together that was slumbering blissfully on a ward downstairs. That was the scary thing. Tom was so sure he didn’t have it in him. He  wouldn’t do this without her. He couldn’t be a dad to a baby without a mum. He couldn’t be a parent without Y/n. 

Almost thankfully for the atmosphere in the room, a soft know had them all snatching their heads up the very same grey slightly potato like doctor waddled in, this time followed by 2 others; a tall, dark haired woman with a soft and empathetic smile; then another man but this one tall and slender, unlike the other two who were wearing professional clothes, he was donned in scrubs (with the scrub hate too).

“Mr Holland and uh… family” Dr Webber awkwardly greeted the new arrivals of Nikki and Dom, somehow apparently sensing they were Tom’s and not Y/n’s parents who were hours away. Oh fuck, Tom hadn’t even phoned them yet. 

“This is Dr Alison Goodwell and then Dr Rohan Avinash, he is Y/n’s surgeon.” They filed in and took seats surrounding them, Dom and Harrison standing up to stand off to the side, not wanting to get in the way of the doctors. All Tom could do though was overanalyse everything. Why was the surgeon here? What was this other lady doing here? A  pathologist? — no, he wasn’t going to think like that. Then the taller and most scary looking of the three inched forward, commanding the attention of the whole room.

“Mr Holland, I just wanted to go over what happened. Ms Y/l/n developed plactental accreta, which was the cause of the what we call here a post partum haemorrhage. When you raised the alarm she had already lost, at best guess, 3 pints of blood which is a lot, there’s no denying. Dr Webber and his team quickly brought her up to my team in surgery. We transfused her with blood but we couldn’t stabilise her and the bleeding didn’t show any signs of stopping so we had to perform emergency surgery….” Dr Avinash slowed down as he took in how close Tom looked to bursting out in tears once again, offering him the chance to have a moment to collect himself. Vehemently shaking his head in refusal, Tom crung his hands together furiously. He just needed to know. “Okay… Now the nature of the surgery, because we had to be so quick…it is quite invasive and is a lot of stress to put on anyones body. That and the amount of blood she had already lost makes the situation very dangerous. Sometimes when this happens a persons heart-“ Tom’s breath halted in his throat at the mention of her heart, Harrison sharing the bleak trigger which made him shift uncomfortable between his two feet. “-notices this, it goes into what we call hypovoloemic shock, this just basically means its not getting enough volume of blood to pump properly. So we have had to stimulate Ms Y/l/n’s heart with electricity to keep it pumping-“

“You shocked her?” He felt so numb and now adrenalin was coursing through his own veins, images like you see on TV shows of her body arching up not he table from the volts of electricity.

“I’m afraid we did have to but it meant we could keep her stable enough to fix the bleed. I am sorry to say this but we’ve had to remove her whole womb because it was so damaged.”

“But Y/n?” Again Harrison lost all willpower of control, though to be fair he wasn’t sure if he was being impatient or not -  this doctor appeared to be delivering this news painfully slowly, as if to torture everyone as much as possible.

“Your fiancé lost a lot of blood and her body went through a lot” The towering doctor kept his focus on Tom the whole time, Harrison’s interjection seemingly falling on selectively deaf ears. “We’ve had to use a machine to control her breathing  and for the moment she is still in a very dangerous place. Right now she is stable but I don’t want to make any promises to you. We are nowhere close to out of the woods yet.” Seemingly, feeling compelled to add in, the brunette doctor spoke for the first time since entering.

“But it’s still one hurdle she has got through… Now that the surgeons are finished with Ms Y/l/n me and the other intensive care doctors will be keeping a very close eye on her okay? We are all going to be working with you and your family 24/7, to keep Y/n as comfortable as possible.” Her soft smile managed to somehow break through to Tom, who jerkily nodded while Nikki squeezed his hand tight. There had been a lot of that going on  today and even if Tom would say he wished nothing more that it was Y/n rather than his mums grip - he still appreciated it. The doctor continued, leaning forward so her elbows were resting on the tops of her thighs. “Right now she’s asleep and probably will be for quite a while. We first want to be sure she’s not in any pain, so she is sedated. Now assuming everything goes okay tonight and she stays stable we might want to think about possibly reducing that sedation, however for right now I hope you are all in agreement that we just want to make sure she’s comfortable?” The whole room nodded steadily in response which the doctor acknowledged with a satisfied smile. 

“And we are all aware this is a lot to take in so if you have any questions or think of any please just let us know - it’s important that you guys are all fully in the know… How is your daughter?” Dr Webber started off so well, Tom was almost going to smile thankfully at him, until he mentioned it. Instantly, the cold and empty look reappeared behind Tom’s eyes as the room was held in silence for long enough to be uncomfortable. To be fair, the doctor wasn’t to know that recently Tom had taken to refusing to acknowledge he even had a child. 

“I-she’s really good… the nurse there said she’s ready to leave whenever” Harrison had to show that at least someone was looking out for her, he couldn’t not. 

“Okay” sharing a knowing look with Harrison, Dr Webber pitifully clasped his hands together, before looking back to Tom. “Would you like Dr Alison take you up to see her, sir?” 

again pls let me know if anyone is very not okay with this, i can take it down and not write any more!

[laryna6]

I’m not going to start posting Lichverse yet even though I finished the novel because there’s worldbuilding stuff that needs to be changed after the reveal that Igris’ species are born from fruits of the world tree instead of being creations of the Monarchs as per monsters (or maybe the creator made monsters to serve the monarchs but canon doesn’t say so I can have fun) and also while I HAVE figured out when to have Jin-Woo’s chest open so people can see he has two hearts I haven’t given up on working in the creepy cute aesthetic and other stuff I want to do earlier.

Also the reveal that in previous timelines Ashborn zombie apocalypse’d humanity (probably bc we were too squishy to survive being ground zero and he couldn’t protect us so he wanted to gather our souls before we got slaughtered more painfully by other monarchs’ armies and ceased to exist - also bc needed larger army to fight other monarchs and keep Antares from killing him and all his shadows with him) as soon as he took over his new host body. So it makes sense that the rulers would ask a human to find a human host and like Il-Hwan would agree - his family lives in a major city. In the case of shadow blitzkreig, they’re all gonna get turned into undead mind-controlled into adoring Ashborn, nothx. Also the Architect didn’t want to pick Jin-Woo, Ashborn insisted, in times where Jin-Woo wasn’t Like That the Architect would have gotten to pick and would have picked an asshole. So Il-Hwan goes looking for the stuff an asshole would have done to level up in a setting where what happens in a dungeon... and then the monster who has repeatedly slaughtered Il-Hwan’s species like cattle is using his son as a host body.

So yeah, Dad has been highkey Suffering.

But, anyway, here’s the current draft of the first chapter of lichverse. Warning for like, canon-typical stuff + also frottage.

Abandoned by everyone, about to be crushed like a bug…

It seemed as though the stone blade paused for a moment, but maybe it was his perception of time slowing down as his death approached.

It was finally over. His sister… mother! The pain would stop… but Mother would die, and Sister… Sister would have to scrabble like he had. A teenage girl?

He’d sold his body to keep his mother alive. Jin-ah…

As the blade crashed down he fell and was caught. Was cradled.

Darkness… a soothing, cool darkness. No more pain, no more fear. But still… warm. This darkness didn’t have a beating heart, but still…

Jin-woo knew the heart of someone who had lost too much, far too much, and would do anything to protect the precious little they had left. He saw someone like that in the mirror, when he couldn’t avoid it.

This person… would never hurt him. Never let him be hurt. He was safe.

“Return to me,” he heard a voice he knew calling for him, and he knew he would always answer.

A black-armored figure before him, flickering with black and purple light. Too large to be human. A monster. A monster and still when Jin-woo found himself on his feet he took a step towards him gladly, eagerly. A step and another. This feeling… like when his Mom or Dad came home and called his name and he ran to them, happy to see them.

He stopped when he had to crane his head back almost painfully far to meet those glowing eyes – an undead – he was an undead…? And saw the concern in them. For him, for a weakling, for nothing, and he knew he was safe. He’d been so scared, everyone had left him to die alone. But someone… someone came. Someone saved him. The relief sent him to his knees as the last of the stress that had kept him on his feet for so long left him.

Slumping even further forward, he bowed his head and pressed against those armored legs. He trembled, the pain and fear he’d had to suppress for so long escaping his body. Day after day, knowing he was already far, far past his estimated life expectancy. Knowing he was going to die and it was going to hurt, and even if he lived he was going to hurt but he had no choice. There had been no choices since Mom was taken from them too.

And that great figure knelt and put a hand on his head.

That mana… it was terrifyingly powerful, but he knew why it didn’t terrify him. Something he’d tried not to think about for years: the moment he’d awakened, feeling mana, power all around him. Power that dwarfed his, could crush him. But it had never even occurred to him to feel fear, because this was his father. Of course his father was the strongest! Of course he would save everyone!

Instead he’d been so happy, running to his dad and saying he could be a hunter now! Like him! They could beat the bad guys together! And his Dad had patted him on the head and said, “Sorry, but you have to wait until you’re a little older before you can fight anything, and by that time I’ll have already beaten the bad guys that are making the gates appear. So you’ll never have to fight.”

“I won’t get to fight?” he’d asked, disappointed.

“Sorry,” his dad said, patting his head apologetically, but not sorry at all.

His dad… they hadn’t invented the measuring technology until a year after he vanished, so Jin-woo didn’t know how strong he was. It wasn’t until Mother was spending long enough asleep that Jin-woo could go get measured after school that he found out why his dad had fought so hard to keep him from ever having to hunt. He’d been proud of his Dad, believed he would have been an s-class, but… would an s-class really have had such a worthless son? But the mana in his memory, it was so much stronger than the a-class he’d seen once.

His father… His dad really was… tears fell from his eyes, and that hand remained to steady him, that mana still cradled him, as pathetic as he was.

He didn’t know how long he cried there, with loss and pain and fear and gratitude. No one… no one since Mother would have held him as he cried. He couldn’t burden Jin-ah or a stranger like that. If someone reported he wasn’t able to provide for Jin-ah…

That made him open his eyes. “Jin-ah…” he said, a plea. Part of him knowing that this person – monster – would understand how precious she was, how he couldn’t bear to fail her.

“You can return to her,” a deep voice promised him. That… the monster language. Was he still speaking Korean?

“Monsters attack humans,” he said, looking down at his hands, how they flickered with darkness too.

“Because they’re controlled by the Ruler’s crystals… but even without them the subjects of most Monarchs would see your kind as resources to exploit.”

Food.

That hand withdrew and the glowing figure shrunk until he met his own eyes, heard his own voice – speaking Korean this time. “You don’t need to be afraid. You know you will never hurt your sister. Or any of those you love.”

“I won’t hurt her?” he asked again, craving reassurance like a child. Like a weakling (the weakest of the weak).

“Never,” he was promised again, without a trace of irritation at having to repeat himself in his voice.

“I shouldn’t believe you.” Shouldn’t take that risk, with Jin-ah.

“Believe yourself.” This time he was scolded a little. “You went out there to die for her, over and over. You would never hurt her.”

It meant nothing that he went to hunt because it really didn’t do anything… he’d fail her eventually, and then she’d… “I failed her.”

“That was…” the other him – monster – the one who cared for him sighed. “That was my fault. I watched you, and how hard you fought to protect them, the wounds you bore… There was someone I wanted to protect. I fought knowing I would fail them, and yet… but you haven’t failed those you love. I am here because of all your struggle, all your pain and sacrifice.” A bottle appeared, was pressed into his hands. “I watched, I saw you, earn this a thousand times over. With this, you can cure your mother.”

Jin-woo drew in a breath, looking up with startled hope. The other him nodded, and he felt the promise. “You won’t have to be afraid anymore. You’re one of mine now. A human would have to gradually adjust to higher mana levels, but as a shadow I can fill you with my power. That wasn’t…” he sighed. “I was going to possess you, but when the Architect began to cast the curse meant to bring about your death, I couldn’t let him. …but I didn’t have enough of a foothold in that dimension to keep the stone from crushing you.” He scowled at himself. “I should have waited until you were safe, then killed the Architect and undone his curse. I have not done right by you. I’m sorry. You deserve better than than what happened to you. The least I owe you is making sure you can return to your life and your loved ones.”

Jin-woo’s eyes widened. An apology? An admission of fault? A being even stronger than his father, lowering itself to apologize to him? A nothing? The weakest of the weak?

Why? Who could force him to do it? Even S-ranks were beyond the law. He didn’t gain anything from it: his power could crush Jin-woo so easily, and if he could shape-shift then he could take Jin-woo’s place as he’d said he’d planned or maybe send another undead?

His hands curled around the bottle, pulling it to his chest as he began to believe it was real. Because the only reason he could see for this monster to apologize was if, if he really did think that Jin-woo deserved better. And if he deserved anything, then his mother deserved to wake, to live.

“The dungeon will close with the Architect dead. You need to return there and escape, or it will take some time for me to get another foothold in the human world and transport you there. My br-the Rulers are doing their best to shield it.”

He had to hurry. His mother… if it took too long they would take her off life support, and for her to die now, because he didn’t bring her the cure in time…

His mirror image nodded. “Go.”

That mana curled around him, bore him elsewhere, and he heard stone groan and topple to the ground a moment before he opened his eyes to find himself on the altar. Oh no, his foot…

His leg was still there!

…Why was he so surprised by that, when his entire body had been crushed, and yet here he was, intact even if he flickered with black and purple. He started to push himself up so he could get off the altar only for the altar to crumble beneath his palm. He stared down at it.

“…Ah. Humans wield strength only through channeling mana, but as a shadow the strength I’ve given you is yours. Until you can learn to control it, there are artifacts that seal all but a fraction of someone’s power, for negotiations. If I give you a few of them… and I know the curse the Architect designed, perhaps I can modify it…”

A window, like on a computer screen? Appeared before Jin-woo, then changed to show equipment? He felt weight after weight settle on him, then become as light as a feather, as thought it had vanished entirely.”

“The closest I can come is still half again as strong as you were before.”

He was stronger than before and this person was apologizing for it? At any time that thought would have stunned him, but how people treated him didn’t matter, not next to what he held in his hands. “That’ll only make me faster,” JIn-woo said, desperate to go.

The window swung out of his way and he jumped down off the altar. Out of the corner of his eye he saw it change once, then again. A bunch of squares. Inventory, it said? Two rows of those squares filled up with a graphic of.. he looked down. The same bottle he held. And in the lower right corner of the image of that bottle? x999

Was that… a thousand of these bottles per square? A potion that could cure Eternal Slumber? They, they’d be rich! He’d never have to run a dungeon again!

“With your power sealed like this, you’re vulnerable. I’ll send you Igris.” He felt another flare of mana, and a red-armored figure kept pace with him easily. “He has been my right hand since long before I became the Shadow Monarch.”

That feeling… Like Jin-ah. ‘One of the few precious people I have left.’

“He will protect you as if you were me.” Jin-woo turned his head to see an image of his mirror image running beside him. The other nodded to Ignes, who nodded in return.

Next to the other Jin-woo saw the status window. His status window. “So I am an undead… You can bring back the dead?” he realized belatedly. “My, my father…”

“He’s not dead,” the other told him. “He was the vessel of one of the fragments of brilliant light, he wouldn’t have died within a space they control unless there was a monarch there, and I’m keeping track of all of them.”

Jin-woo froze, skidded to a halt. “He’s not…” He trembled. His mother, enough money to secure Jin-ah’s future, even… even his father…

“I will try to find him, but I can’t promise anything.”

Jin-woo shook his head quickly before the other could apologize. Even a chance his father could come home, that he, his mother could see him again! “Yours,” he swore. “I’m yours.” Anything, for this. He sold his life and death and pain over and over just to buy time. To have, to have his family… His soul wasn’t enough. He could never repay this.

Was this why a part of him had felt nothing but devotion towards the other as soon as he fell into has grasp? Had he sensed this in the mana? Or not even this, just… the kindness that made someone willing to give him so much, to give a nothing like him…

“You are not nothing,” the other him insisted as Jin-woo fell to his knees, his gratitude overwhelming him again. “Igris.”

Igris scooped him up easily as breathing, and practically flew to the dungeon exit, carefully placing him on his feet, steadying him the way the other and holding him up when Jin-woo tried to go to his knees again.

“You do not kneel before me,” the other told him. “You never have to kneel before me.”

“But…” but then what could he give? What could he offer? He looked at him with desperation.

“I need you,” he was promised. “I need for your will to protect your family. But I’ll explain later. You should be with your family now.” The other him – the one who felt the same desperate wish to protect – looked down at Jin-woo’s shadow and it filled with hundreds of eyes. “You and your sister should get to see your crea- Your mother again. That’s… You should get to have that.”

And Jin-woo knew that the other would never get to have that, never again.

“You won’t fail them,” his other promised him, forceful and desperate and yearning, and Jin-woo heard you won’t fail them the way I did. “We can talk later, there’s time. Take him home, Igris.”

And giant arms held Jin-woo tight until he found himself in front of his apartment door.

He scrambled for his keys, turned them, flung the door open – half again as strong – “Jin-ah!”

“Jin-woo?” he heard her throw herself out of bed, scramble for her bedroom door and through the living room. “JIn-woo? Are you okay?” she asked him.

That wasn’t important. “Mom,” he said, holding open his arms. “Igris, can you take us both?” Red darkness tried to rise from his shadow but the hall was too small and Igris was forced to appear outside. “I found something that can cure Mom.”

Jin-ah stared at him, mouth slipping open as if to ask him if he was serious but he would never say that unless he was. When she could move, she flung herself at him. As a hunter he could already lift her easily, but it wasn’t just his strength that made everything feel so light right now. “Igris… do you know where she is?”

The red-armored giant shook his head.

“I can give you directions.” He went out the door and Igris lifted them both as if they weighed nothing.

“is he a summon?” Jin-ah asked, breathless. “A healer’s summon? Are they going to cure Mom?”

“That way.” A blur, and when Igris was still again, Jin-woo said, “Sort of? I don’t know how to explain, I want to get to Mom. That way.”

Jin-ah didn’t interrupt again, vibrating with eagerness. She didn’t want to make this take any extra time either.

“That window, there,” JIn-woo said when they were outside of the hospital. Igris sat them down, swept his cloak over them and there they were, in the room.

Jin-woo lifted up the bottle to look at it and a window with a description and directions appeared next to it. She just had to drink the entire bottle? That easy? They were that close? He dodged around Jin-ah to get to the bed, then stopped, forced himself to go slow, to open her mouth carefully. He was stronger than before. He couldn’t hurt her, not like this. Not when they were this close.

A progress bar. Lists of ailments – muscular atrophy, eternal sleep… And everything finished counting down as Jin-ah shook him and asked, “Is it working? Is it working?”

And then she opened her eyes. “Jin-woo…” A moment more, an intake of breath, “Jin-ah?” he saw his mother realize how long it must have been. “Then…” He saw her look past them. He knew who she looked for, who she had watched for for so long.

“He’s alive,” he told her. “He’s alive and I’ll bring him home, I promise.” He could make a promise like that, as weak and pathetic as he was, because he had help.

He saw her look at him and frown, the way she’d frowned when she found out he was doing dungeons. The, ‘Are you kidding me? I’m an adult, we take care of things. Your job is to stay safe and study.’

Study… those potions, they had money, he wouldn’t have to do low-level dungeon runs.

His other self needed him for something and Jin-woo would make it happen no matter what, do anything for the person who gave him this. But… tomorrow wouldn’t be like today. Tomorrow his mother would be home.

A nurse finally arrived, her head downcast and shoulders slumped, and he saw her look up, then stare when she saw his Mother sitting up instead of lying there dead. “I found potions in a dungeon,” Jin-woo told her to forestall questions. “I’ll give you five of them if you let us leave, now.”

“My clothes…?” Mom asked the nurse.

The nurse blinked, “Ah, we returned your clothes to your family…” Because they’d known she was never leaving that bed.

And Jin-woo hadn’t brought anything. He went to the window, yanked it open, jumped out. “Igris?” he asked, then hesitated. He’d just ordered around something – someone – so powerful? Was that really okay? But Igris appeared and swept his cloak over Jin-woo again, and Jin-woo found himself in the entryway at home.

He’d forgotten to even close the door, let alone lock it. Clothes! Right, his mom’s clothes! He threw some of everything into a bag, then ran out and looked up at Igris hopefully. “Thank you,” he said as the cloak swept over him again, putting him in the hospital room.

The fact he’d screwed up by forgetting clothes for his Mom… That was, that was the kind of thing that happened in real life. This was, this was real. He dumped the bag out on Mom’s bed, throwing the clothes down hard enough to make the mattress bounce a little. “Sorry,” he said, but found himself grinning. He hadn’t… He hadn’t failed them

They were okay.

He…

Anything.

Anything.

He’d do anything for them. For this. Maybe he’d been turned into a monster, maybe he was going to be used to kill humans, but who cared as long as Jin-ah and Mom were okay?

He wanted the inventory screen open and it was. Reached and pulled five bottles out, one after another, as the nurse pulled over a curtain so Mom could get dressed.

“They just have to drink it all, every drop,” he told the nurse. “That’s it.”

“Potions are a thing now?” his Mom asked from behind the curtain.

Questions.

Oh shit.

Um.

He did not give a damn what was up with the other him or exactly how dead he was or anything like that, but he could not tell Mom that he died. He was not going to do that to her.

“I think Jin-woo reawakened and he’s a spatial mage now, Mom,” Jin-ah said helpfully. “Pulling those out of thin air is spatial magic, and he’s got a summon that can teleport us.”

She didn’t mention the flickering black and purple at all? Not that Jin-woo was going to bring up anything else he’d have to explain! It seemed ungrateful to claim that Igris was his summon, take credit for everything the other him had done, but it was better than making them worry.

The mana that was in Jin-woo now wasn’t his, but it felt like it could have been his, because the feelings in it… they were all feelings he knew. A lot of them too well. Someone so powerful wasn’t ‘another him,’ but… there were things that were the same. They were akin? Kind of like family.

So he said, “Igris can take us home.” They could be home, instead of having to wait torturous minutes on the subway. For him and Jin-ah it had been too long since Mom had been home. He needed to see her there, and then he’d be able to believe a little more that this was real.

But it helped, when she came out from behind the curtain. It helped so much when she wrapped her arms around him.

When they were home at last one of them wanted to go to sleep. Jin-woo desperately didn’t want his mom to go to sleep, but eventually she told them to get to bed and they went.

Shit. Did he have a bedtime again? He wouldn’t have to ride on public transit out to gates?

…when had he last gotten eight straight hours of sleep?

He’d been trying not to think about it. But he’d known. That he was wearing thinner and thinner. That it was only his youth letting him get away with how hard he was pushing himself. That he couldn’t keep this up forever.

…He lay down in bed and realized he didn’t feel tired at all.

…Did he need to sleep anymore? Mom had fed them, so he knew he could eat, but did he need to? He raised his hand to look at it. How energy flickered around it, but the hand itself didn’t flicker, as though he was solid or real or alive.

Thank goodness he still had body heat, or Mom and Jin-ah would have noticed when they hugged him.

…when had he last been hugged?

He wanted the menu thing open again. The status page. Sung Jin-woo the Enduring. General-class Shadow, Lvl. Max.

Shadow, was that what he was? Igris had appeared out of and vanished into his shadow sometimes, he recalled. ‘General…’ was… so he would need to fight. Something about protecting humans? If that wasn’t a lie.

He knew it wasn’t a lie. His hand went to his heart.

But he wasn’t an idiot, and things too good to be true… There had to be a catch somewhere. The fact he was so certain, the way he loved the other him the way he’d only loved Jin-ah, his mother and his father… He didn’t trust people like this. They knew he was worthless (he was worthless), so they treated him like that and he knew they were going to treat him that way.

But… someone who hadn’t wanted him to die… like his father had wanted to protect him, like his mother had wanted to take care of him, like Jin-ah had decided to be a doctor because she wanted to get better at patching him up… Someone who apologized to him like he was worth apologizing to.

The way his mom had apologized to him for being gone so long, for putting so much on his shoulders. She told him he was strong, was amazing, for bearing it, for doing so well.

In his status screen. ‘The Enduring,’ like he was worthy of a title, of anything.

The other him was something from the gates. That meant a monster. An enemy of humanity. But the more he thought about it, the more certain he became that he could trust him. Like family.

Jin-woo frowned.

…No, Dad would absolutely not have had a kid with a monster or something. He felt like he needed to say sorry even for thinking that.

“Igris?” he asked, and the knight appeared, sitting next to his bed in order to fit in his bedroom. “How do I talk to him again? Should I go inside a gate?”

Igris shook his head and raised his cloak again, tilting his head questioningly.

Jin-woo got into a sitting position and nodded. “Thanks, Igris.”

Instead of tensing up he relaxed when he found himself in the darkness, surrounded by the other him’s power. When he saw him. “Thank you,” he said. “I can’t ever thank you enough.”

The other him shook his head. “I’m glad you could have that. Your family, safe for now. I’m glad I was able to help bring it about. There’s still someone missing. I’m limited in what I can do without revealing I’m active. I’m sure the Rulers know since they’ve been using the blood they shed to time-travel, but the monarchs… The Architect was still willing to work with me, but the instant they realize I won’t help them loot your world they’ll go back to trying to make me stay dead.”

“Can they?” Sung Jin-woo asked, eyes widening. Could he lose this person? He couldn’t… to have a chance at having everyone home, and then lose the person who made it possible…

“No power is limitless. Even that of our creator.” The other him touched his replica of Jin-woo’s chest.

“…Do you have a name?” Jin-woo asked, to change the subject. Even if it sounded like he’d need to know about that eventually, he didn’t want the other him to have to try to explain it when there was so much Jin-woo didn’t know that an explanation wouldn’t help when he didn’t have the context for it.

“Ashborn, now. The Monarch of Shadows.”

“So I’m a shadow, and my class is General?”

“Not a class, but a rank.” Ashborn was silent a moment and then said, as though confessing. “Igris’ counterpart was trapped inside a barrier in the last battle. She couldn’t return to my shadow when her body was destroyed and her mana was torn apart. Unless you’re trapped in such a barrier, I’ll be able to bring you back no how many times your new bodies are destroyed. I sent Igris with you in case one of the humans hosting the power of the rulers finds you and realizes you’re mine. He can summon himself, but I must teach you how to quickly remove the limiters reducing your power and call your forces from your shadow.” He waved at the eyes gazing up at Jin-woo from his shadow. Or what pretended to be a normal shadow. “Once you know that much, it should be safe to let you return to the human world. For now. Once you have a serviceable knowledge of necromancy, Igris will teach you to dodge-tank, and after that you can choose your own combat training.”

“So I’ll be fighting?” Jin-woo asked.

“I’m sorry,” Ashborn said, as though that was anything to apologize for. “You will be attacked by all sides for being one of mine.”

And Jin-woo felt Ashborn’s pain in his mana, the pain of an old wound. How many of his had Ashborn lost…?

“But you’re good at surviving,” Ashborn told him, rallying. “I hope… Humans are so peaceful.”

There was soft longing in Ashborn’s voice, so Jin-woo didn’t say anything like, ‘what planet are you from?’ Jin-woo had attended that much school. Even before the gates, humans had huge wars and shit. But if idealizing humanity gave him something to hope for, then Jin-woo wasn’t going to burst his bubble.

“Compared to us,” Ashborn added, and Jin-woo realized that Ashborn’s mana was flowing through him and back into Ashborn. Right. So Ashborn would know his emotions too. “You hope that Jin-ah will never have to fight, not even to defend herself. The fact that you consider this a possibility… But I will show you how to assign her bodyguards.”

Trying to find out what exactly Ashborn wanted from him so he could deliver it on a silver platter could happen later. Protecting Jin-ah? He needed to know how to do that now.

“I will send an army with you, and show you how to summon them. If they are killed, they can be revived again and again, as long as you have mana. Let me give you this, to be sure you won’t be left unprotected.” A still beating black heart appeared in Ashborn’s hands, bleeding white flames.

He stepped forward. He’d had his ribs cut open before. For Mom, for Jin-Ah. Ashborn could do whatever he wanted to Jin-Woo, and he’d just be grateful he could be useful to the person who saved him. Who chose him.

But those hands and the heart just passed through his chest like a ghost’s, and there was no pain, just warmth in his body like drinking a hot cup of coffee on a cold night, and Ashborn’s mana flooding into him now that he could hold so much more of it. “Ah… Ah…” he gasped for breath, feeling that care melt him away, filling him so full it felt like he couldn’t take anymore and then something in him gave way – opened, and he jerked, head flung back, and panted even harder when there was more, the warmth in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach sparking heat that drove him to take a stumbling step forward. Seeking Ashborn, needing him. So amazed at arms around him, someone holding him up, helping him stand and he needed Ashborn. He’d needed someone, so desperate for so long, knowing no one cared but Jin-Ah and he’d die to keep her from having to bear this.

He craved Ashborn desperately, two hearts pounding in his chest loud enough to drown out all other sound.

For so long he’d felt so empty, so numb to everything but the pain of survival and dread of the inevitable, but now he was full, full of love and he wanted, wanted more, wanted to drink down more of what Ashborn gave him and drown in it, drown in him. He pressed against him, panting against his lips, moving his hips as he tried to bury himself inside the body that matched his – Ashborn thought he was pretty enough for it to be worth wearing that face himself, even if Jin-Woo didn’t have the money for plastic surgery and that was one more reason it was impossible to find a job that paid well enough to replace hunting.

Fire filled his veins and only Ashborn could quench it, and his liege held Jin-woo, warm arms around him, warm body against him, giving him everything he needed, letting him have everything he wanted, and more.

More and more, and then without warning white fire burned everything away.

When it receded, Ashborn was still holding him in his arms. “I could feel that you were alright, but you sounded like you were in pain.”

“It was good…” he moaned, hips jerking again, and then horror tried to penetrate through the warm lassitude. Had he just, just rubbed himself off against, against… the one he owed everything?! “I’m sorry!”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should apologize. I knew Baran conceived when his battle-lust reached its peak, I just didn’t realize that the pounding of his heart was connected.”

“Con- con-“

“The Monarchs and Rulers were made capable of bringing forth armies. I… After… I am no longer capable of that. All I can do is preserve what’s left of my children, and shelter the fallen children of others.”

“Am I….?!!” A terrified shriek escaped Jun-Woo.

“I thought your body wasn’t the type that created children?” Ashborn looked down at where their bodies were joined. “Your mother and Jin-Ah are the same type and you’re a different type, yes? Or was it your Dad who created the children and that’s why no more workers were produced to help support the hive after he left?”

“I’m an undead now, so, um…” He buried his head in his hands, feeling really stupid, and in front of Ashborn. He wanted to die. Again.

But Ashborn still held him, Ashborn’s affection and admiration for him still poured through him.

“I’m sorry,” he said though.

“I think it’s admirable, how dedicated you are to taking care of your family. Of course you would want to be sure you hadn’t created a child when you’re still learning to control your own strength and might not be able to protect them.”

Like when people assumed he was some kind of thrill-seeking idiot, Jin-Woo thought ‘I could explain, but I don’t want to have that conversation,” and kept his mouth shut.

[chaoskirin]

I wanted to explain a post I reblogged to my @chaoskirin blog earlier, about why you can’t separate the art from the author when it comes to J.K. Rowling.

And to qualify this, I was a HUGE Harry Potter fan. I had doubts at first, but once I read the books, I was hooked. HP art, HP RPs, HP fics... You name it, I did it.

I’ve seen a lot of pushback against letting Harry Potter go, because “as adults, we should all be able to separate art from its creator.” (Paraphrased--but it’s always that argument.) The thing with JKR, though, is she refuses to be separated from her work. She has outright rejected the idea of “death of the author” and makes sure she’s integrated into the HP world so thoroughly that you can’t tear her out of it.

I know it’s hard to accept this. I’m sitting here thinking “should I really post this?” Because there’s a chance I’m just way off-base. But as an artist and writer myself, I can recognize that when my real-world beliefs go into my art, they only build people up, they don’t tear them down. Meanwhile JKR often used her work to write stereotypes and illustrate her beliefs in books meant for children. Cho Chang, goblins, lycanthropy as an allegory of HIV/AIDS, etc. And then there was the character stuff that happened outside the books: Dumbledore-is-Gay, the American School That Ripped Off Native American Culture...

Finally, there’s the use of her fame as a vehicle for her hate. Transphobic rants on Twitter, laws created with her blessing which seek to hurt trans people, attacking and near-bullying people who disagree with her, and getting away with all this because she has a blue checkmark next to her name. And this is only scratching the surface.

We could get into how people still love Charles Dickens and Rudyard Kipling, whose racist beliefs were “products of their time.” (which is a non-excuse to be fair--other people who lived during those times were very NOT racist, but that’s a digression.) But their beliefs don’t begin to compare with the real-world harm JKR has done.

Because if she’d written racist caricatures out of ignorance and then apologized when called out, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I mean, some people would. Twitter in particular doesn’t want people to get better--they want people to be perfect from the start. Which brings up a major problem with social justice champions--they paint everyone who fails with the same brush, rather than holding accountable those who STILL fail, while championing those who have learned. And that, in turn, makes boycotting people like JKR more difficult, which is the entire problem with cancel culture: If you cancel everyone, you make the world numb to real problems.

The point is, JKR not only used racist caricatures in her books, not only did she queer-bait and malign AFTER her books, not only did she write MORE stories with the same damaging rhetoric she’d already been called out on, but she continues to actively harm REAL people in the REAL world. As one of the most famous people in this generation, she has a platform, and she’s chosen to use it to hurt.

And her fans already gave her WAY more chances than they tend to give ordinary people who fuck up. It’s not like she went right from hero to zero. She’s had years to realize that she’s hurting people, and she just doesn’t care. Every time she’s called out on the bad stuff, she doubles down. She doesn’t even PRETEND to feel remorse.

I know it hurts. I know it’s your childhood. I know you really want to argue against this because disavowing something that meant so much to you is near-impossible. But please, I urge you to try.

Because she’s still active in her own fandom, and because she continues to regurgitate damaging bullshit which is actively hurting people, and because she has not and likely will never apologize for this, you can’t read her work critically while taking her out of it. You can’t be a fan of it without the understanding that she--and by extension, the books themselves--are harmful. You can’t continue to consume new material without supporting her. You cannot separate Harry Potter from JKR.

[mittensmorgul]

As Above, So Below

I’m still trying to pinpoint exactly why the focus on “heaven is fixed and actually a paradise now!” is just so deeply unsatisfying to me. And I think I need to preface this with a bit of backstory about me, because I think that gives the rest of this essay some relevant context.

I know this isn’t relevant to my main point here, but this is a metatextual and thematically identical example of the exact thing I’m gonna lay out, because context is always helpful. So please forgive this seemingly irrelevant detour, because I promise it will be relevant by the end.

(plus, would it really be an Essay By Mittens™ without at least one baffling tangent? no, it would not!)

Tangent time!

I think everyone that follows me knows how skeptical I was... or should I say how WARY I was of the way Eileen was returned to the narrative this season. We were warned in the PREVIOUS EPISODE how much Chuck was attempting to interfere in their lives. I was accused of some very nasty things, of hating the ship, or hating the character of Eileen, or of hating Sam and not wanting them to be happy. No amount of pointing at obvious warning signs in the text, no amount of yelling about Sam’s God Wound or the absolute klaxon warning that the wound had become “quiet” and his Chuck-O-Vision Nightmares had apparently stopped seemed to matter. I was declared “wrong” and told to shut up.

And then 15.09 happened, and basically everything I’d been wary of was shown to be what actually happened, but there were still unresolved issues. Eileen doubted her own feelings and walked away. She doubted what was actually real. And at the time, I said many times that I would be thrilled to see those issues resolved by the end of the season, and for her to truly know that what she’d felt growing between her and Sam was real. And by the end of the season, despite my personal horror at her previous situation (and having that personal horror compounded by the fandom literally gaslighting me and attempting to bully me into ignoring this basic actual plot detail of this specific growth process which... in the context of what my personal objection was to accepting her return at face value in the first place having been personal trauma associated with gaslighting and manipulation...) by the time 15.18 aired, I was 100% convinced that Sam and Eileen had fully chosen each other, and felt the traumatic pain Sam suffered during that text conversation with her during the snap. She NEEDED to come back, because she had been set up to be part of Sam’s Win. They were clearly each other’s future.

The show literally put in all the work to make even *me* feel this to be True and Right and Good. And then after that point we never even hear Eileen’s name again. We never were told that she was even returned at the end of 15.19. Sam, who had been so entirely devastated by her disappearance in the previous episode that he couldn’t even process it was apparently hit with an amnesia hammer and just... never even thought about her again through a long greyscale life with a blurry baby Dean factory vaguely in the background of a single scene of his life. I can’t credit or justify how after an entire year invested in making us all truly care about Sam and Eileen and the happiness they found in each other if only the cosmos would allow them to choose each other in the end would just... erase all of that in the series finale.

Which brings me to the second tangent, which is specifically about *me,* and how I feel about the cosmic order in the television show Supernatural. Because I feel a lot about it. Probably more than most people ever did. And this is also important to understanding the main underlying point I need to make here.

Something I’ve been most looking forward to, for YEARS, about Supernatural eventually ending someday was writing a book, or a thesis, or even just organizing and compiling all my observations into a cohesive narrative specifically about the cosmology of the Supernatural universe. I’ve been cobbling together my observations and realizations about the nature of heaven, hell, purgatory, the empty, the alternate universes we’ve seen, and yes, even the cosmic function of the mundane level of the story as told by events that transpired on Earth. So of everyone watching this dumb show for the last 15 years, I don’t actually know anyone who cared more that I did about finding a satisfactory resolution and transformation of every plane of existence-- the mortal world AND the “afterlife realms” we’ve experienced on this show. And in the wake of the finale, I feel cheated out of that. Because in the end, it wasn’t about the triumph of free will and a flip of the script, it was just more of the same.

And now that I have those two preliminaries out of the way, I’ll finally get to the point. :’D

(hooray, it didn’t even take 1k words to get there for once!)

The “main stage” of Supernatural has always been Earth. It’s always been “Humanity.” At the very start, we meet two men whose lives had always been dictated to them by higher powers. At first, that “higher power” was their father who raised them in his vengeance mission, who trained them to hunt the supernatural. It was the inciting incident of the entire series, after all, their realization that forces outside of their control had irrevocably altered the course of their lives. It had forever torn down what they’d trusted in family, in personal safety, and would become something they couldn’t outrun or fight back against for long before another wave of cosmic discord would settle over them once more.

We watched this story play out in ever increasing spheres of cosmic significance, until Gabriel laid it out on the table for them in the simplest possible terms (in 5.08).

GABRIEL: You do not know my family. What you guys call the apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner. That's why there's no stopping this, because this isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other. You'd think you'd be able to relate. SAM: What are you talking about? GABRIEL: You sorry sons of bitches. Why do you think you two are the vessels? Think about it. Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father, and Lucifer, the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan. You were born to this, boys. It's your destiny! It was always you! As it is in heaven, so it must be on earth. One brother has to kill the other. DEAN: What the hell are you saying? GABRIEL: Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you? Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you. Always. A long pause. SAM and DEAN look down, then at each other. DEAN: No. That's not gonna happen. GABRIEL: I'm sorry. But it is. GABRIEL sighs. GABRIEL: Guys. I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow...but this is real, and it's gonna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's gotta be. ***

And isn’t that all even 1000x more painfully ironic that it all still happened even 10 years later? It was always going to end with them. And lol, “I wish this were a TV show” because if it was then it wouldn’t have to end bloody.

But this… was a Major Acknowledgement that the meta level of this story was consistent, and was telling us something important. It demonstrated that the Cosmic Structure Itself was the cause for Sam and Dean’s “destiny” in this story. But that’s not what the point of this story has ever been.

Nobody (including me, who is literally obsessed with this aspect of the story) has ever invested themselves in the narrative of Supernatural because they cared about the fate of the cosmic order over and above the fate of the characters who had committed to overthrowing it all, to “tearing up the pages” and writing their own destinies. I mean, we became invested because Sam, Dean, and Cas as characters took us by the hand and invited us to come along with them as they battled against fate for the good of EARTH and HUMANITY.

And certainly, Heaven being a horrific sort of eternal replay of the “highlights” of individual souls greatest hits, where free will didn’t apply as everyone was just boxed away into their individual holodecks to serve as some sort of giant Heaven Battery powering the furtherance of this narrative, this “cosmic order” that had become so powerful it dictated the events and manipulated the lives of people who still existed in the ostensible realm of free will and human life on Earth… that couldn’t stand in the end. But what the narrative (and people I’ve seen attempting to justify the finale as narratively sensible) seems to have forgotten was that all of that was Chuck’s construct to begin with. That without Chuck holding his kingdom in Heaven together, the walls of all those soul cubicles ceased to even be relevant.

After spending their entire lives to this point constantly fighting their way to the absolute pinnacle of the As Above, So Below narrative and pulling the plug on the original creator himself, Humanity should’ve triumphed. And I’d argue that it DID, through Jack restoring the missing essential “humanity” to the divine condition. And, silly me, I thought they’d achieved the promise of “paradise” heralded by Jack’s birth at last, and truly “flipped the entire script of the narrative.”

Ever since they thwarted the original apocalypse, I had hope that they would continue to achieve the same result right up the ladder. Metatron trying to fill the role of Chuck Junior hit his own narrative wall in TFW, while Dean’s battle with the Mark of Cain, and Cain telling him he was “living my life in reverse” and would succumb to destiny by killing his loved ones in the “reverse order” to Cain’s own path to downfall cemented this for me. Dean not only failed to kill any of his loved ones (you didn’t kill your own brother. why?), he SAVED them. He didn’t fulfil the prophecy in reverse, he subverted it. He UNMADE it.

Perhaps I was thinking on too grand a scale, that the ultimate inversion wouldn’t be “God is overthrown and replaced by more of the same,” but “God is overthrown and the entire order of the universe is restructured from the bottom up rather than the top down.

I’d hoped against hope that the conclusion of the narrative would be “As below, so above,” with the fundamental power of human love becoming the new foundation of the cosmic order. It never even occurred to me that “taking back the narrative to rewrite it for ourselves” was not the ultimate goal of Team Free Will, or the ultimate expression of their biggest win.

This whole “well heaven really needed to be rebuilt, there was still work to be done!” seems… irrelevant to me if they’d truly won free of the cosmic narrative. The entire structure of the universe-- including Heaven and Hell-- should’ve defaulted to the paradise state that Jack was literally born to bring to fruition. Wasn’t that the point of his entire role in the story, ultimately?

And if that wasn’t the case in the end, why did we never learn the fate of Hell? Was it just… irrelevant and unchanged after this? Or just… abandoned as a concept entirely? It’s just strange to me to put such a focus on heaven being the sole sphere of import in the end that it undercuts the essential humanity of the narrative for me.

The story itself had kept Heaven on a back burner for years, only occasionally mentioning that the structure of the place was falling further and further into disrepair with a dwindling force of angels struggling to keep the walls in place at all, that it seems like it could’ve been an afterthought at the end of the series rather than a focus so large it required the death of both main characters to make sure we all understood that Heaven Had Changed Now. Because TFW had never been fighting to make Heaven right. They’d been fighting to save the world itself, for humanity to all have a chance to live their lives as their own.

And we didn’t need to see that in the final hope they might get their own lives on Earth to explore. In the end, the fundamental narrative that Life On Earth was dictated by the cosmic structure of creation was never fully subverted. And for me, that’s the main reason I just… can’t accept the finale. It wasn’t a victory of free will and humanity, in the end it was just more of the same.

I appreciate the attempts to take the essential bones of the story we did get and apply a different polish to the surface of the skeleton, but to me it still feels like we’re looking at completely different beasts in the end. Like… to me this was as jarring a revelation as those drawing of modern animals reimagined as dinosaurs entirely based on their skeletons. Like, all along the narrative told me I was looking at a swan. They told me this skeleton they’re building out from is definitely a swan, without a doubt.  I know what a swan looks like-- a graceful feather-covered bird with magnificent wings. I trusted that in the end it would be at least remotely swan-looking. And then the finale ended up looking like this

and I just don’t even know where everything went so wrong. Or maybe all along I just assumed they actually knew what a swan looked like, but weren’t sure they could actually pull it off and settled for whatever the heck this is instead. Either way, I’m actually kinda grateful to the finale for being so entirely disappointing on every level, because otherwise I probably would’ve tried to adopt the monstrosity of it anyway. And I’m really, really glad I don’t have to.

[doctenwho]

Alec’s Emergency Contact

Welcome back! I loved this prompt! It was so cute and I really got carried away writing! I believe I stuck to the main idea, but there’s a lot of fluff in here too, and Alec having a bit of personality because he’s with someone he loves (like with Daisy).

Hopefully I got his character right, since I’ve not posted anything Broadchurch yet, and sometimes it takes me a couple tries to get a character right. A couple small spoilers for season 1 along the way, but nothing too big, I don’t think. Anyways, I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it! 

Warnings: None, I don’t think.

Word Count: 3,722

Summary: Read the prompt :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to creator!)

Alec Hardy did not remember a whole lot before he went down. He and Miller were chasing whomever had Danny Latimer’s cellphone, and then, well, he got a bit overexerted? Ran out of steam? Lost his footing?

Alright fine, he nearly died. He worked his heart too hard, and he collapsed on the job. Not only that, he collapsed in front of Miller. Damn Miller. How was he supposed to hide it from her now? He’d done so well at hiding his heart arrhythmia from everyone in Broadchurch, but now Ellie knows, and if Ellie knows, it won’t be long until everyone knows. Especially if it’s something regarding his wellbeing.

Bloody small towns. 

It wasn’t intentional, that much he knew. He really hadn’t been meaning to work himself to the bone just yet, not when there was still so much to be doing for the case. He’d be no use to the case if he were dead, and then no one would get justice and Danny’s killer would walk free, despite his unforgivable deed.

But he also couldn’t just stop because his heart decided it didn’t want to endure the difficulties of being a Detective Inspector. He had promises to keep, to the families of the victims, to the victims themselves—and to himself.

He’d told himself he’d get justice for Danny and his family if it was the last thing he did, which might just be what it comes down to. He’d told himself the same thing about the Sandbrook case, but he’d be damned if another case took a sour turn like Sandbrook had.  

He would get justice for these children. For the three misfortunate kids (and teenager), and the families to lose them far too soon. He owed them that much.

Hardy had blinked his eyes open, only to shut them just as fast. The light streamed into the room, bright and white, and almost blinding. He was reclined in the bed, covered by a blanket and propped up on a pillow or two.

He was no stranger to hospital rooms, in Sandbrook and in Broadchurch, and with this stupid heart arrhythmia, he was sure this wouldn’t be the last time either.

Even if he did try to stay out of stressful situations, and give his heart breaks, it was only getting worse. He’d need the peacemaker to really aid in his wellbeing. But he couldn’t commit to an operation when he was so close to cracking the Danny Latimer case and getting the boy the justice he deserved.  

The room was quiet, a soft beeping of a heart monitor announcing his heart beats, which had thankfully steadied. It wasn’t erratic, or beating out of his chest as it had been during the chase. Small victories he supposed.  

Hardy turned a bit onto his side to look around the room, studying the monitor and it’s reading, as well as the IV drip in his hand. He huffed a quiet breath at the medical equipment before turning on to his other side and almost dropping back onto his back in hazy surprise at hearing an irritated voice huff a rather annoyed, “well, look who’s back in the land of the living.” which was followed by his eyes landing on a very familiar, annoyed, face.

“(Y/N),” Hardy breathed out, trying to prop himself up on his elbows to get a better look at his boyfriend who should currently be home, hours away from Broadchurch, “what... what are you doing here? Why are you in Broadchurch?”

“Well,” you clicked your tongue, arms crossed across your chest, “as it turns out, when a loved one is literally dying, the hospital tends to contact your emergency contact.”

“I wasn’t dying,” Hardy tried to wave it off, rolling his eyes at his boyfriend. He couldn’t help the tug of guilt in his chest though, which in turn, made his heart skip a noticeable beat on the heart monitor. He glanced slowly at the machine, before looking back to his frustrated boyfriend.  

“No, you really were,” (Y/N) frowned, eyes locked on the machine to just give a warning beep, before you were casting your look back on your hospitalized boyfriend, “they told me you were dying.”

“They... they’re not allowed to tell you that.” Alec huffed, pulling himself up. You stood to adjust his pillows so he could sit up a bit more, and Alec didn’t seem bothered by you doing so.  

He wasn’t the fondest of being cared for, but honestly, you didn’t really care about that right now. Not when he looked so pitiful tucked away in a hospital bed after almost dying while chasing a supposed murderer.  

You’d heard the whole story form his new partner, who’d just stepped out to get the two of you coffee, just before Alec finally woke up.

You really needed the coffee since you’d driven almost all night to sit by Alec’s bedside until he woke up so you could scold him properly. 

Ellie clearly had the same idea, since she’d also been up all night with him, and it almost made you smile. Or, it would’ve if Alec hadn’t been in the Intensive Care Unit at your arrival.  

He’d been moved to a regular room shortly after when his heart steadied out, and you couldn’t be more thankful you could sit with him here. 

It was the worst feeling to have a loved one be so close to dying and not be able to see them—or hold their hand, which you hadn’t put down when you’d finally gotten a hold of. At least until Alec showed signs of waking, then you remembered you were cross with him.  

Ellie had been a lovely woman, charming and pleasant since you’d met her in the waiting room. You really weren’t sure how she had managed to put up with Alec, but then again, everyone always wondered how you could do the same thing. 

You’d heard bits and pieces of Ellie Miller from Alec over the phone, but you knew very little. He didn’t share every detail, but he was always happy to rant and grumble about things that annoyed him about people and work, and even Broadchurch as a whole.  

She was a good partner for him if she could manage to put up with him, and you’d expressed how thankful you were that she’d been there for Alec. You couldn’t even imagine if he’d had an arrhythmia when he was by himself.  

“They’re supposed to tell me everything that puts you in the hospital, Alec. Anytime you’re admitted, I should be the first person to know. Just like you’d like to know if I were admitted into the hospital, wouldn’t you?” Alec looked down to his lap, which was confirmation enough.

You rolled your eyes at the man in the bed, annoyed but fond all the same. You wanted to reach for his hand again, now that he was conscious and would squeeze your hand back like he always did, but you were still angry at him, “in fact, I’m a bit pissed off I wasn’t contacted when you fell in the restroom in your hotel room just after you got here. And even if they didn’t tell me, you should’ve rung me. You can’t keep these things a secret from me, not when it’s your health we’re talking about.”

“Hey, that one wasn’t my fault,” Alec frowned. “I was just as surprised as you were, I’m sure. It wasn’t a secret, I just... I don’t want to worry you.”

“I know,” you sighed, leaning back in the chair tiredly, “we’ll still talk about it later. And it’s my job to be worried about you. I only agreed to you coming here alone because you promised to look after yourself if I wasn’t here with you. I know how you feel about small towns and the gossip associated, but I’m not going to stand back and watch you work yourself into an early grave because you don’t want people talking about us.”

“It’s not that I don’t want them talking about us,” he stressed the word, “it’s that I don’t want you being hassled by newspapers for information about cases—and I certainly don’t want them focusing on us when there’s been a child murdered. Not everyone’ll be accepting of us—especially here with all the local chatter and that bloody Broadchurch Echo newspaper.”

He paused for a beat before lifting his attention and giving you a soft glare, “and I’ve been looking after myself,” Alec muttered, offended by the observation. “And if I haven’t, Millhur has been. She brings me tea, and... chips. I’m fine.”

“Of course,” you sniped, “it sure looks like you’ve been watching over yourself, Love.” You gestured easily along the length of Alec, curled up in a hospital bed. The man returned a look of irritation, but it didn’t bother you. “Honestly, you’d probably be far worse off if Ellie hadn’t been keeping an eye on you, which thankfully she has been watching out for your sorry arse.”

“Ellie,” the man wrinkled his nose, narrowing his eyes at your tense figure, “since when have you been buddy-buddy with Millhur?”

“Since the two of us sat up all night together waiting for a certain hospitalized spoon to come to.”

Once again Alec looked offended. Spoon wasn’t exactly an endearing nickname, but you were still upset with him. He was probably just upset that you finally met the Miller he talked almost fondly about, in his grouchy Alec way whenever the two of you spoke on the phone.  

You took a breath, exhaling slowly before launching yourself into another round of telling him off, which he clearly needed to hear, “I just can’t understand why you’d throw yourself into a situation you knew you were in no shape to be handling. Your heart is weak, Alec. You can’t be stressing, or overexerting yourself. You need to be careful, and chasing after a murder in the dead of night is certainly not careful.”

“I was doing my job,” Alec let his head fall back against the pillows propping him up. “I was doing what I’m getting paid to do. I’m doing what’s morally right for the families of the children who were murdered.”

“I know that,” you promised, “but, you’re not the only detective the world, Alec,” you tried to keep yourself from exclaiming, “you may be one of the best, but you’re not the only one. And you certainly won’t be any help when you’re six feet under because you ignored your own needs, and your body’s pleas for you to stop and take it easy for once!”

Alec’s lips curled up into a scowl, but he looked a bit more guilty that he really looked mad. You hated making him feel guilty for helping others, and being a truly amazing detective by bringing in bad guys, but you’d much rather this look guilty than, be attending his funeral because he ignored every word of advice ever given to him.  

It didn’t matter who said it, whether it be you, a doctor, a specialist, Daisy, or even his ex-wife, once he put his mind to something, there was nothing anyone could say to make him stop and reconsider. But you’d known that since way back when, when the two of you had started dating.

“You seriously almost died, Alec.” You sighed, looking down at the floor, “do you know how awful it is to get a call like that in the early hours of the morning? Someone phoning you to tell you that your boyfriend had been rushed to hospital after collapsing at work?”

“I know,” he whispered, reaching a hand out, barely hanging over the edge of the bed, “I know, Love, and I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to. But I couldn’t let him get away; I can’t do that to Danny. This case will not end the same way it did for Pippa and Lisa. I won’t let it—I can’t let it.”

You’d been following the case via news articles and police statements. You were proud of Alec for what he did for a living, despite fearing that it would eventually be the death of him. He really did so much for the victims and their families, more than anyone could know. He always worked so hard to bring in offenders, especially murderers.  

You also knew the details of the Sandbrook case—you knew everything because he’d told you. You probably knew more than most of the officers at Sandbrook, because you believed him wholeheartedly. He was a good, kindhearted man. Just a bit tough on the outside.  

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead,” you reminded with a sigh, reaching across the gap between his bed and your chair to finally take his hand into your own. It was brutal, but it was the truth. You just hoped it would sink in for Alec.  

Alec squeezed your hand just like you were silently praying he would. It was comforting, quieting your raging emotions if only for a moment. He was okay, he’d survived and he was here talking to you.  

“I hope I’m not stressing you out,” you whispered as you scooted your chair a bit closer to the bed so you weren’t reaching quite as far. “That would be counterproductive.”    

“Nah,” he shook his head, giving you a small smile and bringing your hand to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of your hand which was still held tightly in his, “you’ve just been telling me what I needed to hear from someone other than myself. I know all this, but I can’t just stop. Health aside, there’s a family—three families—who have lost their children.”

“But what if I lose you?” you couldn’t help but ask, “or if Daisy loses her father? And what about Ellie? I’m quite sure she’s grown a bit fond of you as well, though I’m not sure how that happened,” you teased lightly. It was just to ease the tension a bit. The man gave you a small, sad smile, before he was looking up to the ceiling thoughtfully.  

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, “I’ll try to be a bit more careful. For Daisy and you... and, well, I suppose for Millhur too. But I will not stop. We’re so close to catching Danny’s killer. I don’t care what anyone has to say, that bastard will not get away with this.”

“You’ll get the sick bastard who did this,” you told him, because it was what he needed to hear. “You and Ellie. The two of you will catch this guy. I know you will, because that’s what you do.”

You paused for a second before turning towards him and frowning, “but for the love of God, don’t kill yourself trying, y’hear?”

“I hear,” Alec laughed. “I’m alright now,” he assured, pulling your hand halfheartedly towards himself. You huffed a small laugh, standing up so you could sit on the side of the bed against the headboard like he was silently requesting you do. Alec smiled at you, shifting closer so he could tuck his head into your side. “I’ll be alright. I’ll be alright, and I’ll catch the bastard to kill Danny Latimer.”

“I expect nothing less,” you snorted, trailing your fingers through his hair now that he was within reach and apparently seeking affection, “now you need to relax for a while if you expect me to let you return to work as fast as I know you’re going to want me too.”

“I should get back today-”

“Absolutely not. You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” you muttered in fond disbelief, “tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. And you’re going to be sticking around Ellie, or so help me, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Yes, fine,” Alec rolled his eyes, “tomorrow, and I’ll stick close to Millhur. Happy then?”

“Immensely,” you deadpanned before grinning at the man cuddled into your side. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

----

To say Ellie was surprised to find out that her boss had such a pleasant boyfriend was a bit of an understatement. She probably shouldn’t have been so surprised at the knowledge that he wasn’t as lonely and miserable in the dating department as she’d thought, since he’d not said a word about himself since arriving.  

He’d only told her about his daughter when Joe had prompted him into it when Hardy had come around their house for dinner. Hell, he’d not even bothered to tell her he had severe heart arrhythmia.  

That wasn’t something someone should keep from their friend.

He really could’ve died, and she was fully prepared to lay into him for keeping that secret the moment he woke up, when (Y/N) had rushed in the doors demanding to know how he was.

Like the polite person she was, Ellie had introduced herself to the mystery man pleading to see her boss, only to find out the jerk had this secret boyfriend he hadn’t bothered mentioning.  

She knew bare minimum of his ex-wife, so it was a bit of a surprise that he had a boyfriend, not that she minded. He could be into anyone he fancied and nothing could change what she thought of him. He’d always be Hardy, a bit of a prick, but one of the best people she’d ever known.

They’d gotten around to talking, waiting into the late hours of the morning before Hardy was moved from Intensive Care and into a regular room, where the two of them were allowed to sit with him.  

Ellie thought it was adorable how (Y/N) pushed his chair up right close to the bed and held her boss’ hand. It was strange to see Hardy like this, to see him have someone who clearly loved and cared for him, holding his hand and sitting without moving for hours.  

She was happy he had someone. She’d never say it out loud, and never to Hardy, but she knew he was too good to be alone. That it wasn’t right that a man like Hardy would be single, even though he was a bit of an odd guy.

(Y/N) seemed like a lovely guy. Doting and caring. He told her stories that she was sure Hardy would’ve lost his mind if he knew she knew them, but (Y/N) didn’t seem bothered at the fact, and instead only shot fond looks at Hardy as he retold the stories.

He didn’t tell her much about Hardy in general—like his daughter or ex, or even mention his illness or anything along the lines, but he had ample stories and fond memories of the two of them he was happy to share.  

Ellie could barely even imagine her Hardy—the Hardy in the bed to be the man in (Y/N)’s stories. But it was adorable and heartwarming all the same. It made her happy that Hardy had someone like (Y/N).

And it made he even happier that (Y/N) was scolding Hardy like she wanted too as well. Not that she meant to eavesdrop outside the door, but it really doesn’t take more than ten minutes to get coffee from the cafeteria in the hospital.  

They were the cutest thing, and she’d be sure to tease Hardy a bunch about his adorable boyfriend when he was feeling better. And she definitely would because it wasn’t every day that an important person from Hardy’s life makes an appearance.  

When the talking inside the room died down to an occasional mumble, Ellie finally rapped her knuckles twice without managing to spill any coffee as a warning before pushing it open with her elbow, two to-go cups of barely warmer than lukewarm coffee in her hands.  

“’ello, Sir,” she grinned, containing the ‘aw’ sitting on the tip of her tongue as she took in her boss cuddled into his boyfriend, “feeling better?”

“I’m fine,” he waved her off with a scowl that was all too familiar at this point. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the man without a scowl if she were honest. 

He didn’t bother moving away from his boyfriend though, as she feared he would’ve done since he was Hardy, and that alone warmed her heart.

“Well, don’t the two of you look all cozy,” she couldn’t resist teasing. She stepped into the room, handing the second cup of coffee to (Y/N). He took the cup gratefully, grinning widely at the comment before taking a sip of his coffee and leaning back against the pillows.

“Sod off, Millhur,” the man reclined in the bed sighed. He even sounded tired, but she resisted the urge to frown. Frowning wouldn’t help anyone.  

“Of course, Sir.”

“You make her call you sir?” (Y/N) looked down at Hardy with a teasing smile, “why can’t she call you Alec?”

“I don’t like Alec,” Hardy groaned turning his head to bury his face in (Y/N)’s shirt, “never liked Alec, you know that. Don’t like it when you call me Alec either, but can’t very well stop you now can I?”

“I can call you Sir too, if you’d like?”

“Right, I should go then,” Ellie retreated, a bit awkward that (Y/N) was actually teasing her boss. No one she knew (besides herself to a way lesser degree) would ever even think about teasing Alec Hardy. 

Plus, she really didn’t want to see where this teasing ended, not if it could possibly ruin her ever calling Hardy sir again. There were so few names she could actually call him, and she really didn’t want Sir to be ruined for her. “I’ll see you back at work, Sir. In a day or two.”

“A day,” Hardy replied easily. Ellie nodded, not bothering to try and get the man to stay in the hospital any longer. Not when she already knew it was a lost cause, especially if (Y/N) hadn’t been successful, “oh and Millhur?”

Ellie paused, looking back into the room to see he boss’ eyes on her, “if we can keep this between us for now? Not that it’s a secret, just--”

“Of course,” Ellie agreed instantly, “it’s yours to share when you do. I won’t say anything. Even though there’s really nothing to share.”

“Thank you.”

“You... just feel better, alright? We’ve got a killer to catch and I can’t do that without you.”

<><><><>

Thanks so much for the prompt, and for reading! Feel free to send another ask if this wasn’t what you were looking for, but hopefully it is!

Also, let me know if I messed up anywhere with male reader pronouns, I read through a couple times, but they might’ve slipped past me!

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, vincenzo and cha-young are exes, they were in a relationship before, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, Exes, Getting Back Together, Not Canon Compliant, i wrote this before ep 20

Summary: Sipping on his third — or fourth, he’d stopped counting a while back  — whiskey of the night, Vincenzo fantasised about snapping the neck Cha-young’s fingers were delicately wrapped around. 

To Vincenzo, regret was like an old friend. He’d become accustomed to its familiar weight over the years, learnt its intricate shapes and colours. More than that, he’d learned to welcome the intimate ways in which regret accompanied his every step. 

The blood on his hands, his mother, her… Yes, it seemed regret was the recurring theme of his life. Alas, in spite of all the years he’d spent acquainted with it, he could not silence the wails of anguish of his heart. 

“Mmh.” A simple sound had sufficed to sink his soul to slumber.*

He’d always known this was a possibility. He’d thought about it endlessly, convincing himself that he wouldn’t care, that being in her life was enough. But Vincenzo was a greedy man, and he’d never desired anything more than he desired her.

Her. Cha-young. His Tesoro. 

Rarely did Vincenzo say or even think of her name when his mind wandered back to her. He treated it like a jewel, a precious gem meant to be tucked away in the corner of his soul, only to be let out under extraordinary circumstances. 

Her name on his lips would not be said in vain, for he was a pious man and her, a Goddess. He’d converted to her cult the moment she’d kissed him, her lips initiating him to her worship. 

And so, he prayed to her. When he’d reached the edge of the cliff, the troubled waters calling out to him, whispering in his ear that drowning would put out the fire that consumed his being, he prayed. 

He’d go to a small Catholic church in Milan, high ceilings and stained-glass windows glimmering in the evening sun, and he’d sit in the last row, his hands clapped together. He’d recite his prayers, confess his sins and plead. I love you. Forgive me. Wait for me.

The Goddess, however, was a capricious being, and it seemed she had not heard his pleas. Or maybe she had, but had deemed him unworthy. 

Vincenzo had wondered if she had found someone else, if she had been happy without him. Wasn’t human nature so contradictory? He had been sure that leaving her was the most selfless act of love he’d be capable of, yet that ‘Mmh’ had set his soul on fire. 

He had promised himself that if it were to happen — if Cha-young had forgotten about him, if leaving really had been the gift he’d first thought it was — , he would be content with just seeing her again. Even if all he’d get was a furtive look, that alone would be enough to satisfy the thirst he’d been dying of for the past five years. What a naïve thought. He knew the moment he’d seen her again, that night on the beach. He needed her. 

Now, watching her slow dance in someone else’s arms, Vincenzo thought about torture. He’d inflicted it on many of his enemies before and knew the myriad of ways in which the human body contorted itself when in agony. 

Vincenzo reaches for the gold lighter in his pocket, the reassuring clicking sound helping him organise his thoughts. 

He would start by pulling out his teeth one by one. Then, he’d move on to his fingers. It’d make a mess, but he wouldn’t die right away. Vincenzo would be able to enjoy the fun for quite a while, actually. Would the man scream until his vocal cords bled? Would he convulse, his body distorted by tremors, eyes rolling back?

Sadly, the only one getting tortured is him; the only cries of pain, his heart’s. 

Sipping on his third — or fourth, he’d stopped counting a while back  — whiskey of the night, Vincenzo fantasised about snapping the neck Cha-young’s fingers were delicately wrapped around. 

 Like moths to a flame, Vincenzo’s eyes were inevitably drawn to the pearly white of her thigh, revealed by the split of her long, form-fitting dress. She looked otherworldly tonight, her hips swaying to the slow beat of the love song playing in the background. Here she was, with her straight, shiny hair reflecting the dim lights of the ballroom, her red lips complimenting her flushed cheeks  — a fallen angel gracing them with her presence. 

The man holding her in his arms was in his late thirties, and while he was the same height as Cha-young with her heels on, he had broad shoulders and large hands. He looked down at his feet whenever he laughed, which made his glasses slide off his nose ever so slightly. After a while, he’d readjust them and run his hand through his short hair, the start of an endless loop.

He wondered what she saw in him, if it was something in his eyes or in his voice. Did she kiss his knuckles whenever he was working on some paperwork, lost in thoughts yet reluctant to let go of her hand? Did she kiss his neck and whispered ‘I'm here, it’s okay’ whenever he had a nightmare? Did her fingers trace ‘I love you’s’ on his shoulder blades while they were laying in bed? 

And if she did, was it because he looked at her like she was the most precious thing on this earth? Was it because he had secretly learned her favourite recipe, the one her mom used to make when she was sick? Was it because he held her tight when she cried, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting words against her skin? 

He looks harmless, Vincenzo thinks. The alcohol is getting to him.

‘Is he a good person?’

‘Mmh. He is.’

He shakes his head, banishing memories of yesterday’s conversation from his mind. That’s a relief. Cha-young deserves to be with an ordinary man who lives a righteous life, away from all the murders and the evils of this world. Yet, his heart aches every time she smiles at him. 

Him, who is everything he’s not. Him, who’s making her laugh, and smile, and blush. 

The man leans in to whisper in her ear, and Vincenzo can’t take it anymore. He pays for his drinks and leaves, the sound of his lighter not enough to ground him anymore. He needs to get away, far from the sway of her hips and that man’s hand on her lower back. Before he knows it, he’s out of the hotel, on the beach. 

Stuck in his own personal hell, Vincenzo considers atoning for his sins. Surely, the fire blazing inside his body, boiling his blood and heating up his skin is worse than the Inferno he’d ineluctably be condemned to. 

Without thinking, he takes off his shoes, his trousers and his shirt, and dives into the ocean. He needed to put out the fire before he got burned alive. It’s a warm evening but the dark waters feel ice-cold on his heated skin. He swims until the cacophony of the waves crashing against the shore lulls him. He swims until he’s about to drown, limbs too heavy to float. How he manages to get back on the beach, he doesn’t know. He collapses in the sand, exhausted. The distant moon looks down on him, her inquisitive eyes strangely offensive. Tonight, the heavenly body is mocking him. Look at this fool, she laughed. Did you really think she’d wait for you?

Vincenzo wants to scream at her, or maybe at himself, but instead he cries. He doesn’t have the energy to fight it, or to feel ashamed. He is guilty of leaving her and he has no one else to blame. Regret might be an old friend, but guilt is his greatest foe. 

He forces himself to get up, knowing he’d get buried under the weight of his conscience if he stayed any longer. Putting back on his trousers only, Vincenzo carries his shoes and his top until he sees the hotel lights. Were they still dancing together? 

He stops before going inside, lighting a cigarette. He’d taken it up again after going back to Italy, another one of the nasty habits he indulged in. He stood near a huge palm tree, just at the entrance of the main building, probably why he didn’t see him. Cha-young’s… someone was standing there, smoking on the other side of the palm tree. Vincenzo holds his breath, not sure how to react. The man is on the phone, and although it isn’t his business, he can’t help but overhear his conversation. 

“No, no… I told you, nothing’s going on with her...Yes, I promise. I told you, she paid for all her employees, it’s a group thing. Mmh. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon. Me too.”

Forget torture, Vincenzo is killing this man with his bare hands tonight. 

*‘Sink Not Yet My Soul To Slumber’ is a Christian Hymn SINK not yet, my soul, to slumber, Wake, my heart, go forth and tell, All the mercies without number That this by-gone day befell: Tell how God hath kept afar, All things that against me war, Hath upheld me and defended, And His grace my soul befriended.

[quillandink333]

Courage

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Vampire!Link AU

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.2k

WARNINGS: blood and gore, near-death experiences, nudity

Summary: In defiance of his creator, Link risks his life over and over as he fights to protect Zelda’s, but then watches his world crumble as she does the same for him.

Masterlist

“Highness!”

An electric arrow flew at her from above. I deflected it in the nick of time, skidding against the rainforest’s damp soil.

The scaly eyes of the monster who’d fired lased into me, just like those of all the rest as they emerged and made themselves known. I hissed, outwitted. We were surrounded, having just walked into the clearing before the Spring of Courage, but we hadn’t been expecting company. And now, there was nowhere to take cover.

One of the unholy creatures leapt out at us from behind. We would’ve been done for if I hadn’t heard its approach in time. I drew my blade and dealt with it swiftly, but this battle was far from won.

The lizalfi were cunning, more so than they appeared. They’d blended in with their surroundings, only revealing themselves when we’d walked straight into the heart of their trap. They were nine, ten...twelve in number, half of them foot soldiers and the rest archers.

“Link...?”

“It’s alright,” I asserted, though I had to admit the validity of my statement was questionable at best. “Just stay close.”

My sword and shield clattered as they hit the ground. “Wait,” she stammered, “what are you—?”

I crouched down and closed my eyes. The image of my enemy’s blackening corpse strewn across the ground beneath me devoured my thoughts and claimed my focus.

Soon enough, my arms turned thin and leathery, my legs melted away, and the corners of my vision were blurred and bloody.

With my new wings, I soared high above the stone pillar.

The monster at its vertex jerked its head up.

I dove down. My body changed shape, and I landed feet-first on top of my victim, causing it to plummet to its doom.

I leapt to the ground, retrieving the sword and finishing it off with one final blow.

“Link—ahh!”

I turned. Time froze when I saw the princess backed up against a tree with two lizalfi closing in on her.

One grabbed her wrist between its claws. My throat clenched in anger.

Thinking quickly, I picked up the bow of the fallen archer and shot an electric arrow right into the nape of her attacker’s neck. It spasmed a few times, letting go of her before collapsing to the ground at her feet, dead.

The other turned its head. In response, I shot a second arrow through its eye socket and into its skull.

But when I reached for another arrow, my hand was seized, and I was pinned to the ground.

The princess screamed out my name as I wrestled with the enemy, but it had me immobilized. I could hear the pitter-patter of the others’ footsteps fast approaching, and saw countless shock arrows wizzing overhead. No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn’t get the damned thing off me.

So I closed my eyes again.

The creature that had been holding me down squawked in confusion. I fluttered out of its grasp with ease. If I still had my face, I would’ve been smirking in triumph.

The archers were still firing away at me, but their aim was off by a mile as always. It was even harder to hit me now that I presented a much smaller and faster target.

Assessing the battle field, I counted three on foot and five ranged remaining. I spotted one try to pick up the sword, jumping back when its hand began to sizzle. I took this chance to shift back and reclaim my weapon.

It didn’t take me long from there to eliminate the three left on the ground. All the while, I was careful to keep Her Highness in my line of sight.

Until one of the archers shifted its aim from me to her.

I raced to her side at once. The arrow flew, and I blocked it with no more than half a second to spare.

Then one of them rushed at us, catching me off-guard.

I swung my sword out, and it leapt back.

I could’ve sworn I’d taken care of all the ones on foot. Could one of the archers have abandoned its post?

“Are you alright?”

The question caught me even more off-guard. “Yes, Princess,” I stuttered, trying to focus on fighting off my opponents. “Get to the spring.”

She nodded and made a break for the stone serpent’s mouth.

Then I heard a low grunt. Her footsteps halted.

Rising to its feet in front of her was none other than a towering, third-class moblin.

Another bolt just barely missed my ankle. It purged me of my paralysis, and I dodged it. I looked back just in time to see the brute raising its club above her.

“Zelda!”

She screamed and darted out of the way. I thanked Ganon for making these boorish behemoths as slow as they were.

“Keep running!” I ordered, blocking another lightning-fast attack. “Don’t look back!”

She was terrified. I heard it in the way she gasped for air as she fled. I should’ve known better than to give way to overconfidence. Now my grip was shaky, my movements frenzied, and I was starting to panic.

I advanced, but the spineless freak just kept leaping back miles out of reach. The three left with bows were still firing away at me. I shouted out in futile aggravation. I’d lost my shield some time ago while transforming, leaving my left side wide open. I could no longer see the princess, though I still heard her frantic footsteps, as well as her pursuer’s.

I had to get back up on my feet somehow, or else her blood truly would be on my hands this time.

I sprinted over to where a bow and quiver full of shock arrows were lying deserted. My opponent, after a moment of standing there in confusion, chased after me.

I turned and thrusted the tip of my blade through its open palm.

It screeched dramatically. This gave me an opening. I grasped it and slashed the creature’s throat open once and for all.

The loud rustling of palm leaves caught the attention of one of the archers.

Standing to the left of the spring’s entrance was the princess, frozen in fear. The black moblin was sluggishly approaching her from behind.

The lizalfos took aim. She gasped and turned around, but then came face-to-face with the pig-snouted giant.

Then she took even me by surprise and ducked between its legs.

The moblin stumbled. Then before it’d had the chance to recover, the archer let loose its arrow, which hit the beast right in its thigh. Lightning surged throughout its lanky form before it collapsed on its front.

I held my breath.

But it got back up again like nothing had happened. Of course that wouldn’t have been enough to kill it, as I had hoped. Soon, it turned back around and continued its dreaded hunt.

I’d missed my chance. “Damn it...” Now it was impossible for me to hit it with the projectiles at my feet, and I had the attention of all three archers back on me.

I picked up the bow and arrows and ran. There had to be some position that was ideal for shooting down the last of these fiends.

I maneuvered across the battlefield until all three of them were in view. They were farther away than I would’ve liked, but this would have to do. Besides, this way I was far enough that they wouldn’t be able to hit me with their inferior aim whilst I pierced their throats one after another.

Finally, the last one fell from its post and into the water below, vanquished.

“Ough!”

I spotted Her Highness, sprawled out on the staircase at the spring’s entrance. She must have tripped on her way down.

Time stopped, yet again, as the monster emerged from the shadows, poised to strike.

The defenceless princess didn’t so much as scream, merely watching her fate unfold in complete, mortal terror.

The beast swung its mace.

I nearly tripped myself as I leapt in front of her, parrying the death blow, but just barely.

The enemy staggered back. I charged forward.

My aim was true.

The blade cleaved clean through its torso, exiting out through its backside. Its thick, black ichor sprayed all over my arm when I took it out. The beast fell to the ancient pavement slowly and heavily, shaking the earth as it landed.

My chest was heaving violently. By the time I looked down, the gore staining the sword had already burned away. Arms shaking in exhaustion, I returned it to its sheath, wiping the sweat from my brow.

“Link...”

I swivelled when the princess’ frail voice called me. She hadn’t moved from her position on the steps, twisting at the waist to look up and face me. She seemed just as drained as I felt, if not more so. Other than that, though, she hadn’t sustained any serious injuries from what I could see. All she had were a few small scrapes and bruises here and there.

Then it hit me. The front of her white dress was sopping wet, and I’d been staring at her for well over a minute. I immediately averted my gaze, feeling a wave of embarrassment crawl beneath my skin.

“What?” she worried. “What’s the matter?”

Without looking, I cleared my throat suggestively. When that evidently hadn’t gotten the message across, I muttered, “You’re drenched.”

“Ah...” She looked down, noticing the exposed state she was in. “I just...fell into the spring a couple of times,” she blushed. “You don’t have to look away, though. I-I trust you.”

There was that phrase again. That utterly ridiculous phrase that she’d been using with me for the past month or so.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out my hand to help her to her feet.

The few drops of sacred spring water left on her palm hissed softly as they made contact with my skin. I winced. The pain was small, but excruciating.

“Oh my Goddess,” she gasped, loosening her grasp on my hand and poring over it. A few small cracks had formed in my palm, from which a few wisps of smoke had risen. “I’m so sorry,” she deliberated. “Are you alright? Do you need—”

“I’m fine, Your Highness,” I interrupted, gripping her fingers gently in demonstration. She looked up at me, uncertainty lingering in her expression, then back at my hand.

My own gaze landed on her wrist. Through the intricate metalwork of her wristband, an array of three puncture wounds, each secreting thin threads of dark red, could be seen. The memory of the monster’s filthy talons penetrating her precious, delicate skin flashed through my mind’s eye.

I cursed quietly. Once again, my infernal hate had taken hold of me and obstructed my ability to fulfill my sworn duty to her. I’d tried to fight it, but it was inescapable. I bit my lip, swallowing back a sigh. The worst part of it all was how I now found myself struggling to tear my eyes away from the blood seeping out of her wounds, further proving that I was no different from the monsters from which I was trying my hardest to protect her.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked again, tone tender and brimming with warmth. I nodded; it was all I could bring myself to do.

It was not my place to listen in on her prayer. However it was difficult not to when she was such a short distance away. Tuning her out was quite the challenge, as soft-spoken as she tended to be during these rituals of hers. Besides, I couldn’t help but be intrigued.

The things she spoke to the Goddess about were shocking to me. I hadn’t the slightest clue about how formal or intimate one was expected to be when speaking with Her, but the princess seemed to have no qualms with confiding in Her just about anything. Once, during one of these pilgrimages, she’d even confessed to Her that I was in fact a day keese. It was likely that She’d already known this about me, but even so, if I’d ever been so obscenely foolhardy as to confess my betrayal of Lord Ganon to His own face, I would’ve been stricken down on the spot.

After a while, it became apparent to me that the princess had gone quiet. This was more than a little unsettling. I kept my back turned respectfully, but kept my ears trained just the same.

Splosh

My heart sank. I turned around, just in time to see her hand fall below the surface of the water.

I didn’t think twice before diving in after her.

The water penetrated my clothes the instant I stepped in. It went up to my knees. I couldn’t withhold my wail of blinding agony. My legs were like sandcastles, and the spring, a riptide.

It took every sliver of strength left in my body to reach the princess. By the time I had her safe in my arms, I could no longer feel my feet. There was no way I could get her back to dry land by carrying her. The one choice I had left was to hurl her unmoving form as far as I could and hope for the best. So, with a silent apology, that’s just what I did.

I was forced to crawl my way back to dry land; I no longer had the physical capacity to remain standing. To my immense relief, she was there on the concrete, safe and breathing.

Until now, I hadn’t had the chance to truly feel the searing pain consuming what remained of my body. My flesh was cracked and crumbling, and the water had soaked through each little crevice deep into my brittle constitution. If I wasn’t careful, my body would’ve lost any resemblance to a Hylian it had left.

When it had become strenuous to continue drawing breath, I realized I wasn’t long for this world. And yet, as I gazed upon the princess’ unmoving form whilst my surroundings faded to black, I smiled. At long last, I could bid farewell to this dastardly life of mine.

I awoke with a slight weight on my chest and a warm, bitter-sweet taste in my mouth. A series of coughs wracked my already broken body as the familiar liquid ran slowly down my throat. I opened my eyes.

“Link...?”

The face that greeted me was veiled in heavenly, golden light. I squinted. For a moment, I was certain I was looking straight into the eyes of an angel. Then my vision adjusted. Of course, I realized, no angel would ever shine half as brightly as she.

Her hand, planted firmly at the back of my head, encouraged it forward, until my lips sealed shakily around the weeping slit in her neck once again. As I drank obediently, I began wondering if she’d made the incision herself. Something about it felt sickeningly wrong. Even so, I was too numb, too fatigued, and too delirious to do anything about it.

I regained consciousness gradually, becoming more and more aware of our situation as she slid down my throat one swallow at a time. Her blood was like finely aged wine, pleasantly burning my insides as it went down. All the while, I could feel my body recovering its structure. The cracks and chips littering my skin dissolved one by one, and before long, my legs had pieced themselves back together. Now I could feel the cool mists of Faron, as well as the warmth of her bare flesh, clinging to my own.

It was around that time that I finally came to my senses. My tongue traced over the smooth edges of the lesion, making her tense up against me. I jerked back.

For the first time since waking, I was able to get a good look at her neck. The cut was fairly small, but the way it gaped and pulsed—staring back at me and perceiving each and every one of my innermost thoughts like the all-seeing eyes of our Father—forced me to look away. I could hear His petrifying voice even then.

I let my fearful gaze meander, coming across her and my clothes, which were still damp with spring water from the looks of it. Then my eyes landed on my sword, lying unsheathed on the pavement a few feet away. A corner of its blade was stained with crimson.

I shed a silent tear. “Why...?”

“‘Why?’” she rowed, teeth clenched, clearly in pain. “You wouldn’t have made it if I hadn’t done this! And yet...you’re still asking me why?”

I opened my mouth, but found myself speechless. No matter how much I wanted to just look her in the eyes and tell her everything that weighed on my mind, I couldn’t. What good would it do to resent her for this? It was already too late.

“How could you throw your life away like that?” she stabbed. “You knew your body couldn’t take it, surely.”

I risked another glance at her neck, watching as it gushed out rivers of blood with no sign of stopping. “I could ask the same of you.”

“Because I love you, Link!”

My eyes widened. I looked up at her, desperately clinging to the possibility that this was some kind of joke. “What...?”

“I love you.”

So I had heard her correctly. “No...” I muttered, gently shaking my head. “N-no, take it back.” My fingers clamped around her arm. “Please...”

“But it’s true,” she cried, voice breaking. “I think about you every moment I live and breathe, and I can’t bare the thought of losing you.” Her tone made it clear that this was no joke. “I would rather die.”

I’d thought I had felt the most pain I ever would’ve felt when I’d thrown myself into the spring moments ago. But the crushing anguish brought on by those words was so unfathomable that I never could’ve imagined it until now.

“Link...” She cupped my cheeks in her delicate palms. The way she looked at me, eyes glistening behind a watery film and voice barely above a whisper, was just another twist of the knife. “Why won’t you say anything?”

I choked, giving way to an unstoppable wave of tears and hysterical sobbing. “Because,” I whimpered pathetically, “I don’t deserve...‘love.’” I was crying into my hands as she lay across my bare front, shaking almost imperceptibly. “H-how could—how could someone such as I ever love you back...?”

As she began weeping freely into my shoulder, I felt another even greater surge of tears swell up and out of me. All I ever did was hurt her. It was made worse when I thought about how, even if I hadn’t been born the demon that I was, I still wouldn’t have had the chance to be with her. In the end, Lord Ganon would kill us all either way. Why had I even been created in the first place? What was the point in letting me learn what happiness was before forcefully tearing it out of my grasp?

I clutched onto her with all my might for no reason other than that she was there. She held me tighter.