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sunflowervolvimp3 · 5 years ago

Text

42 Hours

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

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k

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

{masterlist}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boring, you mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people? Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people? Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone. The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it. When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them. However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days. The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence. She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine. Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself. After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it. His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room. Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep. Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal. But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder. The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him. She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair. It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see. It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth. He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did. I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head. She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder. That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice. He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then. And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me. No one stopped to help me. I felt like I was…trapped. Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out. I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity. And just something about it…I don’t know. It changed me. I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it. I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really. A side effect. We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse. I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight. I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know. I thought we were getting along better. For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends. I think…I don’t know. I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah. Me too. I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this? I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes! It was the very first night we met. We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—? He was a classmate of mine! I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong. You were all of those things. But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know. Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you. I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me. I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N. When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time. It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry. She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own. He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning. Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)

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masterthespianduchovny · 3 years ago

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I’m going to be honest: I dislike Nate right now.

And that’s perfectly fine.

I understand that this show loves to redeem people, however, as I said in another post, you can only redeem someone if there are negative feelings and/or you believe that person wronged someone or whatever. If you have positive feelings and excuse what they did, what exactly are they being redeemed for?

Despite loving Rebecca’s character, when I rewatch season one, I don’t like her at times. I dislike a lot of what she did back then. It doesn’t matter that I know she tells the truth eventually, the stuff she did was still fucked up. I’m not going to preemptively excuse her actions because I know the end goal.

Take Jamie for instance, his behavior was not okay. We know why he behaves that way, but it still wasn’t justified. We are still allowed to dislike him and what he did then. We talk about the negative effects of the bullying Nate received from the players, yet some try to excuse Nate’s bullying and his actions?

Wrong is wrong. Jamie being verbally abused by his dad didn’t justify how he treated others just like how Nate’s father (and bullying by others) is emotionally abusive doesn’t justify Nate’s behavior.

Although we understand the context, Nate IS being a fucking backstabbing asshole right now. Some may hate to hear that, but this isn’t an unfair opinion or unflattering light of him. This is exactly how he’s behaving.

There are some who has a ton of sympathy for Nate, but I’m not one of them. Please believe, I do hold some sympathy for him, but I have a limit.

So here’s reasons why Nate is on my shitlist and I’ll wait until he’s actually redeemed to forgive him.

1. Calling Rebecca a shrew. It’s not the fact that he literally called Rebecca this, but that he immediately verbally attacked the woman. We can say, “oh no, she’s the owner so he had reasons to think…”

No, Nate literally attacked Rebecca for no reason at all. She had little to no interaction with him and has never disrespected or harmed him in anyway, yet he has these intense feelings of dislike in the moment based off what exactly?

Nate attacked Rebecca because she is a woman. If you disagree, what other reason it might be? The reason I believe it was due to her gender is because she’s been defanged so to speak. So he doesn’t fear her like he used to. But Nate also practices in casual misogyny ie his shoe remark to Rebecca and Keeley. That may not seem like a big thing, but how is that an involuntary response??? With him believing he got fired, he doesn’t wait for answers, he immediately attacks her. And I had to ask myself, would he have done this with a man? With someone like Rupert? No fucking way. Nate can’t even directly challenge Ted who is a ray of sunshine, but attacks someone who he literally ran away from in fear in the pilot. Although Nate respects power, he respects male power the most. He skipped over Ted and Beard and went straight towards Rebecca. The fact that this even happened has always been disturbing to me. And Nate is fucking lucky that he hasn’t said any of his comments to old Rebecca (not age, but personality. 🥺) because she would have fired him. Only due to her relationship with Ted and him getting to let her guard down and find her old self that she frowned and shrugged Nate’s comments off. Most bosses at the very least would’ve talked to Nate and he didn’t get even that.

2. Projecting his daddy issues onto Ted. I understand that nate is going through some tough shit and has been for literally decades, however, that doesn’t mean make someone your stand in dad because they were nice and kind. Ted treats Nate like he does the other coaches, but Nate wants a special and unique relationship that will never exist. Ted is not his father and he didn’t ask for the job or the responsibilities.

I understand that people go through shit and latch onto those who made the rough times easier. I get that. However, all this animosity, scheming, and resentment because Ted isn’t giving the attention he wants. That fucking unfair to Ted. He didn’t ask or sign up to be Nate’s father figure. Yet he’s being punished for not being something he never wanted to be. Never even thought about it.

And because I’ve seen/partially experienced this shit, people getting mad at you for not being who they projected onto, it makes me upset at Nate. Because people like this really do become resentful and manipulative and that is not okay despite their own hurt that they’re dealing with. Why does the person you projected on have to suffer for something they’re unaware of and have no obligation to fulfill?

Nate isn’t just trying to blow up Ted’s professional career, he’s doing it via one of the cruelest ways: using his mental health against him. Thereby exploiting Ted’s trust in him.

Ted has literally changed Nate’s life for the better and rather than have a man to man talk with him, he cowardly tries to sabotage Ted in one of the worst ways imaginable.

3. His cognitive dissonance about how coaching works!!!

This seriously irritates me because, on some level, Nate knows that the very system he’s criticizing is how it works across ALL team sports and with reason.

He wants to be a damn head coach soooo bad—does he think ideas, plans, plays, etc only comes from head coaches???

What does he think assistants are there for?

For those who aren’t familiar with sports and coaching, literally every team sport has a head coach and then assistants under them. These assistant typically specialize in a given thing.

In American football, I believe there are like defensive coaches, strength and conditioning coaches, etc. there are coaches who watch a lot of tapes to learn the opposition and how to make plays to hold them exploit their weakness and tailor plays around that.

Like on the professional level there are so many types of coaches and, hell, not all of them want to be head coaches. Some of the greatest coaching minds aren’t head coaches.

For example, the American basketball team the Chicago bulls fired their coach Doug Collins in like 1989, I think. He was a good coach, but one of his assistant coaches had a basketball IQ out of this world. Doug refused to listen to him, but management fully supported this assistant coach. Now the other assistant coach they were grooming to take over, Phil Jackson, if you’ve heard of him, DID listen to this basketball genius. So much so that when he became head coach after Doug was fired, he continued to implement The Triangle offense that came from this basketball genius, which Phil was known for until he retired.

Nate’s upset that Ted gets all the credit for if they win, he does realize that Ted also gets all the blame for if they lose. Ted has always highlighted his coaching staff and everyone who helped him. He has always stressed that he wouldn’t be where he is without them. And when he loses, he takes full ownership. He doesn’t pass the blame at all.

Does Nate seem like someone who’d take ownership for losing?

Does Nate seem like someone, at this moment, who’d appropriately give credit to assistant or anyone else who helped him?

Would he even listen?

What makes Ted a great coach is that he gives others opportunities to step up to the plate and if/when they succeed, he allows them to shine.

Ted sees the fuller picture, for the most part, and knows how to address his weaknesses and who’s stronger than him in what area. He realized that the team needed a presence like Roy on the team. He knew he needed someone like beard who could absorb insane amounts of knowledge. He saw that Nate had potential coaching ability.

But Nate doesn’t understand the importance or value of this. He also doesn’t understand how instrumental Ted’s philosophy has been in transforming the culture of the team. That this is also a reason why the team is playing better.

So like, yeah, I’ll forgive Nate when he’s redeemed. But these three things are what really irks me about him. Just because I understand why he is acting this way doesn’t mean I have to excuse it when he’s being a dick to others, complaining about shit only due to his ego, and doing fucked up shit like leaking someone’s mental health struggles so he can gain an advantage over them.

Does he think that if Ted leaves/gets fired that he’s getting the job??? I mean hopefully whatever he has going on with Rupert works out (before it inevitably goes wrong) because this isn’t going to turn out how he thinks it will.

#ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #Nate Shelley #I wonder if Rupert is trying to get Richmond back and has some big master plan #I do not want that to happen of course #but what is he planning #probably trying to steal Nate away #and if that’s the case #good riddance #lol #Nate can come back once he calms down and gets himself together

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taramikealson · 3 years ago

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Just a sort of canon-ish Drabble that I got a little carried away with.

Set after the events in TVD excluding the “Hell” storyline in Season 8, the miracle babies, Caroline dating Alaric, Marcel taking the serum, and a few minor changes that are hopefully recognizable.

He could feel the irritation crawl along his skin like a serpent slithering itself up and around a tree. With the irritation, came anger.

Sometimes he enjoyed the challenge that came with others riffling with his plans. He has theories as to why he does but deep down he knows the true reason. His wolf. The thrill and excitement that came with the thought of the hunt. Predators such as wolves are born hunters who thrive on such games.

But, he is not only a wolf. No, he is a strategist- a remarkable one at that. There had been no plan, no despicable machination of his that hasn’t had a fail-safe.

Except for this one.

He had gotten himself into a situation where he finally became comfortable again after nearly ten centuries of running. And when he got comfortable, he began to lose his edge.

After successfully re-stabilizing the Quarter and allowing his brother to take a leading role in the peace treaty between the factions, New Orleans fell quiet. Of course, every so often there’d be a dispute between a couple of the factions that rose a concern within his elder brother, but that was always unavoidable. Werewolves, witches, and vampires alike have fought for centuries, that type of violence and warfare doesn’t automatically stop with a peace treaty. His brother may hope for that positive outcome but Klaus had always been a realist. And, unfortunately as he predicted, the peace was temporary.

“Niklaus, this is not a situation that we should ignore.” His brother’s voice sounded through the phone that he had pressed against his right ear.

No, this isn’t something we should ignore. He thinks, tentatively keeping his lips pressed together to keep himself from speaking of something that perhaps his brother shouldn’t know.

“Should Marcel make a regretful move, this treaty we’ve formed could very well be null and void.”

If Marcel were to make a move, it may start a gruesome war between the vampires and werewolves. If Klaus knew Marcel well enough, his former right-hand man is most likely planning something rather ill-conceived. He hasn’t theorized whether the harsh consequences will weigh the heaviest on either the vampires or werewolves, or even the whole Quarter all together. No matter what they may be, he’s most certain his brother won’t be quite pleased with what he has planned.

Although Klaus once held a tight hold over the vampires, it came to his attention that Marcel continued to be respected amongst both the day and nightwalker community. Thus, why in the time of tension, they clamber to him in search of a leader to choose the decisions that will benefit them. Which is why Klaus has chosen to keep the werewolves as an ally. The werewolves have proven to be loyal to Hayley and his daughter because they both are seen as part of the pack, which unnerves Klaus but gives him the relief that those wolves will protect his daughter. The connection that Hayley holds with those werewolves is bound to be manipulated, might as well be him to do so in a beneficial way. For both the stability of New Orleans and the safety of his daughter.

“Brother, do you understand me?”

His shoes crunch against the small layer of gravel underneath his feet.

“Yes.” Klaus tries his best to keep the irritation out of his voice but his answer still sounds short.

The hybrid immediately ends the call, noting that the conversion was to be continued in person. While pocketing his phone, he takes a few steps further along the rooftop and then steps up onto the ledge, giving him a grand view of the Quarter from a few buildings away.

A rough shuffle and a few voices could be heard from a little farther down the alley below him, but he didn’t much care about the happenings within the alley. From what he could hear, there were two men speaking in hushed tones, their heartbeats slower and more quiet indicating their undead nature. The fast and erratic heartbeat that was a few paces in front of them was a clear indication to Klaus of what the vampires below were planning to do.

His lips turned up slightly. He, himself, was feeling a bit peckish, perhaps he’ll grab a quick bite before he returns home to his disapproving older brother.

The vampires eventually closed the woman in, murmuring to her about where she was going and why she was out at such a time. He found it interesting that she stayed quiet. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the women would say something whether it be a plea to let them go or an angry curse.

Wanting to stay out of the house- more like away from his brother- for as long as he can, he turned his head to look down the alleyway. If this ends to be unentertaining, he’ll most likely grab a drink at Rousseau’s.

There, he could see both the vampires crowd into the blonde woman’s space. She has her back pushed up against the rough brick.

“I don’t think it’s very safe for a lady like yourself to be out here.” The vampire states before his eyes transform and fangs replace his blunt teeth. Usually, this is when the victims begin to scream or mutter that modern saying, oh my, God. But the woman doesn’t seem as scared as a normal human would be.

“You’re making a mistake.” She murmurs and Klaus’ eyes widen a hair, recognizing the voice. But before he can think of anything else, the woman is thrusting a wooden stake into the vampire’s stomach.

The vampire doubles over and the other vampire goes to attack the human but he’s no match for Klaus’ speed. Without a second thought, Klaus appears before the vampire, shoving him back before he could get to the woman. The other vampire has now pulled the stake from his torso and was looking to kill but Klaus turned toward him.

“Enough.”

The vampire pauses but scowls at him, a look of disgust and anger apparent in his eyes. His hand rises and points to the human. “She stabbed me! She’s a tourist! Tourists are fair game-,”

“And you would be in the right if it weren’t for her being under my protection.”

The vampire looks a little surprised at Klaus’ declaration and is about to protest once more but Klaus beats him to it.

“Now, I suggest you scamper off to Marcel before I’m tempted to rid you both of your hands.”

Both vampires share a glance and Klaus continues to stand his ground confidently. Eventually, the vampires figure out that it’s probably best for them to avoid any conflict with an Original, the Original Hybrid no less. Thus, they both give the human one last threatening look before flashing away into the night.

With the vampires disappearance, Klaus had began to turn around and quip something sarcastic but his whole expression changes when Caroline’s knees give out. His hands come out at vampiric speed as he catches her by her upper arms and kneels down as he slowly lowers with her.

It’s then that he sees her clearly. Her hair isn’t as perfect as she normally used to keep it, almost like she hasn’t had access to the proper equipment. Her clothes were a little wrinkled and two small dark red dots bled through her white shirt indicating that a bandaged wound was leaking. Concern now flooded through him as his eyes connected with her face. It was as beautiful as ever but there was a deep exhaustion and a line of stress etched into her forehead. Oh how his heart now aches. He thinks that he hasn’t felt as worried for someone as he is with Hope, but yet here he is, holding her just enough so she doesn’t slump over.

He now realizes that she hadn’t just lost most of her strength, but had been keeping herself from showing any weakness towards those vampires. If he wasn’t so concerned with her health, he’d be praising her for her stubborn strength.

“Caroline, look at me, love.” He aides her by tilting her head up gently by her chin. Her eyes are tired and look so vulnerable.

She looks as if she’s about to say something but Klaus shakes his head. “Conserve your strength. You’re alright, I’ve got you.” If those words were spoken to anyone else, they’d have a right mind to be worried but she seemed to feel relieved. He takes that as permission to pick her up, holding her from underneath her legs and shoulders.

His thoughts of what his brother will think of him are completely wiped away when he races to his home. It’s quiet but he knows his brother is lurking somewhere. He’s not quite concerned about Freya, Rebekah, and Hayley’s absences. Ever since the incident between the werewolves and vampires, Hayley has taken it upon herself to help with the remaining pack. Freya is most likely working on another miracle to save this city’s peace and it’s no surprise that Rebekah is with Marcel.

Klaus contemplates taking Caroline to a guest bedroom but the closest one to his is farther than he’d like so he figures that taking her to his bedroom won’t be the worst idea. At least he’d be able to keep a close eye on her for the time being.

He sets her down gently to the dark grey covers and takes a sharp turn into the bathroom. Klaus comes back out a few moments later with a wet washcloth and a couple different sizes of bandages. Caroline shifts a little and grazes her hand against the side of her torso where the wound was which seems to instantly sober her up. She lets out a small gasp and grimaces in pain. Her hand hovers over it as if it’d take the pain away. Klaus walks back over to her and sits on the edge of the bed, a few inches separating himself from her.

Extending his hand, his eyes travel up to her face seeking silently for any sign of rejection before pulling the edge of her shirt up to reveal a blood-soaked bandage. His hands slowly peel away the bandage and Klaus didn’t know what to expect but he hadn’t expect something quite as brutal as this. No, this was not a wound from an accident, this was intentional and by someone who was trying to harm Caroline. In fact, he was quite knowledgeable about this particular wound, or had been when he was human. By the sharp angles of the shape of the wound, he could tell it had been an arrow tip that pierced her skin. When he was human, Kol had been recklessly playing with his father’s bow and accidentally shot Finn in the shoulder. He had kept that arrow shaped scar for as long as he could remember. But just because Finn had survived, it only made Klaus more concerned.

By the tear of the wound, it seems to have been reopened due to stress. Although, he imagines that it’s good news that it’s not infected. Klaus is as gentle as he possibly can be when he pays the wet washcloth along her wound. She bites her lip hard and grasps his arm in a painful grip but he allows her to do so, hoping that if a fraction of his pain can dull hers, then so be it.

After a few moments, she slowly takes her hand away and he begins to clean around the wound.

“Klaus-,”

“Don’t.” He begins, “not now.”

His words come out a tad harsher than intended but she knows he’s just concerned and doesn’t know how to healthily deal with it like a normal human.

“I need you to listen just for once.”

“Caroline, let yourself rest before we speak of anything.”

She appreciated the notion that he valued her safety and well-being more than an explanation of why she showed up in his city as a human. But this couldn’t wait, for her safety and his own.

To truly get his attention, she places her hand on top of the one that was still cleaning the blood off her skin. It pauses its movements and he looks up to her.

“I- I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to use you for your contacts but I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” She hesitates to continue because after she asks, his involvement becomes concrete. Because she knows that he’ll help her. “I need a witch, someone powerful. Someone who can do a cloaking spell that can’t be broken by another witch.”

His face doesn’t express as much emotion as she thought it would but she doesn’t think that it’s a bad thing. He obviously seems to be contemplating something as his eyes bore into hers.

Setting aside the washcloth, he straightens out and takes a sleek black phone out of his jacket pocket. Without hesitation, he clicks a few times on the screen and places the phone against his ear.

“Freya, I need you at the Compound immediately.” With that, he puts his phone away and reaches for a bandage. Taking the plastic off, he softly places it over her wound, pressing along the outside, securing it to her skin without causing her pain.

His eyes refocus onto hers and she spots the anger that has now manifested within those blue orbs. “Who did this?” He asks and Caroline Knew she should have known better than to think the wound wouldn’t show any foul play.

“Silas.” Klaus’ lips part in confusion. For all he knows, Silas had been put in a safe and thrown down the quarry. God, things got complicated since he’d left. Much more complicated than she would have liked.

“For a while he pretended to be Stefan. We didn’t know because we thought he could only mess with a couple people’s perspectives but turns out he’s a doppelgänger.” She mentally cringes when remembering how Silas continuously terrorized her and her friends. She also remembers how Silas had made everyone think he was dead when Stefan killed him but had used it as an out to chalk up another plan that revolved solely around revenge. Against her.

Caroline begins to pull herself up into a sitting position so she’s resting against the headboard and is thankful when Klaus helps her. “Before you came back, we thought Stefan killed Silas but he’d used some last resort spell and it gave him the perfect out to recollect himself.”

“I guess he waited for a few years for things to settle down and for us to be off our guard.Damon was as happy as he could be considering Elena, Bonnie was back, and Stefan and I were getting back on good terms. Silas approached me on the last day of my Senior year.” Klaus notices as she bites her lip and looks down at her hands that have begun to twiddle in slight nervousness. “Silas made me think we were making some kind of deal. I leave my friends behind and never go back to Mystic Falls, or he kills me and everyone I care about. I chose to leave.”

Swallowing, her eyes darted from her hands to Klaus’ face to gauge what he might have been thinking but he wasn’t showing any sign other than that he was just listening to her, allowing her to pour whatever worries she had onto him.

“I don’t know if he thought that I would just settle down in some other place to get the opportunity to know my whereabouts while he tried to kill my friends but he called negotiations off when I skipped the third town I went to. So, he went after me.” When the single tear fell from her eye, she was a little surprised at how vulnerable she was allowing herself to be. “I told everyone that I was taking off for a little bit to go travel since I had finished college. I didn’t want them to try to find me and end up as one of Silas’ next victims.”

She pauses and wipes the stray tear away, trying to recollect herself. She must look like hell, crying would only make it worse. Caroline needed to man-up. There was no doubt that what Klaus had gone through with his father, or step-father, was worse.

Klaus leans forward and takes her hand into his, letting him drop a feather-light kiss along her knuckles. “You are safe. If I ever promise you anything, I will certainly promise you that.”

Caroline can’t help the small smile that forms on her face, knowing that he is being truly genuine. His lips turn up as well.

A small knock on the door interrupts them and Klaus rises from the bed. A taller dirty blonde woman stands in the doorway, analyzing both of them. Klaus crosses the room and pulls the woman further into the hallway, speaking to her in a hushed tone.

After a moment of back and forth conversation, they both advance into the room. Klaus pauses for a minute, watching as the woman approaches the side of the bed. She offers Caroline a reassuring smile that tells her she’s most likely a friend of Klaus’ or at least someone in his good graces.

“Caroline, right? I’m the older and wiser Mikealson sibling, Freya.” Caroline blinks for a moment and looks to Klaus in confusion. Although, she assumes what the woman, Freya, is saying must be somewhat true because all Klaus does is slightly roll his eyes in such a brotherly manner before turning towards the liquor tray.

“Niklaus tells me you need a little bit of a complex cloaking spell.” Caroline nods. Being that Freya must be a Mikealson, it is always safe to walk on eggshells around the ones she’s not very familiar with, no doubt the ones that she never knew about.

Freya turns towards the hybrid who was sipping his drink. “Will you fetch my grimoire and my herb bowl from the study, brother?” Klaus doesn’t seem all too eager to be ordered around but he does as asked and walks out of the room. Freya turns back towards Caroline and motions to the space when Klaus had sat before.

“May I?”

Caroline gives her a short nod and Freya smiles.

“Why are you being so nice to me? I thought all Mikealsons were kinda bordering on the ‘I don’t help anyone but my family’ ideology.” Caroline was going to be more subtle about it but she’s injured and doesn’t feel well, might as well rip off the band-aid.

Funnily enough, Freya laughs. “I’d agree with you but I’m quite aware of who you are.”

Now, that was surprising. Did Klaus say anything about her to his siblings? It didn’t seem like something he’d do. Her mouth opened to say something but she couldn’t find her words. It seems like Freya had an idea of what she was thinking and thought to correct her.

“I saw you when I entered my brother’s mind. If it weren’t under life and death circumstances I wouldn’t have done so. Trust me, I’ve already heard a mouthful from Niklaus.”

That made Caroline even a bit more nervous. Did this woman know everything about her and Klaus then? Had she watched some of their interactions? “How much do you know?” She asks.

“Just enough to know how important you are to my brother.”

That’s not cryptic at all. Caroline isn’t sure if that means Freya knows a little too much than she should or not but she imagines that she can’t push the woman any further than she’s willing so she shuts her mouth. And she also really doubts that Klaus is out of earshot, he can probably hear almost anything from the other side of the house so it’s best not to speak out of turn. Or maybe just not too much about him.

Speak of the devil, because he then walks through the door not even a few moments afterwards, carrying a grimoire and a small bowl with a few items in it that looked close to medical supplies.

He comes up behind his sister and sets her grimoire down on the bed and intentionally hands her the bowl, making her notice the extra supplies within. A sterile needle with surgical string and a couple other medical supplies. As he hands the bowl over to her, he murmurs, “perhaps you should also take a look at her wound, sister.”

By the look in his eye, she could tell he was a bit more concerned about the girl’s physical wound than the cloaking spell being down. Then again, both siblings knew that with all of the magic surrounding the Compound, it would take a highly skilled witch at least a couple hours to work through a location spell for anyone who was there.

Freya nods and takes the bowl from him. Klaus steps back and takes a seat directly across the room from the bed in one of the leather chairs, still allowing Caroline to see him.

The witch silently asks for permission to have a closer look at Caroline’s wound before pulling the new bandage away. Caroline watches Freya’s eyebrows furrow as she inspects the wound. Freya’s eyes look back up to her.

“Have you had this looked at before?”

Caroline shakes her head lightly. “But I tried to keep it closed.” Her lips turn up into a ghost of a smile. “You only learn so much in high school and college level health classes.” Freya understands the lightheartedness within the statement and offers her a smile.

“Well, it seems like you at least kept it clean.” Freya begins. “But I’ll need to stitch it up a little and possibly do a proper cleaning just in case. It’ll probably be easy to put you to sleep for that.”

Caroline’s eyebrows furrow at the lack of a surgical syringe. “Like a witchy anesthesia?”

Freya seems to enjoy her lack of magical knowledge and find amusement in it. “Something along those lines.”

“You’ve done it before, right?”

The witch lets out a small laugh. “Yes, but I can certainly do a demonstration.” Her head turns over her shoulder towards her younger brother but Klaus seems unimpressed.

It was a little reassuring seeing him naturally take up his brotherly role. She hadn’t ever really seen that side of him and never saw him actually interact with his siblings before. It was nice to know that even the Original Hybrid could act like a typical brother once in a great while.

“I promise it’s safe and when you wake, your wound will be patched right up.” Freya reassures and Caroline nods. She knows that Klaus will go just about as far as he possibly can to keep her safe which tells her that Freya is trustworthy. So, she doesn’t think about it too long before she murmurs, “okay.”

———————————————-

Upon breaking the fog of sleep, she doesn’t feel as weak as she had before Freya had put her to sleep which was a good sign. She begins to lift her head off the pillow and suddenly feels a warm hand help her sit up.

Looking over, she sees Klaus hovering beside her. “Easy, love. No need to tear your new sutures.”

His words remind her and she looks down, pulling her shirt up and the bandage aside to see her wound stitched up neatly with a strange light paste spread on top.

“My sister assured me that her little remedy,” he nods towards the paste on her wound, “should have healed you just enough to allow you to shower, if you wish to do so.”

The thought of a steaming hot shower is so appealing to her right now. “God, yes.” She sighs. It’s been so long since she’d been in any type of shower that wasn’t in a hotel or had some sort of modern day technology.

It seems Klaus enjoys her enthusiasm and takes it as a good sign for her health. “Would you like me to fetch my sister to help you?”

Caroline shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She silently thinks that should anything happen, he’ll most likely be listening in on her. It was a little creepy to think about but also made her feel a tad safer knowing that he’d always make sure she was safe.

He respects her choice and helps her stand. Waiting a moment to make sure she gets her bearings, he keeps a hand on the small of her back and leads her towards the entrance of the bathroom. She silently thanks him before he closes the door to a crack after her.

Looking around the bathroom, she’s not surprised about how lavish it is and how neat it’s kept. She never really took Klaus as the person who kept his personal space in disarray. As clean as it was, it still held the feeling of being used daily. One of the medicine cabinets was left cracked open a little, a small tin and classic shaving knife was left on top of a white cloth, and a bottle of cologne sat on the counter. If Caroline had possibly thought of a bathroom Klaus would ever call his, this is probably as close to it as she’d get.

Caroline decides that if she takes too long, Klaus may think something is wrong so she strips quickly and turns the water on. She’s pleased when it takes a whole couple seconds for the water to warm. Stepping into the shower, she sighs at how good it feels. The water runs down her, rinsing away all of the dirt and grime from the past couple days.

After getting her hair wet, she reads the minimalist labels on the three bottles that sat on the shower shelf. Thank God they weren’t the typical soaps that guys used nowadays. She shivers at the thought of two-in-one products. These were just simply packaged products that were obviously a little more on the manlier side of things but it’ll have to do.

Rubbing the shampoo and conditioner in her curls, she almost felt a weight lift off of her. Once she finished up basking in the warmth of the shower, she turned the dial off and stepped out. Grabbing the white towel, she wraps it around herself and tries to dry up as much as she can.

Upon walking back over to the bathroom counter she notices that she can’t exactly wear her old clothes but she does choose to wear her bra and underwear again. Hopefully she can ask Klaus to rile her up something for her to wear.

When she exits the bathroom, she immediately notices that the French doors that had led to the balcony outside were now closed with the drapes shut and the sliding door to the bedroom was almost shut all the way. She could hear a little movement in the next room over and assumed it was Klaus.

Stepping further into the bedroom, she sees that she doesn’t even need to ask Klaus for clothes because there’s a pair of yoga pants and t-shirt folded neatly on the bed. It was also accompanied with a hairbrush. Her heart warms at the thoughtfulness but then again, Klaus had always put thought behind a lot of things that involved her.

She’s quick to take the precious privacy that he allowed her and got dressed.

He finally emerged when she was finishing up brushing her hair. He held a plate of food and a glass of water. Caroline places the hairbrush down and into the drawer of the nightstand before scooting herself further back on the bed to give him enough space. Klaus sits down on the edge of the bed and places the glass of water on the nightstand, then handing Caroline the plate. At the sight of the scrambled eggs, bacon, and assortment of fruit on the plate, she was almost worried her stomach would growl. She doesn’t even remember when she last had a proper meal.

“Thank you.” She murmurs when he hands her a clean fork.

His smile is genuine and tells her that he doesn’t find helping her to be a chore. When he watches her carefully as she began to eat, she knew that if he’d done so a few years back she’d find it extremely creepy, but now she’s come to find out that it’s his way of communicating his reassurance. He’s silently telling her that he’s here, he’s going to protect her.

“I’ll leave you to eat. Perhaps get a few more hours of sleep, it’s only a quarter after six.” He states as he rises from the bed. His eyes drift for a moment down to her torso where her wound is covered by her shirt. Something in his eyes changes and he leans down close to her head. She pauses as his lips softly connect with her forehead. He pulls back a little and looks deep into her eyes.

“So long as I have a say in the matter, Silas will never get close enough to touch you again.” He then rises to his full length and exits the room.

——————————————

After eating and getting a couple more hours of sleep she’d ventured out of Klaus bedroom to find him again. When she did he was insistent about getting her at least a week’s worth of clothing for herself. She didn’t make a second objection, knowing that either way Klaus will get her clothing, it was just a matter of if she’d pick it out or have some compelled vampire do it. Thus he’d taken her to a few local shops. In typical guy fashion, Klaus hadn’t been too animated about watching her pick clothing out. In most of the stores, they’d parted ways- her towards anything that caught her eye and him to any empty seat he could find.

Caroline tried to be as time efficient as possible knowing that even a man who has waited a thousand years to break his curse, he still had his limits of patience. As much as she thought he dreaded chaperoning her, because he refused to have a possibility of another vampire thinking they could harm her, he still offered her considerate smiles. There were a few instances where she could feel the heat of his gaze as she walked out of the dressing room. She didn’t know what to make of it and brushed it aside.

This is hopefully the first and last time Caroline thinks this, but she is thankful that Klaus has the ability to compel vampires. He had a vampire, she forgot her name, retrieved Caroline’s brand new clothes and took them to the Compound so they could continue to stroll down a few of the streets.

If Caroline hadn’t spent the last couple years skipping from city to city, she thinks she may have been a little more amazed at the New Orleans architecture. But still, it was truly stunning. She liked that Klaus didn’t directly guide her but just allowed her to wander. Soon, they’d found themselves in a bar. The bartender that approached them seemed very familiar with Klaus and when he’d introduced her to Camille, the woman was welcoming.

It didn’t escape her notice how Camille had laid eyes on Klaus for a few seconds too long before walking off to let her and Klaus enjoy their drinks.

Caroline smiles a little at the situation. “You know, she likes you.”

His lips turn up and he sips his whiskey.

“You may not be aware of this, Caroline, but you are on the exceedingly short list of women who have rejected me.” His head turns towards her with a smug smirk. “You should feel lucky, most of those women are dead.”

Caroline rolls her eyes lightheartedly. “So lucky.” She breathes and looks away from him. His chuckle is rich and deep, making her crack a small smile.

“Quite a number of women find me charming, you surely had at one time.”

The statement brings out an instinct in her to say something snarky or quip something a little harsh but she chooses not to. Instead, her teeth catch her bottom lip as she lowers her gaze to the vodka soda. She doesn’t exactly know what to do. All she’s ever done with him was constantly impolitely reject him with statements about who he killed or what bad things he’s done.

Her eyes go up to see the bartender come out from the kitchen in the back. The girl gives them a small glance and Caroline offers her a friendly smile. Camille seems a little surprised by Caroline’s friendliness, almost as if she was expected to be ignored or brushed off. Caroline has no doubt that the crowd that Klaus would spend time with would be most certainly supernatural, thus their lack of interest in simple human servers. Although, Klaus seemed a little keen of her. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to think about it. If it was a few years ago, she would have rather drowned before admitting that she was a tad jealous when it came to Klaus, but she was older and more mature. So, yeah. Maybe she felt a little jealous that the girl’s feelings towards Klaus could be mutual. But she also wasn’t going to be spiteful of it.

Stirring the small straw that floated in her untouched drink, she murmurs, “If you want to go talk to her, there’s nothing stopping you.” Her voice is as neutral as she can make it.

Even now without her vampire senses, she could still feel his fiery gaze in the side of her head. He lets out a low chuckle.

“Camille is a close friend of my family. She’s sacrificed quite a bit to aid my family’s survival and I’ve repaid her loyalty with protection.” He begins. “Our relationship may have developed into somewhat of a complicated friendship since she’s known me, but that is simply it.”

Caroline turns her head towards him and his eyes are as clear blue as ever. “But by no means do I wish to be in anyone else’s company other than yours.”

There’s a brief moment between them where both of their solid barriers were dissolved and their eyes just simply met. They said nothing but their eyes communicated plenty. But, that moment was only brief.

The bell over the door to the bar chimes when it opens, the noise from the street could be heard for a moment before the door closes again. Both Klaus and Caroline are shaken out of their moment when a voice chimes.

“Now, this is interesting.”

Caroline is a little taken aback even though she should have expected to come across another Original. Hell, she wouldn’t doubt that the whole Mikealson clan was crawling around New Orleans at this point. It seemed to be almost like a hub for them.

Klaus is the first to turn in his seat and greet his sister. “Sister, a bit of a surprise to see you on this side of the river. Has Marcel finally bored you enough?” His tone has dramatically changed from the genuine one before to something more smartass-y.

When Caroline scoots on her stool a little to look more properly at the female Original, she notices how annoyed Rebekah gets because of Klaus’ comment.

“No, I came to visit my niece. Whom, in which, has noticed your lack of presence.” Rebekah then gives Caroline a disapproving glare. “But I think I know why.”

Klaus sighs quietly and Rebekah is about to say something but pauses. Her eyes scan Caroline carefully. After a moment, her eyes widen and she flashes towards Caroline, aggressively yelling, “who the bloody hell gave you the cure!?”

Caroline stumbles out of her stool as fast as she can and takes a few steps back. Rebekah is about to get into her face again but Klaus zips in front of her, blocking her way to Caroline.

“I-,” Caroline doesn’t know what to say or how to even start to calm down the Original. She’s not as strong as she once was. One little neck snap and she’ll be done.

“Rebekah.” Klaus growls in warning, earning a glare from his sister before her gaze goes back to the blonde.

“Why do you get the choice? You, of all people?”

Caroline is beyond grateful that no one else was in the bar because she’s sure that there could have been a bloodbath if there were.

Klaus is about to say something but Rebekah beats him to it.

“How is it that you get to have a normal life?”

Those words seemed to trigger something in Caroline. Something emotional.

“You think I want this? Do you think I chose to have a normal life where I’d meet some regular guy, marry him, have a few kids, and work for the rest of my life?” Rebekah frowns and Klaus turns his head just enough to look at her. “I didn’t. I don’t want that life and I didn’t choose to become human again. So, blame me all you want for being a bitch to you or whatever, but don’t blame me because you didn’t get the human life you’ve always wanted.”

It seems like Caroline’s words have an effect on Rebekah because she shrugs her brother’s hand away from her and takes a step back. Caroline can’t exactly know for sure but she thinks that maybe Rebekah can somewhat relate to her. Rebekah had always wanted to be human but was stuck as a vampire. Now, Caroline wants to be a vampire but is stuck as a human.

When Rebekah takes that step back and Klaus is sure she’s not going to try to attack Caroline again, he fully turns his body towards the blonde human. She can’t gauge exactly what he’s thinking but it could have been a cross between surprise and sympathy.

The younger Original looks almost a little guilty when she casts a glance towards Caroline but instead doesn’t say anything before flashing away. As the light breeze wafts over them from Rebekah’s exit, Klaus takes a step forward towards her.

“Caroline.”

She shakes her head. “I-,” her eyes shut for a moment. “Please don’t make me talk about it.”

She fully expects Klaus to struggle with her request but he quickly proves her wrong and gives her a short nod in understanding.

————————

Caroline’s fingers drum silently against the cold metal of the railing she’s stood behind. The city has now been cascaded in darkness but people still mull about on the street beneath her. The very idea of the liveliness of this city brings a smile to her face. The neon lights of shops and street lamps were now lit up to shine down on the passerbyers below, their drunken ramblings slightly muffled due to her human hearing.

She finds that Klaus was right. There was something about this city that not only attracted the party-seeking humans, but also the darker creatures who lurked in the shadows. She may not be a vampire any longer but that doesn’t mean the connection she holds with the darkness was shaken. There is not just history in this city, it is the home of the supernatural. Caroline bets that if she were still a vampire, she could have spotted a couple dozen supernaturals that had walked by in the past thirty minutes she's been up on Klaus’ balcony.

She only hopes it doesn’t attract a different kind of supernatural.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can sense movement just as a figure joins her. Their hand grasps the railing casually and when they sigh, a white cloud escapes their lips from the continuing dropping temperature of the night. He doesn’t attempt to make a move to slide closer to her and she appreciates the space he’s giving her, along with the time of silence.

As they stood in silence, listening to the noises of the city before them, she could recall how nervous she used to get during long periods of silence. She had always tried to fill them up with mindless chatter or something to that nature. But now? She finds that she sort of enjoys it. His presence may be a little nerve-wracking at times of tension but, as of late, Caroline seems to feel at ease knowing he’s just right there- not totally offering her comfort but the reassurance of his presence.

“You’re cold.” His voice murmurs smoothly through the air. It’s only then that she notices the goosebumps that trek along her arms. The light breeze flows around them once more, reminding Caroline that she doesn’t have as much tolerance to the weather as she once had when she was a vampire.

Her eyes lifted towards him to watch as he slid the casual high-collared blazer off just to then gently place it over her shoulders. Caroline’s arms cross and grasp the sides of the coat, pulling it closer to her body before offering him a smile in thanks. Although his eyes seemed to be light, there was a hint of concern to be seen.

“Caroline, what aren’t you telling me?”

The words surprise her, not because he’s asking them, but because he’s asking them now. She should have felt lucky that he hadn’t asked her earlier or even within the first ten minutes she was in New Orleans.

A lot. She thinks.

When she doesn’t speak, he sighs and shifts closer to her.

“You should be aware that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, but I can’t very well do it if I don’t know any of the details.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “I understand that these past few years haven’t been as undemanding as you’ve hoped, but you need to tell me something- anything- so that I can help you.”

Caroline contemplates just shrugging it off and telling him there’s nothing to talk about but that would be a lie. A big lie. She came to him for help, slept in his bed, and ate his food. It would have been foolish of her to think that she could take full advantage of his protection and not have to give him a detailed explanation. But, she doesn’t know exactly how to start and how to proceed. There are specifics that he doesn’t want him to know about, but if she were to leave them out, she’s sure that he is intelligent enough to put a few pieces together, or at least tell that she’s leaving a few key details out. She had two options. Either she tells the truth or she omits, telling him that she doesn’t have the courage to give him an explanation. The last option would be the easier route, but one that would most likely drive a wedge between them, thus possibly compromising their safety.

If she were younger, she would have grappled for a third option. But she was older and more mature now. Even though the prospect of what Klaus may think of her afterwards held a sizable weight over her head, she knew that she couldn’t avoid telling Klaus the truth.

“Silas isn’t just chasing me because I helped in the plan to kill him.” She breathes.

Klaus’ eyes blink in surprise, as if he’s shocked that she’s actually opening up to him. But he allows her to continue.

“When you came back to Mystic Falls, I didn’t tell you the whole truth about what happened with Silas. When Stefan lured Silas outside, I was left alone on the far side of the boarding house. Someone had grabbed me and I acted on instinct because I knew Damon, Elena, and Qetsiyah were in the parlor, so I assumed it was Silas.” Caroline looks away from the Original and out towards the night sky. “It turned out to be Amara.” Her eyes slowly drifted back over to him to gauge his reaction. He stood still, eyes just taking her in and processing the information that she was offering him.

“Silas’ one true love.” Her eyes hold guilt and a sadness within them as she remembers the events that occurred nearly five years ago. “She was innocent and I killed her.”

A stray tear begins to form in her eye and bubbles over, making a thin wet trail down her cheek. Klaus’ hand doesn’t move as fast as it normally does when he gently wipes the tear from her face, making sure not to make any moves that she wouldn’t be able to reject. The heat of his palm against her jaw and the pressure it holds gives her an odd sense of comfort that she wouldn’t have expected.

“I don’t know how he found out after he faked his death, but he-,” she begins to struggle to speak, the emotions beginning to take advantage of her. “He approached me in my dorm one day and I’m not sure if he planned it or not, but Tyler happened to walk in.”

Caroline lets out a small exhale to try to keep her emotions slightly underwraps but she can’t help the couple tears that escape her eyes. Turning her head away, she feels a shade of guilt run through her. “He- he killed Tyler right in front of me.” She also tried to explain how after Silas left her with his ultimatum, she had to find a place to bury Tyler and come up with a story for his absence, but she thinks she would have totally broken down if she spoke another word. It didn’t take much longer than a couple seconds before his arms had brought her closer to him and she didn’t shy away from pushing her head into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his torso.

The heat radiating off of him almost felt like it began to wrap around her, comforting her in her grief. Klaus kept one arm around her back and another in the hair on the back of her head. His head craned down and he gently pressed his lips to her temple. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. She feels the most safe she has ever felt in the past two years in his arms. The sandalwood cologne fills her lungs when her nose digs deeply into his shirt, surely ruining it with her tears but she's not too worried about that right now.

After a few long moments of being wrapped up in his body, he halts the slow brushing of her hair that she had just noticed he was doing. Klaus’ head pulls away to get a better look at her and she tilts her head up to do the same.

“Come. Let’s get you inside.”

Caroline nods and lets Klaus guide her back into his bedroom. He shuts the French doors behind him and closes the cream drapes, the sounds of the city now greatly muffled by the extra barrier. Caroline walks over to the bed. Once she’s sat down, Klaus is already over by the fireplace and starting the fire. She tries to catch her breath. Although she wasn’t sobbing, she still finds it hard to regain herself. A crackle comes from the fireplace and when Klaus stands from his crouched position, she can see the small flames of the fire begin to lick at the wood inside. In no time, Klaus is right there, taking the coat from her shoulders and silently encouraging her to lay down on the bed. She pulls the soft covers over herself as Klaus’ eyes rove over her.

“Will you stay?” The words escape her lips before she can understand what she had said.

Klaus studies her for a moment but his attention is pulled towards the sliding doors that are cracked open just enough for him to see his brother. His brother’s presence now reminds him of the factions meeting they were supposed to attend tonight in light of the recent events between the witches, werewolves, and vampires, but Caroline is in a sensitive emotional position. Although he finds it surprising for her to feel comforted by him, he doesn’t feel as inadequate for the job as he would with anyone else. He decides then what he will do. New Orleans can wait. If anything, his brother is more than equipped with handling tonight’s meeting without him.

His head turns back towards Caroline. The deep blue of his eyes already indicate his answer to her and she slides to the other side of the bed to give him room. Klaus toes off his boots and just before he lays down, his eyes glance up to see the sliding door closing all the way and his brother’s footsteps retreating away.

When he’s settled onto his back, Caroline quickly tucks into his side. The move isn’t unexpected with her trying to seek a source of comfort. He slowly pulls his arm out from under her and instead wraps it around her body, placing his hand just above her hip as she buries herself into his ribcage.

Klaus lays there for a while, listening to the changes in her heart beat and studying the way it slows when she falls asleep. He only allows himself to shut his eyes when he hears his brother return an hour later, feeling more comfortable being asleep when at least one other Original is awake. He won’t take any chances with Caroline. He won’t risk losing her.

-------------------------------------------------

When Caroline wakes up that next morning, she isn’t shocked that she’s alone and the place where he had once been was vacant of his body heat. She never assumed Klaus to be the type of man to sleep in by any means being as paranoid as he usually was but it had seemed like he’d been gone for quite a while. As much as she wants to think that maybe he had some weird bout of inspiration to paint or do whatever artistic thing he prided himself with, she has the better judgement to know it was business related.

From what she could tell, he and his brother were the main one’s calling the shots in the French Quarter. Not unexpected, considering Klaus is, well, Klaus. But he has subtly mentioned from time to time whilst they were out yesterday that there was some tension between a few of the supernatural factions. Caroline imagines that it's more of a regular occurrence and something that comes with ‘ruling’ (Klaus’ words, not her’s) over the supernatural community within New Orleans. Thus, it doesn’t take a genius to understand Klaus must have a decent amount of business to conduct most of the time. She wouldn’t be all too surprised if he was out handing threats out like flyers first thing in the morning.

The mere idea that Klaus has probably been awake for at least a couple hours now prompted her to get motivated for the day. Although she didn’t directly have any plans other than possibly not getting her throat ripped out by Rebekah, she still needed to eat.

It didn’t take her long to get dressed and make her way out of Klaus’ bedroom. But when she made it to the hallway outside of Klaus’ study, she was a little torn on what she should do next. Klaus hadn’t exactly shown her around the Compound so she really only knows the way in and out of the Compound from his living quarters.

There were a few doors on each side of the hallway. She chose the route she was more familiar with and decided to start there. Fearing that she might be interfering in his family’s privacy, she only ventured into the rooms that were already open. She first found a parlor room with dark red couches and a small wet bar, next she found a very extensive library where she read a few of the titles of the books. Some were familiar and some were totally unknown to her, but she imagined that she wouldn’t know any books that were written in other languages like the French one she decided to flip open. After finding a few first editions, she thought it best to move on and keep her human, clumsy hands away from books that could be worth more than a couple thousand dollars. When exiting the library and finding the courtyard, she climbed down the stairs and got lucky when she found the kitchen.

Walking over to the fridge, she crosses her fingers that she doesn’t just see blood bags. Upon opening the fridge, she’s satisfied to find a tray of eggs, milk carton, a drawer dedicated to fruits and vegetables, a couple bottles of water, some condiments in the door slots, and a couple other assorted food items that were relatively healthy. She would do just about anything right now to satisfy her sweet tooth that she woke up with but she’s also grateful that the Mikealson’s even have food in general, so she’ll take what she can get. So, Caroline takes the grape jelly out of the door slot and then goes to search for bread. Surely if they had food in the fridge, they had to have some non-refrigerated items too, right?

Looking through a couple of the cabinets, she mentally notes which cabinet held the plates, glassware, coffee grounds, and such. She finally finds the bread and limits herself to two slices. She may be hungry but she’s also human.

Grabbing a plate and spotting the toaster conveniently placed on the counter next to the coffee machine, she places the slices of bread inside.

In that moment, she thinks of the simple weekday mornings just before school. Those so easy and simple times where she had convinced herself could be the worst for her. How wrong she was. Now, she misses those mornings where all she had to worry about was boys and if she was going to pass that week’s pop quiz. In fact, she can even say she misses the times where the worst that could happen was an unexpected visit from a particularly moody Original hybrid in which had a 50/50 percent chance of ending with a pair of toxic hybrid teeth in someone’s throat.

Now, Caroline realizes that Klaus must have either grown to enjoy watching her and her friend’s failed attempts to end his life or preferred to use ‘kid-gloves’ because if he were to kill any of her friends, he knew better than to think she’d ever forgive him. Either way, she feels somewhat lucky in an odd way that he hadn’t reacted as badly as she now knew he could have. Unlike Klaus, Silas had no attraction or reason to extend any amount of mercy towards her, which was extremely terrifying. Silas may be mortal now but he is also a very powerful witch. One that was able to keep up with her when she was still a vampire.

The ding of the toaster brings her out of her reverie. Caroline reaches into the toaster to carefully pull the slice of bread out. The front of her finger grazes the hot metal inside and she pulls it out as quickly as she can on instinct. “Damnit!” She whispers heatedly, knowing there were other vampires within the house. In the process of taking a step back as the pain still sizzles underneath her skin, she could see something in her peripheral vision. Turning her head quickly, she yelps.

“Shit!” She curses, jumping slightly in her own skin when she finds an unexpected figure in the entranceway of the kitchen.

A smirk graces his features and a deep chuckle escapes his lips.

“God, you can’t do that. I can’t exactly sense when you’re creepily stalking me anymore.”

He doesn’t respond but she thinks he gets the point. Klaus walks over to her and easily deposits both slices of toast onto the plate she had out. Fishing out a butter knife from one of the drawers and opening the lid to the jam.

“I’d like to take you somewhere.” His eyes glance over to her as she watches him spread the jam over the slices of toast before placing the used knife into the stainless steel sink. He then slides the plate closer to her and walks back over to the fridge to put the jar of jam away.

Caroline takes the plate and takes a couple steps over to the island counter where a couple stools sat. She sits and takes a bite out of her toast. “Now?”

“As soon as you are ready.” He then grins at her, clearly hiding something from her. “Although, I recommend you wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

----------------------------

They’ve been in the car maybe five minutes before Caroline began to question him on where he was taking her.

“Seriously?”

His eyebrow rises and he glances towards her with lighthearted eyes that tell her he was certainly enjoying her irritation. Caroline just resorts to glaring at him but it doesn't hold nearly the same weight that it had a few years ago when she’d glare at him then and he clearly knows it. Klaus’ eyes return to the road and Caroline sighs, settling further into the leather seat of his luxury SUV.

“If you can’t tell me where we’re going, can you at least tell me something?” She asks, thinking that maybe he would want to play the ‘hint game.’

A sly smirk puts the edge of his lips up. Instead of giving into her, he decides to veer off into a different topic altogether.

“Do you recall the period of time when Alaric helped train the doppelganger in the ridiculous hope that it would somehow keep her safe from my siblings and myself?”

Caroline is a little taken aback by his question. Obviously, she remembers. Elena had once tried to get her to join her and Alaric. What surprised her about it though was that he even knew about it in the first place because Elena had thought they’d kept it all ‘hush hush’ specifically so he wouldn’t find out. Although, Caroline now thinks that he would most likely know from pulling the information out of Tyler or having a hybrid tail them once in a while. Both scenarios are equally as realistic.

The Land Rover slows and turns down a dirt path that is cascaded with tall trees. Clearly, he was taking her somewhere in the countryside.

“Yeah, but I don’t see how that’s relevant unless you plan to drag me out into the middle of the woods and kill me.” She turns her head to look at him. “Because I will put up one hell of a fight.”

His chuckle is low but not in a dark way. The blue in his eyes gets a little brighter when he parks the car at the edge of a large clearing. There’s a few fallen logs and if Caroline squints just enough, she can make out the shape of a couple makeshift tents a couple hundred yards away. She feels the Original turn towards her after shutting the car off and she looks his way.

“Trust me, sweetheart, if I were to make you my victim, I wouldn’t need to take you to the Bayou.” The tone in his voice is as casual as if he were talking about dinner plans and the smile he dotes is edging on the side of diabolical.

She raises a brow and turns away from him as she opens the passenger side door. “Because that makes me feel reassured.” Caroline knows his lips tug higher up into his cheeks, enjoying her slight sarcasm and their back-and-forth banter. Sometimes she thinks he likes making her angry, she can’t really think of a reason why, but he seems to always draw that emotion out of her at times when he doesn’t really have to.

Upon getting out, she notices he rounds the back of the car and opens the tailgate. Klaus pulls two objects out and closes the tailgate before meeting her a few paces away from the black vehicle. Her eyes widen a hair and her eyebrows rise dramatically when she sees what he took out for the back of his SUV.

He holds two long medieval looking swords, one in each hand. Stepping up to her, he readjusts his grip on one of the swords and holds it by the blade, offering it to her by the leather wrapped handle. She physically hesitates, clearly confused about what his end goal was.

Klaus seems amused by her reaction and tips his head to the side.

“Go on, it won’t bite you.”

Her eyes shift from the sword in his hands and his eyes. Slowly, she grasps the handle of the sword and Klaus lets go. Caroline struggles for a moment, the sword being heavier than she had anticipated. Not knowing what to do with it, she lets the end of it sit on the ground.

On the other hand, Klaus holds his sword by the handle and holds it out diagonally in the air.

“Strike it.” He orders.

Caroline does nothing except look at him strangely before rolling her eyes. “Seriously? You brought me out here for your own amusement? Newsflash, I’m not exactly some minion you can drag out to weird places and play ‘swords’ with.”

Klaus sighs and lowers the sword down, expertly thrusting the point into the grassy ground.

“This is no game, love. As much as I’d like to be showing you my city, I have a vested interest in your safety and to keep you protected. From what I have come to realize within the past years in residing in New Orleans, I can’t be in multiple places at once. Thus, why we are here.” His empty hand motions along as he speaks and his eyes glance around the clearing at it’s mention. “I’d like to be able to say that I will be by your side at all times, but that would simply be false. Which is why I think it is pertinent and rather of astronomically great import that you have some ability to defend yourself.”

Caroline glances down at the sword in his hand. “With a sword?” She asks with a stifled laugh, almost amused by the thought of using a sword in an actual realistic fight.

“No, but it gives you a starting place and the ability to learn how to use spare objects as weapons.”

Klaus then raises the sword again and nods. “Now, strike it.”

#klausmikealson #klaroline #drabble #klaroline drabbles #the originals #klaus mikaelson #the vampire diaries #klaus x caroline #caroline forbes #elijah mikaelson #freya mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson

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savagesbonergarage · 4 years ago

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Are you looking for prompts? 👀 Can I offer you predator/prey kink with Maul (or Savage?) I’ll just... leave this here...

Oh?

I know that @fallenrepublick has already written an excellent Maul one here, but Savage...I can't say I've seen one with the big boye anywhere yet (though correct me if I'm wrong)...

Guess that's my duty now...oh no...😏

A/N: Smuuuuuuuut, it's kinda long, wilderness survival, taking a leak (like just peeing outdoors in general, if that makes you uncomfortable you can skip it), maybe a pee kink though?? Is it a pee kink if there's no real indication of it being one? Someone will have to let me know lol, general roughness, rough sex, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, aftercare

Savage

"Instinct"

The wind rustled softly through the trees, the scent of fresh mountain air and the the temporary security of your height advantage almost offering you a moment of respite. You had stationed yourself near the top of an adequately concealed tree, it's sturdy branches sufficient enough to keep you up and away from immanent danger for the time being.

You were feeling quite pleased with yourself, if you were being honest. It had been a few days that you had managed to avoid his pursuit, a milestone you weren't quite sure you'd ever be able to achieve, and yet here you were. The few wilderness survival tips that you had learned in your youth inevitably seemed to pay off, as you remained cognizant of as much as you could regarding yourself and your environment that could potentially alert a predator. Rarely did you ever touch the ground of the forest floor, opting to remain high up in the forgiving trees that allowed for your nimbleness to be used as an advantage. You moved slowly, always making sure that your sounds blended together alongside the other calls of nature that wouldn't give way to your position, and you always shifted with the winds to ensure that the breeze never dispersed your scent around.

Savage was certainly the epitome of a predator, and an enhanced one at that - however, you'd studied him enough to understand the drawbacks that came with his awesome power. By his very nature, stealth wasn't his defining trait. At all. Were he to get anywhere within your field of vision, you would know about it without a doubt by the flocks of birds that scrambled to the skies in the distance or the cracking of branches coupled with his screams of frustration that filled the open air. You had to admit, you almost found it cute how you were finally getting the upper hand on him for once.

Although, this only meant that when or if he did catch you, you'd be shown no mercy.

It seemed your tactics this time around were working rather well though, and you considered that perhaps after one more day of survival that you'd approach him and declare yourself the victor in this dangerous game. Oh, the humiliation he would feel from his failure...the mighty Savage Opress, unable to hunt down the creature he craved for the first time. It probably irked him terribly that you were remaining relatively stagnant within the treetops as opposed to frantically running about like a frightened animal, which was likely a large factor in the enjoyment of it for him - the thrill of the chase.

Normally, you might have indulged him a bit more and better acted the part that he desired you to play, but this time, oh, this time, you were determined. Back home, he'd jokingly let slip that if you were ever to evade him long enough, he'd don a fluffy tunic and ears and call himself an ewok. That right there was all the motivation you'd ever need - nothing was going to come between you and getting to see what would inarguably be the most hilarious sight in the galaxy.

Dusk was fast approaching, and although there was still no sign of the beast that was hunting you, it was detrimental that you carefully selected a sturdy tree with tall, wide branches that you could conceal with the surrounding foliage nearby while you slept leaning against it. It was hardly comfortable and you could only rest for maybe a few hours at a time, but it was certainly safer than sleeping on the ground. You gathered your necessities and carefully arranged yourself against a wide branch and drifted off.

It wasn't long before the chill of the night air roused you from sleep. You had to admit, the worst part out of all of this was how damn cold it was being exposed to the wind in inadequate layers for these temperatures. You quietly shuffled around in an attempt to get comfortable, but in doing so you realized an uncomfortable truth.

Damn. I have to pee.

This was gonna be tricky. Finding a place to do so safely was half the battle, since you'd be making yourself completely vulnerable for a short while and if Savage happened to be somewhere nearby, no matter how quiet you were, he'd likely be able to smell you. A slightly gross fact, but an important one. He was a predator, after all. You'd managed to get by this far, and you had been avoiding drinking water for this very reason - also, because he would likely wait near the water for you to show up to inevitably drink.

Being tired, dehydrated, cold and full of pee wasn't ideal, and you couldn't wait for the morning to get here so this game could finally end. You were even starting to wonder if this was really going to be worth it once it was over. Sure, watching Savage embarrass himself was always an entertaining prospect, but right now, you just wanted to be held against him and his warmth even more. You sighed. Only a few more hours, and then you could gloat in his face for a second before snuggling up to his blissfully comfortable frame.

But for now, you still had to pee. You debated over whether or not you could potentially hold it until morning, but the answer to that was a resounding negative. It would be fine. You'd survived every other time, and you'd survive this time. Tentatively, you carefully and quietly lowered yourself to the ground, cursing the night for being so dark. Ideally, you'd want to find a place far enough away from here to go so that you wouldn't be literally marking your territory - but you didn't have any light, or Savage's reflective night sight, and you didn't have his other senses that absolutely trumped your own.

For the first time, the fear was finally starting to creep over you. It was times like this that you got so deep in your own head that you started to forget that this was really all just a game, and not an actual quest for survival; but that's how Savage liked it. You scoffed under your breath when you realized this, resolving to unbuckle your pants and simply relieve yourself right where you were. If Savage did happen to come through here, it was likely that he would assume you followed your usual thought process of maintaining distance from where you actually were rather than look up that very tree. That's how you had been operating so far; besides, there were only a few hours left. What were the chances of-

You heard a faint rustle of leaves somewhere behind you, and the panic started to settle in. That could have been anything, you told yourself as you attempted to calm down your anxiety. You couldn't really do much about it right now, since, well, you were already going. If you tried to push it faster that would only make it louder, and if you tried to scurry back up the tree in the middle of it, it would get everywhere and act as a billboard to your location. You sighed quietly, counting down the seconds until it was done in an attempt to quiet your racing heart.

You had that sinking feeling that you weren't alone. Your eyes darted around only to find that you truly couldn't see a thing, and you determined that the best course of action now was to just calmly finish up and quietly scale back up the tree.

You had just gotten your pants back over your hips when an animalistic growl erupted from behind you, and just like that, it was over. Savage had you pinned between his muscular, gargantuan form and the trunk of the tree, your arms bound to your sides in the grip of his massive hands. There was no way in hell you'd be able to wriggle free, and the adrenaline coursing through you in being captured was making you tremble. You could feel the heavy beating of his twin hearts against your back and his hot breath against your neck, and with a growl he pressed his hips against you until you could clearly feel the outline of his massive, throbbing cock against the small of your back.

"I got you. You're mine."

There was a frightening agitation in his bellowing voice that shook you, and the feeling was only worsened when you heard the scrape of one of his long horns against the bark of the tree as he brought his mouth closer to your ear.

"You think you can get away with hiding from me...? Keeping me hunting you for so long, and then teasing me like that..."

You were breathless, unable to utter a reply even if you'd had one ready before one of his powerful hands yanked your pants back down to your ankles. His claws left mild scrapes against your thigh, a concern that he was usually more cautious of, but not this time. It was clear that he was going to punish you for making him wait so long. You could barely squeak out his name when you felt his teeth rip into the layers of fabric covering your torso. With the aid of his claws he tore the garments from your body, spitting the cloth from his mouth as he revelled in the satisfaction of "skinning" you. You shivered, the heat from the zabrak's body the only thing keeping you warm now.

He flipped you so that you were facing him, the harshness of the tree bark against your bare skin making you wince as you watched him pull his monster dick out from the prison of his pants. No matter how many times you witnessed that reveal, your reaction was always the same. You looked into his glowing golden eyes, a predatory hunger there that sent both fear and heat straight through to your core. You swallowed drily, gazing into his face with a submissive look of defeat as he continued pinning you by your shoulders.

"You got me," you breathed, "I'm yours."

That did it for him. Without another word, he palmed the meat of your thighs and hoisted your legs up to hold you in place as your back rested against the rough tree, causing you to hitch your breath as Savage hungrily lined himself up with your entrance, the sheer amount of precum he leaked serving as lube before he pushed his hips forward. It was a little more forced than usual, and on top of that it had been a while since the last time you'd taken him, with your walls struggling to adjust to the stretch in order to accommodate his size. Your jaw was hanging open and your head immediately rolled back as you felt more and more full with each thrust, Savage gripping your thighs harder and exhaling a groan when he finally bottomed out.

There was a brief moment of hesitation, a pause for a reality-check as Savage lightly tapped his fingers against you. It was a subtle way of asking for permission, acknowledging that although this was your "punishment" and his reward, he still needed to know that you really wanted it like this, and that you were okay. Your response was an affirmation in the form of a squeeze on his forearm and a slight roll of your hips, with the look in your eyes pleading for him to take what he desired.

So, he did. With one strong, massive arm supporting you under your ass and the other pulling you closer to him, he backed away from the tree entirely and moved your arms to wrap around his neck so you could leverage yourself while he fucked the absolute life out of you. The noises that were escaping your lips were just as perverse as the sound of skin-on-skin echoing with vulgar, wet slaps throughout the forest, your mind already turning to mush. He was hitting everything, even when he wasn't really trying, so it took hardly any time at all before your eyes were rolling back and you felt that knot building up in your core. He didn't let up, his pace almost quickening with every desperate whine that escaped your throat.

"Savage, I-"

"Not yet," he commanded, pressing your chest firmly against his as he continued, "not until I say so."

You whined even louder, your hands moving up to hold onto his horns as he continued fucking you without mercy, that ache in your stomach growing more and more unbearable the longer you tried to push it back. Your breaths were desperate and rapid, with your face and chest flushing as red as a Dathomirian sunset with every passing second. You didn't know how much longer you could last, but you wanted to try your best for him.

"Please, I can't...!"

"Just a little more," Savage replied, relishing in the way your body was trying so hard not to break as he resumed his deliciously aggressive thrusts. Your hands moved from his horns to dig your fingers into his broad shoulders, your desperation reaching near-unfathomable limits.

"Savage, I can't-I can't-I can't-I'm-!"

You screamed as he finally allowed you to tip over the edge, having timed his release with yours so that you could ride out your highs in tandem. It was almost too much, the ecstacy of your edged climax intensifying with every twitch of Savage's pulsing cock so deep inside painting your gripping walls with heat. Even minutes later you were still quivering, barely coherent as your whines eventually began to die down and your lover held you tightly in his arms, before gently pulling his softening dick out of you once you had stopped clenching around his length.

He pressed a firm kiss against your temple as he waited for you to catch your breath, also ensuring that the majority of the unbelievable mess the two of you had made spilled out onto the grassy ground. Once he was satisfied, he moved one arm beneath both of your knees used the other to support your shoulders, keeping you close to him in this more comfortable position as he planted another long kiss to your forehead. He always thought it was cute when you were entirely spent like this, limp in his arms like a bag of grain as you relaxed in the afterglow.

"Are you alright?" He whispered against your forehead, lovingly stroking your arm as he did so. You responded with a soft smile and an affirmative hum, resting your hands against his broad tattooed chest as you curled in closer to him.

"I'm ready to go home," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"Agreed. Let's get you some water and a hot bath."

Your heart fluttered, filling your chest with silent praises for him and rhetorical questions of what you did to deserve being here in the arms of this gentle, fearsome predator. He began the trek home, smiling to himself as a thought crossed his mind.

"You know," he began conversationally, "if you wanted to see me dressed as an ewok so badly, you could have just asked. I would have done it for you, anyway."

#savage opress #savage opress x reader #savage x reader #savage opress smut #lemon #star wars smut #why did i title this instinct when that word never actally appears #star wars #star wars x reader #savage opress x you #zabrak #maul #darth maul

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bakugohoex · 4 years ago

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Babe please do my baby daddy iwa-chan for #6. I beg you.

“you ran in the rain to tell me that”

pairing: hajime iwaizumi x female reader

cw: flashbacks in italics, language, drinking, kissing and fluff

word count: 2800+

a/n: head emoty thinking about hajime iwaizumi 27 athletic trainer, i love my baby iwa so much, he deserves the world

summary: in which after having dinner with the national team he finds himself being confronted on his crush of you, being pushed to go to your apartment, he finds himself at your apartment, leaving a trail of rain in his way

1k event masterlist

↞ back to haikyu!! masterlist

It was just supposed to be a couple drinks and food at Onigiri Miya, Atsumu had invited the whole team after practice, which happened to include their trainer as well. Of course some had declined needing to get back home for their own personal reasons and some had accepted wanting to let loose after a long training session.

Iwaizumi had found himself three glasses of sake, taking his fourth as Hinata and Atsumu pushed more of it onto him. He didn't know how the conversation of you came up but somehow everybody had begun talking about you and their trainer's crush. “Come on man, we can all see it, you have a thing for our promoter.” Atsumu snickered as Suna nodded in agreement.

“Guys, I really don't. She's just a nice girl y’know.” Iwaizumi tried to justify himself but the deep blush that embedded his skin made it evident that he clearly did have a small crush on you.

“A nice girl, that’s bullshit Iwaizumi, we all see the way you look at her.” Bokuto shouted from the other end, Osamu was almost glad it was after hours as the conversations he was hearing would drive away customers in a matter of seconds.

“You do look at her as if she is the only one in the room.” Even the stoic Ushijima had acknowledged it, speaking out on it before going back to talking to Kageyama.

Atsumu nodded pushing Iwaizumi in the shoulder to show how everybody did agree that Iwaizumi had a crush. “Even since your first meeting we all could see it.” Hinata spoke, grabbing some onigiri and stuffing it in his mouth, rice surrounding his lips.

“What? No.” Iwaizumi could barely speak but the memory surveyed through his head like it had just occurred yesterday.

He had been running late, his alarm had conveniently been snoozed through and now he was running late to train members of Japan's national team. Of course all he had to do was set them up for their day and their schedule and then individually begin helping them. But Kuroo had spoken about how he and his colleague were coming to talk to the team about how to gain more awareness of volleyball.

Iwaizumi ran through the doors of the facility, he saw Kuroo stand tall in his suit with a woman beside him. You wore trousers that went straight down and a white blouse, you were talking to Kuroo as you both had been looking around to get a feel of the area. “Kuroo.” Iwaizumi spoke just for the man to hear, Kuroo turned to face him, you hadn't realised still looking at the facility before finally meeting the eyes of Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi didn’t know what got into him, but he had been in awe at seeing you. How perfect you looked in your work clothes, that bright smile you had as you said your name which he hadn’t even heard and how your hand was right in front of him. “Iwaizumi.” Kuroo chuckled toilingly.

He hadn’t realised the arrival of the team who stood behind him watching how he had frozen up. The normal calm and collected trainer who always pushed them to their limits had fallen way to a pretty girl. “So..sorry nice to meet you.” He couldn’t remember if you had even said your name or if it had been in his head. But from the way you smiled back to ease the situation, he assumed you had.

Your hand felt warm against his own, he could see an ink stain on the side of your ring finger, you had probably pushed your pen too hard onto the paper making it leak onto your fingers. He didn't care, it instead made him think how you must like indenting the page when writing which too him had become the greatest thing in the world.

The handshake had continued, he hadn't bothered letting go, instead continuing to shake your hand. Kuroo gave a signal to the team to tell their trainer to stop staring at his co-worker but you didn't seem to mind him. The big scary athletic trainer that Kuroo had told you about seemed like a lost puppy in a matter of seconds.

“It was nice to meet you.” You finally say, he liked how your voice sounded, the way his heart beat faster from hearing you speak such formal terms. He instantly let go of your hand rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

He hadn't heard the team but the sound of laughter erupting in the facility made him realise how they had all seen his little show. He turned around in anger through his face, you could almost see the vein pop out from his forehead, “outside now.” He shouted, making them all quieten down.

“Aww Iwaizumi calm down, we’re…” Atsumu leant against Hinata still trying to hide his laugh.

Iwaizumi interrupted raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms, “you’re doing extra laps.”

“You were a total mess in front of her and it’s not like you only did it once, or do we have to remind you about Aran’s birthday incident.” Suna spoke as the sound of hearing Aran’s birthday had made everybody whip their heads in embarrassment. They almost seemed to cringe at the effortless flirting the two of you had gone through the entire night.

“I can’t let a pretty girl be on her own all night.” Iwaizumi leant against the bar, calling for another round of drinks. Suna and Aran were at the bar as well and had been listening in on the two of you, you seemed to be enjoying the remarks having stuck by their athletic trainer the whole night.

“They really are blind.” Aran huffed taking a long sip of his drink as both of them carried on listening.

Your hand had rested on his bicep, you could almost feel the tenseness of his muscles as if he was showing them off to you. “And I thought you did this for all the girls.”

“Only for you, sweetheart.” Iwaizumi let your hand stay lingering on him, passing you your drink as he watched you sip it with your other hand. “I can’t let people know I’m actually nice.”

“What? You, nice? I’ve seen you with the team, remember I know the real you.” You seemed to have gotten closer to him, the gap between the two of you closing. You stayed seated on the stool as Iwaizumi had almost shuffled towards you.

“So what’s the real me then?” He took another sip of his drink as Kageyama had come up to the two other boys, ready for another drink.

“What are…” Suna shut Kageyama up, instead pointing to the flirtations between the two of you.

You chuckled slightly, taking a sip from your straw as you moved closer, pushing your body right onto his as your mouth went to his ear. Iwaizumi could almost feel your chest heave against his own, your fingers had moved to his neck to make it easier for you to speak. “The sexy athletic trainer I tell my friends about, of course.”

Iwaizumi almost spat out his drink at your remark, had you really told your friends about him. What had you even said that he was just sexy, was that it? He saw how your mouth lingered across his ear before the sound of your phone going off made you leave him. He watched you speak turning around to meet the three boys.

“What?” He muttered to them, his shirt unbuttoned from when he had told you he had gotten warm and you had so kindly offered to unbutton his first three buttons.

Suna laughed at the idiocracy as Aran rolled his eyes at the two of you, Kageyama the only one to speak, “god you two should just get a room.”

Before Iwaizumi could reply you had begun talking again to him, you two both stayed together the remainder of the night. But worst of all, every single person at the birthday party had heard you both flirt with each other without establishing if either of you liked one another. It had been torture for the team to have witnessed and everybody had refused to talk about Aran’s birthday.

“Listen, we’re telling you all of this so you can ask her out, we want you both to be happy.” Yaku piped up as the voice of reason.

Osamu had brought some more food before sitting beside Sakusa and delving into the conversation as well, “wait are we talking about Y/n and Iwaizumi, because you lot haven’t even heard about the time both of them conveniently came here for lunch.”

“They did what?” Komori spoke with food in his mouth, Sakusa having an evident gaze of disgust before glaring at the boy to close his mouth, Iwaizumi watched the boy chew and swallow before talking again, “you both went on a date without telling us.”

“It wasn't a date, we just happened to meet outside and decided to go have lunch on our breaks.” Iwaizumi justified taking another sip of sake, maybe it wasn't good to be drinking this much. But the continuous confrontation by his friends seemed to bring him on edge, of course he liked you, it was obvious he did. He didn't know why he had not confessed though, why he hadn’t told you straight up. You had to like him back through all the flirting, you couldn't just be stringing him along, could you?

“It most certainly was a date.” Osamu snickered, taking a bite of his own food. “God and I thought you two were already dating, why don’t you just ask her out already. ”Osamu began explaining the events of the ‘date’ until he got to when you both had to pay.

“It was really nice to see you both again, you two make such a cute couple.” Osamu spoke, handing the receipt to you both.

“Oh we’re not dating.” You spoke almost sadly; Osamu had noticed but Iwaizumi’s eyes had gone down instead.

You looked between the two boys, as Osamu gave an O symbol with his mouth, “sorry, I just assumed, you both look like the couples that come in here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You questioned wanting to know what couples looked like.

Osamu didn’t want to divulge into too much detail, but he did nonetheless, “y’know, when a couple just looks at one another like they’re the only ones in the room, like no one else matters, hell my server had to call you both twice to ask if you were ready to order. You both just seemed so happy together, with no awkwardness, love is really what I saw between the two of you.”

You gave a chuckle to soften the awkwardness, “ugh, okay, it was nice to see you again.” You moved past the remark, were you both really like that with each other. Iwaizumi had been thinking the same, were you two really looking at each other, with love. Even then he remembered the doubts in his head, maybe you were just being overly friendly and that's how you acted with everybody.

“What if she doesn’t actually like me? Then what? I’ll be fucking embarrassed.” Iwaizumi rubbed his eyes tiredly, the sound of slow pitters against the window as rain began to wash into the city.

Hinata spoke up tilting his head at the man, “so what? It’s better to tell her before someone else asks her out.”

“B…” Before Iwaizumi could continue Bokuto shut him up again.

“If you don’t go tell her how you feel right now, I’m setting her up on a blind date with Akaashi.” Bokuto was blackmailing the man as he almost laughed at how Iwaizumi’s eyes widened.

“Why Akaashi?” Kageyama questioned.

Bokuto shrugged, “they both look similar.” Kageyama went to see Iwaizumi, pulling his phone out which had a photo of Akaashi and him before putting the photo beside Iwaizumi’s head.

“They really do.” Kageyama chuckled as even Ushijima had noticed the similarities, pointing them out. At the sound of the three of them, Iwaizumi felt jealous and angry, you wouldn't leave him, would you?

“What’s it going to be then?” Bokuto leaned against the table, grabbing some more onigiri as he looked at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi didn’t even speak, instead grabbing his jacket and running out of the door. “Where the fuck is he going in the rain?” Suna laughed seeing how it was chucking it down and he had run without taking his car.

“Y/n’s apartments only a couple blocks away, he’ll be fine, right?” Aran questioned Atsumu who just shrugged in reply.

Bokuto laughed at how easily it had been to trick the boy into confessing. He knew you'd never get together with Akaashi, you had even told the spiky haired boy of your crush on their trainer. How you’d sometimes come and watch them train just to see Iwaizumi, he had to hand it to you, you were good at hiding your feelings.

Iwaizumi felt the rain across his skin, it felt like heavy stones across his face. Water dripped onto his hair and down his skin tight shirt, he had let his jacket stay in his hands instead of wearing it. Letting it soak up the rain as well, he ran past the corner of the street knowing exactly where your apartment was.

He had dropped you off a couple times, you’d always give him the same kiss on the cheek before leaving. You had told him the number and how to get up if he ever needed anything which seemed to relieve him knowing that he could spend the time alone thinking about what he was about to say to you.

Rain continued to pour through the clouds, you stayed sitting in your apartment, having received the text from Bokuto asking if you wanted to come out with them for dinner but being too tired. You stayed snuggled up in the warmth of your living room, eyes skimming onto the text messages between you and Iwaizumi, he hadn’t replied to you yet. Assuming he was too preoccupied with dinner and other stuff, you continued to watch the pitter patter of the rain scorch against the glass.

Iwaizumi rounded into the complex, going through the gate with the keycode you had told him and into the building. Rain fell onto the floor of the entrance as he looked an entire mess, he stepped into the elevator leaving a puddle in his way. One of the people who lived here looked at him up and down as they could see the tense look of a man who looked like he was able to beat the shit out of someone.

Iwaizumi had no idea what he was going to say to you, how he was even going to explain everything. But the sound of the door clicking and the number 4 on a plaque, he felt out of breath needing some air before hesitantly walking towards the door. Water dripping onto the carpet, he looked at the door, how you were right behind it. Someone he loved was behind it.

He knocked giving a soft tap, as he heard a coming being shouted, you hadn't expected guests but as you opened the door you were met with a wet Iwaizumi. His hair sticking in all directions from the rain and wind, his tight shirt clinging onto every muscle. Your knees felt weak at his state, how truly attractive he was to you. “Oh hey Iwaizumi, what are you doing here?”

Iwaizumi disregarded your words and instead moved closer towards you, wet hand moving to your face. “Haj…”

He interrupted you by continuing to move his face closer, “I love you.” Is all he said, he waited to hear a reply but instead felt your lips smash against his own. Your hands moving into his damp hair as he felt pushed against you, tongue gliding into your mouth as you finally gave him the long-awaited kiss. He felt the passion and love it was filled with, the way his tongue was able to move so freely in your mouth, the moans coming from your own.

His other hand moved to your waist to bring you closer to his own, wanting to feel every indent of you on his wet skin. He didn't care if he got ill afterwards just wanting to stay by your side instead. When you finally retracted his hand still cupping your face, he looked at you softly, “I love you.” He repeated with no hesitation, he wanted to hear those same words come from you.

“You ran in the rain to tell me that.” You whispered, looking right into his eyes as your lips barely skimmed his own, “I love you too.

Iwaizumi felt his arms wrap around your body; he head on the crook of your neck as he had finally gotten everything he wanted. “Come on, take a shower so you don't get sick.” You were so calm and patient hand in his hair as his arms squeezed tightly around you with love and hope for the future.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alainarose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @jennammaee @cathy8taffy @sugacious @moonlightaangel @kat-sukis-hoe @effmigentlywithachainsaw @swankiifiied @maat-the-prescriptive @missmultifangirl @tvwhoresblog @kuroos-world @chrrylevi @katsuhera @answer-the-sirens @animexholic @wapbenders @the-shota-king-masayuki @bakugousmrs @crystal-lilac @dai-tsukki-desu @fandomsinthegalaxies @crimsonbows-and-arrows @admin-in-residence @otterlockholmes @gabrann @zlatanakermann @c0urtn3y

#hajime iwaizumi #hajime iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #hq #hq x reader #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime #bakugohoex 1k event

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msfcatlover · 4 years ago

Note

Can you give the bullet points for that Hollow Knight Ludonarrative dissonance essay so us who played the game can fill in the gaps?

Sure thing!

First and foremost, I know many people are familiar with the term “ludonarrative dissonance,” which is when the mechanics of a game run counter to the themes and sometimes the plot of the story being told. On the opposite end of the spectrum, and far more rarely talked about, is “ludonarrative harmony,” which is when the mechanics of a game support the story being told or even tell a supportive story of their own!

I am very firm in my belief that in a quarter of a century playing video games, Hollow Knight has the best ludonarrative harmony of any game I’ve played.

Here’s my primary example: the condemnation of the Pale King’s actions, and how it ties into the original possible endings of the game.

The Pale King’s failure is the great final tragedy of Hallownest. He saw the end coming, knew he could not defeat the Radiance again, and did not want his people to suffer. He determined he needed a being of pure Void to contain the Radiance, but believed that any emotion would lead to a flawed prison. So, he created the Vessels by the hundreds, letting them struggle to the top of the Abyss, and cast each one of them back down into the depths for the “flaw” of being children with actual emotions. We don’t know how he determined this, but when he finally found one that seemed properly emotionless, “truly hollow,” he took that child and sealed the gate behind them, locking the player character (henceforth referred to as “Ghost” in this first draft ramble-essay,) and who-knows-how-many-other Vessels to fend for themselves in the depths.

You already know this. And you already know that child was not given a name (though I will be referring to them by the fandom nickname “Hollow” from here on out,) was purposefully neglected, taught only training and their purpose for existing in the hopes it would keep emotions and desires from taking root. But Hollow did have desires; specifically, Hollow just wanted their dad to be proud of them. When Hollow sacrificed their mind to hold the Radiance and was imprisoned in the Black Egg, after the Dreamers gave their own minds to keep it sealed, the prison was faulty. An unspecified amount of time later, the Radiance’s influence was able to leak out in the form of the Infection, and the kingdom of Hallownest was destroyed.

(The Pale King often gets pilloried by the fandom for “letting” that happen by showing any level of caring for the child. This is the wrong conclusion.)

The game begins with us playing Ghost, having at some point escaped from the Abyss and (seemingly) having lost their memories in the wilds outside the kingdom. It is as Ghost that we track down the Dreamers and slay them, opening the Egg to face Hollow and put an end to the plague, though how exactly that happens and what the outcome is depends on your choices throughout the game.

As a fellow Vessel, you can take Hollow’s place. When Hollow is slain, Ghost absorbs the Radiance and the Egg reseals itself.

Using the power of the Dreamnail, you can enter Hollow’s mind and fight the Radiance directly, driving her back into hiding for the foreseeable future.

If you have the Voidheart charm equipped and choose to fight the Radiance, you become a “higher being” yourself and are able to slay her for good. The kingdom is free of the plague, and Hollow even survives and has another chance at life. (This one is, by the way, known as the “True Ending.”)

And here we finally reach my argument, and I can stop regurgitating old information. Because these endings and what you need to achieve them is what finally solidifies just how wrong the Pale King was. Wronger than he ever knew.

He must have thought the Vessels less than people, or he would not have been willing to kill so many. But he would not have rejected so many of them if the Vessels weren’t inherently feeling, thinking creatures like any other bug in the kingdom — none of them were “truly hollow.” Children, left to die in the dark by the hundreds. The greatest sin he ever committed.

We know he did, on some level, care about Hollow, but still chose to neglect them in hopes of stunting their emotional growth. That he believed the sacrifice of one Vessel and three of his most respected advisors (give or take Herrah, who’s whole deal with him is kinda... weird,) to eternal imprisonments was better than letting the whole kingdom fall to the Radiance’s vengeance. That the ends justify the means. It’s his last thought, still echoing in his corpse when we find him on his throne: “...No cost too great...”

But the ends don’t justify the means, and I don’t just mean because the plan failed. I mean because it was inherently flawed in its initial premise, the very assumption he built it on: that “being hollow” was the solution to the problem.

A truly hollow Vessel would not care one whit about the mission or anything else. If Ghost were hollow, there would not be a game; they would wander aimlessly, not speaking or interacting with anyone, until they finally died.

If you play Ghost as being hollow, or as close to it as you can, you’ll be ignoring all NPCs. You’ll not be buying any upgrades or equipment. You’ll not be wandering far from the central path. Why would you? A hollow Vessel should care only for their mission, find the shortest route to enter the Black Egg, slay Hollow, and be done with it. Not only does this make life much harder for you, it nets you the worst ending. The Pale King’s trap just resets, now with the Dreamers dead so none can ever try to fix the problem again, and it will fail eventually, because Ghost isn’t hollow. The very fact there is a plot to follow, a goal to achieve, means that Ghost has goals they are willing to suffer hardships to reach. Frustration, determination, and pride in success have to be assumed, complimented by the fact those are all the emotions the player will feel on this particular run.

If you want to face the Radiance, you have to upgrade the Dreamnail, and you’re not told that will be the end result when you first receive it. You have to be ambitious and stubborn, at the very least, to pursue that goal blind, or you have to really want to know what the Sage will give you as a reward. You have to experiment, going back to bosses you’ve already beaten to fight their dream versions and put them to rest, track down the hidden dream roots and clamber all over the map to solve their puzzles. For the second ending, Ghost has to have goals outside of their main mission, has to think through the concept of deaths enough to make the connection between the ghosts and the bosses, and repeatedly return to speak to the Sage for the upgrades. They have to be curious enough to even use the Dreamnail in the first place, and like it enough to want to improve it.

And how do you get the best ending? The true ending? Slay the Radiance, defeat it for good, save the kingdom of Hallownest?

You explore. You wander off the main path, root out secrets and shortcuts and answers. You need to talk to multiple NPCs, and not just speed through their dialogue to get your reward but actually think about it and remember who’s connected to whom. You meet the White Lady in the Queen’s Garden and travel down into the Abyss, both areas you never need to go to and which no one will even tell you about before you’ve been there. You throw yourself against the Path of Pain again, and again, and again, and again, with no promise of reward, just to see what’s on the other side.

To truly defeat the Radiance, you have to play Ghost as being curious, distractible, attentive, and caring. They cannot be isolated and they cannot be ignorant. And if you care enough to end up with the Voidheart, you probably talked to everyone, helped them complete their quests, tried different charm combinations and ran around the map just to see how people reacted. You probably wanted to know the secrets of Hallownest, and refused to let insurmountable odds turn you away.

In the true ending, Ghost actually has a pretty strong personality, told purely through mechanics.

Story and gameplay.

The Pale King was wrong. We’re told that, asked to look upon his actions and despair that anyone could be driven to such lengths... made worse by the fact his theory was flawed in its very foundations. Being hollow was never the answer; a hollow Vessel was always going to fail. The cost was too great, and all the awful things he did to try and stop the Radiance... it was all for nothing.

Harmony.

It’s just... it’s heartbreaking, and absolutely beautiful.

And every time I see people say Ghost can defeat the Radiance because “they’re the one who’s really hollow,” I want to rip my hair out, like how the fuck can people just IGNORE the SMOOTHEST INTEGRATION OF STORYTELLING AND GAMEPLAY I’ve ever seen in my LIFE, one of the HARDEST PARTS OF GAME DEVELOPMENT that someone probably spent months getting down to such a truly astounding finish, and somehow reach the conclusion the guy whose fuckups lead to the deaths of hundreds of children, intentional child abuse, and the downfall of his kingdom was RIGHT?!

#hollow knight #hollow knight meta #hk meta #the pale king #hallownest #games #my life #mine

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lettrespromises · 4 years ago

Text

#LettresPromises informs you : You have one notification. ──➤ 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋!

─➤ @theastroooooworld 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 : ❝oi oi oi nikki ♡! i hope you are well as always. can i have hc's for Tanaka, Ushijima and Bokuto (separately) ? how would they behave with their childhood best friend who supports them since their beginning in volleyball but with whom they gradually fall in love ? thanks !!je t'aime tant, prends soin de toi et des tiens 🧡🌅❞ ─➤ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 : ❝my dearest cam, forgive me for the terrible, terrible sense of never being on time but i’ve heard this letter comes at the right time (hopefully this letter will help a tiny bit while you’re healing.) je t’aime fort fort, prends soin de toi (et de ton tibia et de tes cervicales) et des tiens! sealed with a magic kiss to blow your pain away, nikki.❞

──➤ 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 : Tanaka, Bokuto and Ushijima gradually fall in love with their childhood best friend. ─➤ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : mentions of a nose bleeding.

──➤ Tanaka Ryuunosuke sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

Despite his flamboyant sense of worship for Kiyoko, Tanaka does not know how to handle emotions, romantic ones, that is. Sure, he (alongside with Nishinoya) are willing to kiss each centimeter of concrete blessed by Kiyoko’s footsteps, but despite his burning passion, Tanaka is rendered into a stuttering mess when the attention is focused on him.

He has hidden and sometimes projected his blooming crushes for other people onto proves of love for Kiyoko, and in that sense, knowing he could solely focus his attention on her brought him a sense of security because he is so scared of the unknown, especially romantically-wise.

Hence why, whenever he would find himself appreciating someone who wasn’t Kiyoko a bit too much to his own liking, he would bury that feeling deep down and instead transform these hushed sentiments into demonstrations of love for his one and only goddess.

However.

Sometimes, feelings tend to be a bit stronger when they are mixed with nostalgia, that is, childhood nostalgia. Truth be told, you, Tanaka and Noya were always found together... And often in the worst scenarios (just like that one time you and Ryuu were waiting for Nishinoya and you had to help Tanaka contain all the blood leaking from his nose at the sight of the bombshell accompanying Nishinoya’s grandfather.)

Surely enough, Tanaka had always seen you like the equivalent of Nishinoya, meaning that he would confess every little secret locked in the back of his mind, even those including Kiyoko.

Your presence was comforting, and he always considered you extra fuel to animate his fire whenever you would watch him during practice (and you were the first to throw an empty bottle straight to his head whenever he would throw his shirt off after scoring an impressive bottle.)

But in a very, very dramatic way, Kiyoko found herself become gradually set free of Tanaka’s romantic antics and devotion which led her to question the cause of all of this— despite her dislike for any kind of grandiose display of devotion, the fact Tanaka had started to stop giving her attention was a huge red flag regarding his state.

She hesitated to go talk to Nishinoya, but she was expecting to be met with no serious answer, and instead, just watch him drool during several minutes.

She, thus, went to the next best person who would be able to comprehend this sudden switch in attitude: you, and your lifelong experience regarding Tanaka.

You were undoubtedly quizzical, but things took another turn when Tanaka himself showed up around the corner of the gym, and an uncharacteristic blush crept on his cheeks, Kiyoko took it as a clue to leave you alone.

“Is there anything you wanted to tell me, Ryuu? Are you sick or anything? You haven’t been, you know, following Ki—“

“I like you a whole lot. A lot. Like, a lot.” He confessed, his body was rigid but his eyes testified of all the love he had for you.

You couldn’t help but allow a soft giggle to break free from your lips, “does that mean you’re going to be worshipping me now?”

And as soon as the words died on your lips, his dropped on one knee, and delicately reached for your hand which he enveloped with his palms and soon smothered with love-infused pecks. “Anything for you, my beautiful divinity. I’ve been waiting for this day since we were kids, now I got to worship you everyday, the sunshine of my life.”

──➤ Bokuto Koutarou sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

Before Akaashi came in the picture, you’ve always been his pilar, his rock, his pivot, his safe person. Bokuto soon learned to identify you as the person he could go to if anything were to happen.

You knew firsthand how to handle his emo mode since you were kids, and as a child, Bokuto would make himself appear look sad on purpose just so you could focus your attention on him and smoother him with love and kind touches.

Years later, this side of his personality never faded away, but never did your calming antics, nor did you stop always keeping an eye out on him during practice.

Bokuto expressively asked you to be the manager of the team, he said it was to “give you the best seats in the house to admire the way of the ace”, but truthfully, you were the fuel to the fire burning like an inexorable inferno within him.

You and Akaashi completed one another perfectly to find a balance for Bokuto, but at times, when Bokuto would find himself being overwhelmed by sad thoughts on the court, Akaashi would always suggest him to look at you, sitting on the benches.

It had become a ritual, each time Bokuto felt nervous or tortured by his own emotions, his shining golden orbs would find your frame, and a smile on your end was enough to make him feel at peace again. And that, ever since Bokuto started playing volleyball.

One day, during training, Bokuto had ententered a severe streak of shots, and each time the ball slammed the ground loudly in victory, his eyes darted on your form to study your reaction. He started doing anything to impress you since that day, even the silliest things like carry all the water bottles for you until (inevitably) tripping on the ground.

But striking for your attention and validation over and over again also meant that his emo modes were going to be even more intense too.

As his palm slapped the surface of the ball into a diagonal strike, his body shifted in a straight position, thus transforming the shot into a straight line.

The whines of protest were already leaving his lips, and soon enough his entire body language testified of how his emotions got the best of him: his shoulders were slumped, the tips of his hair faced down, his brows were weakly furrowed. It was a crisis situation.

“Agaaaashehhh! Can you get me Y/N, pleaaaase? I feel like I’m gonna melt and freeze at the same time.” Bokuto pleaded, his golden orbs were glossy under the gathering of the salty pearls in the corner of his eyes.

Without wasting more time, Akaashi jogged to you, and quickly explained the situation with a hint of worry in his tone which was unsual for him.

Your palm brushed Bokuto’s back in a soothing manner, only to find yourself prisoner of his embrace as his forelimbs found shelter on the small of your back, the tip of his nose nestled in the crook of your neck.

“Y/NNNN, I can’t even do diagonal shots anymore... It’s, like, my body goes for diagonal but I keep on hitting straight lines, I feel so dumb and useless...” His words were accompanied by whines of discontent, clearly indicating that this emo situation was more alarming than the others.

Your palm rubbed invisible shapes on his back in a soothing manner, humming at his confessions, “I can’t do anything right, can’t hit diagonal shots, can’t be a good captain, can’t even confess to you that I’ve loved you since day one.”

An angel passed.

“Kou, did— were you serious?”

“Does that mean you don’t like me? ‘S fine, I swear.” He now had his state focused on you, eyes as glossy as ever, and it took you all the strength in the world not to soothe his pain away by smothering him with kisses.

“I like you too, Kou, as big as the sky.” You offered him a genuine smile, your palms having moved to cup his palms while your thumbs were brushing the skin of his cheeks.

The tips of his hair immediately quirked up, and his signature grin throned once more amongst his facial features : “Wooooah! As big as the sky? That’s so big, sunshine! Guess what? I love you as big as the court!”

Another giggle found its way past your lips, soon quieted by the way your planted a peck on his cheek, “That’s a lot, Kou, more than I could’ve ever hoped for.”

And as Bokuto cradles you in his embraces, he excitedly stares at Akaashi who has a hint of a smile on his face, jumping a bit over the excitement.

“Kou, I know you’re happy and all but it’s hard to keep up with your hug if you’re jumping all over the place.”

“My bad, sunshine, you just make me so happy, ya know?”

──➤ Ushijima Wakatoshi sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

Now, I have already stated that Ushijima is not emotionless, rather he decides whether or not something or someone is worthy of the reveal of his emotions. And only three things fit on this list: Tendou, volleyball and yourself.

You actually met Ushijima as a child at an art discovery class for children. Ushijima had isolated himself from the rest of the children because the remarks of his mother were still ringing loud and clear in his head, but when you approached him and complimented how unique of an approach his left hand offered, he was over the moon (not that he showed it though.)

Much like Bokuto, Toshi is the kind of person to associate someone as his safe person, someone he can go to if needed, or at least feel their presence for reassurance. Needless to say, you are this person to Wakatoshi, always have been since the first doodles you’ve shared together.

In his case, Tendou actually pushed you to be the manager of the team, remarking that your presence would probably motivate Ushijima even more and make him more grounded if he had someone to hold on to during games.

To this day, you’ve always stayed late after practice and watched over Wakatoshi, spike after spike, serve after serve, until his fingers were bleeding and the moonshine outshone the neons of the gym.

You always carried medical tape with you, because you knew he was always bound to push behind his limits, only because he knew that you’d always be there for him, which happened to be true.

Now, now. Wakatoshi does know what feelings are, he knows how to recognize them kinesthetisically and tends to do mental notes of how people manifest their own emotions. Thus, he starts to notice the way his stomach creates knots whenever you’re in the same vicinity.

After training, Tendou finds him reading ads in the latest Jump edition, but Ushijima is quick to interrogate him : “Ah, an ad for plant medicine. Do you reckon this would help my stomach ache, Tendou?”

Tendou blinks once, then twice “Mhm, ‘depends on what kind of stomach ache we’re talking about here, Wakatoshi-kun.”

“It‘s odd. It’s not so much painful but it always happens when Y/N is near me.”

Tendou wipes an inexistent tear away in a dramatic manner, “Toshi-kun, you’re not sick at all, you’re in love.”

Since this sudden realization, Wakatoshi tends to avoid you because he believes that despite the sweet nature of this feeling, this stomach ache is taking a bit too much space to his liking.

He realizes soon, however, that the longer he waits, the worse it becomes.

After practice, and in an ever so natural manner, Ushijima grabs your wrist, and sends a glare to the rest of the team in order to silently tell them to leave the gym now that practice is over.

“Y/N, I’m sorry for taking some of your time so suddenly, I hope I did not startle you.” His grip on your wrist fades away slowly, and you offer him a hint of a smile.

“Don’t worry, Toshi, you’re all good.”

“I requested your presence because it seems I have developed feelings for you.”

A vivid blush colors the apples of your cheeks, your mouth is set agape for a few agonizing seconds: “You think or you know?”

“I don’t know.” He replies, and there’s a hint of disappointment in himself at the lack of retrospection on his end.

“Well, let me help you then.” Your palm is now enveloping his cheek in a loving hold, whilst your lips plant a lingering kiss on his opposite cheek, leaving Wakatoshi at loss for words.

“I, um, I’m positive now. I truly have feelings for you.”

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dimigex · 3 years ago

Text

Innocence - KakaSaku

A03, FF

Continuing my 'let's stop obsessively worrying about being perfect and get some things posted' trend.

Kakashi pulled backward, breath hitching in his throat as he fought to maintain control over himself. The room spun and he pressed his elbows into the couch, lifting his body several inches from the warmth of Sakura's. Her lower lip slid into a kissable pout that required nearly all of Kakashi's composure to resist. He brushed a hand over her flushed cheek and traced the soft curve of her lower lip with his thumb. Meeting Kakashi's eyes, Sakura curled her lips around the finger, trailed her breathy kiss down to his open palm, then settled against his wrist.

"Stop," Kakashi groaned, sitting back on his knees with palms resting flat on his thighs.

Sakura pulled her elbows behind her, shifting into a reclining position that made Kakashi uncomfortably aware of her curves. This was a terrible decision, probably the worst one that he'd made since agreeing to become Hokage. Maybe worse than that. Uncertainty arched through his chest, warring with the desire and the thoughts that he dare not put into words, even in the safety of his mind.

A soft hand touched Kakashi's cheek, followed his cheek bone, curled around his ear, then hooked behind his neck. Sakura pulled him closer, moving forward until their chests touched. He could feel the expansion of her lungs. Without giving him the opportunity to pull away, she brushed her lips against his exposed ones. Sakura murmured Kakashi's name close enough to taste it, and he shuddered, heart leaping frantically with the desire that Sakura always sparked inside of him.

"What is it?" Sakura half-disguised the frustration in her voice, as she placed a hand on Kakashi's chest. His flak vest lay on the floor beside the couch, and the man was acutely aware that only the thin navy fabric of his shirt stood between her touch and his skin. He didn't even have mesh under armour to protect him.

Sakura's hand fisted in his shirt, and annoyance leaking into her expression. "We've been together nearly eight months, and I've known you nearly half of my life." When Kakashi frowned, she realized the poor wording and waved it off. "Okay, that wasn't the best way to phrase it. I just meant that I've known you a long time."

Kakashi's cheeks burned crimson as Sakura combed through his hair with one hand. She kissed him again, lingering on his lips then sighing softly. "I'm sure Kakashi." Her smile made his heart skip a beat, and her voice turned sultry when she kissed his neck. "I want you."

Without Kakashi's permission, his hands closed around Sakura's lower back and pulled her close. She had no problem putting words to her thoughts on their relationship, or her desire to move it to another level. Sakura's lips slid over Kakashi's neck, drawing chill bumps in their wake as she tugged the collar of his shirt aside. Warm kisses followed along the top of his shoulder. When Kakashi didn't stop her, Sakura slid her hands beneath his shirt. Cool fingers caressed muscles as she inched it higher.

It's not that different from swimming together, we've done that before, some part of Kakashi's mind tried to rationalize. There was even that one hot spring, shared between men and women. Not that he'd stayed once Sakura joined him, but she laughed and let him go. That had been after the war, before he'd become Hokage. They'd been in-

The image shattered when Sakura kissed Kakashi's chest, fingers brushing his stomach. The skin contracted away from the touch, but Kakashi couldn't bite back the moan that rose in his throat. Sakura pushed the shirt higher until he had to choose between helping her, or putting an end to things before they went too far. She tugged the garment again, and Kakashi raised his arms.

Sakura had seen Kakashi shirtless before; she worked in the hospital, after all. So, he was surprised by her reaction. Her hands explored the ridges of hardened muscle, tracing the dips and curves of his abs tentatively at first, then with growing confidence as he groaned and trembled with every brush of her fingers.

A civilian might have found the scars that crisscrossed Kakashi's skin unattractive, but as a fellow shinobi, he knew that Sakura respected the stories they told. She pressed a kiss to the top of a long, pale line that ran from almost his shoulder to his stomach on the other side. Another matching scar ran in the opposite direction, making a perfect x on Kakashi's chest, a gift from Obito during the war. Kakashi had stitched it himself before rejoining the fighting.

Sakura followed the path of the old injury between the musclest, over Kakashi's abs and toward his stomach. She had to shift positions to reach lower. Sliding her legs from beneath him, Sakura nudged Kakashi backward on the couch. Their knees touched as she brushed the scar a second time then let her hand slide through the patch of soft, silver hair below his belly button. She paused there, raising her eyes.

Kami, she's gorgeous, Kakashi thought as he met the green gaze that had stolen his heart years ago. They'd been together eight months, yes, but Kakashi had fallen for Sakura long before that. He knew that she was sure, knew that she wanted him, but he didn't know if he could do this. Sakura settled between his legs, moving back to his lips with slow, careful kisses.

Sakura joined their mouths again, and Kakashi met her desire. When they broke apart for air, she pressed her hips toward his. Kakashi bit back a moan, knowing she could feel the effect that she'd had on him. He slid his hands over her cheek, tilting her face up. "This isn't something to rush into."

"We aren't rushing," Sakura argued, kissing along his jaw. Kakashi groaned, wondering when she'd gotten so good at destroying his defenses. He could still recall their first, tentative kisses when she wasn't sure what to do. Those were a thing of the past now. Sakura knew what she wanted, had known for months, and continued to encourage Kakashi's surrender.

"I need you to be sure about this," Kakashi slid his hands through her captivating pink hair, ignoring the way Sakura's lips pursed in annoyance. "There's so many reasons we should take this slow."

When Sakura pulled back, Kakashi felt his heart clench. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt her, but he could see the pain in her eyes. "I love you, Kakashi." She tucked her hair behind one ear, then sighed. "I want to be with you. I want more than this, but I can't make you want it too."

Hurt filled Sakura's voice as she stood from the couch and turned away. Fear laced Kakashi's chest as she walked toward the door. Every logical instinct told him to let her go. They were too complicated; they would always be ostracized for their age difference. He couldn't give her the kind of life she deserved. She needed someone her own age, someone full of life and hope, not haunted by the specters of his failures. Kakashi couldn't offer Sakura any of the things she deserved.

Kakashi stood and caught Sakura's wrist as she reached for her sandals. He pulled her around. "I love you too," he choked around the lump in his throat, forcing the logical arguments away. Before she could answer, before she could ask him to say anything else, Kakashi sealed their lips together.

The pair stumbled backward into the wall; Sakura's shoulders bumping into it and she dragged Kakashi closer. He didn't fight her grip, kissing Sakura with abandon to banish every ounce of empty space between them. Kakashi's fingers raced down her sides, marveling at the combination of muscle and softness in Sakura's curves. His grip traced around her back and slid lower, cupping her ass. The moan that it drew from Sakura's lips was intoxicating, as was the way Sakura allowed him to lift her. Strong legs wrapped around Kakashi's waist, and it was all he could do to move slowly.

Kakashi had given himself over to their kisses before, surrendered to the blatant desire of her touch, but this was something new. "I want you," Sakura mumbled as Kakashi lowered his lips to her neck. His hands ached to explore beneath her shirt, still uncharted territory, but they were occupied with supporting her weight. Kakashi nipped at her ear, drawing out another sound of desire. It was enough for him to abandon reason.

"Hold on," Kakashi whispered against Sakura's neck before pulling away from the wall. Her hands closed on his shoulders, and her legs tightened until her hips pressed against his when he took a step. Groaning, Kakashi carried Sakura toward his bedroom.

Sakura tightened her grip on Kakashi's hair, tilting his head back to kiss him more deeply. He stumbled, pushing the door open with one hand. Kakashi pressed one hand to Sakura's shoulders and anchored the other against her lower back, laying her gently on his bed. Before he could pull back, Sakura's hand and thighs tightened to draw Kakashi onto the mattress after her.

Kneeling above Sakura, Kakashi ran his hand down her side again. This time, however, he slid one beneath her shirt to caress the warm skin. She moaned his name, and Kakashi dipped down to kiss just above Sakura's belly button and followed the garment upward over the gentle rise and fall of her abs. She arched, trying to speed the movement, but Kakashi's weight prevented it.

As the shirt slid to Sakura's shoulders, Kakashi's heart stuttered to a halt. He rocked back to his knees, gazing down the expanse of bare skin with a blush heating his cheeks. She grinned, but Kakashi could tell that she was self conscious. Some small part of his mind wanted to chide Sakura for not wearing anything beneath her shirt; another wanted to take full advantage of the opportunity. He traced along the outside of her breasts. "Planning this?"

"Well, it wasn't like we were doing anything physical tonight." A devilish grin crossed Sakura's beautiful features before she glanced up through her eyelashes. "And, if we were, wrapping them would have only gotten in your way."

The words sent a flood of desire coursing through Kakashi's body. Sakura burst out laughing and reached up to brush her thumb above his lip. Her finger came away crimson from a nosebleed he hadn't felt. She grinned. "Want me to heal that for you?"

Kakashi dropped his head, placing light kisses around Sakura's left breast. He took the other in the palm of his hand, kneading the skin. Sakura gasped, her clever retorts lost as Kakashi's tongue followed the same path, circling inward. He brushed the skin, reveling in the way her body jumped in response. Her fingers tangled in his hair, trying to pull Kakashi to where she wanted his mouth to be. He resisted, focusing on slow, torturous sweeps of his tongue.

When Sakura writhed beneath him, trying to get more, Kakashi pulled back and grinned. "Want me to take care of that for you?"

Sakura cursed, and Kakashi knew a moment of victory before the woman's hands and legs tightened, rolling him onto his back. "You're infuriating. You know that, right?"

Kakashi's hum morphed into a groan when Sakura ground her hips against his. She kissed down his chest, torturously easing the pressure between them. Sakura paused at the button and zipper of Kakashi's pants; his breath hitched in his throat as she took her time, running a finger over the skin beneath the waistband. Kakashi exhaled with the effort of not lifting his hips as she pushed the zipper lower.

Reaching down, Kakashi ran a hand over Sakura's cheek. "We don't have to, not yet."

"I want to," Sakura mumbled, blushing. "I just, what if I'm not any good."

Kakashi didn't mean to laugh, he really didn't, but he couldn't stop himself. Sakura tightened her hands, nails pricking against his stomach so he smothered the amusement. "You tie me in knots without any of this." Kakashi kissed her forehead. "I want you to be comfortable with anything we do."

"I am," Sakura repeated, moving up to kiss Kakashi for a long moment. "I want you to be my first, Kakashi, my first, and my only."

Fear and excitement washed through Kakashi's body as he brought his lips back to Sakura's breasts. He moved toward the nipple, flicking the sensitive skin until it hardened. Sakura pushed her hips against Kakashi's when his mouth closed around the nub. He pulled back, letting the nipple slide from between his lips with a soft, wet pop then focused his ministrations on the other side. A delicious moan slid from Sakura's lips as she wrapped her arms around his head to hold him there.

Sakura's eyes shot open when Kakashi's hand dropped between her legs, massaging through the thin fabric. She arched and rocked against his palm. It was all that he could do to keep his touch slow and steady. Watching the play of emotions on her face, he slid one hand inside the stretchy black material of her pants. Sakura's hips leapt toward his hand as he brushed the fabric-was that lace? It certainly felt like lace-below.

Pushing the distracting garment to the side, Kakashi teased his fingerss over Sakura's lower lips. She whimpered his name, lost in the new experience. Kakashi extracted his hand and took Sakura's shoulders, guiding her to lie beside him. The scent of her excitement waged war on the logical part of Kakashi's brain. He exhaled and hooked his fingers in her pants, drawing them down to reveal black lace underneath. Kakashi trailed warm kisses over Sakura's panties, and her hips bucked up toward his mouth.

"Easy," Kakashi murmured, marveling at the beauty that was Sakura's body. Her scent was overwhelming when he captured her eager hips. "Slow down, and trust me."

Nodding, Sakura stilled underneath Kakashi. He breathed against her skin, drinking in every shudder and twitch. When he kissed across the lace hard enough to conform the fabric to the skin beneath, Sakura's hand clenched in the beeding. It took most of Kakashi's considerable strength to hold her steady as he pushed the panties to the side. "I like these," he murmured.

Sakura's response was lost in a moan when Kakashi's tongue parted her lips and brushed the sensitive, pink skin between them. The woman's evident excitement suffused Kakashi's senses, and her desperate gasps added fuel to the fire growing in his stomach. Gazing up at the beautiful arch of Sakura's back, Kakashi circled the bundle of nerves at the top of her slit. Sakura bit down on her fist, holding back the cries of pleasure.

"I want to hear you," Kakashi breathed, pulling back for air. He released her hips, letting them move as she dropped the hand away from her mouth. Sakura threw her head back with an expletive when Kakashi slid a finger into her warmth. Driven by the sound, he pushed his tongue between her lips. His name tangled in her throat when his curled finger sent jolts of pleasure through her body.

"Please, Kashi-oh Kami, please," Sakura's cries rose another octave, and her hips bucked toward Kakashi's mouth. His body rutted against the mattress in desperation for her touch.

Sakura's world shattered with a cry of Kakashi's name. She tried to close her legs around his head as she came, but he continued the lazy passage of his tongue as she whimpered on the edge of painful pleasure. Rather than leaving his lover to freefall through the orgasm, Kakashi replaced his fingers with his mouth, lapping at her excitement. Sakura gasped. "Please. Ohhh, fuck, stop. I can't—."

Kakashi obeyed this time, pulling back to watch the delicate shudders passing through Sakura's body. She twitched and writhed as he moved beside her, placing lazy kisses along her shoulder. Rolling onto her side, Sakura captured Kakashi's lips. She rolled him to his back and set about removing his boxers. He grunted when her hand rubbed over his erection, and his hips jerked forward despite his efforts to stop them.

Regardless of everything they'd already done, Kakashi's cheeks warmed when the cool air ran over his bare skin. Sakura's eyes roved across his body before flicking back to Kakashi's face. He brushed a hand through her hair. "You don't have to," he assured her. "You never have to do anything you don't want to."

"I know," Sakura murmured, trailing her fingers over the hard length before closing a hand around him. As desperate as Kakashi was for the touch, he grimaced.

"Gently," Kakashi encouraged, and the fingers fell away.

Sakura frowned and blew out an exasperated breath. "This is harder than I thought."

"That's usually the idea." For the second time, Kakashi couldn't stop the laughter that rose in his throat. Seeing Sakura's expression, he sobered. "Here, let me help."

Kakashi pushed himself to recline against the pillows, half sitting up. He invited Sakura to touch him again. When the woman wrapped her hand around him, Kakashi closed his grip over hers, adjusting her fingers. Kakashi moved, encouraging Sakura into a steady rhythm. After a few moments, his heart rate increased, and his fingers tightened. He guided Sakura's thumb to the head. Kakashi's control slipped, and he thrust toward the combined pressure of their hands and closed his eyes.

Having gained confidence under Kakashi's touch, Sakura set the pace. Her movement drew soft moans from his lips. Kakashi's eyes shot open when her tongue swirled against the head of his cock. He managed a gasp of Sakura's name when her lips closed around him. Her mouth was devastatingly warm.

Sakura's hand pumped a couple of times, less certain without guidance. She reached out and caught Kakashi's fingers, guiding them lower. Taking the meaning, Kakashi stroked himself to free Sakura to focus on the pressure of her mouth. He grunted when her tongue pressed against the slit. If Kakashi had ever missed the sharingan, it was now. The image of Sakura's head bobbing up and down on him was one that Kakashi would have liked to have kept forever. The combination of his familiar touch and exotic feeling of her mouth nearly drove him over the edge.

"Stop," Kakashi gasped, dropping his hand to the bed. Sakura's replaced it. He cried out her name, hips thrusting toward her mouth. The movement shocked her into pausing, which allowed Kakashi to grasp at the vestiges of his self-control. "Stop," he repeated, voice trembling.

Kakashi felt Sakura's pout when he kissed her. "I wanted to-"

Sakura lost her complaint when Kakashi's fingers slid between her legs again. The dampness revealed how much she wanted him to continue. "You already have me," Kakashi interrupted, hooking his fingers in Sakura's panties to draw them down her legs. "All of me."

Running his hands under Sakura's thighs, Kakashi positioned himself between her legs. He brushed his cock against her core. The slippery warmth made it difficult to remember to go slow. "We need protection," Kakashi hissed, shocked that he'd let it get this far without thinking of that.

Hooking a hand behind Kakashi's neck, Sakura pulled him into a heated kiss. "It's fine," she breathed, shifting her body so his cock rubbed against her clit. "I've been taking birth control for months, waiting for you to be ready."

Sakura's kiss deepened, encouraging Kakashi to forget his questions and doubts. He didn't need convincing, they were both breathless and flushed with desire. Gripping himself in one hand, Kakashi rubbed the tip between Sakura's lips. Sakura watched him with a mix of apprehension and excitement. "If you want to stop-"

"Then, I'll fucking tell you," Sakura growled, raising her hips to encircle Kakashi. She threw her head back on the pillow with another curse, and he forced himself to be still. The warmth of Sakura nearly overwhelmed him, even when he was only partially inside her. Fingers tightened on Kakashi's back, nails digging into the skin as he slid back. He pushed forward a second time, and Sakura buried her face in his shoulder.

Kakashi confined himself to slow and steady movements, even when Sakura's moans argued against the patient approach he was trying to take. She kissed his shoulder and nipped at the curve where it met his neck. The next thrust carried Kakashi completely inside of Sakura. The woman cried out, biting down on his shoulder as he paused. Pushing back, Kakashi parted Sakura's lips and found her clit. She whimpered as he started to move. If there was pain, the pleasure outweighed it. Sakura pulled Kakashi's hips down with every thrust.

All at once, Sakura came undone under Kakashi's hands. Her walls tightened and she arched into his chest, pushing his hand from between her legs. Kakashi continued as the muscles rippled around him, encouraging her orgasm to last longer. When it faded, he started to draw back. Sakura pulled Kakashi close and kissed him with abandon. Her hips rose and fell, encouraging Kakashi to continue. He surrendered.

Heat spread through Kakashi's veins like fire. Sakura pushed him toward completion, and he let himself be driven. The tension built to a physical pain below his stomach, tight and aching. Then, it snapped. Three frantic hitches of his hips later, and Kakashi collapsed against Sakura. Every muscle in his body felt like it had turned to liquid.

Kakashi rolled to the side, removing the weight from Sakura's chest. He traced a thumb over her sweat damp cheek. "Are you okay?"

Sakura nodded, squeezing her legs shut as she fought to steady her breath. Kakashi willed his heart rate to slow, too exhausted to focus on anything but the gentle red flush on Sakura's cheek. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too." Sakura was silent for a few minutes, then pushed into a sitting position. Kakashi startled from his half sleep to blink at her in confusion. She smiled. "Do you mind if I use your shower?"

Kakashi nodded toward the bathroom. "Of course not. You know where it is."

Sakura slid out of the bed and walked across the room, hips swaying more than they needed to. She paused at the doorway and glanced over her shoulder. "You know, I think two people can fit in your shower, if we get creative."

The words trailed off invitingly, and Kakashi wished he was ten years younger. He chuckled and tossed off the blankets that he'd pulled around himself, then crossed the room and took Sakura into his arms. He kissed her long and thoroughly. Smoothing a hand down her back, he gave her ass a squeeze. "You're going to kill me, you know that, right?"

Sakura grinned. "And, you'll enjoy every minute of it."

#My writing #KakaSaku #Probably shouldn't read this at work #some pwp #maybe a lot #First times #I think this was a challenge at some point #But it's been so long that I forgot

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winters-tales · 4 years ago

Text

Hunting Party

“Come on rookie, time to go; we’ve got reports of a herd moving in from the breach.”

“A herd? Deer?”

“No, a herd of Elephants. YES, a herd of deer! Grab your chain, and let’s go.”

“If it’s just deer, what do I need chain for?”

“Haven’t you read the manual? The bestiary? Deer are so common they’re the first damned page! Have you seriously not read it?”

“I was planning to- I thought- I didn’t think I’d see action so soon…”

“First mistake there, rookie. Get your chain. Let’s go. We’ll fill you in on the way.”

The deer, Vanden explained as the battered Land Rover rumbled along, were one of the more common “leaks” that you’d get from breaches. Something about them was drawn to the volatile energy that left a gap between this world and The Other, and the deer found it easy to slide through before the Veil sealed itself over. They always came in numbers, and the trick was to get to them before they got to any unwary passers-by.

“We tried cordoning off the areas around breaches as unsafe, like minefields,” Owen continued as Vanden leaned forward to speak to the driver. “But you wouldn’t believe how many dog-walkers think we’re exaggerating, or that their little pooches will protect them. Ramblers are the worst; think their right to roam overrides our need to protect them. Idiots.”

Killian nodded, concentrating hard on what she was being told. So, the deer were dangerous; that made sense, she’d come across red deer previously and the size of them had left her very aware of how small and squishy she was. But she didn’t think chain would do much to protect her against the blunt force trauma of a whole herd of deer, surely?

The Land Rover veered off-road suddenly, and Killian grabbed for her chain shirt as it tried to slink and slide out of her hands.

“Rookie!” Vanden barked as she sat back from where she’d been leaning forwards. Killian jumped, nearly losing her grip on the chain for a second time. “Don’t just stare at it, wear it! Preferably over your shirt, but under your jacket; the layers of cloth will dull the sound so we can get the drop on the damn things.”

Killian nodded and shrugged off her jacket, wriggling her way into the heavy chain shirt. Neither Vanden or Owen had explained why she needed a chain shirt to begin with, but they were very keen she wear it; both already had theirs on, the dull steel showing just under their jacket collars.

“They’re not too far from the breach, which means they’ve not long come through and are probably just getting their bearings.” The older woman was gesturing over a map with the broken end of a pencil, and Killian leaned over to watch as she pulled her jacket back on. “We’re going to approach from the west, downwind of them, so they don’t pick us up; reports have them at a herd of 10, maybe 12, so the four of us should be fine to take them on as long as we don’t mess up. Rookie, Darcy, you get the shotguns; rounds are packed with rock salt and iron filings. Make sure the shots are carefully placed – we’re going to try and force them back through, so aim for the ground in front of them. Myself and Owen will run the netting around the outside edge of the herd, we just need the rest of you to help keep them corralled while we push them back through.” Darcy gave a thumbs up signal from the driver’s seat as Owen started passing out guns and shells, and as Killian took the weapon a thought occurred to her.

“What happens if the net breaks?” Owen rolled their eyes at their question - that was probably mentioned in the manual as well, Killian thought to herself - but Vanden grinned viciously, the scar on her lip pulling her mouth into a snarl.

“If the net breaks, it’s open season. Empty your gun into their faces, and if you run out of shells, use your pistol. I’ve got Sally here,” and she patted the butt of the hunting rifle slung over her shoulder, “so if any of them make a run for it, I’ll be able to pick them off with this.” Her smile dropped abruptly as she fixed Killian with serious eyes. “But if they knock you over, there’s only so much that chain of yours will do. Don’t fall over, rookie.”

Killian swallowed nervously, and accepted her weapon, trying not to let the others see how much her hands were shaking. All this for deer…? What had she missed by not reading the bestiary? Too late to dwell on it now, as the Land Rover was skidding to a halt in the dirt, and the others were piling out.

Vanden was clearly the veteran of the group, with her scarred face and greying flyaway hair. She shook out a length of silvered cord that seemed to refract the light in odd ways that hurt Killian’s eyes, and rolled it up loosely in a practiced motion that spoke of years of experience.

Owen was the right-hand; they obviously knew what they were doing and deferred to the older woman, although they didn’t seem to have as much patience as she did. They also had their fair share of scars, the most obvious being an ugly twisted length visible on their neck that vanished below their collar; Killian couldn’t decide if she wanted to see the full extent of the injury.

Darcy was perhaps another recent addition to the team; she hadn’t said anything on the drive up, concentrating on Vanden’s shouted directions, but she seemed a bit more fresh-faced than Vanden and Owen. Her dark skin didn’t show any visible scars, and she smiled easily when she met Killian’s eyes.

“Are they always this intense?” Killian asked her as they readied their shotguns together. Darcy smiled and shook her head, then leaned her weapon against the Land Rover carefully, and made a series of gestures with her hands. Killian’s heart sank slightly; she got the sense Darcy was signing slower than usual in case the rookie needed help keeping up, but Killian couldn’t understand sign language at all. She shook her head, and watched an unmistakable look of disappointment come over Darcy’s face.

“I’m sorry, I- I don’t speak- uh, I mean, I don’t use?- I don’t-”

“She says we’re nice when we’re not on a hunt.” Vanden said at Killian’s shoulder causing the younger woman to jump and nearly drop her gun.

“Are you Deaf, or- or just- ” Killian trailed off as she tried to think of the best way to phrase the question delicately, but the look on Darcy’s face told her she’d probably got that wrong, too. What a great first impression you’re making, she thought bitterly. From behind her, Vanden sighed.

“I take it you didn’t look through any of the company materials we emailed? There’s a video course for basic BSL. Watch it, learn it. You’ll need it.” Vanden turned to move away, but paused. “Oh, and to answer your question: Darcy can hear better than anyone on this team, and I’m including me in that; she just doesn’t talk.”

“Can I ask why? Did something happen?” Vanden, Owen and Darcy were striding away towards the treeline now, and Killian scrambled to keep up. Darcy shot her a flat, sideways look that Killian couldn’t quite decipher, and her hands moved again, this time clearly aimed at Vanden and Owen. Owen barked a humourless laugh, and Vanden smiled again.

“Learn to sign, and maybe she’ll tell you. For now, hush, or you’ll give away our position.”

The four of them settled into an easy pace, making sure their footfalls landed softly. Here, Killian was glad she could hold her own; she’d always been a quiet child, ghosting around her house as she grew up, and when the recruiters came to town they’d been impressed with her easy stealth during their aptitude tests. She could learn everything else, but she had nothing else to learn about being quiet. Even her chain shirt under her jacket was silent, and she saw Vanden nod approvingly at the wraith-like way the rookie was able to move through the forest.

The older hunter finally signalled them to a stop, and Killian saw their prey.

The deer were a couple of hundred metres downwind of them in a small clearing, and the breach they’d come through could be seen flickering and pulsing another hundred metres beyond them at the edge of the treeline. As Killian watched, she realised there was something off about the deer. Sure, the numbers were relatively small – deer in this area usually travelled in numbers upwards of 30 – but it wasn’t the number that was bothering her. As a bird flew up from the grass near the creatures, she realised what the problem was.

They were too still. None of them seemed to be grazing, and as the bird flew up, every single antlered head turned to watch it go with an intensity deer didn’t usually have. Not a single one of them spooked, or jumped, or twitched - they all just watched it fly away, as if they’d never seen a bird before.

The heads turning in such an uncanny way highlighted another thing: they were all the same. The more Killian looked, the more she realised they all looked like they’d come off the same production line. Markings on their coats were all the same colour, in the same place; every set of antlers twisted at the same angles and came to the same number of points; she’d be willing to bet that even the most subtle variations in the coat were all identical as well.

Killian turned to remark on this to the others but Darcy was already there, planting a hand firmly over the rookie’s mouth. Her easy going expression had vanished, and there was a sense of urgency in the young woman’s eyes as she slowly shook her head. The meaning was plain: not a sound. Killian nodded slowly, and the hand was removed from her mouth. She turned back to watch the deer, just in time to see why the chain was needed.

A squirrel had opted to run along the forest floor, and clearly hadn’t picked up on the aura of wrongness these deer had, as it scurried ever-closer to them. As with the bird, every cervine head swivelled to observe the newcomer, until with blinding speed one swooped its head down and seized the creature in its mouth.

Killian nearly broke the silence again, and again Darcy was ready, clapping a hand over Killian’s mouth to choke the scream of horror back down.

The deer had teeth. Sharp teeth, too many teeth, and a mouth too big and all wrong for the shape of the head. It now seemed to be happily swallowing the unlucky squirrel whole. Darcy waved her hand in front of Killian’s face to get her attention, and then gestured towards the creature’s feet.

At first glance, they seemed like normal cloven hooves, but as Killian looked she realised that these, too, were wrong. As she focused, she saw that the hooves were, in fact, made up of claws that sat together so tightly you didn’t realise how sharp they were, until a foot was lifted and the furrows left in the ground were revealed.

Well. That explains the chain. No protection from blunt force trauma but it would definitely stop her getting disembowelled if she goes down. She remembered Vanden’s words: Don’t fall over, rookie, and decided she didn’t want to test what the chain could hold up against.

At some point, Darcy had removed her hand from over Killian’s mouth, and was looking at her. Killian didn’t need to know sign to know what the other hunter was asking with that look: do you have your shit together now, rookie? She nodded, and tightened her grip on her gun.

Vanden motioned to the two girls, and pointed slowly. These gestures Killian did know; me, Owen, flank. You two, head on. Await signal.

Killian and Darcy nodded, staying put as Owen and Vanden split off, each taking a flank. They’d moved well out of sightlines before Killian thought to wonder what the signal would be, and hoped Darcy knew what to expect.

Killian counted her heartbeats as she waited, watching the unnerving herd. No, she thought. Not a herd. This is a pack. These are sharks in deer’s clothing.

Silvery thread flashed out between the trees as Vanden threw one end of the netting to Owen, who caught it deftly, and suddenly the deer were all on their feet, up, and staring hard at the silver, before looking past it to stare straight at Killian.

Their eyes, she realised, their eyes are forward-facing. That’s a predator looking at me.

The not-deer nearest to her peeled back its lips from sharp, sharp teeth, and screamed; an ungodly cry of bestial rage and horror layered over itself that rooted Killian to the ground in primal, instinctual fear.

The pack charged. The net pulled tight. And the sharp retort of Darcy’s shotgun next to her brought Killian to bear as she began firing her own shells into the ground at the creature's feet.

Rock salt and iron filings erupted from the barrel of her gun, scattering across the pack leaders who screamed again and shied back, retreating from salt and iron and cold, unforgiving silver. Reluctantly they moved back, and as Darcy and Killian moved forwards, firing rhythmically, they saw Owen and Vanden weaving through the trees, nets in hand, creating a tunnel that would leave only the breach as a way out.

The not-deer seemed to realise this, seemed to know that they were being forced back to wherever they had come from, and rebelled, circling around the ever-decreasing space, looking for a gap to push through. But Vanden and Owen had done this too many times before, and there were no gaps, and slowly but surely the not-deer were herded back towards the breach.

The pack were perhaps 50 metres away from the breach when one of the not-deer stopped and looked up, with what seemed a calculating expression on its face. Where the rest of the pack continued the frantic circling of predators within a too-small cage, this one creature took a couple of steps back, muscles coiling, and leapt.

It cleared the top of the silver netting, just about; one clawed foot caught the edge, and the smell of burning (hair? Bone? Sinew?) matter reached Killian’s nose. It screamed again, an awful sound equal parts pain and rage that could never be mistaken for something a real deer would ever make in this world, set its sights on Killian and Darcy - and charged.

This thing didn’t put its head down, like a stag would in rutting season; the antlered head stretched out before it like a dog stretches out for a dead sprint, and the claws where its hooves should be seemed to loosen from the cloven shape, gripping the sod to pull it over the ground faster and faster.

For a moment, Killian found herself almost outside her own body, watching herself fire into the earth at the thing’s feet, eject the shells, rack the next lot of shells, fire again.

The not-deer was bearing down on her now, getting closer, and with a start it occurred to her that it hadn’t been put off by the spray of salt and iron at the ground, that it had tracked where she was aiming and swerved to avoid the worst of the spray.

Now, deeply intent on her, it had almost reached her, and it was hard to work out what to be most alarmed about. This close, it didn’t look much like a deer any more, the sweeping crown of twisted antlers being the one stark reminder of the disguise this creature tried to wear.

Vanden’s voice cracked out like a whip.

“Open season, rookie!” And Killian was back in herself, gun heavy in her hands. A quick calculation told her she just had two shells left; one shot, so she’d need to make it a good one or risk being taken to the ground by that thing. Her eyes measured the distance between her and the creature, watching it shrink, working out the best time to rack her shotgun one last time -

With one and a half lengths between them, she racked the gun as the creature bunched its powerful hind legs and leapt towards her. She watched its arc, saw the trajectory in the air, and as it came down she took a step back, angling the shotgun so it pointed upwards into the thing’s open, horrifying maw.

It’s front legs touched the dirt, and in the seconds before her finger tightened on the trigger, she saw it staring at her with a hatred unmatched by anything she’d seen before.

It knew it was finished.

The trigger pulled all the way back, and the not-deer’s head vanished in an explosion of salt and gore that coated the unfortunate hunter. The body slumped before Killian, and she stood, fingers already mechanically slotting new shells into the shotgun.

The rest of the pack let out screams of their own, turned tail, and fled back towards the breach, no longer needing the net or the shotgun blasts at their heels for encouragement.

The breach flickered as each not-deer passed through it, and as the last of them squeezed their way through – and it must have been a trick of the light, the way their bodies shivered and stretched almost liquid-like as they reached the entry point – the breach shuddered, pulsed, and grew still.

“Closed.” Vanden said, satisfied, reeling the netting up into an easy loop over her shoulder. “Good shot there, rookie; not seen them try to jump it before. You doing ok?”

Killian, covered in drying gore, nodded dumbly, and watched Darcy double over in silent laughter at what must have been a truly shell-shocked expression on her face. Owen was surprisingly gentle as they took the shotgun out of Killian’s trembling hands and made it safe.

“Calm as you please taking that thing’s head off, shaking like a leaf after.” Their voice was gruff, but they were smiling as they looked at Killian, who felt like she was about to start crying. “You’ve got a good one here, Vanden. But I think she’ll have read the bestiary before her next shift.” Vanden laughed then, the sound rough but warm.

“Have I been wrong yet, Owen?” She slung her arm around Killian’s shoulders, seemingly unbothered by the viscera coating the rookie, and steered her towards where they’d left the Land Rover. “None of us took the books seriously until we came face to face with a live one.”

Darcy snapped her fingers in front of Killian’s face to get her attention, and made a gesture with both hands, curling the crook of one index finger against the inside flat of the index finger on the other hand, then jerking it backwards in a motion that made Killian think of cocking a gun.

“Well, check that,” Vanden said, her low voice amused. “Darcy’s given you a name already.” Catching the confused look on Killian’s face, Vanden elaborated: “rather than spell your name every time she wants to talk to you or about you, she’ll come up with a sign that’s yours. That one was yours, the sign for K turned into something that makes Darcy think of you. Feel proud, rookie: last new hire we had, it took 5 weeks for Darcy to name him. Safe to say, I think she likes you.”

The crude gesture from Darcy in response to that was one that Killian didn’t need translating, and even Owen joined in the laughter.

And just like that, Killian started to relax. She was alive. She’d helped. And she could probably fit in here, in this peculiar job. She’d be ok. She shrugged off Vanden’s arm and moved to walk next to Darcy.

“Hold on, show me how to do that again; which bit is the K…?”

Up through the woods they trudged, arms around one another, laughter bouncing off the surrounding trees at them as squirrels and birds returned to the branches, taking comfort in the return to normalcy.

Behind them, the breach began to flicker again.

#fen's originals #writing #creative writing #nanowrimo prep #fen writes stuff

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steves-on-a-plane · 4 years ago

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Keeping the Monsters At Bay

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Anxiety Attacks, mentions of nightmares, mentions of broken bones Word Count: 2137 Square Filled: @star-spangled-bingo Free Space & @buckybarnesbingo U5 *Picture Square* Summary: Reader forgot to replenish the medical supplies after a previous mission and it’s almost time for the team to leave for the next one. The pressure triggers an anxiety attack for Reader, which is when Bucky comes upon them. With Bucky’s help, Reader is able to manage the attack. The next night Reader is able to return the favor when they’re awoken by screaming. Bucky is having nightmares again so Reader helps him get through the night.

“Shit!” You hissed out the word as you slammed the storage compartment closed. You looked over your shoulder to see if anyone else had overheard your outburst. Dr. Banner was the only on the quinjet with you. He politely pretended not to have heard you. The other’s would be arriving soon and expect you to be ready to go. You opened another compartment only to discover it too was empty.

“Everything all right, [Y/N}?” Bruce asked after you loudly closed a third compartment.

“Yes, I think so.” You sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

You stormed out of the quintet mumbling every curse word you could think of. On the last mission Steve had asked you to rotate the medical supplies. Apparently you’d remembered to empty all the medical compartments, but never refilled the supplies. As soon as you were sure that you were out of Bruce’s sight you began running through the corridors. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach when you thought of how you could be a reason for the mission to be delayed. You didn’t have much time together everything you needed, but you’d have to do your best. The last thing you wanted was to be in the field and not have something you needed.

“[Y/N]!” Tony called out to you as you almost collided with him. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“Sorry Tony, I’ve just got to grab something quick.” You told him without stopping.

“Wheels up in ten minutes!” He shouted after you. “That’s with or without you!” He hadn’t meant anything by it. You knew he didn’t because half of everything Tony said wasn’t serious. You also knew there was no way Steve would let him leave you behind, but you couldn’t rationalize with anxiety.

You really wished you could turn this part of you off. There was never a convenient time for an anxiety attack, but a mission was one of the worst times. You were already experiencing a stomach pain so intense it felt the way a towel looks when it’s being wrung out. You knew what would happen next, the worrying and overthinking. You’d worry so much about making sure to pack everything that you were bound to forget something. You felt the pain in your chest as you rounded the next corner.

“Almost there.” You whispered as you forced yourself from a run to a walking pace. You were starting to have troubling breathing. You tried to tell yourself it was from the running and the worrying. It would go away once you had all the supplies. That did nothing to sooth the burning feeling in your lungs.

“[Y/N]?” You’d been so inside of your own head, you hadn’t seen Bucky at the other end of the hall. Gasping for breaths now, you allowed yourself to lean against the wall and waited for him to come to you. “Are you okay?” He asked you quietly.

You nodded “Yes” Unable to answer him verbally. He seemed unhappy with that answer.

“You wanna try that again?” He asked. His tone was gentle, inventing. It lacked the usual sarcastic whipping you were used to from him.

“I’m…fine.” You managed between gasps. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on your breathing. It was no use. A part of you was still acutely aware of the time crunch you were under. You didn’t have time for an anxiety attack, which was only making it worse.

“You can lie to me if you want to, but it’s not going to fix the situation.” Bucky said. You opened your mouth to tell him again that you were fine and instead you began to cry. You confessed to Bucky the reason that you were so upset.

“The medical supplies? [Y/N] you didn’t forget to refill those after the last mission. Tony was doing something to the jet a few weeks ago and there was a hydraulic fuel leak. A bunch of the stuff in the jet was ruined. Steve and Tony forgot they’d thrown it all away. That’s what I’m doing here.” He removed the backpack he was wearing and opened it. You could see the bag was filled with supplies.

“We have to go.” You gasped. Instead of feeling better, you felt worse. You’d wasted time coming all the way here you were making everyone else late.

“They’ll wait for us.” Bucky said with certainty. “Do you have water with you?”

“I’m not thirsty.” You told him.

“You’ll feel better if you drink water.” He produced a water bottle from his backpack and forced it into your shaking hands. You tried to sip slowly from the bottle, it did seem to loosen the horrible feeling in your gut a little. “Would it be okay if I hugged you?” He asked. “Sometimes it helps to regulate the breathing.”

You nodded. Bucky wrapped his arms around you. It was like magic how he held you just enough to feel secure but not too tight that you felt trapped.

“We’re going to take big deep breaths and let them out together, okay?” You nodded again, nestling close to him. The act felt a little childish, but it was helping you. After a minute of breathing together and sipping from your water, you were calming down. You were already feeling the post-anxiety attack drain on your system. You felt like you could sleep for a week.

“Okay.” He smiled. “Ready to go? We can take another minute if you need…”

“We should go. We’ve already kept them waiting.” You started to jog away.

“[Y/N], wait.” Bucky caught your hand and you stopped. “We can walk. The extra two minutes won’t make a difference. You continued down the hall together, with Bucky still holding your hand. You decided you should say something before you joined the others.

“Thanks for that back there.” You mumbled.

“Anytime.” He vowed. “Attacks like that can be hard to pull your own way out of. It helps to have someone who can help.”

“I hate asking for help.” You confessed.

“I’ve noticed.” He nodded. “But we’ve got your back. That’s what being on a team means.”

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a long time.” You explained. “I thought I’d grown out of it.”

“You don’t outgrow anxiety [Y/N].” He said. You didn’t know what to say. You were coming up on the quinjet and could tell everyone else had boarded. Tony was standing outside waiting for you both.

“Barnes, [Y/L/N] is this mission an inconvenience to you?” You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment and the panic rising in your chest again. Bucky gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Honestly, yeah, it’s put a damper on my plans for sure.” Bucky called back. “Especially since I had to go all the way to medical to refresh the supplies you ruined.”

“Well, thank you ever so kindly for your contribution Sargent Barnes.” Tony said with a salute. “Thanks for collecting him [Y/N].” Tony winked at you. “He’d probably still be down there gathering bandages without you.”

You and Bucky walked past Tony and continued onto the jet. Bucky dropped your hand and went over to the compartments designated for medical supplies. He began organizing everything While Tony and Steve prepped the jet for take-off.

“Did you find what you needed, [Y/N]?” Bruce asked.

“Hmm? Yeah, I think so.” You nodded. “What did I miss in the briefing?” You changed the subject.

The mission you’d been sent on was, all things considered, a brief one. You were all back by dinner time the following night. The most severe injury had been your own. You sustained a broken fibia when you failed to stick what should have been an easy landing for you. Clint had patched you up in the field and you’d gotten yourself to the team doctor as soon as you got back.

The team lapsed into their post mission routines. For most that meant well deserved naps in their dorms. Steve always liked to work in his debriefings right away and Tony had a new piece of alien tech he wanted to play with.

Your usual post mission routine consisted of pacing around the building until your body and mind were too tired to do anything but sleep. With a broken ankle you couldn’t exactly do that, but you still had no interest in spending the night in the infirmary. As soon as your leg was wrapped in a cast and you received the okay from the doctor, you hobbled out of the medical wing on crutches. Your dorm wasn’t too far away and you were confident you could make it all the way there without assistance.

You were already wearing a plain pair of grey sweatpants an Avengers logo tshirt that had been given to you in medical, so you didn’t bother changing once you reached your dorm. You didn’t bother turning on the lights either. You just placed your crutches by the door and hopped on one foot over to the bed. You feel asleep as soon as your head touched the pillow.

Screaming. You were awakened with a start to the sound of screams. You opened your eyes and tried to listen to where the screaming was coming from. It sounded like one of the dorms. Not wanting to waste any time, and crutches be damned, you raced from your room. The screaming had stopped, which only concerned you more. The lights were off in every dorm in the hall except one, Bucky’s.

With a sliver of light visible under his door, you knocked. When he answered Bucky was covered in sweat. His hair was sticking to his face and he was panting harder than if he’d just run a marathon.

“[Y/N], everything okay?” He asked like you’d been the one screaming your head off just know.

“You tell me, Buck.” You answered. “Either you’re having a hell of a good time in here by yourself or…” you indicated your disheveled appearance.

“Nothing to worry about.” He told you. You didn’t believe him.

“Are you really going to try to ice me out?” You raised your eyebrows at him. “I was honestly with you yesterday when…”

“It’s nothing to worry about, [Y/N].” He repeated. “I’m sorry if I woke you. Shouldn’t you be resting your leg?” He pointed to your cast.

“I was, until someone’s screaming woke me up.” You pointed out.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” He apologized awkwardly. “I’m good now.”

“Why were you screaming? Were you having nightmares again?” You asked.

“They’ll go away on their own.” He told you.

“Aren’t you the same person who told me that my anxiety wouldn’t go away on its own and that it’s okay to ask for help?” You reminded him. “I’m here, let me help.”

“It’s not that easy [Y/N].” He frowned.

“Bucky your room is across the hall from mine, so I know you don’t get nightmares every night. You haven’t found anything that helps stop them?” You questioned.

“Well,” He hesitated. There was one thing that seemed to help keep the nightmares away, but he hadn’t exactly tested his theory. He’d only noticed that while he was away on missions, if he had someone sleeping close by him, he would sleep through the night. Steve was the only person he’d felt comfortable sharing this information with so far.

“Let me help you.” You insisted, reaching out and taking his hand. Bucky explained his dilemma to you. “Oh, that’s all?” You smiled at him. “I could stay in here with you. I’m supposed to be resting my leg anyway so would be a win-win. My leg gets to rest, and we both get some sleep.”

“What if someone were to find out you were sleeping in here?” He worried.

“We don’t have tell them why.” You promised. “It’s none of their business. C’mon, help me in the bed.” You put an arm around his neck and leaned against him, relieving the weight on your bad leg.

“You’re sure this is okay with you?” He put an arm around your waist and helped you over to the bed.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” You promised as you sat on the bed.

“Are you okay with the lights on?” he asked, sitting down next to you.

“Whatever helps Bucky.” You nodded. He laid down and you snuggled up next to him. You hadn’t imagined how soft his muscular chest would be, it was the best pillow you’d ever had. When he wrapped an arm around you to hold you close, you were immediately enveloped in warmth.

“This okay?” He questioned.

“Mm-hmm.” You hummed happily while he drew the bedcovers over both of you.

“Good night [Y/N].” He whispered as your eyes fluttered closed.

“Good night, Buck.” You yawned before drifting off to sleep.

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Reader Insert #Bucky Barnes Fan Fiction #Bucky Barnes FF #Bucky Barnes Fan Fic #ssb2021 #BBB21 #bbb3

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adhd-disaster-willie · 4 years ago

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you’re the one that brings the sun; chapter 5/6

chapter 1, 2, 3, 4

warnings: swearing

word count: 2,757

notes: okay so this update took a while because I’ve been busy with school and writers block has been kicking my ass, but I think it’s worth it :)))

---

It was established in August that at least once a month, Alex will receive a phone call informing him to be at Julie’s house in ten minutes for a mandatory slumber party. It’s endearing sure, but he would like some sort of warning other than Luke calling him and saying that if he doesn’t show up as soon as possible, he’ll paint his drumsticks neon green. So that’s how Alex ends up sitting cross legged on Julie’s bed, putting Reggie’s hair into a bunch of tiny braids and watching The Princess Diaries for what’s probably the hundredth time.

“Lilly is definitely a lesbian,” Flynn says through a mouthful of popcorn.

Alex hums in agreement and Julie nods. “If only this movie weren’t made in 2001,” Julie says mournfully.

“Y’know I always thought that Joe was gay,” Alex admits. “Up until he dances with the queen.”

Reggie attempts to look up at Alex, earning an offended squeak from the latter. “Really?”

“Yes, now will you please stay still, I only have one more left.”

“Ok but there is no way Mia’s mom is straight!” Flynn says.

Julie seems to mull it over for a bit. “She does live in an old fire station. And artists are never straight.”

“Yea, like Willie!” Luke pipes up, sitting up from his position hanging halfway off the bed. “Willie’s not straight.”

“We should start a betting pool on how long it takes for Luke to bring up Willie,” Alex mumbles, his cheeks flushing pink. He ties off Reggie’s final braid and pats his head approvingly. “You look like a real princess.”

“Do I?” Reggie grins up at him with a bit of a twinkle in his eye and Alex chuckles.

“No subject changing,” Luke protests. “How’s Willie doing?”

“Still a pining idiot,” Flynn answers with a cheeky smile.

“I’m trying to watch the movie.” Alex shoves at Luke’s face and slides down off the bed to sit on the floor beside Reggie.

“You’ve seen this movie a million times,” Luke points out. He leans down so his head is hanging off the edge of the bed and smirks mischievously at Alex, who is pointedly refusing to look at him. “Aleeeex,” Luke whines. “Don’t be a buzzkill.”

“Alice, please,” Flynn says. Alex shoots her a look seeping with betrayal and Flynn raises their hands defensively. “I haven’t seen Carrie in a few days!” They protest. “I need drama.”

“Drama?” Alex asks. “Or blackmail material?”

Flynn shrugs, which only serves to cement what Alex was thinking. “Yea, nope. It’s not like anything has even happened since-” He cuts himself off, realizing his mistake and preparing for the onslaught of questions.

“Since!?” Luke cries. “Since what?!” He grabs Alex’s face roughly and looks at him with wide eyes. “Since what, Alex?”

“Nothing!” Alex squeaks, wrenching himself from Luke’s grasp. “Nothing! It was- let go of my fanny pack! Julie stop filming!!!” Alex swats at Luke’s hands and attempts to leap forward to grab Julie’s phone, but ultimately fails.

“I’ll let go if you tell me,” Luke teases in a sing song voice, his grin only growing the more Alex fights.

“Fine! If you just- sorry Reg the puppy-dog eyes only work on Luke and Bobby.” Reggie sighs in disappointment and Alex finally manages to get Luke off of him, huffing angrily and brushing nonexistent dust from his hoodie. “You’re a barbarian,” he mutters.

“Well?”

Alex responds to Julie’s prompting with a long-suffering sigh. “You have to promise not to make fun of me,” he says. They don’t promise. The movie is long forgotten as Alex’s friends gather around him, looking all too fascinated by his latest embarrassment. “He well… don’t laugh, ok. He wore a crop top last week and I tripped on my own feet and scraped up my knees.”

Flynn raises an eyebrow. “Nuh uh, there’s more, spill.”

Alex groans, burying his face in his hands. “They got all worried and started putting bandaids on my knees and I almost fainted. Then- please don’t make me say this,” Alex pleads, looking to Julie as if she’s his last hope. She shakes her head. “When they finished lecturing me I just looked at him and said ‘nice shirt’ and ran off. Nice shirt??? What is wrong with me?”

“Wait a minute,” Julie says, gesturing for Alex to pause. “You just… ran off? Where?”

Alex doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll paint your drumsticks if you don’t tell us,” Luke threatens. The difficulty is that Alex doesn’t doubt him one bit, and knows that Julie has a healthy supply of paint in a drawer just a few feet away from Luke.

Alex mumbles something under his breath and Reggie pokes him.

“Sorry what was that? Speak up.”

“Orange, I’ll paint them the ugliest shade of orange ever.”

“I went and hid in my closet!” Alex blurts. “For like an hour. I am never going to live that down.”

“That’s… incredibly ironic,” Julie laughs.

“I’m telling that story at your wedding.”

“Reginald, don’t even think about it!” Alex kicks Reggie lightly and raises his hand to flip off the other three, who are all dying of laughter. “I hate all of you. I need new friends.”

“Good luck with that.” Flynn pats Alex’s head; he can practically hear their stupid smirk.

“Fuck off.”

“No.”

---

Alex wakes up with his foot in Luke’s face, one arm thrown over Julie, his face in Reggie’s neck, and a very giggly Flynn perched on the end of the bed taking pictures. He sits up and murmurs sleepily, squinting in the oddly hazy room.

It’s gray and gloomy outside, quite fitting for mid-November, but far from Alex’s ideal weather. He’s always been partial to spring, when it’s not too hot and not too cold and not always cloudy and sad.

Flynn hops off the bed and onto Julie’s chair, where she spins a couple times before turning her phone to show Alex. “This is gonna be my new lockscreen,” they giggle. Alex stares at the photo, baffled as to how his arm was bent like that.

Breakfast is heaps of pancakes and fresh coffee (bless you, Ray) that for a moment, Alex considers just dumping over his head. Julie is curled around Luke for warmth throughout the whole morning and Flynn makes a point to gag at least once every 5 minutes. Alex knows she’s happy for them though, they finally got their act together a little over a week ago and at least this is better than the pining. Alex doesn’t say that though, because it will only get him a lecture on how he is not one to talk about pining.

Alex almost thanks a god he doesn’t believe in anymore when the rain outside doesn’t seem to make any moves into thunderstorm territory. Willie hates thunderstorms. He stays cocooned in a blanket until noon, but eventually Tía Victoria shoos them all out, claiming that Julie will never finish her homework with them all glued to her.

Alex is sopping wet when he finally arrives at his dorm, sadly no car can go right up to the entrance of the dorms. The first thing Alex notices when he walks in is the candles, and the second thing is the haphazardly thrown together fort in the middle of the room, which he narrowly avoids tripping over. “Willie?” He asks, lifting what he assumes to be the entrance and raising an eyebrow at Willie, who is grinning at him and shining a flashlight in his face.

“Ok, get that out of my eyes.” Alex clamps a hand over the light and Willie sticks his tongue out. “Did the power go out?” Alex asks, worry etching over his face. He can’t have all their food being ruined, with Alex living off his coffee shop job and Willie off of the occasional commission and odd check from his eccentric uncle.

Willie shakes their head. “Nope.”

“So why the… candles?”

“It’s fun!” Willie pulls Alex into the fort, stumbling back and just barely evading them toppling over each other into a quite compromising position. Willie presses his back against the couch and pats the space next to him. “It’s like you’re a little kid again.”

“Luke used to love making forts,” Alex admits. “We would move all the furniture in his living room and make the absolute worst blanket forts you can imagine. Like seriously, it’s no wonder none of us went into architecture.”

“Really? I can totally see you as an architect”

“That’s…”

“I’m joking, hotdog,” Willie giggles, bumping their shoulder together. He has a tendency to raise his eyebrows when he’s amused; Alex finds it all too endearing. Accompanied with the way their eyes crinkle when the laugh and the soft candlelight leaking through the thin blankets and draping over his features, Alex thinks he’s having trouble breathing.

“I was drawing you, y’know,” Willie says softly after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm?”

“The day we went stargazing, I was drawing you. You’re- you’re a good muse.”

“Oh.” Alex’s stomach flutters. “I uh… thank you.” He gives Willie a hesitant smile before turning to focus on the flickering light. His breath feels weighted, like every exhale means something, but he can’t quite pinpoint what. There’s a light breeze whistling through the crack in the door and Alex closes his eyes for a moment, pretending that it’s wrapping around him and holding him close. Alex didn’t get much affection as a child; his parents had always been very stiff. Sure, they loved him, but they weren’t that good at showing it aside from a rough shoulder squeeze and tight smiles so full of expectations. When he came out, even the snippets of affection faded; no more of his mother fixing his hair or giving him a quick kiss on the forehead when he was sick. Two months after his coming out, they just… kicked him out. He came home to find his belongings shoved carelessly into a trash bag or two and that was that. Luke more than made up for the lack of physical affection, but Alex knows that there will always be something missing.

Wide awake, Alex lets his head fall onto Willie’s shoulder. This time with care and attention, hesitancy. He hears Willie suck in a sharp breath but then the tension melts from their shoulders and fizzles into nothingness. For a moment, there is nothing but them and the pattering of rain against the windows.

“Lets go for a drive.”

Alex looks up expecting Willie’s usual carefree and impish grin, but he’s taken aback by his wistful expression and something bursts in Alex’s chest. Something that may be instinct and may be just an overwhelming surge of emotion.

“Okay.” His voice is barely a whisper, a single wisp of smoke snaking from a blown out candle.

The air is damp and the rain is coming down hard; Alex reaches a cautious hand out beyond the awning and winces at the downpour. But Willie is wiggling his stupid eyebrows in the way that makes Alex’s face heat and he can’t say no as Willie drags him through the wet grass, shrieking with laughter and going slower than necessary to relish in the water pouring down from the sky in torrents. They’re soaked to the bone and breathless, overflowing with mirth, by the time they reach Alex’s car and clamber into the seats. Right after a brief argument about who’s driving of course. (“You will not be touching my steering wheel with your grimy paint hands, William.” “Says you.”) So Alex is driving.

Willie has their hands pressed to the window, breath fogging up the glass and sending them into a fit of giggles every time. Alex switches on the radio and there’s a song playing that he recognizes but couldn’t sing along to; something soft and low, like lilting waves. Willie knows it though. And they’re singing. Oh. They’re singing. Alex almost has to pull the car to a stop and put his head in his hands because Willie never told him he could sing.

Willie’s voice is low and slightly raspy, but not in a bad way. Alex knows he’s heard this song before, but he’s 100% certain that this is his first time really hearing it. And it’s beautiful. Or maybe it’s just Willie. It’s probably just Willie.

Alex brings the car to a slow stop in the parking lot of an odd gas station that always seems to be closed. He doesn’t turn it off though, because he would rather die than have Willie stop singing. He leans his head back and breathes, certain he’s inhaling Willie’s voice. Willie’s voice which is like sparks on his skin, like smoke that crowds his lungs and opens his soul for the very first time. He feels a sense of mourning when the song stops and something else comes on, something peppier and sickeningly sweet. He switches the radio off.

“I didn’t know you could sing.” Alex isn’t even looking at them; he’s fiddling nervously with the strap of his fanny pack.

Willie smirks proudly. “You learn something new every day.”

“Yea.”

Willie traces a heart in the fog on the window and lets it sit there. Then he unbuckles his seat belt and pokes Alex’s shoulder. “Hey ‘Lex, come on.”

“No.” Alex shakes his head vigorously. “No. We’re already soaking wet and-”

“Hot dog.”

And damn it, the nickname may be so incredibly stupid but Alex has such a weird soft spot for it. He groans dramatically, making a point to wring out his hair, which is already mostly dry at this point. “You’re the worst. What if it starts thundering?”

Willie shrugs. “I have my noise cancelling headphones. And you can-” they cut themself off.

“I can what?”

“Nothing,” Willie squeaks. “Please. Please.”

So Alex climbs reluctantly from the car and stands in the parking lot looking far from amused. “You owe me.”

Willie laughs loudly, grabbing both of Alex’s hands and spinning him in an aimless circle, pulling them both into a dance to music that’s only in his head. They twirl Alex around several times, and Alex is certain that he’s going to actually fall over and faint. Willie raises his face to the sky and squints, letting the rain soak him without care. Alex is in awe and how open and free Willie is, like nothing can ever go wrong and if it does they’ll always be flying. He doesn’t realized they’ve stopped dancing until Willie turns to him with a curious expression. Their eyes rake over his face and Alex realizes he’s staring. But for once, he doesn’t look away. And for the first time, he sees the corner of Willie’s mouth quirk up and their eyes flick to his lips and even linger there for a brief second.

The rain doesn’t seem to have plans to stop anytime soon, and they’re both shivering and wet and Willie’s hair is dangling in front of his face. Alex reaches out and tucks it behind his ear, both of them holding a breath, waiting. It’s right there, right in front of him, and Alex is inches from just grasping it and clutching it to his chest. Willie takes a step forward so their faces are just inches from each other and Alex can feel their breath against his cheeks. He exhales shakily and raises one hand to cup Willie’s cheek, his touch feather light and afraid. Willie leans into the contact and grins upwards, their nose wrinkling fondly. He gives a silent nod and for the first time in years, Alex takes the plunge.

Their first kiss is soft and slow and Willie tastes like rain and green tea. Alex smiles against their lips, a breathy laugh escaping his own. He’d think this is a dream, but no section of his imagination could conjure something even a fragment as magical as this. They’re in the middle of a parking lot, cold and wet, and yet Alex feels the warmest he ever has. Alex is hesitant to pull away, but he does, just barely. Their foreheads stay resting against each other, like breaking apart would break them. Then it comes crashing into him. Alex just kissed Willie. He just kissed Willie. And Willie kissed him back! Holy shit!

“Wowza.” Wowza? What the fuck Alex?

Willie breaks into joyous laughter, throwing his head back and clutching Alex’s shoulders. And Alex laughs with him; he buries his face in the crook of Willie’s neck, his heart full to bursting. Wowza indeed.

---

notes: ...I did say I was thinking about a Willex rain kiss. I actually wrote like half of chapter 6 a while ago so I might be able to post it tomorrow.

chapter 6

taglist: @thatsanewflavor @spookiest-sapphic @dovesgrangers @julie-n-phantoms @frostknyte @thegaylink @nervousmiracletrash @crummycassidy @fairygclds @reallyintrospectivepeople @madsmax-37 @swamp-acad @kat-maybe-not @sunsetcurve123 @lookingthroughmirrors @queer-fandom-enby @over-under-through1 @willex-n-waffles @caliibee @stars-soph @herequeerandcantdrinkbeer @nickalicious @andwhenwepart @maizsnex @fanofthepod @heademptynothoughts @thunderstorm-symphony @julieandthephantomsandme @i-spit-on-fire

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #willex #willex fic #ytotbts #you're the one that brings the sun #willow writes #willie jatp #willie nolastname #willie wilbur williamson #alex mercer #julie molina #reggie peters #luke patterson #flynn jatp #flynn nolastname

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heavenunderthemoon · 4 years ago

Text

Ten Fingers, Ten Toes: JJ x Male Reader

Sent in anonymously: Reader and JJ are married and he works for the fire department. They have to work together for a case with an arsonist. While visiting the suspect's house, he smells gas and tells JJ to be careful. As they slowly approach the house the suspect has a gun to their head with the cooker on. JJ tries to calm the unsub down but it doesn't work so he points the gun at JJ and the reader tackles him from behind before pushing JJ out of the house before it blows up."

disclaimer: I have NEVER written anything x male reader before so please, please, please be gentle with me.

warnings: fire, explosions, injuries, violence, angst.

Words: 5,589

It was rare that you and JJ ever met up on duty. So rare, in fact, that it just hadn't happened. In your ten years of marriage, it hadn't occurred even once. Arson charges in Quantico weren't rare, there just weren't that many serial arsonist charges for the BAU to pick up, and even so, your fire station wasn't in the districts that it had occurred the three times JJ's team had been called. But, this time was different.

The BAU arrived in its usual fashion, two separate government-issued SUV's, black and shining, dark as the soot that no doubt remained on your face from this morning's bout of firefighting. It had been a tough one, ventilation becoming a bit risky when your team noticed the roof was easily collapsible, but Station 13 had gotten the job done, as they always did. Your hands paused in their movements of shifting debris when the doors on the SUV's began to open, one of them revealing a rather familiar blonde figure, their bright blue eyes scanning the scene rapidly.

You smiled, knowing what the agent was looking for.

Letting out a low whistle, you made your way to the woman who's shoulders instantly relaxed when she saw you, eyes lingering on the damage done to the place. You knew precisely what was going through her mind, simply because it often rang through yours.

You both worked dangerous jobs, one running into fires and the other chasing down psychopaths who had a penchant for murder. Worrying about your spouse practically came with the marriage license. It had been something discussed extensively on both ends before you had gotten down on one knee all that time ago, asking for her hand in marriage. But, despite the multitude of reasons not to and the fears of what would come forth in the face of it all, there was a singular reason that made you both forget the rest; "I love you", You had said when she had asked, a shrug that told her how simple of an answer it was, but the look in your eye telling her that your love for her wasn't simple at all. Not really. It was convoluted and complex and deep and consuming and that was enough for her. That was more than enough for her.

So, each day when you went off to fight your fires and she went off to fight the monsters, you both reminded each other of that, of that love, that feeling of taking a leap, praying for a happy ending in which you both came home alive each night just to do it all again in the morning.

Except, now, here she was, and here you were, both of your battles being condensed into one.

"The calvary's arrived." You praised with a smirk.

Her blue orbs, intensified by the dreariness of the burnt surroundings, glanced over your body.

God, those eyes. Those eyes that you had fallen in love with, fallen so extremely and irrevocably hard for. Two glistening, gleaming, and just about every other synonym for glistening and gleaming under the sun, orbs that were like two little tiny pools of water. Water, a bit ironic given your occupation of fighting fires, but water all the same. Except, it wasn't exactly water, because you didn't think of water when you saw them you just thought of JJ, and that feeling you got around JJ. That fuzzy feeling in your chest, that dizzy feeling in your head and that tingly feeling in your legs that made you feel like you couldn't walk. The eyes that elicited those feelings were on you, checking for damage, scanning for injuries.

The turnout gear still laid heavy on your figure, but you stood tall beneath the weight of it all, accustomed to the sheer mass that it added. It was covered in ash, and stitched in tightly woven thread on your coat's breath pocket was your name. "Captain Y/N L/N", it read.

JJ remembered how you had received that promotion last year, the ceremony that Henry and Michael had tottered along to, how you had hoisted Henry up on your shoulder, Michael on your hip, insisting that your wife come by your side for a picture, one she cherished dearly. It sat in her wallet now and the weight of it in her jacket pocket felt heavier now for some reason.

When her eyes came back to your face, she frowned, her fingers coming up to rub your cheek. "You look like hell."

Worry. That was the look on her face, scanning the remnants of the house that had recently been ablaze but was now just smoldering ash. Your team packing things up as JJ's got to work, picking their way through the remains, asking Station 13 questions so to jump start their investigation.

"Thank you, darling, I just got back." You quipped cockily and she rolled her eyes, a twitch of her lips to indicate that she wasn't all too irritated with you, really. Just for show.

Her hand dropped, landing in her crossed arms as she faced the house, eyes narrowing as she entered her work mode, something you found rather amusing. You had rarely seen JJ in her work mode, and she you. You both liked to keep those versions of you separate, tucked away in the attic space of your minds, dirty blemishes to be hidden when around each other not because you were hiding secrets but because your demons, both of your demons were just something you needed to fight alone. The ghosts that followed JJ home after cases, whispering in her ear, nipping at her heels and the flames that engulfed you after calls, burning your eyes, searing your skull.

"So, what happened?"

You nodded, settling into work mode yourself. "We got the call around 5:30 am, house fire, one alarm. Family was asleep in the house, barely had time to notice anything was wrong before it was up in flames-"

"Carson family." She breathed, eyes flickering to you sympathetically. "Are they-"

"Alive and stable." And for a moment your chest swelled with pride. It hadn't seemed a possibility that morning, for the entire family to walk away as fortunately as they had. Sure, their entire house was gone, vanquished in nothing short of forty-five minutes, but their lives, each and every one of them, had been saved and it had everything to do with your team. A flash of that morning, the little girl in your arms, the mask around her face- your mask that you had taken off and given to her, just to give her lungs a few moments of relief- and her fingers clutching your turnout coat as you carried her out of the burning building. Those were the moments you lived for, the moments that made you proud for the occupation choice. "The parents got the worst of it, third degree burns, smoke inhalation damage, but nothing that the hospital can't fix. The kids are fine, I heard their grandparents are staying with them at the hospital until their parents are given the all clear."

She nodded, a bounce of her blonde hair. "That's good."

"It is," You nodded, motioning for her to follows you as you began your walk to the west wing of the house. "We thought it might've been a freak accident, faulty wiring or maybe a gas leak from the stove, but one of my guys found this." The two of you stopped, her shoulder lightly grazing yours.

Her eyes followed the gesture your hands made, landing on an object on the floor. There, covered in soft and ash, discarded on the floor of what used to be a beautiful two story home, was a bottle, its liquid remains only droplets now, the cloth poking out of it burned to shreds.

"Make-shift Molotov cocktail? You're sure?" She bent down, pulling on a latex glove and picking it up cautiously, turning it around in her hands before signaling one of her guys to come a grab it.

You had met the team, of course, you knew them quite well actually. Derek nodded at you, the two of you sharing a brotherly pat on each other's back before he was grabbing the evidence, scooping it into a plastic bag.

"Yep. When I saw it I called you, figured it might be the beginning of a string of fires."

The blonde sighed. "Smart call." There was something else in her voice, concern, stress, everything in between, and your own eyes narrowed, something that made her chest flair with warmth.

She never had to say anything. She didn't have to say that getting your call at seven in the morning, a time she usually spent feeding the boys before turning them over to the nanny who would inevitably be relieved at the end of your twenty-four hour shifts but was interrupted by that incessant ringing.

You had changed it from the default ring almost two years ago.

"What are you doing?" The blonde had laughed, reaching for the phone you had swiped out of her hands but you held it above you head, your figure towering over hers and her laughter had made the chuckle rumble in your throat just the way she liked it.

"I've gotta change it, so you know it's me."

You had fixed her with that stare, the one she knew you gave your team, the "I'm the Fire Captain and you have to listen to me" stare, though you knew it had never worked on her. To her, she said, it looked like you were constipated, but it always made her roll her eyes with that shit-eating smile, so you did it anyways.

"Yes, because in a world with Caller I.D., I will never know it's my husband." Tired of standing on her tippy-toes, she had slumped against your chest defeatedly, taking in your warmth, listening to your heartbeat as she listened to you choose that god forsaken song that she knew that you knew she hated- one that you two had fought over its validity as a song on one of your first dates when it came on in a sandwich shop.

"I'm Henery the Eighth I Am..." Played from the woman's speakers and she groaned, hitting her forehead against your chest in a playful headset that had made you roar with laughter.

"Perfect."

It had been that terrible, dreadful song, the song that would always remind her of you that interrupted her morning and made her heart stop because you never called her on shift unless something was wrong. Unless the fire had nipped at you a little too roughly, unless you were sitting in a hospital bed getting patched up. She had answered that call with a dry throat and almost forgot how to breathe until your voice telling her you were okay reached her ears. "I'm okay, but I think you should see this."

And now, at a time she should be focusing on her job, focusing on telling Aaron Hotchner what her husband just told her, focusing on the family that had luckily made it out unscathed, she wasn't. She was focusing the man before her, her man, her Y/N.

She was focusing on you because for once she was seeing your world, your world past the nice and cozy firestation that she had seen before, polished and clean. That fire station you had showed her on one of your days off, giving her a tour, silently telling her that you were okay, that you were always going to be okay. Now, she was seeing your team, people she had met before but now under your authority, placing all the gear they had used meticulously back into the rigs, and you, covered in soot with that look in your eyes. That look that made her hate you and fall back in love with you every time. The look of a hero. Because heroes are the ones who run into the burning buildings not away and the thought of you running into a burning building, somewhere you would go and not come back and leave her and Michael and Henry in the lurch made her sick to her stomach.

And you saw that.

"Hey," You said softly, noticing that far off look in her eyes. "Hey," You repeated once you noticed she hadn't responded the first time, lightly grabbing her shoulder. "I'm fine. We're all fine. Look," Your eyes were boring into hers, those baby blues that your sons had inherited because, god, they were spitting images of her and it was something you reveled in. Your fingers wiggled out of the gloves, ripping the other off and wiggling your newly exposed fingers to the woman. "Ten fingers, ten toes. I'm good."

It was silly, something you two had always recited, a mantra of sorts, when one of you injured themselves. A tiny little saying, one that said "I'm still alive, I'm still kicking, and you're not getting rid of me that easily", without saying it at all. Picking her up from the airport after she called to tell you of her injuries, her small smile at the concern that would always be evident on your face no matter how many times she assured you. And she would take your face in her hands, make you look her in the eyes.

'Ten fingers, ten toes.' She would say with a playful smirk, wiggling them against your cheeks and you would smile, resting your forehead against her and now she did the same. A sigh on defeat or relaxation or maybe just a release of a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

She looked at you, eyes narrowing playfully once more. "You're cheating, I can't see your toes in those boots."

You laughed, that hearty rumble she adored and the two of you set to work.

Everything would be fine.

Everything was not fine.

"Are you mad at me?"

Frozen grass crunched beneath your feet. It was a cold day, winter still biting at Spring's heels and the brisk air was enough to make you wish you had more cover than the leather jacket slung over your shoulders. And if you were cold you knew JJ was (The girl was raised in a warm climate and basically declared it was winter anytime it hit below seventy degrees.). A quick glance to the blonde- who was apparently very cross with you at the moment- met you with a rather terse look, her lips pursed, eyes forward as she surveyed the side of there house, gun raised before her.

The last day and a half had been spent working hand in hand with the FBI.

It was almost like a game. The BAU spent their time assessing the victims, analyzing patterns, attempting to predict where the arsonist might hit next, though it was a game of cat and mouse because they hadn't perfected it, not yet. And your Station was getting called, putting out every fire just to jump to the next and when the team had finally determined a suspect, JJ was declared to be on the group to survey their house, it hadn't even taken you a moment to suggest your team join as well.

'Fire safety,' you had told Hotchner, 'Wouldn't it be safer to have us by your side in case he gets set off?' and much to JJ's chagrin, he had agreed. The fire rig itself was set up two blocks away, lights and sirens off, just waiting to be called upon, your team inside of it.

That was one of the perks of being Captain, you supposed. Calling the shots, getting to pick and choose when you ran into the fire, delegating your skills to the most high-priority situations and, yes, while you told your Station that the high-priority you were attending to was a possible additional fire as you approached the arsonist's house, they all knew the real reason. They knew it was the blonde by your side, no matter how angry she was with you.

"Okay, so you are mad at me." You nodded at confirmation of your previous question, one that had gone unanswered, and were met by a sharp glare before her eyes were back on the house.

The neighborhood itself was rundown, an area of town about to be lost to construction, properties being seized by the government, one of the arsonist's assumed triggers. His house was one of the only ones left on his block, sagging defeatedly on the corner of the street.

The other pair, Spencer and Derek, from the BAU crawled amongst the property, paired off and speaking into their walkies, both of them attempting to see inside of the house, cautious of how to approach.

"I'm not mad, I'm focusing."

You snorted. "Well that's funny, 'cause your focusing face and your mad face have a hell of a lot in common."

It wasn't a moment longer before she was huffing, pausing in her movements before tossing a glance to you over her shoulder. "Stop messing around, Y/N-"

"JJ-"

Her state was almost as cold as the weather. "No, this is serious. There's a killer in there and you're out here joking around-"

"JJ-"

And her gun was lowering itself for just a fraction of a second, eyes fixing you with that stern gaze of hers that she normally used with the children but still managed to make you feel just as intimidated as they probably did when it was used on them.

"You volunteered to come with us to catch a serial killer-"

"I know-" You tried, but you knew that look in her eye, that rise of an octave. The tone that let you know that she wasn't mad, she wasn't angry, she wasn't even furious, she was terrified.

And damn, you hated that. You hated that she was terrified, because you were terrified too. You had been ever since Hotchner had told her, Spencer and Derek to check out the possible unsub's house. Ever since those words had left his lips it was as if your mind had gone blank, something JJ would claim it perpetually was, but it wasn't. Usually, your mind raced about a million miles per hour, never slowing, never seizing, except for that moment, that moment that had made your stomach drop and throat clog. That moment that had you volunteering to go with her without hesitance because you were scared, scared because this was what she did on a daily basis and yes, while you thought about it, talked about it, and apparently had gotten over it long ago, you hadn't really because this wasn't just something you got over.

Having your wife chase serial killers wasn't something you could just be okay with and if you were given an opportunity to go with her, to watch over her, to look out for her, god damnit you would.

"You chose to put yourself in danger. It's different when it's your job, but, god damn it, Y/N, you don't have to be here-"

And whatever she was going to say next was interrupted, the porch light flickering on, that dim yellow bulb cackling under the sheet of ice it was buried in. The back porch became illuminated, revealing a broken rocker chair, it's left arm chair giving way due to mold or rot, caved into the smooth seat of the chair. It sat limply on the porch, those floorboards creaking in the winter wind and the two of you froze, her gun rising.

"Stay here."

Under different circumstances you might have laughed.

Under different circumstances, you might have thrown your head back and let loose that deep, throaty laugh that JJ always said was contagious.

But you didn't. You couldn't.

You couldn't help the dumbfounded expression covering your face, watching as your wife, your best friend, the mother of your children, began to climb the stairs of a serial arsonist, demanding for you to stay put. You couldn't help that swell in your chest, a swell of anger, no doubt, not at her, because you had known precisely what kind of person she was when you married her. You had known the minute you had met her in that crowded, smelly bar, the both of you both coming back from a long day at work, her tired eyes meeting yours and that wicked smile pulling you in.

You had known from just that first look that she would be hard work. And she had proven that every step of the way. She had proved that by demanding a background check before you two officially went on your first date (that first night in the bar didn't count, she said matter-of-factly.), or by all of her weird quirks and tics. Like, for instance, if you got her skittles she would patiently wait while you picked out all the green ones (They taste like toilet bowl cleaner and the longer they're in there with the other ones the more the taste will rub off on the good ones). Or that how if she vacuumed she absolutely had to have precise vacuum lines (if they weren't perfect, she started over, no matter what.). Or even how she set seven alarms in the morning, snoozing each and every one because she knew eventually you'd get too agitated by the constant interruptions to your sleep that you'd wake her up with your groans and force her out of bed far better than any alarm ever could.

You had known that she would be hard work, yes, but you also knew that she would be worth it. Every smile, every kiss, every laugh, all of it. And so when she told you to stay put you could hardly reign in your outrage enough to keep your voice to a hushed whisper.

"No, I'm coming with you." And your foot began to raise, began to make its way onto that creaky, rotted, in need of a paint job floorboard of a porch before JJ was stopping you.

"No. You might be a Captain, but out here, I call the shots. Stay here and don't do anything stupid." And she was slipping into the back door before you could grab her. Before you could pull her into your arms and stop her.

And you were alone, alone with only the porch light flickering every so often, threatening to give way, that snow underneath your boots clinging to the soles of your shoes the longer you stood there.

How long had you been standing there, staring at the back porch door? You wracked your brain, trying to remember if JJ had said anything to Reid and Morgan about going into the house? Had she called for backup? You wished you had a communication piece on you, wished you had some way to make sure that JJ wasn't in there alone because, yes while you trusted her wholeheartedly, you didn't trust a batshit crazy arsonist who had started a string of fires.

Your nose twitched, snapping you out of your thoughts.

What was that smell? That smell, sharp to the nose, stinging your eyes, making the back of your neck hairs stand erect-

Your feet were moving, moving carefully and efficiently, trying not to make a noise but trying to get into the house as quickly as possible.

Gasoline.

That was what you could smell. You had smelled it a million times before, and this smell was no different, except it was. It was different. This time was a million times worse than any other time you had smelled it because JJ was inside the house. She was inside the house that reeked of gasoline, inside a potential explosion, and you needed to get in there as quickly as possible and so your hand was pulling not he back door and you were lurching inside the house.

"Trevor, I just want to talk, okay? Put the gone down-"

The back door let into the dining room, the inside of the house looking just as dilapidated as the outside of the home. Family pictures were strewn about the walls, each hanging just as crooked as the next. The glass was covered in dust, so much so that the pictures weren't even recognizable underneath, and the roof tilted at a downward angle so threateningly low you worried it might just collapse with the mere addition of your body inside it.

You could hear voices beyond the wall of the dining room, JJ's first, and it made your heart beat a little less frantically (though that wasn't;t saying much because right now you were pretty sure your heart was doing a line dance), and then the unsub's- Trevor.

Your hair brushed the wall as you peeked past it, clinging to that wall like it was a lifeline and in that moment it was. In that moment, it was the only thing separating you and the man pointing a gun at your wife.

When you saw the scene your throat struggled to contain the bile rising at the sight of it. Trevor stood nearest to you, his back to you completely, in fact. A dirtied t-shirt, one covered in scorch marks and ash hung loosely on his figure. He was small, smaller than you had imagined an arsonist to look like, which, you supposed arsonists don't particularly have a look, but still, he didn't look...evil and you had always supposed that bad guys looked evil. But this one didn't. No, other than his dirtied shirt he looked like a normal guy, except, of course, for the gun pointing at his temple.

There was a clicking sound filling the air, that familiar clicking sound that made you divert your attention to the stove, confirming your suspicions immediately. The gas was on, leaking it into the house and your head was already beginning to ache at just the smell.

And then there was JJ.

She noticed you immediately and she made a damn good job of covering that. Briefly, her eyes met yours, and you didn’t need words for you to understand. There was rage at you for following her, guilt because somehow she thought this was her fault, gratefulness because maybe she wouldn't have to leave here in a body bag and fear because what if your children grew up without both of their parents?

"Trevor, listen to me-"

Her voice was steady. How was her voice so steady?

"No! I'm done talking to you bitch!"

And just like before, just like when Hotchner was ordering JJ to go to the unsub's house, time slowed. Time slowed, and it became a long, torturous, eternal moment that made your mind wipe straight clean once more because there was really only one thing that could make it do that and she was standing right in front of you. The girl that had seen you from across that crowded bar, a bar that she later said was disgusting and dirty and made her boots stick to the floor, but would always pull you to because it was sentimental and they made good burgers. The girl who had answered your marriage proposal with "What took you so long?", which, would've been acceptable had your proposal not been asked three months to the day when you met her (Hey, when you knew, you knew.). The girl who talked through movies, beat you in poker, ate all your fries when she said she wasn't hungry and just a million other things that you hadn't even known you remembered until that moment when suddenly her very being was being threatened.

That girl was having a gun pointed toward her, and so you reacted.

Your body tackled the man before you easily, causing you both tp fall tp the ground in a jumble of limbs and grunts and the gun wasn't leaving his hand so easily but none of that mattered because you saw your chance.

You saw your chance for one more tackle and damn JJ was going to be extremely pissed at you, but it didn't matter because you were doing it before she could even register your movements to protest it. Your body slammed into hers, twisting your body in mid-air, preparing it for the impact it would surely take through the boarded up windows that were about to become a bit more open than before.

The wood splintered across your back, your head throbbed at the hit, but you barreled through just as you heard Trevor yell and, stupidly, predictably, unfortunately, he shot and as soon as he did, the heat from the bullet related to the gasoline in the air.

Your bodies hit the snow in record time, yours on top of hers, and the sheer heat from the blast was enough to make you never want to hear the words "Liar, liar pants on fire", again.

Breathing. Breathing and sirens and ringing, a horrible ringing in your ears that was quickly subsiding and a pulsing through your head that was not. You peeled yourself off of her with a grunt, your back landing roughly next to hers, the snow quickly clinging to the back of your jacket.

The two of you stayed that way for a moment, just a moment, because you both knew Derek and Spencer were just around the corner and if they found you two lying on the floor their first reaction would be to think you were both dead (partially because of your position on the floor and partially because of the fact that your left eyebrow was singed off and you were pretty sure your head was leaking out some blood onto the blanket of snow beneath you). In that moment, that tiny brief moment, your hand grasped hers, squeezing it, before sitting up with another groan.

She looked...like crap. Her hair was wet and frizzy, nose red to the bone, cheeks covered in dirt of ash, wood littered across her bulletproof vest, and her pony tail had loosened to the extent that half of it was just pouring onto the side other face. But she still looked beautiful to you.

“You did something stupid.” She said exasperatedly, reminding you of the last thing she told you not to do before leaving you alone but it hardly registered to you.

"I had to." You said quietly, so quietly that your ringing ears even had trouble hearing it but the squint of her eyes let you know she heard you just fine. "Earlier, you said I didn't have to be here."

You were not a quiet man. You just weren't. You were loud and brave and funny and JJ had always adored that about you but she loved these moments too. These moments where you were quiet, reserved, and afraid, because it showed her that you weren't just some pompous meathead charging into fires irresponsibly. It showed her that even the bravest of the brave get scared, and that fear was what would stop you from making a decision that would leave her in a world without you.

Her eyes softened. "You know what I meant-"

Your bottom lip quivered, hands going up to attach themselves to her cheek, just to feel her, to know she was real, that she was there, that she was alive. "I cannot lose you. I know that you do this everyday, and I know that you are good at your job, and I know that you probably had it handled back there, but damnit JJ, I was scared, okay? I'm sorry, but I was scared and I needed to be here, I felt it in my bones, okay? I just-"

All of the emotions from that night. All of the anger, the fear, the adrenaline, all of it left you, left you in the sob that had formed in the base of your throat, leaving you feeling hollow and empty as the world passed around the two of you. You could barely register your team rushing into the building, the hose spraying into the house, JJ's team approaching the two of you, because it was just you and her. You and her, and that was all that mattered to you.

Her hands clung to yours, piling atop her cheek and embracing the warmth it gave her, leaning in to let her forehead touch yours, your salty tears falling into her cheeks but she didn't say a word about it.

"I can't lose you." You repeated it again and it sounded so small, so lost that JJ was locking her eyes with yours.

"You didn't." A pregnant pause, a lick of her lips, a small beginning to a smile that looked so wrong given the state of her surroundings, and a tiny breath let out. "Ten fingers, ten toes."

Her thumb was reaching for your cheek, swiping the pad of it across it, clearing away the remnants of the tear that was trailing down the side of your face and then following it with a kiss, a small peck at where the tear once stood.

"Ten fingers, ten toes." You exhaled.

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