#but his vanilla nose cannot stand!!

[avaritia-ffxiv]

tsukikotanshi replied to your post “hypa-hypa: Oh oh oh, du hübsches Ding Du bist...”

This compulsion is acceptable, yes yes.

Glad I am.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Warm and Cozy

Nanami Kento x F!Reader

Summary: Nanami Kento did not show up at Shoko's Infirmary after a mission for his usual checkup so she sent you to his place to check up on him.

Warnings: Smut. 18+ I am not responsible for any underaged baby reading this. Wrap that willy before doing the silly.

Word Count: Your girl got horny.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"Since when did you start doing house calls?"

"Since you stopped taking Shoko Senpai's calls and returned home instead."

Kento Nanami is still dressed in his blue shirt and tan blazer, holding the door with his hand and looking at you with zero emotions.

You can see the wretched dotted tie lying at the small dinner table behind him along with his glasses, not knowing why their site bothers you so much.

Nanami's free hand goes to his face to rub the incoming tiredness in his eyes. "Y/L/N, I'm fine. You should go back-"

"I've been threatened by senpai to heal you back to proper health or she'll fire me. So, if you don't mind, Nanami, I'd like to keep the job I finally love. Also, you are reeking of curses right now," you wring your nose in the end.

His brown eyes look at the resolution in your figure at his door before looking at the night sky behind you. He notices a moment in the corridor outside, his brows furrowing in some calculated thought.

The hand holding the door turns enough for Nanami to look at the time. And while he is contemplating something in his head, you cannot resist observing the six-foot-tall man; looking so different from what he was when you first met him.

He definitely worked out, your inner voice purrs inside your head, making you clench your office bag to resist any more stray thoughts.

"You are not going back alone at this time anyway," he murmured under his breath and stepped to the side.

"Oh!" you scoff, "I am pretty sure I can navigate my way around Tokyo at night just fine, sir. Or did you forget the time I-"

Nanami's senses are focused on the figure clad in a black hoodie coming from the other end of the corridor. The figure reached for something in the pocket of his hoodie and Nanami is quick to grab you by your arm- in the gentlest of way possible- and pull your surprised frame inside his humble abode.

You walk into the apartment and let your lungs inconspicuously breathe in the scent of Kento Nanami's safe space. And just as you expect, it smells of vanilla and beeswax.

Maybe it's the soap he uses?

The apartment is spotless. Everything has its place. Maybe the only thing out of place is you.

The entrance has you open to a cozy beige-clad living room. Walking a little further, you are standing in his open kitchen next to the kitchen island and looking at the table next to you where his tie and glasses lie.

Right opposite the kitchen is a space separated by a wooden structure made of hollow rectangular blocks housing plants, books on anatomy and humans, and a single empty space right in the middle.

The bed beyond that is covered in a grey duvet, astonishingly wrinkle-free.

Too clean, your nose wrinkles, it should have some-

Now what would make a bed that neat wrinkled and dirty, your inner voice whispers in your ear, spiking up your heartbeat.

"Would you like some tea?"

You jump at Nanami's voice, turning around towards the kitchen.

The man is already rolling his sleeves up and putting a kettle on.

"Yes, please," you plead softly, walking towards the kitchen island, and picking up his tie on the way.

"Did you meet the new kid yet?" you ask him as your hands and eyes get busy with the tie, wrapping it around your neck to try your hand at the few knots you learned in school.

Nanami opens up a drawer to take out two mugs- one purple and one grey- before turning towards the island.

There is this tiny second of a moment when he pauses to look at your fingers busy with the fabric that is practically a part of him. But he is quick to regain his usually stoic momentum even though his eyes keep going back to how carefully your fingers are running over his tie.

"Gojo's kid?"

You break into a chuckle, your eyes closing in the tiny flash of elation, never seeing how Nanami's eyes follow the moment of your head as it dips back and then tilts sideways.

"Well, you're not wrong in a way. His name is Yuuji. Yuuji Itadori. He's a really cute kid." You have finally made a passable knot and are trying to pass the other end through. "I was assigned to check him up yesterday and that boy made me laugh the entire time."

Nanami is just standing there with his arms folded when a whistle starts to form at the mouth of the kettle.

"And he is so pure, Nanami! He let me explain to him the culture samples in Senpai's lab and he looked at every single one of them with the same excitement as he did the first one."

The whistle goes harder on that kettle.

A fresh pack of Hojicha tea is opened. Nanami's rugged hands are careful with the bits they pick up to sprinkle in the earthen pot waiting for the brew time before the boiling water goes in.

"Oh, I love him! He's so precious." you declare in excitement.

You do not notice when Nanami comes to stand in front of you. You notice his hands first; when they come to take over the tie from your hands.

"I haven't washed it yet. It might still have some curse blood on it," Nanami slowly announces before delicately pulling the tie up your head.

"Oh...right. My bad."

Moving the tie away from your head, his hand unconsciously comes back to undo the mess he made in your hair, making you pause a breath.

Stop, you tell your insides, trying to shake away the gentle gestures as something more.

.

Your tools are neatly arranged on the dinner table. Nanami sits on a chair.

"See? Nothing to worry about," he declares in his usual nonchalant way as you are done examining his head and arms.

"Not so fast, love. I still have to scrutinise the rest of you," you warn him sweetly while you rub your palms together and walk behind the chair.

Nanami's head tilts a little in your direction.

"Okay....love."

Your hands freeze behind him. The word vibrates inside you with his voice.

Oh fu---haaa----Focus!

"I need to run the energy down your spine." You try your best to sound composed.

He undoes the first two buttons on his shirt and lifts away the collar, exposing his neck and shoulders to you.

"Tell me if it gets uncomfortable at any point," you announce softly before gently putting your hands on the back of his neck to observe for any anomalies.

What you don't get to see is the rugged hands of the Grade 1 sorcerer curling up into a fist at the first touch of your fingers on his exposed skin, or the goosebumps on his arms and back as your fingers do a little stroke at the nape to guide the energy down his spine.

"Oh, this is not good," you state, stepping away from him to look for something inside your bag.

"What?" Nanami almost blurts out, not really sure what the question was for- the 'not good' part or your hands- that seemed to bring him some much-needed relief- not touching him anymore.

Taking out a small maroon spherical crystal from your bag, you look Nanami straight in the eyes. "Take off your clothes. We're getting in the shower."

.

The shower head is fixed back into place by your fingers. "There," you exhale and come down from the stool to give one final look of satisfaction at your work.

Nanami is standing at his bathroom door, leaning on the doorframe, observing you. You are out of your overcoat, exposing your usual colourful self in a sweater, a skirt and skinny tights. This is the first time he has seen you wear a sweater in blue. It suits you, he thinks to himself, though it irks him to imagine if it ran up your waist like it is doing now- when you are adjusting the angle of the shower- when you travelled all the way from Jujutsu High to his place and if anyone else dared to see you like this.

"I've fixed the disinfectant in your shower head. Now just stand under the running water for about a minute or so and I'll take out the curse sample."

Nanami looks at the shower head and then at you. "How lethal is the infection?"

"Oh," you shake your head, "not lethal if we do this right now. Lethal if you let it sit overnight. I am going to take the sample back to Shoko Senpai for culture study and antidotes. It'll wash away in no time, don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried for me," he mumbles.

"Hm?" you furrow your brows in confusion, which melts away at the speed of light when the man unbuttons his shirt, taking it off and neatly stacking it in the laundry basket next to the sink.

It takes you some time to let the beauty of Kento Nanami's body seep into your mind. It also takes one long inhale to realise that Blazer had been hiding a sculpted Renaissance art underneath it.

But your brain goes to hell when he takes off his trousers and stands there in his black boxers, revealing some incredibly toned legs.

Oh, mother of curses!

Embarrassed for looking at him with budding sinful thoughts, you turn around in the shower temple to smack your head into the towel rack.

Cursing under your breath, you walk out of the tiny space with your gaze on the ground. "The infection is on your left shoulder blade...o-on the back."

"How bad is it?" Nanami tries to take a look at it in the wall-length mirror on the sink.

"I've handled worse. It's okay, you can trust me, Nanami." you shrug at his reflection in the mirror with a smile.

"I do, Y/L/N-" Nanami takes off his watch and places it beside the sink, leaving that sentence hanging, leaving you blinking at your own reflection for a moment.

Nanami steps into the shower temple, turning on the shower and letting his left arm and shoulder soak in the cold wetness of the water.

Soon enough the infection starts to wriggle and make screeching sounds as the energy in the water starts killing it.

Grabbing the container from your sample kit you step into the space. "I'm taking a sample now."

A few mud-coloured droplets that are still screeching are caught in the container while the rest of them are washed away in the water and down the drain, leaving Nanami's body healed to its original perfection.

"Feel better?"

Nanami does feel better. He can feel all the tiredness leaving his body with the water. He turns around to tell you the same.

You are looking at the container and about to walk out of the shower temple. "Let's get you back to the lab to Senp-"

Your words get stuck in your throat when your foot slips on the wet tile and your hands are grabbing at the air to break your fall.

The air does not break your fall. But Nanami does. His one hand is quick to cushion your head from hitting the wall while his other hand grabs your waist and pulls you to himself. Fearing not to make you fall for a second time, he backs into the wall behind him for support, bringing you both under the shower.

The container falls on the tiled floor as your hands grab onto his shoulders for support and your heart tries to get accustomed to the fear of the fall.

Neither of you move for a moment. Neither of you wants to in fear of doing something the other might now like in such close proximity to each other.

Close proximity? You both are grabbing onto each other as if your lives depend on it.

"Y/N? You okay?" Nanami finally whispers when he does not feel you move for a long while.

"Yes," you breathe, moving your face away from his shoulders- which are welcoming and hot- and facing him. "Sorry. I slipped."

Before Nanami can point out the futility of an apology that is not your fault, you smile and move your hands through his hair. "Aw shucks! I ruined your hair. It's wet now."

That does it for Kento Nanami. That one brush of your fingers in his hair reverberates through his whole body.

"Stop, Y/N," he refrains from growling.

Your hand immediately retreats from his head, pausing in the air and wondering with lost eyes if you did something wrong.

Ah, shit. He doesn't like his hair messed with.

"Stop giving me wrong ideas," he whispers, turning off the shower with his free hand.

"Wrong...what?" your voice barely rises above a whisper.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" You try to wriggle out of his hold, a little hurt at the assumptions you are making in your head. "I'm sorry for messing your hair."

"My hair isn't the only thing you are messing with."

You scoff, feeling offended. "I'll fix it, okay! Your hair and whatever else I messed with."

Nanami runs his hands through his hair and you have to gulp back some things that rather not come to your lips.

"Are you sure, Y/N?" Nanami looks you in your eyes with a stare you have not seen him with. And you don't want to curl up or back down, so you match his gaze with yours.

"One hundred per cent."

"So, would you be okay if I kissed you?"

The question catches you off guard. But not in the way it is supposed to. "Why would I not be okay?" you scoff. Only after you have given the answer does your brain realise what the question was.

Nanami does not waste time. His lips are on yours within seconds. His arm wraps itself around your waist to bring you closer to him.

Your hands do not know what to do at that sudden kiss. It is when Nanami draws himself away to look at you do they find themselves caressing the dip of his jaw and welcoming him back for another kiss.

Your tongue licks his lips, inviting him. Nanami lets his tongue dance with yours, bringing out a guttering moan from your throat; a moan that heats up something inside the sorcerer forcing him to lift you up by your thighs, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you out of the bathroom to his bedroom.

He is careful when putting you down on his bed.

Oh! The grey duvet.

But that duvet is the least of your concerns right now when the six-foot-tall man stands at the edge of his bed wiping the water off his face, breathing a little heavily and looking at you with...what was that emotion in his eyes?

"Tell me to stop if you don't want to..." he whispers.

"Don't," your voice cracks. You can visibly see him pause his breath for a second. "Don't stop."

The dim lighting in his bedroom is perfect for watching him as his shoulders relax.

He gets on the bed, one leg at a time, dipping the sheets around you with his weight, crawling to catch your lips with his.

Your hands are nervously working on your sweater's buttons under him. He moves away to help you with it, forcing out a tiny wince from you; getting a low chuckle out of him.

Your skirt's zipper is stuck, not budging when it should be sliding down like a seal on an iceberg. Nanami is being as gentle as possible with it but it's all going in vain.

That's when you feel him dig his fingers in over the edges of the fabric near the zipper, your skin heating up where his fingers are in contact with you.

"Y/N-" he looks up at you with embers of unflinching will in his brown eyes, "let me buy you another skirt tomorrow."

The sound of the rip registers after the fabric comes apart in your brain because your eyes are too busy studying how his shoulders tense up just to get you out of your clothes.

The tights are next. But they are taken off with the most delicate touch by the sorcerer. So is the underwear.

He starts by planting kisses on your thighs, moving slowly to the inside while making your nerves light up at every touch. And if that is not enough, his hands tease and massage them to relax you every time you tense up.

He inhales the smell of your core as if he is breathing in the fresh waterfalls in the forest, and then sits back up. Lifting you up by your waist, he rolls to the other side of the bed with him at the bottom and you at the top. He adjusts your thighs on either side of his waist before dragging you further up his torso.

You watch in confusion as he takes the support of the head of his bed and slides further down.

"Sit on me," he announces.

"....what?"

"Sit on my face," he does not stutter.

But you do. "N-Nanami."

He simply lifts your thighs up and brings your core closer to his face.

Do I weigh anything to you?

His hands push your thighs apart, letting him get better access to you. You are not putting your weight down and taking the support of the headboard instead, worried about suffocating him.

But the first flick of his tongue on your clit makes you jump up.

Nanami is quick to anchor your thighs with his hands, forcing you to put all your weight on him. He starts what seems like an incantation being written with his tongue inside you.

Sucking and licking, flicking and teasing, he is your very own roller coaster of pleasure tonight, making you writhe with pleasure under his touch.

And lo...you can feel the wetness gather around your walls.

"Nanami-" you are trying your best to breathe right- "I'm gonna-Nanami. Wait. I'm gonna pee. Ah!"

This man keeps touching all the right nerves again. And again. And again.

You are being driven to the edge. "Nanami stop!"

And he stops for a minuscule second, giving you a window to lift yourself up and flop on your back next to him, trying to bring your lungs back to normal.

"Did it hurt?"

Nanami's hand comes to move the stray strands of your hair away from your face glowing with sweat under the dim bedroom light.

He is looking over you, half up on his arm while his other hand is caressing your face. "Y/N, did it hurt?"

You shake your head. "No. No, I just felt I was about to pee and I didn't want...to do it...over you."

You can see his lips glisten with your juices. He closes his eyes and licks his lips before rolling to the other side, sitting up at the edge and eventually getting up.

The light coming from the bathroom perfectly draws out the cuts of the tensed muscles all over his body while his back is still towards you.

Wait...is it over?

You can see him curl his hands into fists before releasing them and finally walking the length of his bed to come to your side.

You rise up on your elbows.

It's over, isn't it? Your inner voice is smacking you left and right, blaming you for stopping the pleasure harp of a lifetime just as it was about to reach its crescendo.

He goes for the chest next to his bed, opens the top drawer and takes out a small packet that glistens under the scarce light.

"Next time-" he removes his shorts, freeing his already hard length, and gets up on the edge of the bed in front of you- "when you are on top of me-" he tears the packet with his teeth and takes out a condom, pumping his length with his free hand- "I have already played out the probabilities of me suffocating in between your thighs-" he puts the condom on his length and then rests his arms on your raised knees, finally looking into your eyes with a passion you have not seen in him before.

"Next time-" he bends a bit forward to lean in for a kiss and undo the hook of your bra- "waterboard me."

Your bra is on the floor. His hands cup your breasts perfectly, massaging them as his kisses grow intense with every passing second. Then he moves onto your neck, biting it in places before licking the heat away.

Parting from you, he takes one pillow and places it under your head, another between you and the headboard and the last one under your lower back.

Letting his cock gather the juices on your edges, he looks at you while taking his time to enter you.

Both of you feel your breaths cemented in your throats letting you get accustomed to each other. He leans closer to you, planting a kiss on one of your cheeks while caressing the other with his hand. "You okay?"

You nod, feeling your walls adapt to his length.

Nanami drives out before slowly driving himself back in, giving you time to adjust to the pace. Once he knows you are comfortable, he lifts up your legs in the air and brings them to rest on his shoulders.

This time when he drives himself into you, you can feel your core light up with a different brand of intensity, leaving you to gasp for air and letting a moan slip from your throat.

Nanami smirks to himself and plants a kiss on your ankle. He has found your spot. He increases the pace a bit, loving every second of your view; as your breasts bounce to his rhythm, as you try to hold onto his duvet and his pillow, as your eyes close and your head dips back when you feel the pleasure spots light up and your moans get louder. He is loving every moment of you because you are his pleasure.

"K-Kento!"

His name from your mouth feels like a prayer, making his core shudder.

"Yes, love," he sputters between his strokes.

"I'm-ah-"

You don't get to finish your sentence.

He can feel your walls tighten around his cock, undoing his restraints and making him grunt.

He fastens his pace, the squelching and clapping of your bodies growing wilder. Taking both your legs in the hold of one arm, he lets his other hand go down to your core. His fingers find your clit and rub it to let you have your release as he starts feeling his length swell up.

Soon enough, the damn you feel rising up breaks, leaving you with shuddering legs.

Nanami elongates your orgasm as he feels his length at the edge of the eruption. Soon enough, he finds his high with one guttering growl leaving his lungs.

Sweaty and breathless, the both of you.

Nanami is spent; lying on top of you.

You run your hands through his hair as he rests his head on the nape of your neck to catch his breath.

Getting up on his arms, he looks at you with concern. "Are you okay?"

You can't help but smile as the edge of your eyes water up. Cupping his face in your hands, you bring him closer for a kiss.

Nanami carefully gets his length out of you before going straight for the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a few seconds before he comes out with a wet towel to clean you up.

The condom is disposed and you are directed into the bathroom to take a shower. Nanami joins you a few minutes later, planting soft kisses on your back.

Layered up in his oversized black t-shirt and grey shorts, you come out to find the grey sheets gone and a purple duvet waiting to greet you.

Just as you are looking at the new sheets, a needle of anxiety pricks you in your chest.

Do I stay? Do I dress up and walk out? Is...this...was this a one-night...

The thought makes your heart sink.

"Get in," Nanami orders you as he comes out of the door in a white t-shirt and grey shorts, raising the duvet from the edge for you.

The sinking heart rises up a little from the depths of darkness.

You get under the sheets and watch as he moves- first to the edge of the bed to keep something in the empty partition cubicle, and then- to the other side, switches off the lights and gets under the sheets.

You slide down the sheets while your heart rises a bit further.

You feel his arm looking for you under the sheets, finding your waist and pulling you closer to him.

He extends his arm to let you rest your head on it.

The light from the city outside is enough for him to watch your face glow and your eyes search for something in his. He moves your hair away from your face and caresses your cheeks.

"Nanami?" you whisper, still not taking your eyes off him.

"Hm?"

"Do you...like me?"

Silence.

The calm of the apartment is broken by Nanami's chuckle.

"Oh. Y/N-" the depth of his voice reverberates through his home as he exhales your name still titillates your core- "what will I do with you?!"

The maroon crystal rests on the once-empty space in the partition in Nanami Kento's home.

[strawberrystepmom]

cw omegaverse, cw yandere, cw predator prey dynamics. f!omega reader, alpha!geto. wc 698

pt. 2

“Fuck,” you mutter to no one in particular while inspecting the ingredients label of a jar of sesame paste to try and hide the flush that you know is painting your cheeks and the bridge of your nose crimson.

It has been a long time since you’ve felt like this and your hand shakes as you barely hold onto the jar enough to slide it onto the shelf in front of you.

You don’t even need sesame paste, you just need a distraction. Something to keep you from focusing on the twist of your stomach and the sweat prickling across your hairline and the back of your neck.

Today was clearly not the day to forego your heat suppressant, limbs feeling simultaneously light as air and heavy as lead as you drag your feet down the aisle with a basket dangling from the crook of your elbow. Your head hurts, your senses are dulled, but you don’t miss the clearing of a throat behind you nor the way it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

The voice is rich as the cake you allowed yourself to indulge in on your last birthday and it wraps around you like a velvet ribbon. As if you cannot control yourself, you turn your head and gasp looking at the man who is beckoning you in a way that makes you feel completely out of body.

He’s tall, his raven hair spills across his shoulders, and his broad chest blocks out the sight of anyone on either side of him. Swallowing but your throat feels more dry after doing so somehow, your pulse speeds up as realization dawns.

Alpha. This man, Suguru Geto, is an alpha.

“I’m sorry, I know this is a strange thing to ask, but are you…” he trails off, indicating you should know what he’s asking, but your blank stare tells him otherwise. Your eyes are narrowed but suspiciously glossy and he knows, instinctively, the answer is yes.

You are an omega standing in the middle of a busy grocery store filling the entire place with the aroma of bergamot and vanilla. Unbonded, he can tell as his dark eyes dip downward and check out the contents of your small basket - all for one, he can tell. No ring. No visible mating mark.

Brave or stupid, he can’t tell which.

Your scent is overwhelmingly sensual to the man, his mouth filling with saliva if he dares inhale too deeply, and he can feel his natural urges overtaking any sense he has left in your presence.

“Forgot my suppressants for a couple of days,” you clarify with an embarrassed whisper, eyes still narrowed despite the pull you feel to go to him - to give to him - and you take a step backward to put distance between your bodies, giving yourself a victory in the battle of wills.

“Better be careful being out here then, you’re bound to catch a lot of attention.”

His voice is just as velvety despite the low note of warning in it and if you were less controlled by your base urges in this moment, you’d bare your teeth in an overly polite smile and walk away. Right now, though, you are frozen in place and your eyes meet his. They are molten bronze framed by the darkest lashes you’ve ever seen and you’ve never felt as pinned as you do right now, beneath his gaze.

Like a frightened rabbit, you become skittish. Two further steps backward put even more space behind you and you turn on your heel, eyes wide as you look over your shoulder to have the last word.

“Thank you for your concern but I’ll be fine.”

He nods politely and plasters on a serene smile, inhaling just deep enough that his pupils dilate after another overwhelming rush of you inside his head.

“Take care,” he raises his voice to speak back and you shiver, stomach twisting even more as you fumble your way toward the checkout and force yourself to keep looking forward to prevent running back in his direction.

You’ll be back in a day or two, Suguru assumes, and his alpha instincts rarely fail when it comes to getting what he wants and he’s more than content to wait.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

mary on a cross - m. murdock

a/n: guys i am so down bad for him. like i need him desperately. what the hell is happening to me. matthew just one chance. also this is dedicated to my friend morgan and everyone who loves matt but he's pathetic and a loser. i also wrote the second half of this fic high. im sorry about that. warnings: mean!matt, loser!matt, relationship is kind of toxic, reader is disgustingly down bad, porn, fingering, dirty talk, lowkey embarrassment kink, use of pet names (baby, honey, pup), smut with an angsty ending, matt burns the reader in a mean way, reader has no description or pronouns but they do have female anatomy! word count: 3.1k summary: you're not sure if matt loves you.. or if he's even your boyfriend. pairing: mean!loser!matt murdock x reader now playing: mary on a cross - ghost "your beauty never ever scared me/mary on a, mary on a cross/if you choose to run away with me/i will tickle you intnernally/and i see nothing wrong with that"

You try to convince yourself that Matt is a good boyfriend.

He—

Wait.

Is he your boyfriend?

You tell yourself he’s your boyfriend, really you try to believe it because he is so damn gorgeous you cannot fathom that you actually have someone like him interested in you.

Really, it’s not like you’re particularly a catch anyways. You’ve only had one boyfriend before Matt, and he never wanted to do much with you other than kiss you. You bake brownies from a box, you have a horrible smoking habit, and you cry over every little thing.

You’re licking leftover brownie batter from the spoon when he knocks on the door. Of course, you answer it. You greet him with a grin.

“Hey, Matt. What’s up?” You lick some of the batter off the spoon, and you watch as his head tilts and his nose twitches. He looks sort of sad and far away, like he’s trying to come to terms with death, or maybe he’s just sad looking. Maybe he looks older than he is and you’ll never know him as young.

A pit in your stomach that sits there most of the day, rocking your conscious and insides back and forth like a storm over a sea becomes warm and light.

What you do know is that you have got to have him.

As you stick the spoon in your mouth to hold it there, Matt listens to the way the metal clatters against your teeth. He thinks about you biting down on his cross to keep you quiet.

“Missed you.” Is all he responds, stepping into your apartment. He notices the way your heart stutters at such a small comment, but he says nothing. He sheds his jacket, then his hat, and he’s just in a sweater and black jeans. “Do I smell brownies?” He almost gags at the artificial smell that accompanies the brownies.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been spending too much money on little treats on the way home from work, so.. Brownies.” You shrug, and he just nods. Your apartment is small, but he’s been here enough times, and often enough, to know the layout. It’s pretty much a studio.

Your bed sits in the corner of the main room. It’s just a few feet from the doorway, and to the right of it is a small tv on a night stand. It’s just far enough for you to use your bed as a couch. The nightstand hugs the right wall, which has three large windows on it. Most of the wall is a window.

Then, around the corner from the doorway is your kitchen, with a small dining room table in the center. Your bathroom is in the back of the kitchen, right next your washer-dryer unit (one of your favorite aspects of the apartment).

But your apartment is also kind of messy—Clothes scattered across the floor, an ashtray on the windowsill, dishes in the sink, a stack of papers and mail on your counter. Candles everywhere.

You move to light one, and Matt hears the flick of your lighter.

“Which candle are you lighting?”

“Uh, the eucalyptus one I like.”

“Light the vanilla one instead. It’ll go better with the brownie smell.” He tells you as he sits on your bed. His fingers find the soft silk sheets, a suggestion he had made when he first started coming around. He fiddles with the blankets he’s planning on fucking you on, but his head tilts when his hand finds an unfamiliar fabric. He listens as you light the candle, as he tries to identify what it is he’s found. When he picks it up, he hears a light jingle of a bell. Then, it clicks. A smirk plays on his face as he asks, “Who is this?” He asks, and your head snaps over to him.

Oh, god.

“Wait, no, give me that—” You lunge at him, but he holds the stuffed dog just out of reach. You’re attempting to climb over him to grab the dog, insistent that you might be able to be faster, or maybe stronger than him, as he shakes the stuffed dog, tempting you with the jingle of the bell.

“Aw, tell me her name,” He requests gently, holding you back easily with one hand. “tell me her name and I’ll give her back.” You’re not sure why, but you find yourself letting out an exasperated whine.

“Him!” You demand, still reaching.

Something about the way your desperation makes his face twitch with desire.

“Okay, tell me his name, and I’ll give him back.” You frown and glare at him.

“You’re being mean!” You tell him, and before you can stop it, tears prick your eyes. He smells the salt in the air. He needs you.

“Just tell me his name.” He tells you, “Then I make everything better.”

“Fuck you.” You find yourself saying, and his free hand grips your chin.

“Tell me his name.” He demands, his grip tight. You’re ready to get down on your knees.

A beat.

“..Jellybean.”

Jellybean was the one thing you allowed yourself of your old life when you moved to New York. A small keepsake of the person you once were, of the little kid who dreamed of a big city apartment, a fancy job, and a loving boyfriend who was kind to you. You usually kept him under your bed, hidden away from Matt and all the things that you have brought into your life.

Matt was never ever supposed to find him, you just.. got upset last night. You got lonely and reached for your childhood friend, holding him close. But, between work and making brownies when you got home, you forgot to put him away.

Now you’d deal with the consequences of it.

“Aw, Jellybean,” Matt laughs, leaning his head back. “A little pup..” He coos, and he moves it towards you and rubs the soft fabric of the dog over your skin, and his cock twitches at the way you squirm under his touch.

“Matt—” You start to object but he gently hushes you.

“Here. Take it, little pup.” He says, handing you the dog. You take it back and grip it hard for a few minutes before leaning away to tuck him under your bed. He just smirks, leaning back, leaning on his hands. When you’re done, you find yourself climbing onto his lap, and your lips find his.

He kisses you back, his hands coming up to your jaw. His rough hands caress your face with so much gentleness that it almost takes you back. His finger gently rubs the back of your ear, and you hum softly into the kiss. He pulls away just to smirk at you.

“You know, most puppies like it when they get their ears scratched—”

“Oh my god,” You huff, pulling away from him to go walk away. He grabs your wrist to pull you in for a kiss, but you pull away after a few moments. You turn towards your window and pull out a cigarette and your lighter before cracking open the window.

Matt frowns and gets up, going over to you as he listens to you flick the lighter. Without another word, he takes the lighter from you.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

“Are you gonna give me the ‘it’s bad for you’ talk? I’ve heard it all.”

“No,” He tells you, “It’s much more selfish than that. You taste like cigarette smoke after you smoke, I don’t like it.” That is Matt’s polite way of telling you he thinks it’s absolutely fucking disgusting, and he has been trying to think of a way to tell you that he’d rather swallow nails than taste another cigarette.

“You won’t kiss me if I smoke?” You ask, and he just scoffs.

“If I tell you yes, will you stop?”

“I don’t know.”

“Here.” He flicks the lighter and lights the cigarette, but before you can even inhale the smoke, he plucks it from your lips. You frown, and go to protest, but before you can, he gently presses the lit cigarette into your wrist. He listens to you yell, whine and squirm.

“Matt! What the fuck?!” You whimper, tears filling your eyes. He flicks your cigarette onto the ashtray. His hand comes up to wipe your tears, and you are ashamed to say how easily you lean into his touch. Matt has never hurt you before, but you have a feeling he’s trying to teach you something.

“Does that hurt?” he asks, tilting his head. His voice has an echo of condescension.

“Yes! Yes, it fucking hurts you dick!” You’re mad at him now, and you step away from him.

“Well, lung cancer hurts a whole lot more.” He tells you. “C’mon.” he requests gently, taking your free hand to guide you to the sink in your kitchen. He turns the cold water ends and takes your hand to run it under the cold water. “Aw, poor baby,” he tries to tease but you just glare.

“You’re mean to me.” You tell him.

“I’m sorry.” He tells you gently, his thumb rubbing your skin gently. “Your habit is bad. Do you know what I want for you, little pup?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“What?” you quietly ask the man that dictates the quality of your life.

“I want you to live until you’re one hundred and one years old. I want you to marry someone who will be good to you, someone safe. I want you to have three or four, or even five children. I want you to die old and warm in your bed. And I want you to live that life healthily. Maybe one day you’ll even make brownies from scratch. But you won’t get that if you keep smoking.”

You want to ask him why he can’t be that man. You want him to tell you that he’ll be the one to give you three or four, or even five children. You want him to be the one to hold your hand as you die, old and warm and one hundred and one years old.

But as if he can read your thoughts and he doesn’t want you to ask, or maybe he doesn’t want to answer, and he continues before you can speak.

“The brownies are burning, little pup. Pull them out and let them cool.” He requests gently, leaning forward to kiss your head and then going back to your bedroom.

You decide to take the time to cool down, give him a bit of space. But you can’t be away from him long, so you find yourself climbing on top of him as he lays against your blankets. His hands find your sides, and you lean down to kiss him gently.

“Still mad at me?” He mumbles against your lips. You just hum into his lips, and before you can react, Matt flips the pair of you over, his hand going to your leg to gently caress your thigh, silently asking you—telling you to bend your leg around his torso. You do without hesitation.

He deepens the kiss, finding himself grinding against you, as your hands move to try and pull off his sweater. It’s thrown somewhere else, somewhere far far away. His hands begin to sneak up your top, and he relishes in the way you squirm with giggles.

“Matt—” You whine, and he hushes you gently.

“Be a good pup for me, huh?” He requests, and you nod before he kisses you quick. Then, his hands slip your shirt off, and he leans down, starting to plant kisses down your neck. Your fingers fumble at the waistline of his pants, and he quickly kicks them off before starting to work on the waistband of both your shorts and underwear.

He’s leaving little bites and marks across your skin as his hand finds your clit, rubbing small circles into your skin—Slow, agonizing circles. He’s mostly interested in hearing all your little noses and feeling you squirm against him.

Your fingers tug at his hair gently, relishing the feeling of his teeth grazing against your skin as your fingers threaten to pull his mouth right off of your skin.

When a finger slips inside of you, you start to moan but Matt’s hand comes around your skin. He gently squeezes, and you feel like you’re in fucking heaven. Well, you were in fucking heaven, but your boyfriend-maybe-not-boyfriend lives in a church basement. Maybe don’t bring up God while you’re fucking. Or.. maybe he’s into that.

He pulls his face away to come up and kiss you as one hand fingers you, and the other gently squeezes your neck. As his fingers—two now—pump in and out of you, he licks your limps and recalls his thought about you biting down on his cross. Then another embarrassing idea comes to mind. He pulls away from your kiss to ask,

“You wanna cum, pup?” He asks, and you just let out a soft whimper of a moan. “Aw, I know.. Beg me. He asks.

“Fu—Matt, please.. Baby, please I wanna cum so bad.. Pretty please..” You breath out.

Matt smirks softly.

“Then bark.”

The question takes you out of it just for a moment.. But only for a moment.

“Stop being mean—”

“Oh, stop, I’m not being mean,” He tells you. He kisses you gently, “Just bark for me like a good puppy.” He requests, and your face is flushed. If only your good Christian parents back home could see their baby now, giving barks in exchange for an orgasm.

You bark quietly at first. But your boy is cruel.

“Honey, I can’t hear you,” he says, and you want to bite him because he somehow always fucking hears you. When you bark a little louder,  he just smirks against your lips, “Go on, puppy, let go for me.” He purrs, and you do not need to be told twice. Your legs begin to shake as his pace slows down gently.

He’s not always the nicest, but Matt knows you. Maybe better than anyone ever has. And damn if the man doesn’t know how to make you cum, doesn’t literally make you see stars. Oh, Matthew.. He is like the stars. Oh, so tempting.

After you take a few minutes to breath through your high, you look to the man whose phone number you do not know, and you feel like you’re melting, right under his touch.

And the man whose phone number you do not know and a last name that eludes you, gently presses his lips against your head after aggressively fingering,

“Ready to keep going, pup?” He asks sweetly, and you just grin at him.

“Totally.” You purr. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips. Then, he slowly slips into you, and you let out a gentle groan, leaning in so that your lips touch his. His pace starts out slow. He leans down and kisses the skin next to the burn scar from earlier.

Your fingers gently claw at his skin, and with that, his pace quickened, his grip on your thigh tight as he thrust everything into you—all of his frustrations, fears, trauma into you.

“Fuck…” You groan.

“I know, pup..” he huffs happily intro your ear.

And then you can’t keep it in. You’ve been slowly growing addicted to him. You cannot think straight. You immediately know you’ll regret it every day until you die.

“I love you.”

His pace does not slow, it does not stop, it barely stutters as his pace keeps on you. The only reaction you get is his hand moving down to massage your clit, and before you know it you’re clenching around his cock. His fingers massage faster, and without more effort than that, Matt bites down on your neck as the two of you cum at almost the same time.

Slowly, he lays down, right on top of you. He leans forward and kisses your head gently, before he lays his head down on your chest. You cradle him for a few minutes. When his breathing finally slows and his sweat stops..

Then, Matt sits up, and rubs his eyes gently. He slips on his boxers, taking a moment to tilt his head, listening to your heartbeat. He slips on his socks as he breaks that heart in the next six words he says.

“We can’t see each other anymore.”

You stop, sitting up.

“Wait, what?” You ask, baffled. Matt focuses on finding his pants.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

“Wait,” You grab one of his tee shirts and your shorts and slip them on. “Wait, is it—is it because I said I love you?” You question. “Because.. Because I didn’t mean it! That wasn’t an ‘I love you’ I love you, that was-  that was a mistake, a ‘stupid middle-of-sex’ I love you!”

He moves to slip his sweater on and you grab his arm like a child clawing to their parents leg as you get dragged off to your first day of school. He says your name gently, like he’s laying you to bed.

“I just.. it can’t happen, okay?” He mumbles, as he manages to lace up his shoes. You fumble out of the bed and grab his shoulders, then his jaw.

“Matt, please, I fucking promise, I don’t love you!” You whimper, tears running down your face. Matt leans forward and kisses your head gently. “Matt. I don’t love you.”

He doesn’t need his heightened senses to know you’re lying.

“I’m sorry, pup.” He says quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Matt..” You say quietly, as he moves to get his jacket and hat, not bothering to put them on as he opens the door and grabs his cane. You make one desperate attempt to pull him back into your apartment, tears clouding your vision.

He doesn’t say anything. He just pulls away from you and closes the door behind himself.

He’s a shitty boyfriend. He always has been, even before that building fell on him. Never enough time for them, always off at work or being Daredevil.

But he has a sneaking suspicion that he’s hit a record low as he walks towards the entrance of the apartment, trying to drown out your sobs.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Support System pt. 3

MASTERLIST

CH1 | CH 2

Roy Kent x Reader

Guys, I can't stop writing this. I cannot stop! Let's just whoooosh get it all out like a Roy Kent exorcism then I can move on... or something 😂 Thank you thank you thank you for reading/liking/reblogging/commenting - you're all aces 😘

Chapter 3

You’re not entirely sure how it happened, but Roy Kent was in your kitchen with a piping bag icing cupcakes. The table and just about every surface is covered in flour, batter and icing, the girls are on a sugar high and you’re fairly certain there’s purple frosting in your hair somewhere. At the park, Lexie had explained in great detail all of the baking you both intended on doing that afternoon, so the invitation for them to join you came naturally.

“Bit more there uncle Roy.” Phoebe instructs patiently.

“And there.” Lexie points. You pour from the kettle into two large cups and stir the coffee. While it rests for a minute, you get the next set of bakes out of the oven - chocolate chip cookies, and look for somewhere to set them down. While you’re surveying the chaos, you notice Roy has stopped icing cakes and is watching you. He points with the piping bag over your right shoulder.

“Space over there.” You put the pan down quickly, feeling the heat coming through the towel you used to get the hot tray out. You finish the coffees and put one in front of him as he finishes the last cake and you all sit back to observe your hard work. There’s a lemon drizzle cake for Phoebe to take to her nan’s house, a tray of scones for Lexie to take to her nan’s, vanilla cupcakes for Sara and chocolate for you and cookies to take to school. You reach forward to take a cupcake from the freshly frosted batch but Roy taps your hand away.

“Ouch!”

“Not that one, here.” He hands you one from further along the tray with extra icing. “Lexie said you’re obsessed with icing.” You smile and open up the paper case. Seeing you with a cake, the girls each take one.

“Can we eat it in the living room mum? I want to put Disney on.”

“P-?”

“Pleeeease?!”

“Go on then. You’re useless at cleaning up anyway.” The girls jump up and you soon hear the opening credits to Moana. Once you’ve finished your cake, you start at one end of the kitchen wiping surfaces and putting spoons and bowls into the sink. You’re a little surprised when Roy starts at the other end doing the same thing. At your third meeting at the sink, you notice the frosting on his cheek. “Oh, you’ve got a bit of-” without giving it a second thought, you reach up and swipe at his cheek with your thumb. He hums a little and you realise just how close you’re standing to one another. He takes a tiny step, placing one of his feet in between yours, a hand going to your hair,

“Yeah you’ve got a bit here.” The length of his body is not quite flush against yours, but there’s only millimetres to spare. His other hand goes to your hip, squeezing just a little and he leans down, his nose brushing against yours.

“Aagghhh mum!” A squeal from the living room interrupts you and you both spring apart. You’ve never been not kissed like that before in your life. Hell you’ve never been about to be kissed like that before. His lips hadn’t even touched yours but your skin was on fire, your heart racing. It takes a second for you to register Lexie calling you, but once you do you slip past him into the living room.

“What’s up?” You ask, breathless. How are you so breathless when nothing happened?!

“I dropped it.” Phoebe looked guiltily at the purple cupcake face down on the rug.

“Oh honey, don’t worry about it.” You drop to your knees to give her a hug. “Lexie drops food in here all the time, trust me, it’s no big deal.” You smile kindly and retrieve the cake. “Do you still want the cakey bit?” She nods so you get up to wipe off the excess frosting and take the cupcake back to her, then you clean up the little purple patch on the floor. 

“Sorry about that, I’ll get you a new rug.” Roy says from the kitchen doorway.

“Oh don’t, honestly. I’m waiting for Lexie to move out before I get anything nice for this house.” You joke, ruffling Lexie’s hair on your way back to the kitchen. The moment has passed so you carry on with the big clean up while the girls watch their film. Once it’s over, you say goodbye to Roy and Phoebe at the door, wishing them a happy weekend and watching Roy for slightly longer than is generally acceptable. The rest of the weekend is gone in a flash with a visit to your parents for Sunday dinner and the usual routine of preparing for the week ahead. Sara had replied to you late in the evening to thank you for the cakes, I’m on early again tomorrow but will probably see you after school on Tuesday if you guys want to come for dinner? You agree and take the opportunity to message Roy for the first time, offering to take Phoebe to school the following day, as you had the previous Monday. She’d like that. If you’re going to work on the train again, I’ll drop you at the station. You can’t help the butterflies that flutter knowing that you’ll see him again the next day. The key to a successful Monday morning appeared to be Lexie knowing that she’d be going to school with Phoebe. Again, she got washed and dressed without arguing with you and you were out the door in record time. This time, when he passed a cup across the counter, you passed a plastic box with two cupcakes inside.

“You forgot these.”

“I brought Sara’s?”

“Yeah but these are for you.” You smile. He nods and takes the box with a little grin.

“Thanks. How’s your week looking?”

“Not too bad. I’ve got Lex til Thursday and then she’s with her dad for the weekend. How about you?”

“We’re off to Amsterdam.”

“Oh, wow! That sounds… fun?” 

“It’s not like that. We’ve got a match.” You raise an eyebrow. Admittedly, your brain went straight to the very little you know about Amsterdam - women and drugs, rather than football and art.

“Yeah well, when in Rome and all that. Or Amsterdam.”

“No, not when in Rome. You wouldn’t catch me doing… anything like that.”

“Hmm. If you say so. I hear the women are all exhausted though.” You tease. 

“I don’t intend to find out.” He says pointedly. The girls pile into the car and you drop them off at school. At the train station, you turn to say goodbye.

“Have a safe trip.”

“Thanks. See you next week probably.”

“... Probably.” Your phone pings in the middle of the night a couple of days later with a selfie of Roy and Jamie in front of a huge windmill. Nice view x You reply sleepily and put your phone away. 

With no Lexie at the end of the week and into the weekend, you think more and more about what you and Sara had talked about in the weeks previously. As if she knew, a message arrived from Sara Phoebe is with her nan tonight. Fancy dinner out with wine and NO CHILDREN? You jump at the chance, confirming immediately and rushing to get showered and changed. You decide to stay in town and go to the new Italian in Paved Court, walking distance for the early evening, and just a short taxi ride home. You take out a dress you hadn’t worn before - when you’d tried it on, Andy had sneered at the deep, wrap front which hugged your breasts and the asymmetrical length which started at just above your knee but got longer in the back and grazed the back of your calves. The colour was a deep plum which brought out the auburn hints of your hair, the traces of red from your childhood were long gone. When you brought it, the dress had made you feel sexy - enhancing your curves and gently flowing over the imperfections. Andy’s comments had a lasting effect though and you were only wearing it now because everything else nice you owned was practically workwear. You really did have to stop wearing your nicer stuff to work. You met at the restaurant, going in, getting a table and ordering wine before Sara arrived.

“Started without me, love it!”

“Only half a glass, here.” You filled her glass and put the bottle back in the cooler.

“To a hot meal with no children.” You clink glasses happily. She tells you about her week, how Phoebe missed uncle Roy while he was away and the first bottle disappears quickly. You order another bottle and once you’ve finished your meals, you decide to get drinks around the corner at the Rose and Crown. The pub is bustling, but not too busy and you order drinks while Sara looks around for somewhere to sit. “Oh look! Roy’s here, let’s go annoy him.” She takes her drink from you and pulls you by the hand to the booth he’s sitting in with the other Richmond coaches. He watches you from the bar all the way to the booth but you can’t read his look at all, it’s not a familiar one. He introduces you to Coaches Beard and Lasso and they shuffle around to make space for you and Sara, one at either side of the booth. Sara is already standing next to the seat next to Coach Lasso which becomes spare, so you take the seat next to Roy. The seating is meant to be comfortable for four people so it’s a little snug with an extra person, you have to sit close to Roy to avoid falling off the seat but you don’t want to be presumptuous and sit too close either. He takes the decision away from you and slips an arm around your back, pulling your opposite hip further into the seat and closer to him. Your thigh presses against his and his hand doesn’t move from your hip where it’s just hidden by the knot of your wrap dress. You’ve had to turn your body slightly towards him so you can see and talk to the others, as you look down to get your drink, you realise that you’ve given him a front row seat to your cleavage. Your eyes shoot to the ceiling and you try firstly not to blush and secondly to act very nonchalantly about it. Sara however is the same two bottles of wine into the evening that you are and as she catches your eye, a giggle bursts from her and she’s suddenly laughing until there are tears in her eyes. Roy doesn’t say a word, just laughs at her and traces little circles into your hip with his thumb. You have a really great night - enjoying grown up company and conversation and not worrying about upsetting Andy when you get home, or waking Lexie. By the time last orders is called, you are probably the drunkest you’ve been in a long, long time. Roy says goodbye to coaches Beard and Lasso and takes both you and Sara by the arm to his car.

“Ha! Roy, you look like a right ladies man taking two women home!”

“Doesn’t count when you’re my sister.” He tells her affectionately.

“She’s not your sister.”

“Fucking good job, too.”

“What?” She asks loudly,

“Nevermind.” He tells her, she slides into the back seats and lies down, already half asleep. “Don’t go to sleep in my car, put your belt on.” He opens the passenger door for you and helps you up. The route he takes goes past Sara’s house first. He helps her out of the car and unlocks her front door. He’s gone for a few minutes while you fight the need for sleep in the car. “Sorry, just getting her water and painkillers.” The short drive to your house doesn't take long at all and he comes around to open your door for you and help you out. 

“‘m fine, you don’t need to see me to the door.”

“Course I do, come on.” He lets you attempt to unlock the door but then takes your key gently from you and slots it into the lock. You turn to thank him, your heels bring you closer to his height but still a way off. You make an entirely alcohol based decision and lean up onto your tiptoes, your lips brush softly against his, your eyes fluttering shut. His hand goes around your waist to steady you and you can’t help the little sigh you make when you’re pulled closer to him. But it doesn’t last. He steps back away from you, his hand moving to your elbow. You open your eyes again and all you see in return is pity. Horror rises inside you and you move out of his grip, ashamed and embarrassed.

“Oh god, fuck. I’m sorry, shit, I’m so fucking sorry, I shouldn’t have-, fucking fuck. I’m so fucking stupid, why on earth would I think-” You grab for the door handle and back up away from him.

“No wait, it’s not-”

“Please forget that ever happened. God, I’m so fucking stupid. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” You plead a final time, desperate not to cry in front of him. You slam the door shut and flick the lock, pressing your forehead against the cool wood. With the door safely shut, your tears fall and you choke back a sob. On the other side of the door, Roy hears and goes to knock, but the sound fades as you move further into the house.

“Fuuuuck.” He growls, going back to his car.

[jolalibrary]

More Helen x Ghost pleaseeeeee

sometimes, I am merciful

Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader

Word count: 1k

AN: mentions of a wound and dressing it. fluff-ish (probably more than I’d like but it’s been a day and a half and I needed this too). Helen isn’t readers name, read Helen.Simon for more context. take pity on me, I wrote this on my phone (: but hope it’s okay, anon.

+++++++++++

“Helen,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

He clenched his other fist, the bones on the glove cracking under pressure. He’s trying not to stare at you—fearful you’d turn him into fucking stone.

The look on your face is still etched into his eyelids. Eyes flicking from him to his clearly bleeding hand, a mixture of relief and disappointment he’s come back with another scar you’ll obsessively try and heal.

Your grip on his hand tightens, wrenching it closer. “Keep still, Casper.”

He doesn’t hate it. The grip you have on him. Both literally and figuratively. Even if he doesn’t fully understand the ifs, buts and how’s of it all.

But he doesn’t fucking hate your new pet name. The one you’ve clearly thought about over the thirty-six hours he’s been gone.

He’s had it for all of fifteen minutes and already cannot stand it. But he refuses to ask for Boo.

Instead, he puts up with it. Letting you relish in inflicting your own choice of torture.

Because if you’re calling him a friendly ghost, it means you’re still calling him. Still talking.

He’s learnt how painful and torturous your silence is. A punishment he’s not sure he could handle on such limited sleep.

Sighing, he blinks. Purposefully blanking his face, letting his eyes soften and settle.

Then he wills your eyes to meet his.

If you were anyone else, he’d command it. But that doesn’t work on you. Not unless he says it softly, not unless shards of him are breaking off and you take pity on him.

Look at me. Please look at me.

You don’t.

The scent of antiseptic, vanilla and blackberries meets his nose, mixing with the smell of blood, dust and death he’s brought with him.

He prefers your scent. A perfume he struggles to remove from his casual clothing and his bed sheets. Not that he complains. He’d never complain.

If he had his way, the scent would be burned into his skin. It keeps him rooted and reminds him of the truth in all the lies that his brain conjures when insomnia strikes.

Helen. Look at me.

You don’t. You’re too busy using all of your focus as you dress his wound. Your delicate fingers slide the bandage around his palm, silently judging, silently tutting as you work your magic.

He knows you’re pissed—before you start muttering and tutting. You weren’t half as gentle with the needle as usual. Not even muttering an apology when you’d stabbed it a little too hard.

If it weren’t inflicted on him, he’d have egged you on. Rather liking your conniving ways. On him, not so much. Even if he can tell, you’re getting some sick satisfaction from making him wince.

But he needs your eyes.

He’s missed them.

“Sweetheart…”

It comes out stern and quiet, but it forces your chin up. Those big beautiful eyes land on him, and they feel like the sun.

At first, they’re soft, all kindness and love. In one blink, they’ve shifted. Scolding him, attempting to peel back his mask and scorch his face.

Fuck, you’re beautiful.

“A rusty knife? Really, Simon?”

“Better my hand than my neck.”

You clamp your mouth shut, hiding insults and your wicked way with words from him. The fact you do annoys him more than the coward who tried to stab him.

“There’s a choice to choose neither, you know,” you whisper, continuing to bandage his hand, focusing on the bow. “Could come back to me with just bruising and cuts. That’s a choice too.”

You tighten the final part of the bandage more purposefully, him biting back a wince as you look up at him again. The anger softens, sadness replacing it. A look he instead fucking hates, even if he’s the one who put it there.

“I’m never leavin’ you.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” you say, pushing back on the wheels of your chair for more distance, “Because if you considered it, I’d hunt you down. Hell or high water, I’d find you. And, let me make this crystal fucking clear, Simon Riley. I am both.”

He wants to lift his mask.

Show you the prize of his smile.

But he can’t risk it. Not here, not in the middle of your medical room that people barge in and out of.

It doesn’t matter how often the two of you try to steal moments; life has a way of ripping them from your grasp. But it doesn’t stop him from trying.

Instead, he grabs your leg, pulling you, pleasantly surprised you don’t fight him as you wheel between his legs. Your annoyance is painted as clear as day, his fingers releasing your leg before resting on your knee.

“Understood,” he says, drawing a soft circle against your knee. Watching you, watching him. A moment, between all the others, where it’s just the two of you. “Go eat, Helen.”

“I’m fi—“

He squeezes your knee, silencing you. Staring at you to remind you he knows you. Knows that you haven’t eaten two meals a day, never mind three. That he’s had people check on you, ask about you.

That in his own fucking way, he cares, so let him care. Let him take care of you.

You swallow as if realising this. As if the two of you are in the middle of a conversation, you’re both having with your eyes.

He wins.

The only way he knows that is from the sweet little groan you give him as he returns to drawing a circle on your knee.

“Sometimes, Simon. I really can’t stand you.”

“Feelings mutual, Helen.”

You remove your glove, placing your hand gently over his. It’s warm, gentle and yet calloused in its own way.

And he should tell you to leave.

Tell you to get food before you’re left with scraps you’ll complain to him about later. But this is nice. It’s comforting. It’s something he can’t genuinely articulate and is glad you don’t ask him to try.

And then, you hand him his glove. The one stained scarlet and still damp with his blood.

He nods.

You nod.

The two of you send the other a look which has become close to a parting kiss, without you both touching. One that will have to do until he can really kiss you later. Until he can remind every inch of your skin that he came back, that he’s alive. He’ll do so, silently promising too, until you’re chanting his name to the point he realises this isn’t a dream, but reality.

A beautiful, unexplainable reality.

[herarcadewasteland]

Request 💗

I cannot get this yoongi out of my head 👀 can you write something spicyy based on what you think? Its giving husband yoon vibes i think hehe thanks 😘

AHHH TYTYTY HUSBAND YOONGI FOR YOU!!!

Still suck at writing smut so enjoy? 😬 but it also turned into a ficlet?

——

Office Hours: Yoongi x reader office sex

—-

Yoongi had been away for weeks. And that meant no sex. Which for you, meant struggling to get yourself off properly. He was in control of your orgasms at this point even if you did have a fairly vanilla sex life. His touch was enough to drive you up a wall with horniness and yet he wasn’t there. 

Thankfully, he was on a flight back from his business trip to Thailand. And his return meant mind blowing sex and finally an orgasm. So you sat and watched Netflix as you waited, hours passed quickly and soon it was 8. Yoongi would be home soon. 

Jumping from the couch, you bounded to the door to wait for it to open and there he would be. Your wonderful husband. But as you stood and waited for his return, you realized you didn’t hear his car. Not even a Honda Civic engine that signified the taxi. 

Sadness filled your being as you bitch-slapped the wall, the ache in your hand going ignored as you grabbed your keys and slipped on some shoes. Jogging to your car, you nearly yelled in frustration as the engine stalled momentarily before it kicked up and you were off. 

His office was 35 minutes away. Anytime he didn’t show up for dinner or a date night, his office was where he was. And you doubted tonight would be any different. Standing outside his office 40 minutes later, you proved yourself right. His secretary had warned you against going in unannounced, but you had bigger problems than disrupting paperwork that could’ve waited until the morning.

Swinging open the door with an angry call of his name, your eyes scanned the office in search of your husband, his assistant rushing in behind you in a sad attempt to stop you from disrupting the conversation you already had. Yoongi’s head snapped away from the window the moment you called his name, his eyes widening as he took in your appearance after weeks of not seeing you.  You disregard his almost melancholy gaze, shoes clacking on the floor with the force of your steps. 

The clear anger in your eyes as you approached made him drop the phone, his hands reaching out to calm you automatically. You slapped his hands out of the way, your open palm swinging for his face next as he watched your eyes narrow. Head swinging to the side and jaw clenching as he made eye contact with his secretary, he growled at her to leave, her heels clicking frantically as she slams the door in her wake. 

His large hands grip yours as you stare him down, his plush lips set in a thin line as he observed your anger.

“Hello, lo-“

“No. You don’t get to pet-name me, Min Yoongi!”

“And what gives you the right to slap me, Min Y/N?”

“You. You asshole! Is work really more important than coming home to your WIFE AFTER 9 WEEKS OF BEING AWAY?!” 

Your anger was palpable and he sighs. His hands rub over his thighs once before he stands, your eyes meeting as his face softens. 

“I understand you’re upset-“

“Fuck you.”

“I should’ve come home right away. I’m sorry, love.”

“Fucking right you should have! How dare you?! Heading straight back to the fucking OFFICE before your WIFE?!”

He sighs and itches his forehead, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly as he closes the distance between you. 

“Let me make it up to you.”, his lips brush your ear as you close your eyes with a sharp exhale.

“Fine. If you must.”, you try to play it cool, the blush on your cheeks giving you away as you nod along with your words.

His smile is adorable as he registers your consent, his hands gripping the back of your head gently as he pulls you into a gentle kiss. His lips part yours slowly as you inhale… him. Your tongue sneaks out to brush against his, the kiss deepening slowly as you rip his shirt open. Buttons clang against his desk as you run your hands down his chest, his tie draping over them until you reach his stomach. 

His hands stop yours as you break away from the kiss to catch your breath. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this in my office, doll.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

His eyes darkened, his hands seeming more veiny as he swiftly undid his tie, his lips curving in a smirk as he tugged open your jaw to place it between your teeth, tying it behind your head. You watched him carefully now, this side of him not one you were aware of and based on his reaction to his own action, he didn’t know about it either. 

He guided you backwards with steady hands, your legs meeting the edge of the leather couch he had in his office, his sharp eyes watching you through lenses as you fell back onto the couch. The poof of the air leaving the leather filled the silence alongside your heavy breathing, his hands removing your pants in a rush as you undid his. The both of you exposed, your eyes traced his body as he did the same. 

Your observation ended quickly as he pushed you to lay down, his cock standing tall as he hovered over your figure, his soft lips taking over yours as he slid into you slowly. A groan slipped from his throat as he slid in easily, preparation be damned. You moaned in a muffled response, hips thrusting up into his impatiently as you lowkey choked on the tie through the half-proper kiss. His thrusts picked up moments later as he gathered himself enough to thrust into your properly, his minty breath fanning over your lips in harsh pants as he slammed into you. 

Your moans picked up in volume, the reason for the makeshift gag clicking somewhere in your brain past the feeling of his cock filling you so well. Your eyes rolled back as he got more aggressive, the sounds of your coupling echoing in your head and the office as you both approached your highs.

“Cum for me, my pretty little wife.”, his lips encased your bottom one momentarily, “Do it.”

His words ended in a growl as he felt you clenching around him. Your eyes watered slightly as your orgasm barrelled towards you faster than you thought, the weeks of no orgasm catching up in a split second as your legs tensed. Yoongi watched your expression carefully, your tightening core sending him closer to his own high as you squirted around him. The force of your orgasm nearly pushing him from your body, he spills into your aching core. 

Your moans die out together as you catch your breaths, your legs shaking slightly as you recover from your intense orgasm. 

“Have you done that before? I think that’s a new reaction, love.”

His cocky tone hit you like you hit him, your eyes widening as you tried to sit up to look at the mess you undoubtedly made. Yoongi removed his tie from your mouth with a smile, his eyes trained on the small puddle of your juices that had collected beneath you. You let out a groan, covering your face with your hands as you tried to get the earth to swallow you whole.

“Hey. Hey. Don’t hide from me, love, that was hot as fuck.”, his tone was light as he pressed kisses to your hands.

You gave up hiding with a sigh, moving your hands from your face to look at him closely. He did look turned on and impressed by that. His glasses were even slightly foggy from his increase in temperature. After another sigh, you nodded. You could accept it was hot for him. 

Kissing him gently, you ran your hands through his hair, his hands fixing your own mess of hair until a cough cut through it all like a knife. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. and Mrs. Min but we’re going to need this agreement decided on soon.”

“Fuck.”

You both laughed at the disturbed tone Mr. Lee held over the phone, your eyes closing in exhaustion as Yoongi righted his clothes and sat back at his desk, settling the agreement within a few hours. Maybe you would have to interrupt him more if that was the outcome. 

[minhosimthings]

Vanilla Meat

Synopsis: In which your husband makes your weird pregnancy cravings.

Pairings: Husband!Minho × pregnant reader (fem duh)

Warnings: FLUFFY SHIT YEAH. Mention of throwing up, mention of food

A/N: One more drabble because I have writer's block rn. Absolutely cannot write another chapter. College is getting more work filled, so I'll try to update more often if I can! Oh btw, I took inspo from my cousin! She had really weird cravings when she was preggers and she told me some stories so this is based off of that!

Your mouth tasted so weird today. And you had no idea why. Oh wait you did have an idea. And that was the baby growing in your currently ravenous stomach. Being pregnant was harder than you thought (and your mom had told you) and now, at five and half months, your mouth started craving weird things. Thankfully you had a husband and said husband was a simp for you so he would basically make you anything you asked for, but not before giving you the biggest side eye ever.

"Kitten you ok?" Minho was leaning against your side as you bent over the toilet seat. Morning sickness had gotten worse since your fourth month even though your doctor assured you that morning sickness usually subsides by the fourth month. But then again, as I said, dear audience, you were a weird person. "Yeah I think I'm fine. I, uh, alright don't get mad but I didn't take my meds today." Minho sighed deeply at your words as he helped you get back on your feet. He knew you hated taking meds, pills especially since you didn't like the way they got stuck in your throat and you had to force it down although you enjoyed doing that with other things. Minho helped you get comfortably into bed and tucked the corners of your baby blue blanket in just like the way you like it. You smiled sweetly at him, silently appreciating your husband for doing so much for you. "Kitten please you've got to take those meds. I know you don't like them but I don't like avocado and you forced me to try them so now you're gonna have to pay me back." You pouted and furrowed your brows at his words. You tried to put on the best puppy eyes you could but you knew they wouldn't work on the sexy man standing in front off you, in a black turtleneck sweater with rolled up sleeves which made you kinda horny. Minho sighed again and cupped your face gently and said, in a tone unlike his normal one, "How about I make you something and then you take the meds?" Your eyes lit up at that as you did a tiny bounce and looked at Minho, like a child looking at the ice cream man. "Only if you take the meds though." Minho added sternly gently moving his hands to your aching legs. You thought for a moment before extending your hand out and shaking Minho's after which he placed a gentle kiss on your hand. "I'll make some japchae and order your favourite songpyeon ok?" "Actually baby?" Your voice stopped Minho as he made to get up. "Can you make me something weird?" Minho's face contorted into one of humour as he knelt down to your level and said, "Well of course your Highness. What delight would you like today?" You let out a tiny giggle and booped his nose. "I want meat." Minho was kind of taken back as he placed his hands softly on your belly and asked "That's it? Our baby is craving for dada's famous meat?" You tried to hide your mischievous smile and instead said in a playfully commanding voice, "Yes. Our baby is craving the best grilled meat in the kingdom. Oh and I would prefer if it was last night's meat please." Minho got up and kissed your forehead gently, but not before doing a tiny curtsey "Your wish is my command, Your Highness. Anything to go with the meat? Pudding perhaps?" "Can you also get me some of that vanilla ice cream Jisung left here last night?" Minho smiled and gently squeezed your hand before disappearing through the bedroom door.

He came back a few minutes (read : hours, since you were an inpatient and hungry pregnant woman) with a blue porcelain plate and your favourite pink bowl, which you expected was filled with ice cream. You pulled out your tiny bed table and settled it on the bedsheets as Minho put the delicious meat down along with the ice cream and to your disappointment, your packet of pills. You decided, however not to pull a face, and instead thanked your husband for bringing food to you. "Your welcome Jagiya. But you need to take the pills alright? Otherwise you can't see Doongie for a whole week." You let out a dramatic gasp at his words at his words and gave him a flying kiss, which he gratefully took. You took some of the slightly charred meat and picked up your ice cream spoon as Minho watched with curiosity, his cat like eyes wide open to form those cute star filled ones no one could resist. You then, to the horror of your husband, scooped some of the ice cream, put it on your piece of meat and then proceeded to put the entire thing in your mouth as Minho watched on very disgusted. He let out a very heavy sigh and said "Kitten, I know you're pregnant and I know all of your weird all cravings. And they've been normal usually like fish with mayo but kitten really? Vanilla ice cream with meat?" You looked Minho's cute frame and jut out your bottom lip to form a pout. "Just try It once Min. You'll like this I promise." Minho sighed again and said, "If I try it, because you've peaked my interest now, what will I get in return?" You thought for a moment and said "You can name our baby." Minho's eyes, now lit up with determination and excitement as he teased you, "Really kitten? Are you stooping that low for me to try your cravings?" You merely shrugged your shoulders and prepared another bite of the vanilla Meat for Minho as he took a deep breath and leaned forward, as if he was ready for combat. You gently pushed the meat into Minho's mouth and waited for his reaction, which, quite possibly, was the most adorable thing you have ever seen in your life. His closed eyes slowly opened and widened to form two big globes and mouth stayed closed. You couldn't decipher the expression on his face, but you knew it was the same expression he did whenever he ate pudding. "It's that good huh?" You questioned him. He was quick to shake his head. "That was the most disgusting thing I've ever eaten in my life, well except for Jisungie's cooking. Im gonna go wash up, while you eat the rest of your definetly not edible food." You threw him a sarcastic smile as he got up and went downstairs. You happily ate the rest of your food, with the nice thought in your head that Minho was definitely going to make this for you again. You didn't have the heart to tell him the next morning, that you heard him call Jisung in the dead of the night with the words, "Dude you gotta try meat with vanilla ice cream."

Epilogue

"Hon how are you eating that?" Minho was laying on his pillow, watching you eat Oreos with pieces of raw fish. You shrugged your shoulders and continued eating. "I mean it's what your twins are craving." "Alright then." You slightly smirked and turned your head towards Minho as he turned his head with the speed of lighting to face you. "WE'RE HAVING TWINS?"

[ahopelessromantika]

"Do you think it's still us in every universe?"

He buries his face in her hair and inhales the sweet scent of vanillas. "I don't doubt it."

But in another world parallel to theirs, two people stand in a sea of scarlet, blood-streaked and merciless. Chaos rage all around them, the cries of soldiers clambering in the air, the smell of smoke and sulfur and iron so heavy it burn their nose.

A battlefield.

He grimaces at his opponent.

"So this is how we end?"

"Unfortunately," his adversary, who was once his lover, emptily responds. She readies her blade and looks at him blankly. "Although I did wish we wouldn't have to fight each other."

He decides to grant her wish as a final gift. When she charges, he lets her ram her sword into his abdomen, pain exploding from the stab wound.

A fight doesn't happen between them.

He allows her to swiftly kill him.

"Perhaps," he coughs after a moment of stunned silence, black dots dancing in his vision and drowsiness slowly overtaking his consciousness. "Perhaps in another universe, everything worked in our favor and we ended up together."

She doesn't answer him and instead pulls out her sword, then suddenly something soft but chapped is pressing hard against his lips, and all he can taste is blood and fire and affection and sorrow from the person kissing him, and oh hell does he not want to die but it cannot be helped because one of them has to die for the other to live and he can't bear to see the life fading out of her—

She pulls away and gazes straight into his eyes.

"Perhaps," she chokes out, her voice thick and broken with grief.

Her nimble fingers play with his thick locks, and he sighs into the familiar and warm sensation before closing his eyes and permitting Death to take him away.

She holds back unshed tears.

"Perhaps we are together in another universe."

-by ahopelessromantika-

[fragileizywriting]

okay, so.

marinette has a problem.

the problem is luka's hands.

no, no, that's not fair. actually, the problem is luka's entire arms— the hands are included, of course, but the arms thing. with his chest. and his shoulders. and his torso. okay, the top half of him. not really much of his legs, but those are... just as much of a problem. okay, yeah, she's having a problem. she's having a problem with him.

most specifically the arms, though.

she absolutely, positively, cannot stand the way he grips the steering wheel whenever he drives, because his hands are massive, and the steering wheel of his beatup mitsubishi is nothing but a tea-cup saucer, and she really, really likes them.

hello.

hi.

especially when he grips the wheel and his knuckles go white and it reminds her very, very much of something else.

“please,” she begs.

“no,” he responds, and he drums along the steering wheel in a delightful little pattern that she can't stop watching. tap tap tap. tap, tap, tap. tap... tap... tap... “we’re not stopping for coffee. put away the puppy eyes, kitty.” then, he adds, before she can even respond: “sorry, ‘coffee’.”

“i heard those quotation marks,” she grumbles, narrowing her eyes at him, though he doesn't meet her gaze to see it. he knows it's there. it's a sixth sense. just like he knew she was batting her eyes at him in a way he can't refuse. “are you just upset that i like good coffee?”

“good coffee," he scoffs, doing something with his palms against the wheel that has her brain starting to whirr. how is it that his hands are just so... big? "sorry, no, you mean american coffee. coffee that's just sugar and syrup.”

“and they’re right,” she argues. “please? as a thank you for coming with you to carrefour?”

“a thank you?” he laughs out loud, merging into a roundabout. hands. hands. hands, hands, hands. strong forearms. enticing biceps. she's a dog sitting outside a butchershop, waiting for someone to take pity and toss her a bone. he could crush her and she'd whimper out a thank you. “you invited yourself!”

she bites her lip. his hand is on the shiftknob so he can change gears. she's about to swoon. “i... uh—" what was she saying? "i don’t trust your yogurt choices.”

“greek yogurt is good.”

“it’s disgusting,” she continues, pointing at an exit that she wants him to take, because coffee is that way. he does. she doesn't have to give him directions, because he knows where they're going, because it's her favourite new coffeehouse. “anything that's not strawberry flavoured yogurt is a problem. what's with the adventurous streak with the vanilla flavour? coconut? are you out of your mind?”

“sometimes i wonder why your tastebuds are still so childish,” he teases. left hand in his lap for a moment. holy jesus. “sugary, strawberry—”

“let a woman live a little! i deserve treats! cute treats! big treats! cute, big treats!” she blinks at the silence, listening him tap, tap, tapping away. “hold on, hold it, i didn't invite myself, i live with you.”

“you couch surf.”

“you ass,” she giggles. “i do not. and since when do you consider your own bed a couch? pretty sure you were adamant about it being a futon when you first got it.”

he turns the ignition off before she even realizes it. here they are, in the parking lot, and she has yet to look away from that tender touch he has with his wheel.

"before we go in, look up at me for a second?"

"huh?"

he is way, way too close to her personal space when he leans over. blue eyes spark in the sunlight coming in and reflecting from the hood of the truck. "look up, kitty."

"yeah?"

god, he's gorgeous. she can't stop biting her lip, wiggling her tongue against her gums to make her canines stop humming.

"we can get your coffee. if"—a finger wag follows, touching her on the tip of her nose—"you stop looking at me like i'm a top sirloin."

she blinks passively. "what?"

"i know you well enough to know you get this look in your eye when you're hungry," he muses, thumb on her mouth. he presses in. lightly. just enough to squish her bottom lip. he's leaning over her in a way that feels like he's about to kiss her, maybe shut himself up for a little while, but he doesn't want to bridge the gap just yet. "you also do it when you're horny. i know you're not hungry because you tossed all of my offers to get beignets out the window, but you keep squirming in your seat everytime i move. you're salivating."

"i— i just want coffee," she wheezes.

"yeah? you sure?"

"y-yeah."

"so if i reach behind my seat to grab your purse, you're not going to hiss just because it makes my arms look nice?"

"i think you're overestimating how much i find you attractive."

"i am very much not," he laughs. "you're forgetting i've known you since whatever. let's get your drink and go home, you're not going to get any easier to keep still when you have sugar in you— remember that we need to pack away the groceries into the fridge before you jump me."

[winters-mistress]

A golden world

"Now, this is a royal residence." Ciri smiles, her borrowed dress billowing as she spins around the ballroom sized bed chamber. She smiles at the gentle scent of sweet beeswax and rosewater and lily powder, spinning and throwing herself back first upon her large bed. She sinks into the clean sheets, inhaling deeply. "Oh, I've missed this."

The ache in her belly does not hurt as much as it once did to think of her time as a crown princess, the loss of her mother and the loss of her grandparents and dear mouseack, it will always be there, but it is not debilitating as it once was. But now, in her time, she will honor their memory and their sacrifice and never let it be forgotten or in vain.

"It suits you." Geralt says, coming over and sniffing at the wooden bedframe, touching the embroidered pillows. "Although you hate embroidery."

"Urgh," Ciri flips over onto her stomach and crawls towards the pillow. "The poor soul who put so many hours into this." She pats it once. "May they rest well, I pity the struggle."

Geralt snorts, plopping down in a plush, oversized chair that used to face the oversized dressing table, full to the brim with enough creams and lotions to make Jaskier squeal and Yennefer to sigh in delight. He can smell the jasmine and peonies and roses and lilac and vanilla that lay crushed up with lotion in tubs and vials, and the smell makes his nose itch.

"I'm glad you're happy." Geralt says, his voice is quiet. Such an unusuality after so many years of yelling for her in the distance.

"Well, happy is a questionable adjective. But I'm glad to be here, I'm glad people are gone." She says, perching up on her elbows. He feels the bite in his stomach as he sees the poorly healed scar on her cheek, the strands of silver dotted around her shining blonde hair. The green of her eyes is as bright as its always been, but the poor child has been through so much that she cannot be considered a child anymore.

"I'm glad to be with you now." Geralt says, standing up from his chair to loom over her. Not to intimidate, but if there's any part of her that needs protecting, any inch she cannot protect of herself, he will protect her now. From any and all things, if there's anything still left alive that means her harm. "I will not leave you now, you know this, hmm?" He aches to know whatever she has told him of what she has been through, all the things she has suffered and lost while he was taken from her. He will protect her now, in the ways he never did when he was lucky enough to be in her orbit. He didn't appreciate it then, but by all the gods, he knows he should have.

"I do." Ciri's voice is just as gentle as his own. "I've missed you, Papa. More than you can know."

She sits up, looking up at him, takes his scarred hand. They are both scarred and calloused in their own ways. We all carry our own burdens, we all carry our own scars.

"I can guarantee I've missed you more."

[wonderlandleighleigh]

A follow-up to this

"That cannot possibly be him."

Ella takes a breath as she and Lane step into the little coffee shop near her apartment. It's actually really cool; it feels like stepping back into the 1930's. It's decor is deeply retro.

But Lane isn't paying much attention to the art deco style. Her eyes are trained on the boy sitting at the back of the shop with overgrown hair and a bushy beard.

"I did mention he burnt out really fast in California, right?" Ella offers.

"You did, but I didn't realize the burnout included looking like a mountain man," Lane hisses. She sighs. "He's really that bad?"

"He's not great," Ella responds. "Look, I know you guys left things on weird terms, but give him a chance. As a guitarist. And...maybe as a friend?"

Lane steels herself, standing a little taller and nodding. "Okay. Friend. Guitarist. Guitarist. Friend. That's a better order."

Ella nods as well and leads her back to the table, where Dave is nursing a large coffee. He looks up, and his eyes widen, bringing him quickly and clumsily to his feet.

"Lane."

"Dave," she responds, crossing her arms.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Great start," Ella grins. "Lane, what's your coffee order?"

"Oh," she says, blinking. "I uh...I usually just have what Luke makes."

"Latte?" Ella offers. "They're really good here."

Lane thinks about that for a moment. About how angry her mother would be about her drinking all that caffeine and sugar.

"A latte sounds great. Vanilla?"

Ella smiles. "I'm on it." She turns to another table and waves for the young man sitting there, who has his head behind a book. He can only be Jess. "Come get coffee with me."

"I drank mine," he responds without setting the book down.

"Keep me company and maybe I'll give you a handjob later," Ella tells him.

The book lowers slowly. "It's not a terrible offer," he responds as he gets to his feet.

"I'm aware."

Lane watches them go before turning back to Dave. They both sit slowly.

"That's weird," she comments.

"So is everything these days," Dave mutters sullenly.

"So...I wish I'd known you were back on the east coast," Lane tells him.

"Why?" Dave asks. "I broke up with you."

"Well, yeah, but..." she shrugs. "I still cared. I would have tried to help."

He watches her for a long, quiet moment. "You really would have, wouldn't you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Lane asks.

"Because I broke up with you," he repeats. "Over the phone. Like an ass."

"I dated Zach," she comments. "I now have a new, higher bar for assery."

Dave wrinkles his nose. "Zach?"

"Yep. Big mistake."

"I'm sorry," he offers. "That it didn't turn out how you hoped."

"Well, I've learned my lesson," Lane says. "About dating guitar players."

"Yeah, I...I guess you have," Dave nods sadly. "I'm really sorry I was one of those lessons."

Lane gives him a gentle smile. It's a nice apology, to be honest. More than she expected. "I appreciate that."

"So. Ella wants us both to be in her band," he says. "Do you uh...do you think we could do that? You know. Be exes and bandmates?"

"On one condition," she says.

Dave lifts an eyebrow.

"For the love of god, shave," Lane orders.

He laughs; really laughs. He's not sure when the last time he did that was. "You have a deal, Miss Kim."

She smiles. "Then, Mr. Rygalski. I guess we're bandmates."

"Oh, yay, you're smiling and laughing!" Ella cries as she rushes back over with Jess and everyone's coffees. "Does that mean we're a go?"

Lane nods. "We're a go."

[darkmacadamien]

Whumptober 2023, No. 4: "You in there?"

“Bruv, I dare you to drink it,” Isaac says, pointing to the crystal decanter containing a mysterious purple liquid sitting on Coach Beard’s desk.

Jamie scoffs. “Fuck off, man. I ain’t got a clue what’s in there. What if it kills me?”

“Then we will remember you fondly, Jamie Tartt,” Dani proclaims.

Jamie pretends to think about it for a moment, then rolls his eyes. “Uh, nah. Still ain’t doing it.”

“Okay then, boy-o,” Colin interjects, “how about this— I double dare you to drink it.”

“Oooh,” the whole team choruses.

“You cannot turn down a double dare, my friend,” Sam says. Colin and Isaac nod in agreement, the fucking traitors.

“That ain’t fucking fair,” Jamie protests. “Why’re you picking on me, anyway? Richard’s the one with the iron stomach.”

“You were standing closest to me. Sorry, bruv,” Isaac apologizes, though he don’t sound very sorry.

“Philistines,” Jamie grumbles, but he picks up the fancy glass anyway. Unfortunately, Sam is correct: you can’t just not do a double dare. It’s practically one of the Ten Commandments, or something.

Jamie pops the cap on the bottle and gives the contents a cursory sniff. It smells cloyingly sweet, like those shitty perfume samples you get from magazines. “I think this might be alcohol,” Jamie says, running the bottle under his nose again. The scent is so strong it makes saliva well up in his mouth.

“All the more reason for you to drink it,” Jan Maas points out.

“Mate, you know I’m a lightweight. Roy will literally fucking kill me if I show up to training drunk.”

“Sorry,” Colin says, faux sympathetically, “but rules are rules.” He claps Jamie on the shoulder. “Drink up.”

Jamie sighs but concedes the point, and downs the shimmering purple liquid in one quick swallow. It tastes surprisingly light, like green tea, with hints of earthy spices, but it goes down like liquid fucking fire.

It’s worse than the highest-proof alcohol Jamie’s ever had, which had nearly made him vomit from one sip (there’s a reason he drinks vanilla vodka, for fuck’s sake).

Jamie chokes on the aftertaste, coughing and spluttering like he’s drowning. “Water,” he croaks, and a bottle is immediately thrust into his hands. Jamie guzzles it down, but it does nothing to soothe his burning throat.

A strange warmth begins emanating from his stomach where the liquid had settled like a ton of bricks. Jamie clutches at it, suddenly feeling faint.

“Something don’t feel right,” Jamie says.

Then he explodes into a large cloud of purple dust.

“Shit,” Isaac says grimly, when the dust settles. “I think we killed him.”

Where Jamie had once been standing, a figure lies crumpled on the ground.

“Jamie,” Dani cries, diving towards his friend and turning him over. When he catches sight of Jamie’s face, Dani jumps back like he’s been shocked. “Ay, Dios mío,” he shouts, crossing himself.

Colin puts his finger firmly on his nose, and says, “I am not explaining this to Roy,” because there, lying on the ground, is an unconscious child-size version of Jamie Tartt.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Isaac goes to find Ted, because Dani has devolved into hysterics and Ted is the least likely to start shouting and make things worse.

“Watch him,” Isaac orders Colin, pointing at child-Jamie, who’s still (blessedly) unconscious. Then he leaves Sam in charge. “Whatever you do, do not let Roy or Coach Beard into this room. If Roy starts threatening to punch dicks, call Keeley.”

Sam nods grimly. “I understand, Captain.”

“You’re a brave man,” Isaac tells him, and then he’s off.

It doesn’t take long to find Ted; he’s where he usually is at this hour, which means he’s riding around the pitch on the lawnmower.

“Coach! Coach, we have an emergency!” Isaac shouts, waving him down. Ted shifts the lawnmower into gear and rides over at an excruciatingly slow pace. Five minutes later, he’s pulling over in front of Isaac and killing the engine. “What’s up, buttercup?” he chirps.

“It’s Jamie,” Isaac says. “He drank the magic purple stuff on Beard’s desk and now he’s a kid.”

“Well,” Ted says, blinking slowly, “I must admit, I’m a little confused. Do you mean kid, as in…?”

“A child. Like, a youngster, or whatever they say in America. He can’t be any older than thirteen.”

“Oh, wow,” Ted says. “I think this might be a little above my paygrade. You said he drank something off of Coach’s desk, right? Sounds like we need to track him down and see what he has to say about all this.”

“Wait,” Isaac barks. “Won’t he be mad that we messed with his stuff?”

“I’d say it’s probably his fault for not putting a ‘No Touch’ sticker on it, wouldn’t you?”

Isaac shrugs. Fair enough.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“It’ll wear off in about twenty-four hours,” Beard tells the team, standing ominously over Jamie’s unconscious body.

“And there won’t be any weird side effects?” Isaac asks.

“Nope,” Beard says. “Once he switches back, he’ll be exactly the same as before.”

The team lets a collective sigh of relief.

“Why’d you even have something like that laying around, Coach?” Isaac asks.

“I didn’t,” Coach Beard says. “Jane must have snuck in and left it for me.” He sounds properly charmed by it, the bastard.

Out in the hallway, Roy passes by the dressing room and then promptly turns around once he realizes the entire team is gathered inside, still fully kitted out. “Oi, what’s this? Are we having a fucking party or some shit?”

The team moves in unison to hide Jamie’s unconscious body. “Nothing unusual is going on here, Coach,” Sam says, sounding like he’s reading directly from a script.

Roy shifts, widening his stance and squaring his shoulders, looking as if he’s rearing up for a fight. “I didn’t say I thought something unusual was going on,” he says evenly. “Out with it, then. What the fuck is going on here?”

When everyone remains stubbornly silent, Roy sighs, sounding put-upon. “Okay, let’s try this again— either someone speaks up, or I start punching dicks.”

The team parts like the Red Sea. Roy’s eyes immediately snap to Jamie’s unconscious figure. “Is that Tartt?” he asks. He walks over and pokes him with his foot.

Isaac clocks the exact moment Roy realizes that Jamie is about a foot shorter than he’s supposed to be.

“What in the ever-loving FUCK have you muppets—”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Roy reams the entire dressing room out for a good ten minutes. Not even Coach Beard and Lasso are spared, which in other circumstances might’ve been comical, but mostly it was just terrifying.

So terrifying, in fact, that no one notices a tiny Jamie Tartt come to consciousness and sneak out of the changing room.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Thirteen-year-old Jamie Tartt has no idea what to think when he wakes up in a strange dressing room with a much-older-than-he-remembers Roy Kent ripping into a team that he vaguely recognizes as AFC Richmond (although the kits look a little different than he remembers, too).

Jamie spares a thought to wonder why he’s lying on the ground, and then another to wonder how in the fuck he got here, because last time he checked, Richmond was hours away from Manchester.

The last thing Jamie remembers is his dad knocking him around the head, which might explain why he was unconscious, but past that, all semblance of sense goes right out the fucking window.

So, Jamie starts devising a plan to get the fuck out of there, ‘cause even though he was basically Roy Kent’s biggest fan, watching the man have a bitch-fit in person was much scarier than it was on TV.

And also, maybe, he’s just a little afraid that Roy Kent might start yelling at him, too. So, Jamie plays unconscious for a few moments longer, opening his eyes just a tick so it looks like they’re still closed, and scopes the room out, noting the nearest exit. Jamie maps out the quickest route to get the hell out of there, which doesn’t take long ‘cause Jamie happens to have a lot of practice escaping precarious situations.

Roy Kent has the team (and what looks like two coaches, what the fuck is that about?) cowering with their backs turned, so Jamie rolls over, shifts into a crouch, and creeps out of the room, real light on his feet. The moment he hits the hallway, Jamie sprints for the exit.

Well, he tries to, but a wave of dizziness sends him careening into the wall. His vision blacks about for a moment, and when Jamie comes to again, he’s half-sprawled on the floor.

Apparently, he’s in much worse shape than he thought.

Further down the hallway, the doors to the entrance fling open, and a tall blonde woman comes strutting in, heading straight towards Jamie. She hasn’t spotted him yet, but he’ll be impossible to miss once she looks up from her phone, so Jamie makes a dive for the nearest storage closet. There ain’t no way he’s making it past her without getting caught, and for some reason, she scares Jamie more than The Roy Kent, so it really ain’t worth risking it.

He clicks the door quietly behind himself, plunging the tiny room into darkness, and turns the lock. His jumping pulse thrums just below the surface of his skin. It’s much quieter in here; the only things that Jamie can hear are his own labored panting and the muted sound of the scary woman’s heels clicking past the storage closet and down the hallway.

Jamie presses his ear against the door and sighs in relief when the footsteps finally fade into silence. He leans back, slouching against a set of metal shelves.

Now that he has a moment to catch his fucking breath, Jamie does the exact opposite and starts panicking. He has no fucking clue how he’s going to get back to Manchester, but the first, most obvious step is to find a phone and call his mummy, ‘cause she always knows what to do, ‘cept Jamie doesn’t have a fucking phone on him, and after a cursory check of his pockets, he finds he don’t have any change on him, either, so a payphone is out, too.

The only person he knows in this entire building is Roy fucking Kent, but the thought of getting yelled at by him makes Jamie literally want to throw up, like. And Roy Kent had seemed pretty angry, and Roy Kent is the type of guy to yell at the sun if it shines too bright, so. Roy Kent is probably out, too, unless Jamie wants to send himself into early cardiac arrest, or whatever.

Jamie seems to be doing a pretty good job of inducing a heart attack all by himself, though, if the pain in his chest is anything to go by. It’s just— he can’t fucking breathe, and his head is on fucking fire, so Jamie reaches back to touch the crown of his head, where the pain is emanating, and his fingers come back wet. He can’t fucking see anything ‘cause the room is pitch black, so he sticks a finger in his mouth, and yeah. That’s the taste of iron, which means the sticky viscous liquid coating his fingers is blood. Jamie is bleeding.

Fuck.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It takes approximately five minutes after Roy stops yelling for everyone to realize that Jamie had somehow disappeared, and then another five minutes after that to organize a cohesive search party (mainly because Roy had started yelling again and it had taken Isaac, Colin, and Jan Mass to calm him down). They trample out of the room like a herd of elephants, each player heading to a different part of the complex to search. Ted hangs back for a second, long enough to catch his breath. Thinking about a tiny version of Jamie Tartt (hardly older than his own son) wandering around alone and confused makes his chest feel tight.

Hell, even thinking about adult-Jamie getting upset is enough to raise Ted’s pulse or make his breathing go all staccato-like.

Down the hallway, Ted can hear Roy and the rest of the team shouting for Jamie at the top of their lungs. Ted forces himself to relax; Jamie can’t have gotten far, and with twenty-some people looking for him, it’s unlikely that he’ll stay lost for long.

Then Ted notices that there’s blood on the floor, and his heart drops into his stomach.

It might not be Jamie’s blood, Ted rationalizes. They’d just wrapped up practice, after all, and scraped elbows and knees practically come with the territory. It could just as easily be Zoreaux’s, who had taken a nasty dive in the goal today. Or Sam’s, who could’ve re-opened the wound on his hand from when he’d helped out at his restaurant the other day. What Ted’s trying to say is: the blood could be literally anyone’s.

But somehow, Ted knows it Jamie’s. It sticks in his mind like caramel in your teeth when you eat a Snickers bar.

It’s not even that much, either. But Ted worries.

So, he follows the trail of blood out into the hallway, stepping around it carefully so it doesn’t get on his shoes, until it leaves him standing in front of a supply closet just a skip away from the locker room.

Not far, indeed.

Ted gently knocks on the door. “Jamie, kiddo? You in there?”

It’s silent for a long moment; long enough that Ted considers trying the handle, but then, he hears rustling behind the door.

“How th’fuck d’you know my name?” Jamie spits.

Ted sighs silently in relief. Target acquired. Now, for some damage control.

“Ouch,” Ted jokes. “You sound about as angry as a trampled-on copperhead, which I would know, because I’ve stepped on one before. Luckily for the both of us, I know a thing or two about venomous snakes. Now, I bet you’re real confused right now, but that question is going to need a lot of explaining and it might be easier if we have this little chat face-to-face, if you get my meaning.”

There’s the telltale snick of the lock disengaging, and then the door swings open, revealing Jamie, brandishing a broom like a weapon. A thin line of blood is trickling down the side of his neck, saturating the collar of his shirt.

God, but he looks so young, with lanky arms and legs that he hasn’t quite grown into. His face is still soft with baby fat, and his hair is longer than Ted’s ever seen it, falling over his forehead in dark waves.

“I only opened the door ‘cause I can’t understand you with that stupid American accent,” Jamie says. “Try anything funny and you’ll regret it, swear down.”

“Whoa there, buddy, I ain’t gonna hurt you. Why don’t we set that broom down, huh?” Ted suggests, holding his hands out placatingly.

Jamie doesn’t move— in fact, he tights his grip on the handle, staring at Ted distrustfully.

“Or not— hey, I can work with that. You ever see that movie Alice in Wonderland?”

Jamie’s face twists up in confusion. “Mate, what the fuck are you on about?”

“Nevermind,” Ted says, waving dismissively. “I don’t know why I started with that. Bad metaphor. Anyway, long story short, you used to be an adult, but then adult-you drank a magic potion that turned you back into a kid.”

“Oi,” Jamie barks. “M’not a fucking kid.”

“My mistake,” Ted concedes. “A distinguished young gentleman.”

Jamie looks at him with thinly veiled disgust, but at least he sets the broom down. “Are all Americans this fucking weird?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Ted says. “Anyway, older-Jamie currently plays in the Premier League for AFC Richmond, and so that’s how I know your name.”

“AFC Richmond?” Jamie asks, miming a gagging noise. “Jesus, why? Did they get rid of Man City, or something?”

“Oh, no, Manchester City is still a thing,” Ted assures him. “You had your reasons for coming here instead, though. We can get into that later, but first I think we ought to get that bump on the back of your head looked at.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Jamie says. “Hey, uh, was that really Roy Kent in the changing room?”

There’s a curious inflection in Jamie’s voice when he says Roy’s name— like he normally adds the in front of it, like The Roy Kent. “Uh oh,” Ted says. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a fanboy.”

“No,” Jamie bluffs, in the way that all teenage boys do when you accuse them of having a special interest. His cheeks flush immediately, though, giving him away. “Well, I mean, I’ll watch his matches if they come on the TV, but like. It’s football, you know? Of course, I’m gonna fucking watch it.”

When Ted fails to say anything, Jamie coughs awkwardly. “I mean, like, he’s a pretty good player. Objectively, or whatever. Like, that’s what I’ve heard other people say.”

“Mhmm,” Ted agrees, struggling to hide his grin.

Jamie sighs, giving up the façade altogether. “Actually— yeah, I’m kind of his biggest fan. I have a poster of ‘im and everything. Do you think he’d sign something for me?”

“Buddy,” Ted says, “if you come and see the doctor with me, I’ll get him to sign whatever you want.”

“You can do that?” Jamie asks. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Who, little old me? I’m the coach around these parts, but you—” Ted points to Jamie, “—can call me Ted.”

“Holy shit, you’re the gaffer?” Jamie says, disbelieving. “Man, football has changed.”

“Hm, yeah. So, what do you say? We got a deal?”

“Yeah, okay,” Jamie says, still looking a little shell-shocked.

“Awesome!” Ted shouts, pumping his fist. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Patching Jamie up doesn’t take long; he sits on the treatment table and follows the doctor’s instructions obediently. The cut doesn’t need stitches, luckily, but it still needs to be cleaned and bandaged. In the meantime, Ted unlocks his phone and shoots Roy a text:

Found Jamie. He’s fine, send everyone home

And then, remembering his deal with Jamie:

You mind stopping by the treatment room on your way out?

Roy likes the message but otherwise doesn’t respond.

He arrives a couple of minutes later, just as the doctor is putting the final touches on the bandages wrapped around Jamie’s head. “It’s a little bruised, so I’d recommend icing it when you get home,” the doctor tells Ted. “He’s also got a concussion, but you don’t need me to explain how that works, so I’m heading out. Have a good day, everyone. And for the record, this is so weird.” Then she packs up her supplies and leaves.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” Roy asks.

“Jamie wanted to ask you something,” Ted tells him, looking at Jamie entreatingly.

“Traitor,” Jamie hisses. “You said you’d ask him.”

“Don’t twist my words, young man,” Ted says firmly. “I said I’d make him do it if he told you no.”

“Oi, nobody is making me do anything,” Roy interrupts. “Hypothetically, though, what am I supposed to be doing?”

Ted continues to look at Jamie pointedly, who averts his gaze and scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor. He mumbles something, low and quiet.

“Fucking what?” Roy barks.

Jamie snaps his head up, glaring at Roy furiously. “I said, can I please have your autograph?”

“Well, fuck, why didn’t you just say so,” Roy says, whipping a pen out of his pocket. “What am I signing?”

Jamie’s face shifts from anger to surprise, like he didn’t think he’d get this far. “Uh, I don’t know. I ain’t go anything on me,” he says sheepishly.

“How about this?” Ted suggests, holding up an old receipt he’d dug out from one of his pockets. Roy shrugs and gestures for it, and then spreads it flat on his thigh so he can sign it. “How’d you hit your head, anyway? Run into a fucking wall or something?” Roy asks casually, uncapping the pen.

“Roughing about with me mates,” Jamie replies instantly, and Roy’s hand freezes. It’s eerie, Ted thinks, how practiced that response sounds. The worst part is, it’s actually a pretty decent excuse, and it probably would’ve worked on anyone else, but after two years with Jamie, Ted is pretty familiar with his nervous tics, and one of them is the way he runs a thumb along his eyebrow when he’s lying. Which he is currently doing, the offending appendage still picking absentmindedly at the thin hair along his brow.

And if Ted picked up on it, then Roy, who spends practically every hour of the day with Jamie, absolutely noticed it.

“Wanna try that again?” Roy asks evenly, finishing his signature.

“Eh?” Jamie asks.

“You fuck with your eyebrows when you’re lying,” Roy says. “You’re doing it right now, which means you just lied straight to my fucking face.”

Jamie snatches his hand away from his forehead like he’s been burned. “How the fuck do you know that?” he asks.

“I’m your best fucking friend, you muppet,” Roy bites back. “I know lots of things about you. For example, I know that your dad’s a fucking deadbeat, who doesn’t deserve you, and I also know he likes to knock you about, so I’m willing to bet everything that I own that he’s the reason you’re bleeding out the back of your head right now. Am I wrong?”

“You don’t know shit about me,” Jamie hisses. “I don’t know what adult-me told you, but he’s fucking lying. About all of it!”

“He didn’t have to tell me shit, because I saw it with my own two eyes,” Roy roars back. “That’s how I know it was your fucking dad, because you only fucking lie for him!”

“So what if it was? It doesn’t fucking matter, man! Why are you making such a big deal about it?” Jamie shouts back, and then immediately bursts into tears.

Roy sighs, like the sight of tears is enough to immediately drain the fight out of him. Ted finds it amazing, how quickly these two can wind each other up and then let it all go. “It does matter, Jamie, because you don’t deserve to be treated like that,” Roy says quietly, and then wraps Jamie up in a hug.

“This is fucking humiliating,” Jamie sobs into Roy’s shoulder. “You’re like, my hero. I’m not supposed to be crying, I had so many questions I wanted to ask, and—”

“Stop,” Roy commands. “Look, we’ll go get ice cream or something, and then you can ask all the stupid fucking questions you want.”

Jamie leans back, still sniffling. “Really?”

“Yes, you little prick,” Roy says fondly. If Ted were a romantic, he might call his tone fond. “Come on then, up you get,” he says and helps Jamie off the table.

“Lasso, you’re with us,” he barks when Ted fails to follow them down the hallway. Ted scurries to catch up.

“Ope, my bad. Looks like I misread the situation there, fellows. I thought this was just gonna be a Roy-and-Jamie event—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yup.”

(And if the next day, after Jamie turns back, he hangs the signed receipt up in his locker, nobody says a word.)

(Also, nobody touches anything on Beard’s desk, magic potion or otherwise, ever again.)

[the-heaminator]

Both actually succeeded in waking up before the time that they would be late in the morning, Arthur felt like shit, he needed his coffee, whatever that was last night had seemingly passed, he collected the forms, and filled a couple out when he got the time, changed and sped off to the closest coffee place, his order was a little concerning "As many shots of espresso as fill a large cup, and nothing else."

It frankly just tasted like coffee, he put a fuck ton of sugar into it, before he had to be off again, drinking it on the go, he felt better after that, not exactly calmer but more focused, he clocked in and found Ivan, it wasn't hard, he was usually in one of two places, the mechanics and engineering area or staring out of the exact same window, this time he was doing the latter, he rocked up looking more than a bit feral, Ivan wrinkled his nose, not in distaste, but because Arthur was a bit whiffy and smelled like truly unreasonable amounts of coffee.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something that he later forgot because he was cut off by Ivan saying "You smell like the devil's ballsack, Jesus fucking Christ."

"That was a nice greeting Ivan." Oh, he was definitely on too much caffeine, he was speaking a good bit faster than he normally was, the sarcasm was almost lost on him because of the speed but he just about managed to grab it.

"You do though, how much coffee did you drink? We don't want to scare off the estate agents."

"Just a cup, and what do we have to do with those leeches?"

"Don't you remember, we have the house viewing today?"

"Eh?" he thought for a moment, Ivan could see the cogs in his mind slowly turning "Fuck i forgot about that!"

"Don't worry, I have everything signed and all, you signed it the night before, we are in the clear, but my point still stands. You smell like the devil's ballsack."

"How would you know how that smells eh?"

"Experience."

You cannot frankly say anything to that, so Arthur didn't, Ivan took a bottle (canister?) of bodyspray out of one of numerous pockets, Arthur didn't question why he carried that, it had a lot of practical uses, to disguise a scent, to lead someone off a trail, to use it as a makeshift flamethrower, and also apparently to choke someone rather effectively at that "What the fuck was that for!"

His lungs did not like that at all, and he stood there coughing and spluttering for a while, Ivan grinned, toothy, he was frankly about to lose his shit but he didn't "See, better, you smell like a human, whether you look like one is debatable but we can work on that, now come, the viewing is in a few hours, we have to get the children, and I checked, the bus ride is like 2 hours long."

Arthur was not looking forward to that in the slightest, frankly, neither was Ivan, long bus rides were the spawn of satan honestly, Arthur coughed a little more up before choking out 14 different curses but followed Ivan to the children's room, Ivan gently rapped the door, it was still early and it was doubtful that all of them would be awake, and true to fashion, only Matthew came to answer the door, he looked tired like he had just woken up, he squinted up at Ivan "What do you want?"

"Did we not tell you that the house viewing would be today?" Both knew they didn't, they were supposed to have done this yesterday but were busy doing whatever it was that went down in their minds, so did not get the time to fulfil that, Matthew yawned "I have no memory of this, and it's too early, come back in a couple of hours, everyone is going to be cranky."

Arthur spoke, Matthew wrinkled his nose, he smelt like too much bodyspray and too much coffee, when he opened his mouth "About that, apparently the viewing is in a couple hours and the bus drive there is 2 hours."

Matthew groaned, "Can't either of you drive?" he did not very much want a 2-hour bus ride, he had had a couple of them before and they were always so mind-numbingly boring.

"Not legally, I'm half blind and he's half deaf and apparently that means we can't drive without getting that fixed and a specific driving test, so unfortunately not."

Alfred grumbled and shifted under the blankets, looked blearily at the door, and mumbled "Whadda fuck?" before shambling up looking a bit like a cryptid with how he had grabbed the blankets around him, it was a little funny to see, the humour was lost on Arthur at the moment though, a bit too antsy to get what needed to be done done.

Ivan didn't exactly hear what Alfred said, but he could figure it out "House viewing, we need to go soon."

"'s too early."

"What?"

"It's too early!"

"It's only 8?"

"Too early!

Arthur spoke, "We need to wake up Jack and Eleanor too, they are easy enough to wake up are they not?"

Alfred yawned, well, he was now awake, against his will, but he was awake, he gave a long shuddering yawn "Y-y-yeah, Matt's the only one that sleeps like the dead, and you smell bad enough that they'd wake up as soon as you got near them."

Arthur frowned, he would take more personal offence to those words if his head was working properly, still a little fuzzy from whatever yesterday was "A little mean of you to say that, completely uncalled for." He did sound a tad detached, as he almost floated into the room to wake up the other two, Jack buried himself deeper into the blanket when his head was uncovered, Arthur prodded him a little, then shook him, the final act did get him somewhere "Mgf? Who're you?"

He waited for Jack to recalibrate, blink the sleep out of his eyes "Oh, it's you, what do you want?"

"You have to get up," he wasn't even looking at Jack, more like looking through him.

"Whyyyy? it's too early."

"No it's not, get up."

There was significantly less tenderness there, he moved to wake Eleanor, who didn't actually need to be awoken, she woke up on her own pretty early anyways, and there were too many people speaking for her to speak for much longer, and Alfred was speaking loudly, presumably to get Ivan to hear what on earth it was that he was saying, frankly he was loud as it was, Matthew more needed to speak loud out of intent.

 "Good, so you are awake as it is."

Her voice was still heavy with sleep "You said someth-" punctuated by a huge yawn "-ing about a house looking?"

"House viewing."

"No difference."

She had a point there, he needed to stop being pedantic "Anyways, get up, all of you get ready."

Ivan properly stepped inside, the door closed, Alfred and Matthew busied themselves with getting themselves and then the younger ones ready, it was always a bit of work to wrestle Eleanor into anything that looked halfway presentable, she had like 3 dresses for such instances, and she hated every single one of them, the one she hated the least was a dark red frock that had little birds embroidered onto it, but it was itchy, apparently no one ever had the idea of making her wear a white shirt underneath that to stop it from itching.

Ivan came up with that idea, Alfred facepalmed, that made so much sense, she changed, and looked considerably happier now that she was no longer itchy, she still didn't like wearing dresses but this was a considerable improvement, Jack very much could dress himself, he just looked like he came out of a bush at all times, Arthur practically had to wrestle him, something he was pretty good at all things considered, to get him to sit down for a moment to do his hair.#

Much like Arthur's, it refused to be styled or even to sit still for a moment, but he did find more leaves than should be found in the hair of any one child "Christ alive when was the last time you washed your hair?"

"Two days ago, why?"

"You have 3 different types of leaves in your hair, how on earth did you go about doing that?"

"I was looking for frogs."

Arthur clucked his tongue "You're not going to find frogs in this weather, they come out when it is warm and damp, they'll be looking to breed in the spring and summer, you're not finding frogs in February."

He turned to look at Arthur "Cool! so I can go looking for frogs in the summer then!"

"Turn around and stop moving."

Jack almost growled but stayed still, Arthur did something, and his hair was mostly in one place, Matthew was in awe "How did you do that? His hair never stays still!"

"Neither does mine, the same thing applies to his hair."

Alfred did his own hair, and Matthew did his own too, Matthew had nice hair, it was almost strawberry blonde, like 2 shades away from being ginger, Alfred's was the colour of ready-to-harvest wheat, Jack's was a very dark brown, Eleanor's was almost black, Ivan was braiding it, Matthew could do loose braids but she always found a way to make them look a mess.

"I didn't know you could braid hair?"

"I had sisters, I always did my younger sister's hair, I'm good at it."

How Ivan still had the muscle memory for it was beyond Arthur, before he realised he often braided rope to make it stronger, that makes sense, he was heavy too, the same cable that would support his weight would not do that for Ivam, practical too, he felt a bit foolish now that he thought about it.

She had very nice hair, long and silky, and very heavy, if he did one braid it could very easily be used as a weapon if a heavy elastic was put at the bottom, he did two to prevent it being used on him, and also she looked considerably better with two.

"Done, do you like your hair?"

She looked in the mirror, and poked the braids, "Yes, they are very strong, Matthew usually does them too loose."

"Matthew come here, let me show you. He pulled out a length of cord from yet another pocket, Matthew didn't question why he had that on him, spy things probably, knotted it on the top and showed him that he had to keep each strand pulled before looping over the other, so on and so forth, he got it pretty fast actually.

Arthur had been standing awkwardly in the corner, he had his briefcase in hand staring out of the window "We should probably leave now, I don't know how long the bus will take if any delays are involved."

Alfred got up, Eleanor grabbed a notepad and a pen, she would not let it be taken from her, and she had this odd little pink calculator that she carried with her everywhere for some unfathomable reason, that was in her dress pocket, at least she wouldn't be too bored n the bus ride, Jack got away with taking a little...well no one was exactly sure about what that was, it was an odd little fiddly thing that could be taken apart and be put back together in numerous different ways.

Alfred and Matthew were too old for something of that sort, they had the agency-provided phones, cellphones to be that, anything else could very easily be tracked without very specific protection, and they were children so the fancy equipment wasn't given to them.

The phones that Arthur and Ivan had were considerably nicer, but there was next to nothing downloaded on them, there were so many passwords everywhere, they carried around phones similar to Alfred and Matthew's for general calls because the agency-provided ones were difficult, Ivan could work them, he was quite good with technology, but been to him they were a bit too much hassle, and Arthur was frankly a bit shit with technology so that really did not help his case.

Well guess they would just have to be bored.

When leaving, the security looked at them oddly, she was used to seeing those two go on missions by themselves, but there had been word on the grapevine that they were either being retired or relegated as informants, what she didn't know that the cover required 4 children and them to be married, she could see the wedding bands, Ivan forced himself to look serious, Erze loved teasing the everloving shit out of him, Lovino hadn't yet worked up the courage to do so, he was a mostly new recruit, and both Ivan and Arthur scared him, "So where are you six going?"

"House viewing." Both her eyebrows raised enough they almost disappeared into her hair "Christ so the rumours were true. Are you actually being retired?"

"By Mary no, not yet at least, we got relegated to information, which is...less than ideal, but we can't do anything about it anymore, so oh well."

"Well, you two have been getting quite old, it was probably a long time coming. A really long time coming"

The children just decided to listen and not say anything, everyone but Jack understood that intuitively, he had to be told because he was never the greatest at reading the room, the conversation continued "We aren't that old."

"Both of you were born in the mid 70's no? And almost everyone I've seen retired was like 30 max. You both are nearly 50, relatively speaking, yea you're fucking old now, and Francis, did you hear he was put into admin, I think they were doing a clear-out or something."

Arthur made a face "You aren't that young anymore Erze either." Arthur would file that information about Francis away for later

"Hey, I just turned 33. You've still got a decade and a half on me."

Jack was fighting not to explode, as was Alfred, Jack made a sound that sounded awfully like a balloon being deflated, this was just odd to watch, the lady, Erze, liked them quite a bit "And so these four are meant to be your undercover? Isn't being married not enough."

Arthur froze, fuck they had forgotten to take off the rings, it felt nice on his finger, so much so that he immediately forgot it was there "Yes, Yao said it was because they needed somewhere to go, and it isn't frankly safe for them to stay here for too long."

"He has a lot more faith in your parenting abilities than I would say is a particularly good idea, but I mean, they're pretty sensible and you've managed to keep yourselves alive for the past 50ish years, so I mean, it can't go too bad, now shoo, go to wherever you needed to go."

She let them through, smiled softly at Eleanor, who really did like her, she took that as a compliment because Eleanor didn't like a lot of people, and then went back to her work, Lovino looked at her oddly "You're 33?"

"Mind your next words very carefully."

That shut him up, anything he could say could be taken in a bad way and well, she was strong, she was sometimes used as an operative, for good reason, and in physical training, she could snap him in half with her bare hands, so shutting up was the best thing he could do.

The little chitchat over there had saved them a bit, they only had to wait a couple of minutes for the bus, it was a Saturday, so there were no children in the bus, and they were making good time, Alfred and Matthew sped up to the second decker of the bus, Ivan hit his head on the roof of the bus more than once, he had to hunch quite a lot to avoid it, the bus was practically empty so Jack and Eleanor took the front seats in front of the big window and pretended to drive the bus, because of course they did.

To be fair that entertained the both of them for a good while, it was a clear day, cold but clear, Alfred fell asleep rather quickly on Matthew's shoulder, he should have actually gone to sleep at a decent time last night, but no, he fell asleep at like 3 am, tinkering about when he really shouldn't have been, he was tired as all fuck, he was not used to operating on 5 hours of sleep at all.

Matthew saw that coming but Alfred was heavy, and he was hungry, they hadn't had breakfast in their hurry to leave, he looked behind him, he could see Ivan staring off into space so hard he almost went cross-eyed, Arthur was reading the information about the house quickly, or at least he was trying, some of the fine print, actually all of the fine print, he couldn't read, he sheepishly asked Matthew to read it, he knew about half the words in the more monetary side of things, but everything else considered this actually sounded like a pretty nice place, 3 bedroom, living room, garden, near the sea, this seemed nice.

He handed the papers back to Arthur, Ivan had fallen asleep momentarily, Arthur jabbed him in where he thought his ribs were, he couldn't feel the ribs very well, but it woke Ivan up, he had only lightly dozed off and looked affronted at this manner of waking him up, but he was right, this was not the place to sleep, and he had gotten plenty of sleep over the past couple days, this was not the time.

Jack had finally bored from looking out the window, started fiddling with his little thingamabob, Eleanor was trying to draw something, she couldn't draw very well but she had drawn so many birds over time that yea she knew how to draw a crow from memory, in a very childish style of course, but reflecting of the style of old anatomical prints that she found in the library corners that had clearly not been looked at in so long, she liked tracing animals.

She did hate drawing feathers though, it looked considerably wonkier than usual due to being in a moving vehicle, it consumed a lot of her time, Jack stopped fiddling and watched her draw for a while, it was always nice to see, very few people got on the bus, maybe like 3 more people come onto the top deck, 2 of them disembarked, Ivan was growing suspicious of the one that stayed, but he got off a good couple stops before they needed to, so it was unlikely that they were being tailed. Good.

Alfred hadn't woken up once, Arthur was a little worried about him, the floatiness from earlier had mostly dissipated, good thing that was, he could not afford to be woozy in a time like this, there were other people around him for Christ's sake, this wasn't just about him and Ivan anymore.

They disembarked, Ivan hit his head hard again, cursed a lot of things, and Jack whined that he was hungry, Eleanor needed to piss, Alfred was not entirely present, still half asleep, and Matthew was also hungry, Ivan too, this was not going particularly well.

But they made it in good time, the house in question, 17 Priglestone Close, bit of an odd name, but it could be worse frankly, it wasn't even a proper estate agent, some other informant lived here before a while ago, the "estate agent" just so happened to be nobody but Antonio, massive gossiper of a man he was, but he could pull off the energy of an estate agent very well, oh this is going to send rumours all through the fucking agency wasn't it.

He looked genuinely surprised that they did actually show up, somehow he felt like this was a whole practical joke or something, It was beyond difficult to imagine those two settling down, they had been a staple in most high-stakes missions ever since Antonio had been there, and likely for a good long time before that, Christ they were actually getting relegated, he was not prepared for that.

Less was he prepared for the children to actually be there, so this was actually happening huh?

He was always a little scared of those two, they were always so good at their job, they killed without remorse, carried out orders single-mindedly, they were frankly scary, but they did look old now, not in uniform, not during a mission, not covered in blood, they looked human now.

He didn't have too much time to dwell on it for much longer, he didn't want to displease them, he showed them around the house, "As you will be aware, you're going to be provided with the furniture and everything."

Jack had sped off into the garden after checking out the rooms and kitchen and bathroom and stuff, and just next door someone looked over the fence at him "Who are you?"

"Who are you?"

"I asked first."

"Jack."

"Last name?"

"Ehhhhhh?? It's long."

"How long?"

"16 letters, 17 if we include the dash." Mental maths was never his strong suit.

"So then what is it?"

"Braginsky-Kirkland."

"That's 17 letters, 18 with the dash."

"Don't be weird about it, what is your name."

"Ludwig Belichmidt."

"What are you, German?"

"What are you, Russian Costco?"

That was a fair thing to say, the boy, Ludwig, asked "So what are you doing here anyways, no one has lived there in ages!"

"We're going to live here in a bit, I think."

"Jack who are you talking to?" Alfred called from inside, something made redundant by Alfred walking into the garden, someone yelled something in German that neither could understand, Ludwig yelled back, and someone else came out.

Immediately the tension on the room...err...outdoors, thickened "Jack who is this you're talking to?"

"Oh, that's Ludwig."

"And that's Jack the Russian Costco!"

Both Alfred and whoever that oddly pale kid across the fence was, were concerned, Jack the Russian Costco?? The two seemed happy enough about it, hadn't they met like not even 5 minutes ago?

Did Jack's animal magnetism work on humans too or something because this was odd, Jack continued "I don't know who he is though."

"Gilbert Belichmidt at your service." They tried to shake hands over the fence but Jack was a bit too short for that.

Jack laughed a little "So you're brothers! Yiu don't look like eachother at all."

"I'm too awesome for that." He didn't elaborate further and glared at Alfred, waiting for him to introduce himself

"Alfred F. Um....Um...Braginsky-Kirkland at your service."

Ludwig asked "What does the F stand for?" Jack also wanted to know that actually, Alfred always avoided the question when he asked, "Yea Alfie what does it stand for?"

He looked a little embarrassed "Ok fine, only because I know you're not going to stop pestering me Jack."

He took a breath, flushed a bit "It stands for Fly-From-Fornication."

Jack and Gilbert lost their collective shits while Ludwig was doing the maths.

"Wait, wait, wait, does that mean your full name is 41 letters long, without the dashes?"

Alfred hadn't actually done the maths before but that sounded about right "Yea, unfortunately."

Gilbert looked at the two closely, "You don't look like brothers either?"

Briskly "Adopted, I got my brother, hes got her sister, so I mean. We aren't related but we are in the same family."

"Fuckin' weird, who are your parents anyways then?"

Alfred really didn't want to call Arthur and Ivan his dads, not yet at least, but if he was to keep their cover then he would have to "Our dads are inside looking at the house, with my brother and his sister."

Ludwig's eyes went so wide "A man can marry a man? I didn't know that!"

"I mean, yeah you can, just don't ask Opa, I don't think he would be very pleased about it ok?"

Matthew sidled outside with Eleanor in tow, Jack and Ludwig were vibing so hard over the fence that a couple squirrels had come to watch.

"Gilbert, this is my brother Matthew, and that's Jack's sister Eleanor."

She was far too short to see over the fence, so she thumped against it and said "I'm here too."

Gilbert analysed all of them, he gave not half a mind to whatever Ludwig and Jack were doing because whatever it was was incredibly strong in the vibe department, Matthew did look a lot like Alfred, Eleanor a lot like Jack except she looked a little more predisposed to violence, just based off vibes. It may have also been because she was short and was staring up at him with very green eyes, with murder in them.

He lingered too long on Alfred for some reason, curse him, he shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain but Christ was this not a good sign at all for him.

Opa called them, they had to go, Jack and Ludwig already had hit it off so well that they already high fived to the best of thier ability over the fence, which missed but the sentiment was still there.

Arthur and Ivan finally came out to check out the garden with Antonio, spacious, had a tree, had space for flower beds, they knew they didn't have a choice but really this place was good.

The furniture was still to arrive, but yes, it was good, arranging the furniture would be an undertaking but they had done it so many times before that it really was no big deal "This is a pretty nice place, who were you talking to Jack, Alfred?"

"Neighbours, they're really nice!"

Jack really did like the neigbours, he barely knew Ludwig but he wanted to have so much fun with him.

Alfred made an odd little face, Arthur could recognise that, he hoped it wasn't but it was there clear as day, what is is I'm not telling you, fuck you, but you can probably figure it out "Yea...they're fine I guess."

Ivan clapped his hands, what he thought was lightly, it was not lightly, "Right, so who is hungry?"

Everyone save for Arthur was very much hungry, Arthur probably was too he just couldn't tell too well.

The arrangements were done inside with Antonio, the same signature was used as were with the rest of the housing documents so the government wouldn't get too concerned, they were good at this, they wouldn't slip up too easily.

Ivan remembered seeing a McDonalds on the way here, couldn't be more than a couple minutes walk, so they did just that, bidding a very surprised Antonio with the documents, the man still wasn't sure any of this actually happened.

"Lo siento, what the fuck was that?

No one answered him so he went about his day and getting the documents back to the agency without being too odd about it, the children were hungry and it wasn't every day they got to go outside of the protection of the agency building and even rarer that they got proper fast food!

The agency liked testing nutrient mixtures on them, and while some of them were indeed quite nutritious, most of them tasted like ass, not like Alfred particularly cared, the man was hungry most of the time and well, he was also quite heavy because of it, it might've tasted bad but eh he was hungry.

They all had big appetites, and none of them had eaten since last night, the total cost of food for the 6 of them came to nearly 45 pounds, which was a lot, but all the children fucking loved it, they all had a healthy appetite, Arthur had to be mildly cajoled into eating something, but he did eventually, the spare food was taken to be eaten in the bus.

The bus ride was...boring, as expected, everyone was awake this time, going back had them leave the children, they could practically feel the gossip crawling up their spine as they walked through the halls, doing it together made it considerably worse, they had been summoned by Yao again, this.

This could actually maybe not go too bad.

Maybe.

But christ Arthur was full, he needed his coffee, but according to Ivan he looked a bit more human so that was something.

"Come in you two. I've been expecting this."

[finelinevogue]

Every time I look at this pic I am just imagining you and Harry are in New York and you guys are wating for you can to come and some fans took pic of you guys being the cutest couple 😩😩

okay i like this one!! my inbox is so full rn and i just wanna say i see everything, it’s just my inspiration comes a lot quicker for some rather than others, but i’m working on them slowly!! i promise <33

“Harry!”

You squealed as you accidentally bumped into another person as you ran down the stairs and through a corridor, back up some stairs, a left and a right so you could reach the platform for your train.

You were running really late. You and Harry were supposed to be at some fancy event for the release of a new Gucci line that Harry had campaigned in, but when Harry had seen you in your emerald sparkly dress he just couldn’t keep his hands to himself and had over-divulged in you. Now you were running through the New York subway, running for your train that was about to leave in 47 seconds if it was running on time. The only problem was that you were in black high heels, so it was impossible to run fast.

“Will you bloody hurry up woman!” Harry shouted back to you, running ahead to clear a path for you both. However, when he saw you and your heels were slowing, at the danger of breaking an ankle, he waited for you to catch up and swooped you up in to his arms. He ran for the both of you, you being cradled bridle style with your arms tightly around his shoulders and laughing as he ran as fast as he could. Your dress was blowing and you were worried you might flash someone.

“Harry oh my go— sorry!” You called out to a random man you accidentally took out with your legs.

“Fuck, we are actual twats.” Harry laughed as he rounded the corner to the platform.

“The train! Harry run!” You stressed, watching the doors about to close. Harry ran and pressed the button just in time. Someone on the other-side of the door was also pressing the button to help you get on.

The doors opened and Harry carried you both on safely.

“Thanks man!” Harry nodded to the guy who had helped you.

“No problem man. Are you okay?” The guy asked you, Harry now putting you down so you were standing.

“Oh yeah I just cannot run in heels!” You chuckled, pointing to your now scuffed shoes.

The train started moving and Harry caught your arm as you nearly went toppling over from lack of balance. Once you were both stood up you did a quick look at the train-line route and counted how many stops were made before yours; 4.

“You both don’t look dressed to be travelling on the sub.” The guy stated which made you both laugh, you rolling your eyes as you had been thinking the exact same thing.

“We are already late and New York traffic will mean we won’t show up until two weeks time. So the subway it was.” Harry explained, standing behind you with his arms draped loosely over your shoulders comfortably. You felt the warmth of his chest on you back, slightly sweaty from both the heat of the subway but also the running that you’d both just done. You brought one of your hands up to hold onto one of Harry’s, squeezing it just because you could.

“Y’both crazy.” The guy laughed.

“We know.” Harry laughed back, scrunching his nose and then coming to give you a kiss to the top of your head as the train came to a stop.

“Alright well this is my stop. Have a chill evening.” The guy waved you both and hopped off the train when the doors opened, leaving you to breathe a heavy sigh and lean back into Harry’s pressing back more. You bathed in his comforting smell of pine and vanilla.

A group of young people got on the train and stood opposite to you two. You looked over at them and noticed that they had noticed Harry, smiling and giggling to one another. You smiled to them, not wanting to draw more attention to the situation than safe. Harry squeezed your hand to let you know everything was okay and he wouldn’t let anything happen to you - if things did get crazy. One girl came up to you boldly.

“Hi Harry, could I get a photo with you please?” They asked, holding a disposable camera up as if to prompt that the photo would be taken on that instead of a normal phone. That was the way to Harry’s heart, you knew.

“‘Course, yeah.” Harry replied kindly, untangling himself from you and moving to the side to stand next to the girl. They’d handed the camera to another friend in their group so they could take the photo. Harry stood next to the girl, arm around their shoulder and smiling cheesily in his Gucci suit that made him look so goddamn handsome.

“Thank you so much.” The girl smiled.

“Do you want a group photo with him?” You asked the whole lot of them and they eagerly grinned, holding out the disposable camera to you as they thanked you. Harry bent over at the front of the group, holding up a peace sign and opening his mouth in a wide smile. You captured the moment perfectly, a slight red light in the background as you pulled into the next stop.

“Thank you so much. Have a good night.” They all spoke kindly, and you saw them take a couple of candid photos of you and Harry as moved back towards one another and managed to find seats to sit down on thanks to people getting off. There was only one seat, however, so you were left to sit on top of Harry’s lap much to his enjoyment.

“It was nice of you to take photos with them.” You smiled at him, caressing his cheek softly and then kissing him over that spot.

“You were nice to offer a group photo.” He replied, smiling in pride over how kind and thoughtful you were. He was so in love with you and all your golden personality traits that built you up to be his little shining star.

“You’re such a good person H.”

“Not as much as you are, baby.”

“I’m not having this debate with you.” You scoffed playfully, hitting his chest playfully.

“‘Cause you know i’ll win.” He said smugly and all you wanted was to fucking kiss that smirk off his face, but in this public space there was no chance - especially when you knew that group of fans were definitely pointing their cameras at you even if you did have you back to them.

“Y’so difficult.” You rolled your eyes.

“I know, but you love me.”

“Too true.” You buried your head into his neck and sniffed his homely scent as you allowed his presence to encapsulate you. It really was true. Still is. You love Harry Styles.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours

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

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k 

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

{masterlist}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boring, you mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people?  Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people?  Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone.  The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it.  When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them.  However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days.  The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence.  She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine.  Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself.  After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it.  His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room.  Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep.  Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal.  But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder.  The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him.  She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair.  It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see.  It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth.  He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did.  I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head.  She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder.  That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice.  He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then.  And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me.  No one stopped to help me.  I felt like I was…trapped.  Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out.  I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity.  And just something about it…I don’t know.  It changed me.  I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it.  I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really.  A side effect.  We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse.  I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight.  I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know.  I thought we were getting along better.  For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends.  I think…I don’t know.  I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah.  Me too.  I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this?  I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes!  It was the very first night we met.  We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—?  He was a classmate of mine!  I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong.  You were all of those things.  But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know.  Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you.  I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me.  I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N.  When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time.  It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry.  She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own.  He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning.  Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)